CHAPTER NINE
Far better it is to have a stout heart always, and suffer one’s share of evils, than to be ever fearing what may happen and never incur a mischance.
Herodotus, The Histories, Book VII
Dennis thought a day’s hunting was just what Sage needed.
He and Betsy were concerned, behind closed doors, that Sage was bottling up the trauma of the unravelling of her marriage and Santiago’s treatment of her.
They had agreed, in hushed tones lying beside each other in bed, hands clasped, that although Sage was functioning normally, she was not quite herself.
She seemed jumpy and despondent. She had lost her spark.
With that in mind, Dennis cheerfully gave her the day off.
Betsy and Maggie, meanwhile, were delighted at the prospect of taking charge of Hal for the day.
At half past eight the next morning, heart hammering, Sage walked through the gate and into the yard at Touchstone Lodge.
She felt lightheaded with excitement despite the bruises and stiffness in her muscles.
She was wearing some of her mother’s old hunting clothes that had been packed away in a trunk in the attic.
Everything had been carefully kept and the cream woollen breeches were still immaculate beneath a figure-hugging black coat with a velvet collar that could have been made for her.
Even her mother’s beautiful long, black-topped boots fit her perfectly.
Betsy had lent Sage some short, silver, blunt-tipped spurs, a starched white four-fold hunting tie that she had properly arranged for her granddaughter and fastened with a plain silver pin, a black Patey bowler hat and a lovely old hunting whip.
Sage felt ostentatious but knew she looked almost as good as her mother used to and Iris had been a real picture on a horse.
Sage hoped Ajax would take care of her after the rocky day she had endured yesterday.
Perhaps she would manage to prove to Rafe that she was not completely incompetent.
‘Morning!’ Rafe came out of the house, dressed in similar woollen breeches and boots with a thick jersey over the top of his Tattersall checked hunting shirt, mustard waistcoat and white hunting tie.
He was wearing trainers and long, garish pink socks that were pulled over his slim calves and almost up to his knees; he carried his boots in one hand with his coat slung over the other arm.
‘Nice stockings!’ Sage said, her nerves lessening instantly.
‘Ha. You think you’re funny but underneath these socks is also a pair of – extremely swashbuckling, I might add – women’s forty-denier tights to keep me warm!’ Rafe was putting his boots and coat into the boot of a dark blue estate. ‘Hop in.’
Sage climbed into the passenger seat and Rafe softly closed her door. Turning to look at the back seat, she found a similarly clad Louis clutching a mug of coffee and looking bleary-eyed and boot-faced.
‘Good morning.’ She smiled at him in greeting, more warmly than yesterday now she had the measure of him. He grunted in reply.
‘Oh, ignore my little brother. He’s sulking because he’s got a hangover and quelle horreur, he had to get out of bed before noon. I doubt he’ll wake up properly until we get there – we’ll get more sense out of him when he’s on his horse.’
Louis muttered something non-committal about getting car sick in the back and drank a cautious sip of his coffee, closing his eyes as he leant back against the soft leather headrest, a doleful, martyred expression ruining his handsome face.
‘Buck up, Louis – next time you think about driving after a night on the town, just remember how much you loathe going in the back.’ As he started the car Rafe added in an undertone, ‘Silly sod lost his licence a while ago.’ The powerful engine roared into action. ‘Put your seat belt on.’
They arrived at the meet with plenty of time to spare.
Rafe could really shift the car; he drove with one hand on the wheel, totally relaxed, talking to owners on the car phone most of the way, filling them in on their horses’ progress and chatting to Sage between calls.
As they drove up a long, tree-lined drive with horseboxes and trailers parked on the verges along almost its entire length, he pointed out some large manicured hedges with rails in.
‘We’ll probably head out this way, whatever hounds decide to do on leaving the meet.
These little dandy brush hedges jump beautifully – Ajax will eat them up for breakfast.’ Rafe ducked his head under the sun visor, peering out across the surrounding fields, his face lit up with anticipation.
Sage could already hear the thumps and whinnies of keen horses anxious to be unloaded.
Her heart sang despite her trying desperately to temper her excitement.
She started as Rafe’s arm brushed against her when he reached across the car to move his phone, jolted again by this visceral reaction.
Rafe caught her eye and she hastily looked down at her feet, piercingly aware of Louis, their unlikely chaperon, sitting, leonine eyes narrowed in sleep, behind them.
