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“Which end of what?” asked Sir Magnus.
“Rosy,” said the judge.
“I do hope,” fluted Mr. Filigree, dancing up the mad, pigeon-toed, “that Samantha’s got something to eat. I know we have plenty to drink.”
“Well, as long as we’ve got plenty to drink,” said Sir Magnus, “I don’t see that it really matters. You don’t by any chance keep cherry brandy, do you?”
“Oh yes,” said Mr. Filigree. “As a matter of fact we have got rather a lot of it. I ordered three barrels once, but unfortunately nobody seemed to like it.”
“Just shows,” said Sir Magnus, taking snuff and sneezing, “people nowadays are lacking in good taste.”
At last they rounded the final corner and there was the Unicorn and Harp, like a friendly black and white cat squatting under its golden hat of thatch.
“Hurrah!” yelled Ethelbert exuberantly, the country air obviously having gone to his head. “We’ve arrived.”
At the sound of Ethelbert’s shrill cry, the door of the Unicorn and Harp opened and Lord Fe
“Have a good journey?” shouted his lordship.
“Splendid,” bellowed Sir Magnus waving his stick in greeting. “I have decided that it is more comfortable to travel in an open truck with an elephant than in a first-class carriage with a lot of bores.”
“Or sows, for that matter,” said the judge, and was convulsed with laughter.
“Sam, dear,” panted Mr. Filigree anxiously, “what about food?”
“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that,” said Samantha. “Lord Fe
She led the way round to the meadow at the back of the house and there they saw a long trestle-table that had been set up and covered with a snow-white cloth. it was groaning under the weight of food. There was a small platoon of cold roast pheasants, a dish full of plovers’ eggs, piles of scaly oysters, a gigantic sugar-cured ham, whose flesh was as delicately tender and pink as a sunset cloud, and a great saddle of cold roast beef which must have come from the biggest bullock in the country.
“This is extremely kind of you, Lord Fe
“Dear boy,” said his lordship earnestly. “I wouldn’t have provided it if you had lost the case, but I thought a light snack would help us all to recover from the journey.”
“My joy would be complete,” said Sir Magnus indistinctly through a mouthful of oysters and plover eggs, “if I could have a tiny splash of the cherry brandy which Mr. Filigree told us about.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said Mr. Filigree, wiping pie crumbs from his mouth, and he danced into the house and reappeared with a small barrel. This was soon set up and Sir Magnus took up sentry duty beside it.
The shadows were lengthening across the emerald green grass and a sense of peace and goodwill settled over the whole company. Mr. Picklehammer, waving a large tankard of ale in time, was humming softly to himself. Black Nell, who had just recovered from an acute attack of hiccups, was reading Honoria’s palm and predicting a future career for her that even Sarah Bernhardt would have envied. Lord Fe
Rosy had joined the party for a brief period, but when she found that the delicacies on the table did not appeal to her palate and that Adrian would not allow her to have more than three pints of beer, she, had wandered down to the barn to console herself with a pile of carrots and mangolds. Adrian marched into the barn and stood staring at bis great, grey protégée. She flashed him a quick took from her tiny twinkling eyes, flapped her ears and gave a small squeak of greeting.
“It’s all very well for you,” said Adrian bitterly, and started to pace up and down the barn feverishly. “You’re all right as long as you get enough to eat and all the booze you want. You are quite happy. But what about me? Have you ever considered me?”
He paused dramatically and looked at Rosy. Rosy’s stomach rumbled in a musical fashion and she put out her trunk and delicately touched Adrian’s hair.
“There she is, out there,” said Adrian, “as callous as anything. She gives me no encouragement at all. I really don’t think that we can stay here after all.”
Rosy gave a long sigh. Adrian resumed his pacing.
“Well, perhaps we could stay here for a day or so,” he said, the thought of being apart from Samantha again making him feel slightly sick. “What I ca
Rosy had placed a large mangold on the floor and was delicately rolling it to and fro with her forefoot, but she gave a small squeak just to show Adrian that she was paying attention.
“No,” said Adrian, firmly, “if we stay here, there must be a clear understanding. I am not going to be hounded by that ungrateful creature.”
Rosy sensed Adrian’s a
“I shall be firm with her,” continued Adrian, drawing himself up and sticking his chin out commandingly. “I shall tell her that the is behaving like a child. That’s what I’ll do.” He glared at Rosy triumphantly and Rosy gave another small squeak by way of applause.
“You have to be firm with women,” said Adrian. “Look at Lady Fe
“I shall go now, Rosy,” he said, wagging his finger at her, “and get our position quite dear. Otherwise I don’t intend to spend another night under this roof.”
This sudden determination which had overcome him was due principally to the fact that he had been so captivated watching Samantha’s face and the way she laughed and flirted with Sir Magnus, the way her teeth gleamed white as milk when she smiled, the warm colour of her hair, that he had inadvertently drunk a pint of ale belonging to Sir Magnus, which had been heavily laced with cherry brandy.
“I will,” he said, striding to the door and turning to glare at Rosy, “return with my decision soon.”
Endeavouring to look as fierce and implacable as Sir Magnus cross-examining a hostile witness, Adrian strode back to the table. Black Nell was just telling Honoria that the could see her married to a very rich man with fourteen children. Mr. Filigree was down on hands and knees conducting a whispered conversation with a stag beetle. Sir Magnus, his arm round Mr. Pucklehammer’s shoulders, was joining him in a spirited rendering of “Soldiers of the Queen”, to which Ethdbert was doing what he fondly imagined to be an oriental belly dance, and Lord Fe
“Where’s Samantha?” barked Adrian. At least be had meant to bark but he had to clear his throat several times before he could articulate the words.
“Samantha,” said Honoria in surprise, looking round. “I expect she’s gone into the house.”
“Good,” snarled Adrian. He somewhat spoiled the effect of this by almost tripping over Mr. Filigree as he marched towards the Unicorn and Harp. He strode into the big stone-flagged kitchen with its dark beams and its friendly row of gleaming pots. Samantha was standing at one end looking out of the window. Adrian made his way down the length of the room and stood just behind her. He cleared his throat.