MONKTON GRANGE

During these days Peregrine Orme ­though he was in love up to his very chin, seriously in love, acknowledging this matter to himself openly, pulling his hair in the retirement of his bedroom, and resolving that he would do that which he had hitherto in life always been successful in doing ­ask, namely, boldly for that he wanted sorely ­Peregrine Orme, I say, though he was in this condition, did not in these days neglect his hunting.  A proper attendance upon the proceedings of the H. H. was the only duty which he had hitherto undertaken in return for all that his grandfather had done for him, and I have no doubt that he conceived that he was doing a duty in going hither and thither about the county to their most distant meets.  At this period of the present season it happened that Noningsby was more central to the proceedings of the hunt than The Cleeve, and therefore he was enabled to think that he was remaining away from home chiefly on business.  On one point, however, he had stoutly come to a resolution.  That question should be asked of Madeline Staveley before he returned to his grandfather’s house.

And now had arrived a special hunting morning, ­special, because the meet was in some degree a show meet, appropriate for ladies, at a comfortable distance from Noningsby, and affording a chance of amusement to those who sat in carriages as well as to those on horseback.  Monkton Grange was the well-known name of the place, a name perhaps dearer to the ladies than to the gentlemen of the country, seeing that show meets do not always give the best sport.  Monkton Grange is an old farm-house, now hardly used as such, having been left, as regards the habitation, in the hands of a head labourer; but it still possesses the marks of ancient respectability and even of grandeur.  It is approached from the high road by a long double avenue of elms, which still stand in all their glory.  The road itself has become narrow, and the space between the side row of trees is covered by soft turf, up which those coming to the meet love to gallop, trying the fresh metal of their horses.  And the old house itself is surrounded by a moat, dry indeed now for the most part, but nevertheless an evident moat, deep and well preserved, with a bridge over it which Fancy tells us must once have been a drawbridge.  It is here, in front of the bridge, that the old hounds sit upon their haunches, resting quietly round the horses of the huntsmen, while the young dogs move about, and would wander if the whips allowed them ­one of the fairest sights to my eyes that this fair country of ours can show.  And here the sportsmen and ladies congregate by degrees, men from a distance in dog-carts generally arriving first, as being less able to calculate the time with accuracy.  There is room here too in the open space for carriages, and there is one spot on which always stands old Lord Alston’s chariot with the four posters; an ancient sportsman he, who still comes to some few favourite meets; and though Alston Court is but eight miles from the Grange, the post-horses always look as though they had been made to do their best, for his lordship likes to move fast even in his old age.  He is a tall thin man, bent much with age, and apparently too weak for much walking; he is dressed from head to foot in a sportsman’s garb, with a broad stiffly starched coloured handkerchief tied rigidly round his neck.  One would say that old as he is he has sacrificed in no way to comfort.  It is with difficulty that he gets into his saddle, his servant holding his rein and stirrup and giving him perhaps some other slight assistance; but when he is there, there he will remain all day, and when his old blood warms he will gallop along the road with as much hot fervour as his grandson.  An old friend he of Sir Peregrine’s.  “And why is not your grandfather here to-day?” he said on this occasion to young Orme.  “Tell him from me that if he fails us in this way, I shall think he is getting old.”  Lord Alston was in truth five years older than Sir Peregrine, but Sir Peregrine at this time was thinking of other things.

And then a very tidy little modern carriage bustled up the road, a brougham made for a pair of horses which was well known to all hunting men in these parts.  It was very unpretending in its colour and harness; but no vehicle more appropriate to its purpose ever carried two thorough-going sportsmen day after day about the country.  In this as it pulled up under the head tree of the avenue were seated the two Miss Tristrams.  The two Miss Tristrams were well known to the Hamworth Hunt ­I will not merely say as fearless riders, ­of most girls who hunt as much can be said as that; but they were judicious horsewomen; they knew when to ride hard, and when hard riding, as regarded any necessary for the hunt, would be absolutely thrown away.  They might be seen for half the day moving about the roads as leisurely, or standing as quietly at the covert’s side as might the seniors of the fields.  But when the time for riding did come, when the hounds were really running ­when other young ladies had begun to go home ­then the Miss Tristrams were always there; ­there or thereabouts, as their admirers would warmly boast.

