Mr American. George Fraser MacDonald

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ basket –”

      “Not mine, either,” said Mr Franklin. “I didn’t chase him there.”

      There were cries of derision at this, and then the angel-faced girl with the bow called out mischievously: “If I say, ‘Please, sir, may we have our fox back?’” will you let him go?”

      “Too late, Peg, too late!” cried Arthur, grinning. “Isn’t it, Yank?”

      “This is a dam’ farce!” cried the fat man. “Dammit, this is meant to be a dam’ hunt, isn’t it?”

      Mr Franklin surveyed the faces in front of him; Arthur, gleefully ready for a fight, the burly man Frank scowling, most of the mounted men plainly annoyed, the angelic girl watching speculatively; one or two of the others grinning. He was dimly aware of the sound of a motor engine approaching.

      “All right, then,” he said, nodding to the girl. “I’ll let the fox out – and your dogs can pull him apart. Is that what you want?”

      She stiffened, and twitched a hand at her modishly-fitting black riding skirt; a spot of colour showed on her cheek.

      “I said ‘if I asked’,” she said. “Well, I’m not.”

      “Good for you, Peg!” said Arthur. “Come on, Yankee – either cough up or put them up.” And he assumed a boxing pose, while exclamations of disgust and anger rose again, only to die away very suddenly, and Mr Franklin was aware that the huntsmen were reining back, removing their hats, and making respectful gestures towards the road behind him. He turned, and saw that the large Mercedes motor had pulled up a few yards off; the stout old bearded gentleman and the green-eyed lady were staring at him with astonishment.

      “You,” said the bearded gentleman loudly. “I thought you were going to West … West – where was it, Alice?”

      “Walsham,” said the green-eyed lady. Her lively glance was taking in the scene, sensing that something extremely odd was taking place. “I rather fancy that Mr Franklin has met with some unexpected delay.”

      One of the hunt, an extremely bald and ugly man, had hurried to the motor, hat in hand, and was speaking rapidly to the bearded gentleman, whose comments as he listened were distinctly audible. “What? What? I don’t believe it, Soveral! In where, d’you say? His picnic basket?” And then he began to laugh again, his little eyes shut as he wheezed in helpless mirth – and Mr Franklin noted that the hunt were echoing his laughter, but in a most forced and wary way. It was extremely odd – but then the whole ridiculous incident was odd; Mr Franklin wondered if he were dreaming, but now the bearded gentleman’s laughter had subsided, and he was beckoning, and possibly because he sensed that the bearded man was someone of consequence, or out of politeness, Mr Franklin moved up to the motor.

      “Tell me,” said the bearded gentleman, and his small eyes were twinkling with delight. “Were you thinking of adding the fox to your lunch?”

      There was a roar of laughter at this, and Mr Franklin smiled. “No, Mr Lancaster,” he said. “But I wasn’t chasing him. I don’t know what these ladies and gentlemen intended by him.”

      “Ha!” cried Mr Lancaster, and chuckled. “But they want him back, you know. Can’t interfere with a hunt, eh?”

      “Well, sir, all they have to do is ask. But for some reason they don’t seem to want to – they seem to prefer to smash up a man’s things, without so much as a by your leave. We don’t reckon much to that, where I come from. Anyway – I don’t know your English law, but I’d imagine the fox belongs to whoever’s property it’s on, and it’s on mine this minute, no question.” Mr Franklin paused for breath; he was not used to long speeches, but although his temper had cooled by now, the memory of the man Frank’s boorish behaviour rankled. Besides, Mr Lancaster looked like a good man to explain things to, after the heated and inconsiderate attitude of the hunters. “And anyway, this is the King’s highway, I reckon –”

      To his astonishment the green-eyed lady clapped her gloved hands with delight, someone tittered, and the bald, ugly man shot a nervous glance at Mr Lancaster, who was regarding Mr Franklin with unmixed amusement.

      “You think that, do you?” said Mr Lancaster, and in that moment a frightful suspicion dawned on Mr Franklin, and was immediately transformed into a certainty; he stared at the neat grey beard, the heavy face with the cap set rakishly above it, the burly figure, and above all the bright little eyes in the sleepy, pouched cheeks. There were copper coins in his pocket bearing that face, and child of the Great Republic though he was Mr Franklin experienced a chill shock in his stomach and a momentary weakness at the knees.

      “Well, then?” said Mr Lancaster calmly.

      “Well, then,” echoed Mr Franklin, somewhat confused. “I guess it is your majesty’s fox.”

      “No doubt of that,” said the King, and laughed again. His glance, twinkling maliciously, strayed from Mr Franklin to the assembled hunt. “Going to have a report of this in The Field, Clayton, are you? Splendid headline: ‘Gone to earth in a picnic basket!’” He guffawed at his own wit, the huntsmen laughed with hollow enthusiasm, and the green-eyed Alice smiled at Mr Franklin.

      “‘American gentleman’s unexpected luncheon guest’,” she suggested.

      “Tell you what, Clayton,” said the King, and Mr Franklin became aware that the intelligent-looking man was at his elbow, smiling respectfully at majesty. “If you don’t want this in the penny papers, I suggest you invite Mr … ah, Franklin, isn’t it? – to dinner. Swear him to silence, eh? Have Miss Peggy persuade him,” and the little eyes warmed as they regarded the angel-faced girl, who bowed in the saddle.

      “A pleasure, sir,” said Clayton, looking as though it would be anything but.

      “Capital,” said the King. “See you this evening, Franklin. Play bridge do you? – of course, all Americans do. All right, Stamper,” he gestured to the chauffeur, but even as the car was moving off, the royal memory was stirred. “Wait, though – what about the fox, Franklin?”

      “At the moment, he is detained at your majesty’s pleasure,” said Mr Franklin, startling himself by his own readiness.

      “Give him time off for good behaviour, then,” said the King, and as the car moved off he called over his shoulder: “Provided he has behaved himself, in among your smoked salmon and foie gras!” His deep laugh sounded as the royal car passed on, the hunt bowing in their saddles respectfully. Mr Franklin found himself being considered by an interested group, in which Clayton, Miss Peggy, the large grinning Arthur, and the bald ugly man were prominent.

      “Well, well, old Ted’s in a better temper than I’ve ever seen him,” said Arthur, retrieving the hat he had thrown aside. “How’d you like to be court jester, Yankee?”

      “That will do, Arthur!” said Clayton sharply, and turned to Mr Franklin. “My name is Clayton, sir, how do you do? I seem to recall your name – are you by any chance the gentleman who has recently bought Lancing Manor?”

      “Yes, Mr Clayton.”

      “Ah – Sir Charles Clayton, in fact. My dear, may I present Mr Franklin – my daughter. The Marquis de Soveral –” at this the ugly man inclined his head “ – and my son, Arthur.” Clayton glanced round; the burly young man Frank was standing some distance off, in no good humour. “Lord Lacy, who is a neighbour СКАЧАТЬ