Рита Браун - The Hunt Ball

He stopped at the ring, too, noticing the stunned expressions on the girls’ faces.

“Girls, are you unwell?” Then his eyes took in the ring, a flicker of the eyelids.

“Mr. Nilsson, this is Professor Kennedy’s ring.”

“Well, perhaps she donated it,” he replied.

“No, it says Target the fox,” Pamela answered.

“Professor Kennedy wasn’t a foxhunter,” Valentina said.

“She knew everyone here was and this is a hunt ball.” He shrugged, seeing Bill walk toward him out of the corner of his eye.

“Professor Kennedy had no sense of humor.” Tootie felt her stomach sink, a nameless dread overtaking her, but she kept her wits. “It must be some mistake. Come on, gang.” She smiled brightly at Knute and Bill, who now reached him, and dragged the girls with her. “Shut up. Just shut up,” she hissed under her breath.

As the girls walked away, Sam Lorillard noticed a heated, whispered conversation between Knute and Bill, both men’s faces red as fire.

Tootie dragged Valentina, Pamela, Felicity, and Howard to Sister, luckily talking to Charlotte during the break in the music.

“Hello, girls,” Sister smiled. “This is the best ball we’ve ever had, thanks to your efforts.”

“Sister, Mrs. Norton, something’s really wrong.” Tootie kept her voice low, her breath in short gasps.

“What is it?” Charlotte instinctively put her arm around Tootie’s shoulders as the others looked on.

“Professor Kennedy’s ring is in the auction.” Valentina supplied the answer.

The release of the identity of the corpse would be made Monday. The girls did not know that Professor Kennedy was dead. Only Charlotte, Sister, Gray, and Ben Sidel knew that. Even Walter didn’t know.

“Oh, God!” Charlotte blurted out.

Very calmly Sister said, “Girls, not a word. Not yet.” She almost said “Your life may depend on it,” but figured they were upset enough.

She motioned to Gray, who came over. The little group walked back to the silent auction.

The ring, not a hot item, had garnered few bidders, but Knute Nilsson was one. He bid $100.

“It’s Professor Kennedy’s ring,” Tootie declared.

Charlotte nodded, “Yes, it is.”

“Mrs. Norton, she wouldn’t part with her ring,” Tootie said.

“What are you saying, Tootie?” Pamela began to feel Tootie’s fear.

“She’s dead,” Tootie barely whispered.

“Why? And wouldn’t we know?” Pamela resisted this.

Sister stepped in. “Girls, come with me.”

Sister, Gray, Charlotte, Tootie, Valentina, Pamela, and Felicity followed, as did Howard. Sister and Charlotte spoke low to each other.

Charlotte quietly told the girls that Professor Kennedy was the corpse under St. John’s of the Cross. The positive I.D. would be released Monday. Until the lab in Richmond verified the remains, she wouldn’t announce Professor Kennedy’s death.

“Where’s the sheriff?” Felicity asked.

“On duty. That’s why he’s not here tonight,” Charlotte said.

“Shouldn’t he see the ring?” Tootie asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte answered.

“I’ll call him. Honey, do you have your cell phone stuck somewhere?” Sister asked Gray, who pulled the tiniest, flattest phone out from his inside breast pocket.

As she was calling, Pamela said to Charlotte, “This is about the slave work, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Charlotte honestly replied. “But I believe it certainly has something to do with whatever is in those cases.”

Before anyone could respond to that a hell of a commotion erupted in the Great Hall.

Crawford let loose the hounds, horn to lips, and he was bearing down on Shaker, stunned at this perfidy.

“You dumb son of a bitch!” Crawford bellowed. “I can hunt these hounds.”

Sister, Gray, Charlotte, the girls, and Howard ran into the room as fast as their finery would allow them.

Tootie, wearing not high heels but dancing slippers, lifted her skirts, ran up the steps to the bandstand, then jumped off. She reached Crawford before Shaker did. The hounds milled around causing havoc, eating leftovers on plates. Tootie put her body in front of Crawford’s as Shaker reached them.

Shaker pushed through the crowd toward Crawford. He had the presence of mind to say to the hounds, “Steady, steady.”

“Don’t, Mr. Crown, don’t,” she said quite calmly, but with true command.

The sight of this slip of a girl, ravishingly beautiful, in front of a man he couldn’t abide, made him realize Crawford wasn’t worth hitting. He snatched the horn from Crawford’s vest.

Hounds gobbled leftovers, gleefully pulling plates off tables or getting on the tables.

Valentina looked over the astonished crowd and saw Knute, knife in hand, pursuing Bill. Both men crashed through the double doors.

“Sister! Sister! It’s Knute and he’s got a knife, chasing Bill.”

Sister walked up to Crawford and slapped him hard across the face. “I will see you rot in Hell.”

This stunned the onlookers more than the hounds filling the Great Hall.

Shaker put the horn to his lips, blowing three long notes.

Cora, Diana, Ardent, the Ds, the Ts, all came, although they hated to leave the feast.

That fast, Sister, holding up her own long skirts, hurried out of the building. “Come on, huntsman, come on.”

There was not a moment to load the hounds, much as Sister wanted to put them up. In fact, there wasn’t a moment to lose.

Shaker, Gray, Charlotte, Sam, Walter, Valentina, Tootie, Pamela, Felicity, and Howard followed.

Rarely had Shaker seen that urgency in his master. He trusted her completely and followed her with the pack.

Betty yelled over to Sybil, “Whip in, Sybil. You take the right. I’ll take the left.”

Holding up their skirts, they plunged outside into the deep cold, caught up with the hounds, and, shivering, running along, ensured order.

In the distance they could see Knute, a fitter, faster man, gaining on Bill Wheatley, who was heading for the theater department. He made it, slamming the door in Knute’s face, but Knute got it open before Bill could lock it.

The hounds and humans ran faster, Gray up front with Shaker. “Hurry, man, hurry!”

By now, the rest of the celebrants spilled out onto the quad to watch in fascination and wonder at the sight.

Gray hurled open the door, hounds moving ahead of him.

“Get ’em up,” Shaker called, as he was beginning to get the picture.

Naturally, they looked for foxes, and there were some tatty old furs in the costume storage room. The hounds heard the human feet ahead, running, as Bill bolted into the costume room, hoping he could somehow hide from Knute.

Knute was quickly in the room, brushing costumes aside, tearing them off hangers in a silent, efficient rage.

Bill tiptoed through the rows of costumes until he came to the back of the room where the fake guns, battle-axes, and swords were stored. He flipped open a cabinet and pulled out Zorro’s sword, sharp enough to cut rope and ribbon, which the play demanded. He waited.

Gray and Shaker opened the door. They could hear the costumes being pulled off hangers. The hounds were silent. As the men moved forward so did the hounds.

Sister, Charlotte, and the girls were right behind the hounds, as were Betty and Sybil. Howard had moved up with the men. He was young, strong, and confident.

“I know you’re here.” Knute was oblivious to the hounds and humans moving through the costumes.

Bill waited, listening intently for Knute’s footfall. He was coming from the right.

Knute pulled aside the last row of costumes and saw Bill, who hid the sword behind his back.

“Knute, fancy meeting you here.” He smiled genially.