Рита Браун: Fox Tracks

Enter. Hounds are entered into the pack when they first hunt, usually during cubbing season.

Field. The group of people riding to hounds, exclusive of the master and hunt staff.

Fieldmaster. The person appointed by the master to control the field. Often it is the master him- or herself.

Fixture. A card sent to all dues-paying members, stating when and where the hounds will meet. A fixture card properly received is an invitation to hunt. This means the card would be mailed or handed to a member by the master.

Flea-bitten. A gray horse with spots or ticking which can be black or chestnut.

Gone away. The call on the horn when the fox leaves the covert.

Gone to ground. A fox who has ducked into his den or some other refuge has gone to ground .

Good night. The traditional farewell to the master after the hunt, regardless of the time of day.

Gyp. The female hound.

Hilltopper. A rider who follows the hunt but does not jump. Hill-toppers are also called the second field . The jumpers are called the first flight .

Hoick. The huntsman’s cheer to the hounds. It is derived from the Latin hic haec hoc , which means here .

Hold hard. To stop immediately.

Huntsman. The person in charge of the hounds, in the field and in the kennel.

Kennelman. A hunt staff member who feeds the hounds and cleans the kennels. In wealthy hunts there may be a number of kennelmen. In hunts with a modest budget, the huntsman or even the master cleans the kennels and feeds the hounds.

Lark. To jump fences unnecessarily when hounds aren’t running. Masters frown on this, since it is often an invitation to an accident.

Lieu in. Norman term for go in .

Lift. To take the hounds from a lost scent in the hopes of finding a better scent farther on.

Line. The scent trail of the fox.

Livery. The uniform worn by the professional members of the hunt staff. Usually it is scarlet, but blue, yellow, brown, and gray are also used. The recent dominance of scarlet has to do with people buying coats off the rack as opposed to having tailors cut them. (When anything is mass-produced, the choices usually dwindle, and such is the case with livery.)

Mask. The fox’s head.

Meet. The site where the day’s hunting begins.

MFH. The master of foxhounds; the individual in charge of the hunt: hiring, firing, landowner relations, opening territory (in large hunts this is the job of the hunt secretary), developing the pack of hounds, and determining the first cast of each meet. As in any leadership position, the master is also the lightning rod for criticism. The master may hunt the hounds, although this is usually done by a professional huntsman, who is also responsible for the hounds in the field and at the kennels. A long relationship between a master and a huntsman allows the hunt to develop and grow.

Nose. The scenting ability of a hound.

Override. To press hounds too closely.

Overrun. When hounds shoot past the line of a scent. Often the scent has been diverted or foiled by a clever fox.

Ratcatcher. Informal dress worn during cubbing season and bye days.

Stern. A hound’s tail.

Stiff-necked fox. One who runs in a straight line.

Strike hounds. Those hounds who through keenness, nose, and often higher intelligence find the scent first and press it.

Tail hounds. Those hounds running at the rear of the pack. This is not necessarily because they aren’t keen; they may be older hounds.

Tally-ho. The cheer when the fox is viewed. Derived from the Norman ty a hillaut , thus coming into the English language in 1066.

Tongue. To vocally pursue a fox.

View halloo (halloa). The cry given by a staff member who sees a fox. Staff may also say tally-ho or, should the fox turn back, tally-back . One reason a different cry may be used by staff, especially in territory where the huntsman can’t see the staff, is that the field in their enthusiasm may cheer something other than a fox.

Vixen. The female fox.

Walk. Puppies are walked out in the summer and fall of their first year. It’s part of their education and a delight for both puppies and staff.

Whippers-in. Also called whips, these are the staff members who assist the huntsman, who make sure the hounds “do right.”

CHAPTER 1

Brilliant strings of moving rubies rolled away in the snow. At least that’s how it looked to Jane Arnold, “Sister,” as she peered out the window of her hotel room at The Pierre. The tail-lights of all those cars crawling down Manhattan’s Fifth Avenue sparkled in the dark like rubies. When she was young, she would have seen parallel lines of headlights like diamonds coming toward her as well. Those days were long gone.

“Do you remember when the streets were two-way?” she asked her boyfriend, Gray Lorillard, who was carefully removing items from his Gladstone bag.

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you think creating one-way streets in 1966 really made New York traffic move faster?”

“I do not.” He answered this with conviction, his handsome brow furrowed as he once more reviewed his close items.

“Close” meant small clothing: undershirts, underwear, folded good shirts, and his Dopp kit, as well as a beautiful calfskin jewelry case (although men never called it that).

“I don’t think it helped either,” she said, turning from the view, “but there were fewer cars then.”

“Fewer people,” he mumbled, searching for something in his bag. “Goddammit.”

“Is this male PMS I’m observing?” she asked, half smirking at him.

He rolled his eyes. “Men don’t have mood swings.”

At this, the elegant seventy-two-year-old woman with the incredible silver hair let out a whoop.

Younger by perhaps seven years—the year of his birth had a habit of sliding backward—Gray, taller than Sister, who was six feet, brushed his steel-gray military moustache while looking in the mirror above the desk. “Well, I don’t have them—it’s well known that I’m even-keeled.”

“Honey, you are smoking opium. You’re a lot moodier than I am.”

Looking at the beautiful woman who never made the slightest attempt to look younger than she was—perhaps one of the reasons she was so striking—Gray shrugged. “Janie, we’re all moodier than you. I’ve never known such a cool customer.”

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.” She crossed the plush carpet and put her arm around his waist. “What’s the problem here?”

“I’m missing one of my studs.”

“Oh no, the chased gold fox-head ones with the ruby eyes?”

“I know I put it in here. I did. You know how meticulous I am.”

“I do.” She bit her tongue because she wanted to say: And sometimes I wish you were not . “Maybe it slid behind the lining. Your bag has some years on it.”

“Buy the best. Then you only weep once.” He sat on the side of the bed, taking a deep breath. “I am not going to panic.”

She sat beside him. “Neither am I. Those were your Christmas present three years ago. I bought them from Marion at Horse Country.” The proprietor had sneaked Jane the elegant studs when they’d driven up to buy tack for the staff.