“Perhaps we could swap places for a day, Miss Olive,” Simon said. “I confess that even though a permanent meat-free diet, especially if the alternative is tomato aspic, does not appeal to my stomach, it is, from an intellectual standpoint, an interesting proposition.” He turned to Clementine. “You will correct me if you’d prefer I not bring him up, but I read Mr. Bull’s pamphlet, and several of his points resonated with me in terms of their potential to improve the lives of the poor. Certainly it is less expensive to feed people grain than meat. It just had never occurred to me that a person could live on grain alone.”
“Well, not grain alone,” Clementine said, and they were off, discussing advances in agriculture and potential food distribution systems with great gusto. Olive and Effie had given up any pretense of participating in the conversation and were bent over their embroidery.
“And you know,” Clementine said, “Mr. Bull is not the only one who has written on the topic. The poet Shelley has an essay calledA Vindication of Natural Diet. And he was influenced by a man called John Frank Newton, who advocated a diet of vegetables and distilled water only, which I personally think is taking it too far. And Newton was influenced by another man before him.” Clementine’s eyes twinkled. “I take comfort in the fact that these ideas have an intellectual history, so I needn’t throw them out along with my erstwhile fiancé.”
Simon chuckled, and it did Archie’s heart good to hear two of his favorite people enjoying a shared amusement. “In some ways,” Simon said, “the arguments aren’t dissimilar from those in favor of temperance.”
“Indeed, and as a former student of divinity, you would know that many of those ideas overlap with theological matters.”
With that, they were off, talking about whether the plight of the poor was more important than any suffering an animal might endure to feed a hungry person. Archie liked the notion that on one side of the room, Effie and Olive were sewing, and on the other, Clementine and Simon were engaged in a lively moral discussion.
“But surely,” Archie said when he was able to get a word in with the latter pair, “you must distinguish between animals who meet their fate in slaughterhouses and those who fall prey to hobbyists such as myself. My hunting has no bearing one way or the other on the plight of the poor.”
“I think you’re missing the point,” Simon said after a beat of silence.
“How am I missing the point?”
“What you’re saying is you—you personally—don’t need to hunt to live, I think?” Clementine asked.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s a pastime.”
“Then why do it?” She was speaking in a clipped, almost annoyed-sounding tone. He had never heard that tone from Clem before. He didn’t like it.
He thought back to the awkward turn their conversation had taken the other night regarding the constellation Orion, and considered dissembling. But this was Clementine. He couldn’t lie to her. “I hunt because I enjoy it.” And that was understating it.
A look of dismay passed over her features, though she quickly pasted it over with a kind of haughtiness he had never seen on her. “Killing animals when you don’t need them to subsist is enjoyable?” Now she sounded like one of his teachers back at school, mockingly reading aloud to the class from one of his essays. Archie had always been able to hear how stupid his attempts at writing were in a way he couldn’t see when he was putting pen to paper.
He wasn’t that boy any longer, though. He didn’t have to stand for this treatment.
But also . . . Clementine was not his teacher. She was his friend. His friend with whom he was having a disagreement.
That was new, and distressing. He and Clem had never disagreed, about anything. Their youthful friendship had been full of enjoyment and accord. He reminded himself that he hadn’t seen Clementine for five years, and that many more still since they had truly talked. Perhaps he had been romanticizing their recent time spent on the roof. Perhaps the darkness that had allowed an unusual exchange of confidences had lulled him, made him forget that they weren’t the children they used to be.
“Anyway, Archie is not allowed to hunt on our trips anymore,” said Effie, who apparently hadn’t completely abandoned the conversation in favor of his sewing. Bless him, he was trying to diffuse the tension—by steering them back onto easier territory: needling Archie for his illegal weapon. Archie welcomed the diversion.
“So I gather,” Clementine said. “I’ve heard you speaking about rules?”
“Yes,” Effie said. “I am not allowed to write poetry, Simon is not allowed to talk about Parliament, and Archie is not allowed to hunt.”
“Why ever not?” Olive asked. “An annual holiday where you disallow your favorite activities would seem not to make a great deal of sense.”
“Hmm,” Effie said. “That is an excellent point.”
“Though perhaps we might consider that hunting is categorically different from writing poetry and talking politics,” Simon said with a smirk. He turned to Archie. “Tell the ladies why hunting in particular is banned.”
Bollocks. Archie mumbled his response. “Three years ago there was a bit of an unfortunate mishap.”
“What does that mean?” Clementine asked.
“He almost shot Effie,” Simon said smugly.
Clementine swung to face Simon. “Tell me more.”
“I thought I was alone in the woods,” Archie said quickly. If this story had to be trotted out, he was going to be the one doing the trotting. Simon would only embellish it in a manner that would be unflattering. “A flash of white caught my attention. I thought it a deer . . .” He winced, still remembering the close call. “It was Featherfinch’s cravat.”
“So what you are saying is that while I accidentally shot you in what could reasonably be considered self-defense—you have to admit there was no way I could have known it wasyouentering that room and not Mr. Bull—you accidentally shot Lord Featherfinch due to pure carelessness.”
“That is not at all what I’m saying!” he protested, though Clem was only teasing him. He thought—he hoped. This business of hunting was the only thing between them he couldn’t quite parse. “It was overcast, and Featherfinch’s black attire blended into the tree trunks!”
