The Hunt Ball (22 page)

He blew “gone to ground,” then patted each hound, praising them by name.

He mounted up, gathered the pack, turned toward the field.

“Big night tonight,” Sister said, glowing with happiness for the morning's run. “Let's go in.”

“Right you are,” he said, then rode alongside the field, stopping at the Hilltoppers, where Bobby Franklin doffed his hunt cap in appreciation of the excellent sport.

Shaker touched his cap with his crop, rode right up alongside Lorraine. He took off his cap, leaned over, and kissed her.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispered.

He kissed her again, smiled bigger than anyone remembered seeing him smile, put his cap back on, and rode back to the trailers at the mill. He whistled and sang to himself the whole way.

The hounds just thought it was the best.

C H A P T E R   3 2

T
he Great Hall, swathed in silver and white, dazzled the celebrants as they passed through the massive wooden doors. In the middle of the room, Bill Wheatley and his theater crew fashioned an enormous silver fox, seven feet high. This beautiful creature sat looking out over the crowd, her tail wrapped around her hind feet. Around her cavorted a litter of gray foxes with one black fox, in honor of Inky. Forming a circle around this family was a delicately interwoven garland of grapevines and holly, the berries red against the silver. A placard, black with silver script, rested at the base of the fox. It read: “In honor of our own silver fox, Sister Jane, MFH.”

Beyond the tables and the great fox was the dance floor, the raised dais behind that would hold the band when they made their appearance after dessert.

A separate room housed the silent auction. Sorrel, Marty, and the other ladies of the hunt spent the afternoon arranging the tables, carefully placing each item to good effect.

Marty did come through with one huge item—a nineteenth-century wicker cart, two big, graceful wheels at the side. Even if a guest was not a horseman, it would be sensational in the garden or used in decoration.

As the girls decorated they sang Christmas carols, which the ladies would then pick up and sing along. This progressed to where each room took turns selecting a carol. It was a lovely way to spend a December day, the light fading so quickly darkness engulfed the late afternoon.

The Jefferson Hunt ladies wisely brought their ball gowns with them. Charlotte arranged for them to use the various guest houses that dotted the campus. The ladies, in turn, gave generously to Custis Hall for this honor.

As classes had ended December 16, most of the girls had gone home for the holidays. But as was the custom since 1887, the best riders stayed on for Christmas Hunt and the hunt ball if they so desired. It was considered a singular honor to be asked to stay. And a few girls were chosen to stand in the receiving line, a tie of the younger generation to the older. No Custis Hall student so selected was required to pay for the ball, and if they wished, they could bring an escort. His fee would also be waived. Some girls asked Miller School boys, others headed straight for UVA. Valentina and Tootie, always fending off male attentions, wanted to go stag. Felicity surprised everyone by asking a boy from Woodberry Forest, Howard Lindquist, the quarterback on the football team.

Bill Wheatley wore scarlet tails as did Gray, since both men had their colors. The evening attire for a male foxhunter, while expensive, is breathtaking. Sister, in an off-the-shoulder white Balenciaga gown, a three-stand pearl choker at her neck, with two single pearl earrings, flanked on top by diamonds like teardrop leaves, her silver hair brilliant, was a showstopper herself.

Most women wore black. It was always easier to find a black ball gown. Marty's had black bugle beads, and her ruby necklace, bracelet, and earrings were worth a king's ransom. No one could fault Crawford for not properly honoring his wife as far as jewelry was concerned. And no matter how much a lady might tell the man in her life that jewels didn't count, they did. Jewelry is the woman's version of battle ribbons.

The Custis Hall girls wore no major jewelry. Even Valentina's parents knew better than to give her important stones. Young women should not wear large diamonds, rubies, or sapphires. They are not yet ready to carry such responsibility, for jewelry, in its way, determines a woman's place. Much is expected of a woman perceived as wealthy. Then, too, few young women understand the value of those stones. One has to live to understand both money and value, which are separate. Valentina wore a simple platinum necklace with a solitaire diamond nestled in the hollow of her beautiful throat.

Pamela Rene, proud of her work on the silver fox, wore beaten-silver earrings that her mother had sent by FedEx for the occasion, along with a black dress that looked quite good on Pamela.

Tootie wore no jewelry at all. Felicity wore a single strand of pearls that had been her grandmother's.

