Lynda Plante - The Talisman

Edward poured another measure of brandy and handed it to the big man.

‘I’m not a chap to show my emotions, got to keep up a front for the wife. Marry a strong woman, Eddie, one who’ll stand by you through thick and thin, or never get yaself hitched. There’s women the world over that’ll give you any satisfaction you need below the belt — have that rather than tie yaself down... not worth the heartache.’

The intimacy of their friendship in that huge, cold bedroom was never shown to the rest of the family. BB would revert to his usual blustering self with the others, arguing with the Judge on politics, war, anything that took his fancy. The other side of this complex man was reserved for his private drinking sessions with his new pal Edward. But occasionally the big, robust man could not help but give an affectionate pat to Edward’s shoulder, the fondness glowing in his flinty eyes. These familiar, almost loving, gestures did not go unnoticed by the rest of the household.

Allard couldn’t resist making snide remarks to Richard. ‘Watch out, old chap, that’s a very ingratiating fella — even got Harriet eating out of his hands like one of her nags... Appears he’s done the same with your father.’

Richard did take note, and had a quiet talk with his mother. She assured her son that his father was just being friendly. He missed his friends back in South Africa and appeared to have a lot in common with Edward.

‘Just so long as it’s not Pa’s money, that’s fine, keeps him out of my hair.’

The morning of the first meet was clear, and the whole household gathered in the hall. Mrs Simpson looked almost attractive in her black habit, black topper, lace veil and immaculate, gleaming boots. Allard, the Judge and Richard, all equally smart, checked their appearance in the hall mirror. They were joined by Edward, who felt uncomfortable in BB’s riding kit, and even more by their scrutiny, concerned he might let the side down. Seeing him so well kitted out, however, they accepted him and the Judge even fixed Edward’s cravat for him. He gave him so many instructions about what to do and say when he met the Master of the Hounds that Edward’s head reeled. He began to understand why the Judge kept quiet about being only a clergyman’s son, why they were so delighted with the invitation with the gold crest... they really were as much social climbers as himself, and it amused him because they were taking him right along with them. Their obsession with the correct procedures for the hunt arose from the fact that they were not original members of the local social set, and now they were about to move up a notch. As they walked out to the stables, Edward was feeling as buoyant as they so obviously did.

Harriet moved to Edward’s side. She looked quite beautiful under the black lace veil, her red hair braided as if to match her horse’s tail. ‘Remember everything I’ve told you. Keep well to the back, don’t try and be clever, just hold him in and don’t let him take the lead. Control him — he’ll want to join the leaders. Keep him reined in — he’s very powerful, but you’d not be able to keep up with the Master, so let him know who’s boss. As soon as you see riders breaking away, you can leave without disgrace... If you fall, remount, ride on, don’t let the hounds worry you.’

His head was teeming with instructions, and it didn’t help that BB’s hat was a trifle too tight.

Along the way the farm workers stopped in the fields and waved to them, and the Judge, leading the group, touched his crop to his topper. Long before they reached the village they could hear the hounds, and as they turned into the square the noise became ear-splitting. The loose hounds ran back and forth, baying excitedly, and the eight pairs held by the handler on long leads barked hysterically. Edward was surprised to see how many riders there were — on beautifully groomed mounts with braided manes and tails. The horses were frisky, some rearing and trotting sideways, others jerking their heads up and down. Above the noise of the hounds and the restless horses could be heard the high-pitched voices of the riders.

A large silver tray of punch was being offered around, and the public house, The Feathers, was overflowing with farm workers and valets. Six of the mounted men wore hunting pink, and three more stood on the cobbles, horns at the ready. Edward stayed on the edge of the circle, and nearly lost his topper when he leaned down to take a small silver cup of punch.

A palomino, its tail braided with black ribbons, began to sidestep as if dancing. His woman rider bent forward and patted his neck, and he kicked out again. She trotted on, wheeling him round to calm him. She sat side-saddle, wearing a long, black skirt, a black jacket tight at the waist and flared over the hips. Her cravat was white, and her flat topper was veiled with black, a long swirl of black net trailing behind her. ‘Walk on, thatta boy, walk on, good boy.’

She was stunning, her arrogant head held high, her black leather-clad hands holding the matching crop, and Edward stared. Suddenly she turned the horse and trotted towards him. As she approached, he realized it was Lady Summercorn. She brought her horse to a stop and gave him a tiny smile. ‘We’ve missed you. You promised to come over and see us. Perhaps later on today, unless you have a prior engagement?’

Edward touched his topper, flashed a smile. ‘I would like that, thank you.’

The Master commanded the hunt to ‘walk on’, and the riders began leading their horses out of the village square. Edward stayed at the back of the pack, as instructed, and Lady Summercorn rode beside him. The pace was easy and slow as they manoeuvred their mounts through the narrow village lanes.

‘There’s a field off to the right, just before the main gallop. I doubt it will last longer than that. My chauffeur is waiting at The Feathers. Riders generally splinter off about that time, I’m sure no one will miss us.’

She stared directly ahead, and might have been talking to her mount. She heeled the horse forward until Edward was slightly behind her, then turned and gave him a secret smile.

The hunt was on, but Edward had already caught his fox. He didn’t give a damn about the four-legged one.

Edward did not return to the Hall until after one o’clock in the morning. He had called the Simpsons and said he had taken a fall, and left his horse with Fred to lead to the stables.

Allard was sitting in his father’s armchair, very drunk, and heard Edward arriving home. He staggered out into the hall. ‘Well, you slut, Lady Summercorn’s gels treat you all right?’

Edward shrugged. ‘Rather boring, actually. Came a hell of a cropper. How did it go?’

‘Go? Go...?’ Irritated by his sarcastic tone, Edward turned on his heels, but Allard continued, ‘Harry’s in hot water, she took that fence by Hendley’s brook.’

Edward turned back, concerned. ‘Is she all right?’

‘She is, the bloody horse isn’t, though. All hell to pay — Pop’s blown a fuse. Listen, you on for tomorrow? We’re invited to the Gaskills’, could be a good do.’

‘Actually, no, I accepted an invitation to dinner.’

‘Well, well, well. Got into the inner sanctum, have we? Lady Summercorn... well, well.’

Edward said nothing, gave nothing away. He was as exhausted as Allard, the only difference was that his horse had been of the two-legged variety. Her Ladyship had been very demanding. Edward slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the cigarette case she had given him. He wondered if he would get a lighter to match at dinner the following evening.

Harriet was in the stable, lying in the straw next to her horse. She had been poulticing his injured leg every half-hour since she returned from the hunt. The horse could not put his leg down, and old Fred and Harriet were taking turns to sit up with him through the night.