Рита Браун - Out Of Hounds

“You must come to Beasley Hall. I own the painting of his wife, Violet, sidesaddle habit, standing next to Sir Isaac,” Crawford invited her.

“I had no idea,” Kathleen exclaimed.

Buddy Cadwalder, shrewd enough to cultivate Radnor Hunt outside of Philadelphia and Fair Hills, once the private hunt of Will Dupont and Mr. Stewart’s Cheshire Foxhounds, the man knew his business, blurted out, “My God, that’s worth millions.”

Crawford shrugged this off. “Bought for my wife when she rode sidesaddle.”

The Sabatinis and Betty drifted over as Crawford discussed this treasure. As that group broke up into smaller groups, Betty, who had caught the tail end of it, explained Sir Alfred Munnings to the Sabatinis, who did know of him but had no idea such an extraordinary work would be in the community. Betty with tact explained Crawford’s fortune began when he built strip malls in Indiana, his subsequent generosity to Custis Hall, the private school, as well as the work archaeologically, architecturally at Old Paradise.

The grand opening was a success. Kathleen kissed Sister on the cheek when she left, thanking her for her help in getting people there but especially for introducing her to Aunt Daniella after Harry had died. Aunt Daniella took Kathleen under her wing, never sparing her salacious gossip regardless of decade.

Yvonne and Sam also attended but there were so many people, so much going on, they didn’t get to talk to Sister and Gray.

In Gray’s Land Cruiser driving home, St. Paul in Sister’s lap, she looked at the rooster. “He is quite the fellow. Just don’t read Saint Paul’s letter to the Ephesians to me. Why did your mother name her rooster St. Paul?”

“I have no idea. But she would tell us the story of his conversion to Christianity on the road to Damascus. She had favorite Bible stories. Sam listened more closely than I did but Mother was insistent.”

“I guess whatever religion one practices your parents have their favorite stories often repeated to keep you in line.”

“What were yours?”

Sister laughed. “Christ preaching to the men in the temple. Mother would give me her look and say, ‘Don’t get any ideas to tell me what to do. You have no halo and if you did remember, when a halo slips it becomes a noose.’ ”

As they were laughing, Kathleen, tired, thrilled, climbed the stairs to her living quarters, where she was rapturously greeted by her Welsh terrier, Abdul.

“Did you miss me?” He wagged his tail.

She sat down as he crawled into her lap. “Abdul, we made enough for good dog biscuits, greenies, and maybe a knuckle bone or two.”

“I should have been downstairs. There could have been a bad person there. I should always be with you. I will protect you.”

She listened to his little noises, petting his head, happy but exhausted. “Did you know, Abdul, that there is a famous Munnings’s painting in this county?” She paused. “Maybe there is more than one. I haven’t been here long enough to know and I haven’t asked the right questions. But now that I am finally settled, I should discretely investigate.”

“Take me with you,” he wisely advised.

CHAPTER 3

February 7, 2020 Friday

Raleigh and Rooster, the Doberman and harrier, barked upon hearing a deep motor outside. Golliwog, the calico longhair, evidenced no interest, lying on her back in her special fleece bed on the counter, no less.

Sister rose, opened the back door, stepping into the cold coatroom just as the door opened. Frigid air enveloped her.

“Sweetie, get back in the kitchen.” Gray Lorillard kissed her then propelled her back into the warmth.

“You’re home,” the Doberman happily declared as Gray reached down to pet him.

Rooster, standing on his hind legs, put his front paws on Gray’s jacket.

“Rooster,” Sister admonished him, to no effect.

“I’ll be right back.” Gray placed a small bag of groceries on the counter next to the refrigerator, flipped up his collar, stepped into the coatroom then outside. He ran back in.

“Must be seventeen degrees out there.”

“It’s been a long, cold week.” He took off his heavy jacket, draping it on the back of a kitchen chair. He placed a rectangular box on the table.

“I know you didn’t wrap that.” She smiled.

“The corners are too neat,” he agreed.

“Gray, I don’t recall you making corners,” she teased him, picking up the package, the paper silver and red stripes.

“Maybe it’s a diamond collar for you.” Golly raised a long eyebrow as she addressed Raleigh.

“I’d rather have a big bone, meat still on it.”

“Good idea,” Rooster seconded the thought.

Sliding her fingernail under the paper, Sister carefully opened the package, preserving the paper. “Cashmere!”

She held up a sweater, a soft but thick turtleneck of navy blue with flecks of gold.

“Be perfect with your beautiful self.” He kissed her on the cheek. She kissed him on the lips.

Holding the sweater under her chin she felt the richness under her fingers. “This must be four-ply. You know nothing is as warm as cashmere. Thank you, honey. How about you sit down and relax?”

“I’ll fix myself a drink first.” Which he did then sat down. “I thought I was retired. Sometimes I think I have more work than before. At least this short task is here, not Washington.”

“You can handle sensitive issues. Which keeps your old firm and others wanting your services. You don’t represent your old firm. They can use you in new ways. Everyone knows how discrete you are and honest.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” He watched her fold the paper, a habit of hers, carefully placing it on top of the cardboard box into which she put the sweater, the box now on the counter, away from food and Golly, who evidenced a suspicious interest.

“Where did you find fresh asparagus in February?” She admired the fat ends as she put goods away in the refrigerator with one hand, flicked on the stove with the other.

“Wegman’s.”

“Soup is heating up. Made it this morning after checking the hounds and the horses. I told you we put a Catholic fox to ground yesterday, didn’t I?”

“Well, you’d better find an Episcopalian one for the Reverend Taliaferro.”

They both laughed as Sister brought two large bowls of chicken rice soup with all manner of vegetables in it. Sister had known Gray since he was young, saw him married then divorced. As he lived and worked in D.C., she knew him slightly, whereas she better knew his aunt Daniella and brother, Sam, who blew a scholarship to Harvard thanks to drink. Sam cleaned himself up with Gray’s help but never returned to higher education. She also knew Mercer Laprade, Aunt Daniella’s son, who died a few years ago.

“The barking dog ordinance. I read the so-called authorities have taken three dogs away from three people,” Sister filled him in.

“That ordinance will be a great way for people to get even with one another. Then again, maybe that’s the purpose of such things. When you and I and the other hunt clubs attended those open meetings it became clear, to me, anyway, that this is one more way for people to control anyone who doesn’t think like they do. You dress it up with pious pronouncements about the public good.”

“I don’t think it much matters who is in charge but at least if you get country people you have a bit more reality. The hunt club kennels are exempted from punishment for barking. Some of the people running the county realize how much money we generate for businesses. But so many in Northern Virginia, Richmond, new people, think we’re deplorables.” She shrugged.