A handsome middle-aged woman with long blonde hair and wearing tight white jodhpurs and a blue coat ran up to the car as Rafe pulled up outside the large, austere house. He sighed and lowered the window.
‘Rafe, darling – I told your grooms to park in the stables, then you can wash the horses off when you’re finished. There are masses of empty boxes, you can use any for second horses. Help yourself.’ She disappeared back into the house, having obviously been waiting to impart this message.
‘That’s Marina Tanner, our hostess. Her husband is one of my owners.
He made a fortune in the City and now, retired, lives for his racing and hunting.
He’s a decent guy, and she is … not to everyone’s taste,’ Rafe finished tactfully as he swept around the side of the house and parked next to a smart blue lorry, on the side of which Dunbarton Racing was written in green above the monkey and its pineapple.
A girl in her twenties, tall with blonde hair and pointed features, was unloading Warhorse and carrying a massive blue rug with green piping.
When she saw Sage getting out of the car, her face turned sour with loathing.
Oh hell, Sage thought.
‘Hi, Rosy – all right? How did the boys travel?’ Rafe asked the girl, as he handed Sage her hat and whip from the boot of the car.
‘They travelled well, sir. Warhorse sweated up a little under his rug but the other three are fine.’ Rosy shot Sage another venomous look as she tied Warhorse up to a ring in the yard next to Ajax, who was standing quietly in a matching Thermatex rug, his dark grey ears alert and interested in everything that was happening around him.
‘I forgot to tell you to leave the rug off – my fault, Rosy, you’ll know for next time,’ said Rafe, opening the back door of the car. ‘Help Sage get on Ajax while I wake Louis?’
Sage, unsettled by Rosy’s evident hostility, put her bowler hat on and tentatively approached Ajax, wondering if she ought to remove the rug or let the groom do so.
‘I’ll do that,’ snapped Rosy, answering the unspoken question as she brusquely unfastened the front buckle. ‘Haven’t you got a hairnet?’ she asked disparagingly.
‘Oh … yes, I do. Somewhere … Thank you, Rosy.’ Sage rummaged in her coat pockets to no avail, but had more luck when she tried the side pocket of her breeches.
Taking off her hat, she hastily fastened her wild hair back into a bun and secured the hairnet over the top with another hair tie.
‘That’s better, I look less like I’ve gone through a hedge backwards.
I haven’t been hunting for a very long time – thank you for reminding me,’ she said fretfully, hurrying back to the car and stooping to check her reflection in one of the windows.
Rosy ignored her and pulled the rug off Ajax, who was fully tacked up underneath it. His mane and tail were beautifully plaited, his tail secured high above his dark grey hocks to prevent it from getting it covered in mud.
‘He looks wonderful, Rosy – so smart. Thank you,’ Sage valiantly tried again.
‘I didn’t do it. Clare did,’ Rosy said rudely, leading the horse over to a stone mounting block. She stood there stiffly, holding the offside stirrup.
Sage sighed in defeat and climbed the steps to get onto the well-mannered Ajax, who was standing placidly as she did so. She gratefully patted his dappled neck, immediately feeling more confident.
‘Oh, you’re already on! Well done. Head around to the front of the house to get a drink and we’ll catch you up.
’ Rafe was putting on his boots, while a crabby-looking Louis was finally emerging from the car.
‘You look good on him … like a Snaffles painting,’ Rafe added, a wry smile on his face as he looked at an elegant Sage and his smart hunter properly; they certainly suited each other.
‘He’s lovely, Rafe – thank you.’ Sage was smiling excitedly, allowing her reservations to sit quietly at the back of her mind for a change, determined to enjoy her day.
Ajax stepped out proudly, the gravel crunching beneath his black, oiled hooves, his white-and-grey ears pricked and his bound, blue-black tail swinging jauntily from side to side.
It was a bitterly cold day. The grass was covered in a light layer of frost that was now gently melting in the sun, rays piercing through the clouds and casting golden beams like God’s eyes looking directly down from heaven.
It was impossible not to feel cheerful and Sage quivered with anticipation.
As they turned the corner, she saw the huntsman standing in front of the house with his hounds crowded all about him, a sea of brown, lemon and white.
One was baying at his master, heckling him to get a move on, and was being gently berated for his enthusiasm.