Nor did they commence their day’s work as did other girls who came out on hunting mornings.  With most such it is clear to see that the object is pretty much the same here as in the ballroom.  “Spectatum veniunt; veniunt spectentur ut ipsae,” as it is proper, natural, and desirable that they should do.  By that word “spectatum” I would wish to signify something more than the mere use of the eyes.  Perhaps an occasional word dropped here and there into the ears of a cavalier may be included in it; and the “spectentur” also may include a word so received.  But the Miss Tristrams came for hunting.  Perhaps there might be a slight shade of affectation in the manner by which they would appear to come for that and that only.  They would talk of nothing else, at any rate during the earlier portion of the day, when many listeners were by.  They were also well instructed as to the country to be drawn, and usually had a word of import to say to the huntsman.  They were good-looking, fair-haired girls, short in size, with bright gray eyes, and a short decisive mode of speaking.  It must not be imagined that they were altogether indifferent to such matters as are dear to the hearts of other girls.  They were not careless as to admiration, and if report spoke truth of them were willing enough to establish themselves in the world; but all their doings of that kind had a reference to their favourite amusement, and they would as soon have thought of flirting with men who did not hunt as some other girls would with men who did not dance.

I do not know that this kind of life had been altogether successful with them, or that their father had been right to permit it.  He himself had formerly been a hunting man, but he had become fat and lazy, and the thing had dropped away from him.  Occasionally he did come out with them, but when he did not do so some other senior of the field would have them nominally under charge; but practically they were as independent when going across the country as the young men who accompanied them.  I have expressed a doubt whether this life was successful with them, and indeed such doubt was expressed by many of their neighbours.  It had been said of each of them for the last three years that she was engaged, now to this man, and then to that other; but neither this man nor that other had yet made good the assertion, and now people were beginning to say that no man was engaged to either of them.  Hunting young ladies are very popular in the hunting-field; I know no place in which girls receive more worship and attention; but I am not sure but they may carry their enthusiasm too far for their own interests, let their horsemanship be as perfect as it may be.

The two girls on this occasion sat in their carriage till the groom brought up their horses, and then it was wonderful to see with what ease they placed themselves in their saddles.  On such occasions they admitted no aid from the gentlemen around them, but each stepping for an instant on a servant’s hand, settled herself in a moment on horseback.  Nothing could be more perfect than the whole thing, but the wonder was that Mr. Tristram should have allowed it.

The party from Noningsby consisted of six or seven on horseback, besides those in the carriage.  Among the former there were the two young ladies, Miss Furnival and Miss Staveley, and our friends Felix Graham, Augustus Staveley, and Peregrine Orme.  Felix Graham was not by custom a hunting man, as he possessed neither time nor money for such a pursuit; but to-day he was mounted on his friend Staveley’s second horse, having expressed his determination to ride him as long as they two, the man and the horse, could remain together.

“I give you fair warning,” Felix had said, “if I do not spare my own neck, you cannot expect me to spare your horse’s legs.”

“You may do your worst,” Staveley had answered.  “If you give him his head, and let him have his own way, he won’t come to grief, whatever you may do.”

On their road to Monkton Grange, which was but three miles from Noningsby, Peregrine Orme had ridden by the side of Miss Staveley, thinking more of her than of the affairs of the hunt, prominent as they were generally in his thoughts.  How should he do it, and when, and in what way should he commence the deed?  He had an idea that it might be better for him if he could engender some closer intimacy between himself and Madeline before he absolutely asked the fatal question; but the closer intimacy did not seem to produce itself readily.  He had, in truth, known Madeline Staveley for many years, almost since they were children together; but lately, during these Christmas holidays especially, there had not been between them that close conversational alliance which so often facilitates such an overture as that which Peregrine was now desirous of making.  And, worse again, he had seen that there was such close conversational alliance between Madeline and Felix Graham.  He did not on that account dislike the young barrister, or call him, even within his own breast, a snob or an ass.  He knew well that he was neither the one nor the other; but he knew as well that he could be no fit match for Miss Staveley, and, to tell the truth, he did not suspect that either Graham or Miss Staveley would think of such a thing.  It was not jealousy that tormented him, so much as a diffidence in his own resources.  He made small attempts which did not succeed, and therefore he determined that he would at once make a grand attempt.  He would create himself an opportunity before he left Noningsby, and would do it even to-day on horseback, if he could find sufficient opportunity.  In taking a determined step like that, he knew that he would not lack the courage.

“Do you mean to ride to-day,” he said to Madeline, as they were approaching the bottom of the Grange avenue.  For the last half-mile he had been thinking what he would say to her, and thinking in vain; and now, at the last moment, he could summon no words to his assistance more potent for his purpose than these.

“If you mean by riding, Mr. Orme, going across the fields with you and the Miss Tristrams, certainly not.  I should come to grief, as you call it, at the first ditch.”

“And that is just what I shall do,” said Felix Graham, who was at her other side.

“Then, if you take my advice, you’ll remain with us in the wood, and act as squire of dames.  What on earth would Marian do if aught but good was to befall you?”

“Dear Marian!  She gave me a special commission to bring her the fox’s tail.  Foxes’ tails are just like ladies.”

“Thank you, Mr. Graham.  I’ve heard you make some pretty compliments, and that is about the prettiest.”

“A faint heart will never win either the one or the other, Miss Staveley.”

