Justice Hall - Laurie R. King [67]
I have, I hasten to say, nothing against a shoot. As an enterprise, it is no more silly or time-consuming than many. The objective viewer may find it incongruous for a landowner to rear, coddle, and set free hundreds of birds just for the challenge of shooting them out of the sky and picking lead shot out of one’s food; however, one could argue that (other than the occasional cracked molar) it is little different from raising chickens for the family plate, with the additional benefit of fresh air and open skies for bird and shooter alike. There even exists the narrow—very well: minuscule—chance that some of the nurtured birds may escape the flying lead to assume their ordained state in nature. Even the man with the gun appreciates a crafty escape.
I say “man” advisedly, for generally speaking, women were permitted to spend the day of a shoot at their leisure, perhaps joining the shooting party for a picnic lunch alfresco and lingering to witness the next drive before being packed off home for tea, a long bath, and preparation for the travails of dinner. Certainly Phillida and the visiting wives planned such a calendar, along with a number of the morning’s newcomers who were hardly dressed for a day in the open.
I was waiting my turn at the buffet, smiling absently at strangers and anticipating a day of literary pleasures under the watchful eye of Obediah Greene. (What to wallow in first? A folio today: The byble in Englyshe, 1540 with the signature “O. Cromwell” inside? Or perhaps the 1624 Donne’s Devotions upon Emergent Occasions, and Severall Steps in my Sicknes? Or—) I looked up, startled, as my name pronounced by Marsh’s voice cut through both my distraction and the clatter of forks and knives.
“Mary,” he called. “Will you be joining us today?”
I looked across the room, saw the expression on his face, and decided that the intensity of his gaze indicated that the question had taken the form of the Latin “question expecting the answer yes.” I spooned another egg onto my plate, and kept the surprise (and, I hoped, disappointment) from my face.
“I shall be happy to, if the gentlemen don’t mind,” I answered.
“We’ll pair you with Iris then, shall we? Put the ladies together? She’s a formidable shot.”
“I’m sure that Iris is formidable at anything she sets her hand to,” I said easily, which answer seemed to please him. I took my plate to the table and bolted my hearty breakfast, then trotted upstairs to change from my decorous skirt into the tightly woven trousers I’d worn the day before. At least it looked to be dry again today. Freezing, but dry.
Downstairs, I found the shooting party beginning to drift out of the front door and down the steps to the drive. Neither Marsh nor Iris seemed to be among them, although another motor had just driven up and was off-loading yet more newcomers. The two males of the party retrieved guns from the boot and went to join the other warmly clad gentlemen; the females darted up the steps, clutching the sorts of bags used for knitting or needlework. The men were all involved in hearty greetings and introductions, followed by the inspection of weapons, so I went back inside. On the other side of the Great Hall I spotted the multitalented Emma, walking coquettishly at the side of an unfamiliar figure with a crooked nose and the dress of a manservant. Unwilling to shout across the echoing space to attract her attention, I speeded up to catch her before she vanished into the house. Before I could do so, Ogilby emerged from the same doorway towards which Emma and the stranger were heading. She went immediately demure under the butler’s glare, leaving me to reflect on the scant opportunities for romance among the staff of a country house.
“Mr Ogilby,” I said, when that good gentleman was in earshot. “Have you seen the duke or duchess?”
“Her Grace suggests that you join her in the gun room,” he replied, and led me there himself, to a room in the stables wing not far from the estate offices.
“Quite a lively gathering,” I commented to his shoulder.
“Indeed,” he agreed, sounding more