The girls had had no time to investigate the silent auction but each was hoping there might be some pin or bracelet there that would be appropriate. Felicity desperately wanted one of the nineteenth-century painted crystal pins that she heard had made it into the auction thanks to Mrs. August, a member now in her nineties. This was Sorrel's coup just as the wicker cart was Marty's.

The girls stood in the receiving line along with Charlotte, Sister, and Walter. A four-piece combo played until the dance band showed up.

By six-thirty the room was packed. The girls were amazed at how handsome Knute Nilsson was in white tie. As for Bill, they knew he'd be the peacock and he was, for with his scarlet he wore silk breeches, white silk hose, and the dancing pumps of the eighteenth century. The other men wore patent-leather dancing shoes, but they stuck to pants. It had to be admitted that Bill looked good because he had good legs.

Dorothy and the food service did a marvelous job on the food. The open bar in its hour of glory was used well. The wine and champagne flowed and by the time the couples hit the dance floor, everyone was in exceedingly good cheer, including Shaker, who didn't drink but was intoxicated by Lorraine's effort to please him by hunting.

As the gyrations on the dance floor intensified, Crawford was bumped hard in the rear by Bill Wheatley, which sent Crawford straight into Lorraine's cleavage. As he reached out to balance himself he had the misfortune to grasp the front of Lorraine's dress, which freed her bosoms to the light. Beautiful as they were, this was not what Lorraine had ever intended. She screamed and crossed her arms over her breasts as Shaker manfully pressed himself to her until she could hike up her gown. Once this was accomplished, Shaker whirled to an ogling Crawford, hit him with a straight right, and decked him.

Sister couldn't reach her huntsman fast enough to prevent what she feared would happen. Gray escorted Shaker off the dance floor.

“He's always wanted Lorraine! I'll kill him if he touches her.”

Lorraine, hanging on to Shaker's free arm, tried to placate him. “Honey, he didn't mean it.”

“They all want you.”

Gray said in a soothing voice, “She's a beautiful woman, Shaker. You're right to protect her, but in this case Crawford was pushed by Bill Wheatley.”

“Did you see the way he looked at her!” Shaker wanted to kill Crawford.

As Bill pushed his way through the dancers to apologize, leaving his wife high and dry, Crawford was being lifted to his feet by Walter and Sam Lorillard. Marty kept patting her husband's jaw. He held his hand over the red mark and as he was coming back into focus he was rip-shit mad.

The girls watched with fascination. The others watched as they danced. The music was too good to stop.

Gray and Lorraine walked Shaker outside, now bitterly cold. Lorraine was shivering. Shaker wrapped her in his scarlet tails. Bill Wheatley sprinted out.

“Shaker, I'm so sorry. This is my fault.”

“It's Crawford's damned fault and don't make excuses for him.”

Gray said, “Bill, the silent auction will close in half an hour. Why don't you make an announcement after the next dance for people to go in there and close out the bids? Your voice will carry over the noise.”

Bill assented and left.

“I know he's a big landowner. I know he's paid for this ball and pumps money into the club, but he better never put a hand on Lorraine again or I will kill him.”

Lorraine, still shivering, said, “Honey, if he values his teeth he won't even look at me.”

This brightened Shaker up a bit. “Here I am blowing off steam and you're shivering. Come on. Let's go back inside.”

As Gray was steering Shaker and Lorraine in a direction where he hoped they would not run into Crawford or Marty, Crawford, white-lipped with rage, stormed out of the Great Hall, leaving Marty in the lurch.

He was so mad he was deaf to his wife's entreaties.

Walter put his arm through Marty's as she started after Crawford. “Let him walk it off.”

“You don't know Crawford. When he gets like this nothing good can come of it.” Concern shone on her face. “He's unpredictable.”

“Would you like me to talk to him?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Let me find him.”

“Then let me go with you. And get your coat. No point freezing as we search the grounds.”

By the time they emerged, sufficiently bundled up, Crawford was roaring down the road to the kennels, eight miles away. Marty threw up her hands, as she was left in the lurch again.

A hired hand hit him. That was bad enough. But this hired hand thought he was a fool, couldn't ride, and knew nothing about hounds. He'd show that arrogant son of a bitch huntsman that he could handle hounds as well as Shaker.

It wasn't rocket science. It's a bunch of dogs.

He screeched to a halt by the kennels. He knew the party wagon would be parked by the draw run.

He backed the trailer to the gates, got out, slid them open, then closed them on either side of the trailer so hounds couldn't scoot out.