“Oh, ah, yes.  That will do very well.  Under these circumstances I will accept the comparison.”

All of which very innocent conversation was overheard by Peregrine Orme, riding on the other side of Miss Staveley’s horse.  And why not?  Neither Graham nor Miss Staveley had any objection.  But how was it that he could not join in and take his share in it?  He had made one little attempt at conversation, and that having failed he remained perfectly silent till they reached the large circle at the head of the avenue.  “It’s no use, this sort of thing,” he said to himself.  “I must do it at a blow, if I do it at all;” and then he rode away to the master of the hounds.

As our party arrived at the open space the Miss Tristrams were stepping out of their carriage, and they came up to shake hands with Miss Staveley.

“I am so glad to see you,” said the eldest; “it is so nice to have some ladies out besides ourselves.”

“Do keep up with us,” said the second.  “It’s a very open country about here, and anybody can ride it.”  And then Miss Furnival was introduced to them.  “Does your horse jump, Miss Furnival?”

“I really do not know,” said Sophia; “but I sincerely trust that if he does, he will refrain to-day.”

“Don’t say so,” said the eldest sportswoman.  “If you’ll only begin it will come as easy to you as going along the road;” and then, not being able to spare more of these idle moments, they both went off to their horses, walking as though their habits were no impediments to them, and in half a minute they were seated.

“What is Harriet on to-day?” asked Staveley of a constant member of the hunt.  Now Harriet was the eldest Miss Tristram.

“A little brown mare she got last week.  That was a terrible brush we had on Friday.  You weren’t out, I think.  We killed in the open, just at the edge of Rotherham Common.  Harriet was one of the few that was up, and I don’t think the chestnut horse will be the better of it this season.”

“That was the horse she got from Griggs?”

“Yes; she gave a hundred and fifty for him; and I’m told he was as nearly done on Friday as any animal you ever put your eyes on.  They say Harriet cried when she got home.”  Now the gentleman who was talking about Harriet on this occasion was one with whom she would no more have sat down to table than with her own groom.

But though Harriet may have cried when she got home on that fatal Friday evening, she was full of the triumph of the hunt on this morning.  It is not often that the hounds run into a fox and absolutely surround and kill him on the open ground, and when this is done after a severe run, there are seldom many there to see it.  If a man can fairly take a fox’s brush on such an occasion as that, let him do it; otherwise let him leave it to the huntsman.  On the occasion in question it seems that Harriet Tristram might have done so, and some one coming second to her had been gallant enough to do it for her.

“Oh, my lord, you should have been out on Friday,” she said to Lord Alston.  “We had the prettiest thing I ever saw.”

“A great deal too pretty for me, my dear.”

“Oh, you who know the roads so well would certainly have been up.  I suppose it was thirteen miles from Cobbleton’s Bushes to Rotherham Common.”

“Not much less, indeed,” said his lordship, unwilling to diminish the lady’s triumph.  Had a gentleman made the boast his lordship would have demonstrated that it was hardly more than eleven.

“I timed it accurately from the moment he went away,” said the lady, “and it was exactly fifty-seven minutes.  The first part of it was awfully fast.  Then we had a little check at Moseley Bottom.  But for that, nobody could have lived through it.  I never shall forget how deep it was coming up from there to Cringleton.  I saw two men get off to ease their horses up the deep bit of plough; and I would have done so too, only my horse would not have stood for me to get up.”

“I hope he was none the worse for it,” said the sporting character who had been telling Staveley just now how she had cried when she got home that night.

“To tell the truth, I fear it has done him no good.  He would not feed, you know, that night at all.”

“And broke out into cold sweats,” said the gentleman.

“Exactly,” said the lady, not quite liking it, but still enduring with patience.

“Rather groggy on his pins the next morning?” suggested her friend.

“Very groggy,” said Harriet, regarding the word as one belonging to fair sporting phraseology.

“And inclined to go very much on the points of his toes.  I know all about it, Miss Tristam, as well as though I’d seen him.”

“There’s nothing but rest for it, I suppose.”

“Rest and regular exercise ­that’s the chief thing; and I should give him a mash as often as three times a week.  He’ll be all right again in three or four weeks, ­that is if he’s sound, you know.”

“Oh, as sound as a bell,” said Miss Tristram.

“He’ll never be the same horse on a road though,” said the sporting gentlemen, shaking his head and whispering to Staveley.

And now the time had come at which they were to move.  They always met at eleven; and at ten minutes past, to the moment, Jacob the huntsman would summons the old hounds from off their haunches.  “I believe we may be moving, Jacob,” said Mr. Williams, the master.

“The time be up,” said Jacob, looking at a ponderous timekeeper that might with truth be called a hunting-watch; and then they all moved slowly away back from the Grange, down a farm-road which led to Monkton Wood, distant from the old house perhaps a quarter of a mile.

