The Twelve Clues of Christmas by Rhys Bowen

Author:Rhys Bowen
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Penguin Group, USA
Published: 2012-10-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

BOXING DAY AT GORZLEY HALL

DECEMBER 26

Off to the hunt. Looking forward to a good ride. I hope I get a decent horse.

I was awakened to cold gray light by Queenie with a tray of tea.

“Morning, miss. They told me to get you up early because you’ve got to go on one of them fox hunts,” she said. “Rather you than me, sitting on a horse in this weather.” She put down the tray. “What was you thinking of wearing?”

“I have only brought one set of jodhpurs with me, Queenie, so I don’t think there is much choice. My warmest jumper to go with them, and Bunty is lending me a hunting jacket.”

I looked out the window to see the orchard vanishing into mist and Lovey Tor not even visible. At least it wouldn’t have frozen overnight if the mist had come in. I dressed and went down to find coffee, tea, pasties, sausage rolls and mince pies laid out on the sideboard for the early risers. One by one the other hunters came in and helped themselves to something to eat and drink. From outside the window came the clatter of hooves, a sound that always sends a shiver of excitement through me. I have always adored hunting, even though I do feel sorry for the fox. I suspect that hunting must be in my blood—and the fox is usually smart enough to get away.

Bunty came in, with a black velvet jacket in her hands. “I’ve an extra black crash cap too if you want to match,” she said. “I hope you’ll be all right. Freddie’s horses are both a little crazy, you know. He was often seen flying through the village because one of them had bolted with him.”

“Thanks a lot,” I said. “That sounds most encouraging.”

“He was never a particularly good rider,” Bunty said. “I expect you’ll be fine. You should go out and get first dibs on the one you like.”

“Is one less skittish than the other?”

“No idea,” she said. “I’ve never ridden them.”

Thus encouraged, I went out to see a groom holding two leading reins, on the ends of which were a tall bony gray and a chestnut that was stamping and snorting like a warhorse, its breath hanging in the cold air like a dragon’s fire. I noted the double bridle and the size of that tossing head and decided on the gray.

“Her be Snowflake, miss,” the groom said as he attempted to give me a leg up into the saddle. “Her got a right mean streak and a will of her own, if you don’t mind my saying so. She can be a right cow at times. Always tries to give me a nip when I’m brushing her. I told the master he should get rid of her, but for some reason he were fond of her.” He shook his head. “Never did have good judgment, poor bloke.”

After a lot of dancing around on Snowflake’s part I finally managed to get into the saddle and Snowflake spent the next five minutes trying to buck me off.

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