That wasn't so hard.

Then he walked to the dog run, opened the gate, walked to the bitch run, opened the gate, and watched as the hounds, a bit confused but willing, walked down the large kennel aisle. He opened the door to the draw run. They filed in, then walked onto the party wagon. He shut the doors to the trailer, closed the runs. Then he walked into the office and took Shaker's walking-out horn and placed it through his white vest buttons.

He double-checked the back trailer door when he pulled away from the gates. Soon he was on his way back to Custis Hall.

“Anyone can handle hounds,” he said to himself, his jaw still aching.

In a way he was right. The Jefferson Hunt hounds were easy to handle because Sister and Shaker poured their love and life into their pack.

Meanwhile, Bill Wheatley announced the silent auction had but a half hour to run. The band took a break so people walked back into the room to bid anew. Valentina, Tootie, and Pamela finally got into the room as they'd had no time up until now. Felicity and Howard also walked in.

The girls admired the saddle from Horse Country in Warrenton. There was even a bridle of English leather with the bit, English steel, the best, sewn in, which Jim Meads, the famous photographer, had sent over from England. As they slowly walked down the long rows of tables they marveled at the items.

They stopped dead in front of the gold ring with the oval onyx stone. The script on a white card read, “Ring donated by Target, the red fox living at After All Farm.”

For a moment no one said a word. Knute Nilsson, also getting into the room for the first time, was moving toward them. He didn't want to buy anything, but knew he had to put his name on some small item and hope someone would soon outbid him.

He stopped at the ring, too, noticing the stunned expressions on the girls' faces.

“Girls, are you unwell?” Then his eyes took in the ring, a flicker of the eyelids.

“Mr. Nilsson, this is Professor Kennedy's ring.”

“Well, perhaps she donated it,” he replied.

“No, it says Target the fox,” Pamela answered.

“Professor Kennedy wasn't a foxhunter,” Valentina said.

“She knew everyone here was and this is a hunt ball.” He shrugged, seeing Bill walk toward him out of the corner of his eye.

“Professor Kennedy had no sense of humor.” Tootie felt her stomach sink, a nameless dread overtaking her, but she kept her wits. “It must be some mistake. Come on, gang.” She smiled brightly at Knute and Bill, who now reached him, and dragged the girls with her. “Shut up. Just shut up,” she hissed under her breath.

As the girls walked away, Sam Lorillard noticed a heated, whispered conversation between Knute and Bill, both men's faces red as fire.

Tootie dragged Valentina, Pamela, Felicity, and Howard to Sister, luckily talking to Charlotte during the break in the music.

“Hello, girls,” Sister smiled. “This is the best ball we've ever had, thanks to your efforts.”

“Sister, Mrs. Norton, something's really wrong.” Tootie kept her voice low, her breath in short gasps.

“What is it?” Charlotte instinctively put her arm around Tootie's shoulders as the others looked on.

“Professor Kennedy's ring is in the auction.” Valentina supplied the answer.

The release of the identity of the corpse would be made Monday. The girls did not know that Professor Kennedy was dead. Only Charlotte, Sister, Gray, and Ben Sidel knew that. Even Walter didn't know.

“Oh, God!” Charlotte blurted out.

Very calmly Sister said, “Girls, not a word. Not yet.” She almost said “Your life may depend on it,” but figured they were upset enough.

She motioned to Gray, who came over. The little group walked back to the silent auction.

The ring, not a hot item, had garnered few bidders, but Knute Nilsson was one. He bid $100.

“It's Professor Kennedy's ring,” Tootie declared.

Charlotte nodded, “Yes, it is.”

“Mrs. Norton, she wouldn't part with her ring,” Tootie said.

“What are you saying, Tootie?” Pamela began to feel Tootie's fear.

“She's dead,” Tootie barely whispered.

“Why? And wouldn't we know?” Pamela resisted this.

Sister stepped in. “Girls, come with me.”

Sister, Gray, Charlotte, Tootie, Valentina, Pamela, and Felicity followed, as did Howard. Sister and Charlotte spoke low to each other.

Charlotte quietly told the girls that Professor Kennedy was the corpse under St. John's of the Cross. The positive I.D. would be released Monday. Until the lab in Richmond verified the remains, she wouldn't announce Professor Kennedy's death.

“Where's the sheriff?” Felicity asked.

“On duty. That's why he's not here tonight,” Charlotte said.