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From the gate, she walked down the field and into a belt of trees. A clear track led through it, across a plank bridge over a stream and then out into open fields again, bare and ready for the plough. One such field sloped down to a five-barred gate, another powerful lure to a girl with a yearning to explore. She would walk down to the gate, she decided, observe what lay beyond and then make her way home again, for there was a chill breeze now and a distant rumble that might be thunder.
At the bottom of the hill lay a wide pool of dense mud, but by carefully placing her feet on a few dry tussocks under the hedge, she succeeded in making her way to the gate. The vista beyond was disappointing, just another field, although this one was pasture. There were no sheep or cattle, nothing but taller stalks of grass waving disconsolately in the breeze. It rose to another hedge in the distance, this one low and well-trimmed in one or two places.
A shift in the wind brought a louder rumble of thunder, yet there was not a cloud in the sky. While she was pondering this oddity, a streak of russet brown shot past her legs, through the gate and away up the hill. A fox! Enchanted at this unexpected sighting, she jumped on to the lowest bar of the gate to watch the creature’s progress as it tore up the hill. Another oddity, for whenever she had seen a fox before, it had been slinking quietly along, not in much of a hurry. Whereas this fox—
The thunder was right behind her, and now she could hear dogs, lots of dogs, all yapping excitedly. A horn blasted practically above her head. With an exclamation, she spun round, tipped off the gate into the mud and—
What on earth? There were horses rearing, voices yelling, the horn again, a scream, a woman falling with a shriek. And dogs everywhere, streaming past her, barking their silly heads off, scrabbling under the gate and up the field… oh, the fox! They were chasing the fox. And all around her were angry men, yelling at her.
“What thedevildo you think you are doing?” one red faced old man shouted, his horse dancing impatiently, as several men fussed around the lady who had fallen from her horse. “Get out of the way! Move aside, this instant. What are you doing here anyway?”
Julia did not embarrass easily, but she could see that she had quite spoilt the chase for the riders and had been about to make a grovelling apology. This attitude, however, irked her excessively.
“I am only taking a walk, as anybody might do,” she said, her chin rising. “How could I know you would be coming this way?”
“Well, you should have known! You are a very stupid gel and should learn to keep out of the way.”
“And you, sir, are a very rude man and should learn better manners.”
He growled like an animal and raised his whip, but Julia only glared at him defiantly. She would not be cowed by a man like that. Perhaps he would even have struck her, but out of the surging mêlée of horses, dogs and shouting riders and grooms appeared the very welcome face of James Plummer, leading his horse. He was neither red-faced nor yelling at her. If anything, he seemed to be trying not to laugh.
“Miss Fletcher, are you unharmed? I saw you slip over.”
“I’m only muddy, Mr Plummer, but I thank you for your concern.” This was said with a glare at the red-faced man, before she turned back to James. “The lady who fell — is she hurt?”
“Mrs Reynell appears to be uninjured, apart from her pride, perhaps,” he said, smiling. “She has a reputation as a bruising rider, who seldom falls.” Then, to the red-faced man he said, “Sir Hector, I shall escort Miss Fletcher back to Chadwell Park.”
“Do so, and teach her some common sense while you are about it. Hmm, Miss Fletcher, eh?”
Without another word he wheeled his dancing horse and rode away, shouting orders as he did so. The swirling mass of riders and dogs turned about and set off in a different direction.
A young man with the look of a groom rode up. Mr Plummer said, “Ah, there you are, Smith. You had better take Sorcerer home. I shall walk with Miss Fletcher.” The groom took the horse’s reins and rode off, leaving Julia and Mr Plummer standing facing each other in the churned pool of mud.
His face was creased into a wide smile. “Did you truly not hear us approach? I was at the back of the pack and could not see much, but you seemed oblivious.”
“I heard a noise but didn’t realise what it was. Iama stupid girl, I suppose. I shall have to make an apology to that man, whoever he was.”
“Sir Hector Bellingham, squire, magistrate, leader of society in his own mind, and master of the hunt in truth. Heaven forfend that any innocent young lady should come between him and his rightful prey. Miss Fletcher, you are surrounded by mud. Allow me to rescue you.”
And without waiting for her response, he waded through the swamp and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to a dry spot. She laughed, for it was too ridiculous for words.
“Thank you kindly, sir,” she said, when he set her down. “I’m not ungrateful, but I could have managed by myself, you know.”
“Naturally you could, but only at the price of becoming even more muddy. Come, you are wet and this wind is bitter. Let us walk briskly.”
Julia needed no second invitation, for walking briskly was her favourite occupation in the world. He took her by a different way, and in a very short time they emerged from a spinney to see the little cottage directly in front of them. Apart from the straggling hedge that provided some shelter from the wind, there was only an open woodstore to one side, and a privy a little apart. Where there ought to have been a garden, or at least a lawn, was nothing but overgrown tussocks of grass and brambles, and a narrow track leading to the door.
“Come inside and warm yourself,” he said. “I can have the fire blazing in no time.”
He opened the door and ushered her inside. There was only one room, divided into two clear areas. To the left of the fireplace were stone flags, a high-backed wooden settle and a plain deal table. To the right were colourful rugs, softly upholstered chairs and a sofa, and a polished sideboard, with a curtained compartment that was probably a box bed.
“Wet and dry,” Julia said, getting the point at once.
“Exactly so!” he said with a wide smile. “I knew you would understand it. This is my gun store, so I am often wet through when I come here. Hang your cloak on the peg there and sit down while I open up the fire.”
She perched on the edge of the settle, reluctant to inflict too much mud even upon such a forgiving surface, while he wielded the poker. The fire was well banked, but he brought it to flaring life in seconds, then added more coals. She had to admit the warmth was very welcome.
Turning to face her, he opened his arms wide. “Welcome to the hut, my refuge from the world. I have Madeira, sherry, brandy and port, or I can make tea, if you prefer.”