“May we go as far as the wood?” said Miss Furnival to Augustus.  “Without being made to ride over hedges, I mean.”

“Oh, dear, yes; and ride about the wood half the day.  It will be an hour and a half before a fox will break ­even if he ever breaks.”

“Dear me! how tired you will be of us.  Now do say something pretty, Mr. Staveley.”

“It’s not my metier.  We shall be tired, not of you, but of the thing.  Galloping up and down the same cuts in the wood for an hour and a half is not exciting; nor does it improve the matter much if we stand still, as one should do by rights.”

“That would be very slow.”

“You need not be afraid.  They never do here.  Everybody will be rushing about as though the very world depended on their galloping.”

“I’m so glad; that’s just what I like.”

“Everybody except Lord Alston, Miss Tristram, and, the other old stagers.  They will husband their horses, and come out as fresh at two o’clock as though they were only just out.  There is nothing so valuable as experience in hunting.”

“Do you think it nice seeing a young lady with so much hunting knowledge?”

“Now you want me to talk slander, but I won’t do it.  I admire the Miss Tristrams exceedingly, and especially Julia.”

“And which is Julia?”

“The youngest; that one riding by herself.”

“And why don’t you go and express your admiration?”

“Ah, me! why don’t we all express the admiration that we feel, and pour sweet praises into the ears of the lady that excites it?  Because we are cowards, Miss Furnival, and are afraid even of such a weak thing as a woman.”

“Dear me!  I should hardly have thought that you would suffer from such terror as that.”

“Because you don’t quite know me, Miss Furnival.”

“And Miss Julia Tristram is the lady that has excited it?”

“If it be not she, it is some other fair votary of Diana at present riding into Monkton Wood.”

“Ah, now you are giving me a riddle to guess, and I never guess riddles.  I won’t even try at it.  But they all seem to be stopping.”

“Yes, they are putting the hounds into covert.  Now if you want to show yourself a good sportsman, look at your watch.  You see that Julia Tristram has got hers in her hand.”

“What’s that for?”

“To time the hounds; to see how long they’ll be before they find.  It’s very pretty work in a small gorse, but in a great wood like this I don’t care much for being so accurate.  But for heaven’s sake don’t tell Julia Tristram; I should not have a chance if she thought I was so slack.”

And now the hounds were scattering themselves in the wood, and the party rode up the centre roadway towards a great circular opening in the middle of it.  Here it was the recognised practice of the horsemen to stand, and those who properly did their duty would stand there; but very many lingered at the gate, knowing that there was but one other exit from the wood, without overcoming the difficulty of a very intricate and dangerous fence.

“There be a gap, bain’t there?” said one farmer to another, as they were entering.

“Yes, there be a gap, and young Grubbles broke his ’orse’s back a getting over of it last year,” said the second farmer.

“Did he though?” said the first; and so they both remained at the gate.

And others, a numerous body, including most of the ladies, galloped up and down the cross ways, because the master of the hounds and the huntsman did so.  “D ­ those fellows riding up and down after me wherever I go,” said the master.  “I believe they think I’m to be hunted.”  This seemed to be said more especially to Miss Tristram, who was always in the master’s confidence; and I fear that the fellows alluded to included Miss Furnival and Miss Staveley.

And then there came the sharp, eager sound of a hound’s voice; a single, sharp, happy opening bark, and Harriet Tristram was the first to declare that the game was found.  “Just five minutes and twenty seconds, my lord,” said Julia Tristram to Lord Alston.  “That’s not bad in a large wood like this.”

“Uncommonly good,” said his lordship.  “And when are we to get out of it?”

“They’ll be here for the next hour, I’m afraid,” said the lady, not moving her horse from the place where she stood, though many of the more impetuous of the men were already rushing away to the gates.  “I have seen a fox go away from here without resting a minute; but that was later in the season, at the end of February.  Foxes are away from home then.”  All which observations showed a wonderfully acute sporting observation on the part of Miss Tristram.

And then the music of the dogs became fast and frequent, as they drove the brute across and along from one part of the large wood to another.  Sure there is no sound like it for filling a man’s heart with an eager desire to be at work.  What may be the trumpet in battle I do not know, but I can imagine that it has the same effect.  And now a few of them were standing on that wide circular piece of grass, when a sound the most exciting of them all reached their ears.  “He’s away!” shouted a whip from a corner of the wood.  The good-natured beast, though as yet it was hardly past Christmas-time, had consented to bless at once so many anxious sportsmen, and had left the back of the covert with the full pack at his heels.

“There is no gate that way, Miss Tristram,” said a gentleman.

“There’s a double ditch and bank that will do as well,” said she, and away she went directly after the hounds, regardless altogether of the gates.  Peregrine Orme and Felix Graham, who were with her, followed close upon her track.