Justice Hall - Laurie R. King [68]
“Does Lady Phillida do a lot of entertaining?”
“This time of year, we are a busy house.”
“Makes for a lot of work.”
“It is satisfying to see the house full,” he explained, formal but I thought honest.
“Not as full as some of the week-ends before the War,” I said. “I saw the photographs.”
“The sixth Duke and his wife were great entertainers,” the butler agreed, sounding proud of the fact. “The gun room,” he announced, and opened the door.
“Ah, Mary,” said Iris, lowering a gun from her shoulder. “What kind of weapon do you fancy?”
“The one I use at home is an American make, my father’s old gun. What do you recommend?”
“How good a shot are you?”
“Passable.”
“Is that modesty or honest judgment?”
“Well, better than passable, I suppose.”
“Thought so.”
“Not quite in the formidable class, though.”
She grinned at me. “Men take pride in such odd things, don’t they?” She held out the gun she’d been examining, and suggested, “Let’s see how this one suits you.”
I automatically broke it and checked that it was unloaded, then set it to my shoulder while she watched critically.
“You’re left-handed, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but I shoot the usual way. I don’t seem to have a dominant eye.”
“That one’s too short for you. Try this.”
She took back the first one and exchanged it for one slightly longer in the stock, squinted at my technique with that one, and reached for a third.
At the fifth gun, I had to ask about the size of this arsenal, which was nowhere near depletion. “Who was the gun collector here?”
“Oh, there’s always been a big collection. Marsh’s father and brother were both fine shots.”
“But some of these are new.”
“Sidney,” she said succinctly. “Look, I don’t suppose you can shoot without the glasses?”
“Not unless we place everyone else behind me.”
“Right. Well, try this one; it tucks under a bit closer.”
I tried that one, and then another, a sweetly balanced Purdey that nestled into my shoulder like an infant’s head.
“Sidney seems very much at home here,” I commented as I dry-fired at the various stuffed heads poking out of the walls.
“Marsh’s brother turned a lot over to him, especially after the War.”
“Alistair showed me Sidney’s future stud farm.”
“He’s done some good work around here,” she said, meaning Sidney and sounding reluctantly approving. “He’s a hard man to like, but I’ll admit that without Phillida and Sidney, Justice Hall would be in sad condition. Is that one all right, then?”
“It’s a beauty. You’re sure you don’t want it?”
“I’ve got my gun. Marsh wanted to know if we want two loaders each, or one, or none.”
“What do you like?”
“Truthfully? I prefer to be on my own. It means I only get a handful of birds at each stand, but I’m not out to feed the district. I let the men do rapid-fire volleys and get the high count.”
“That sounds good to me.”
“Are you sure? We’ll end up fetching a fair number of our own birds.”
“All in a day’s exercise,” I told her cheerfully. Apart from which, servants at one’s shoulders did inhibit conversation so.
We joined the others in the terraced front drive. I was apprehensive that they might have been waiting for us, but it appeared that although Sidney Darling was there, Marsh and Alistair were not. We did receive a couple of disapproving glares from the older guests, either because of our clothing or our mere presence, but Iris blithely ignored them, and set about the introductions like one who had been participating in these events for years. As indeed, in a way, she had.
The oldest gun was a judge and former member of Parliament in his early sixties, Sir James Carmichael (grey hair, pale blue eyes, and a rigid posture that spoke of spinal problems rather than discipline). He was paired with Peebles, who indeed turned out to be the Marquis of Purbeck; both men had brought their own loaders and dogs. There was a cousin of Alistair’s named Ivo Hughenfort (thirty-five, intense, dismissive of introductions and interested only in getting the day started), and two young men, boys really, who turned out to be nonidentical twins out for