have the means?’
Miss Staunton nodded. ‘Because of Mrs Dearborne’s hat.’
Hugo regarded her with fascination. He said after a pause, ‘I’m not going to ask about Mrs Dearborne’s hat. It will have to wait. But the situation, as I understand it, is that Mr Hobson and his dogcart have gone off back to Maids Moreton…’
‘Buckingham. He comes from Buckingham.’
‘Buckingham, leaving your servant and all your worldly goods at the Travellers’ Rest. And there they will stay until you can find some way of conveying them to the Vicarage. Meanwhile, you have been forced to walk the three miles to Abbot Quincey in the heat of the day, accompanied by a large dog and…what is in the cage, anyway?’ He twitched the cover away. A sleepy green parrot with a bright blue and yellow head looked at him with irritation and swore picturesquely. Hugo took a step back.
‘Good God!’
‘Hugo! Look what you’ve done! He was asleep and now you’ve woken him up!’ Deborah snatched the cloth from Hugo’s grasp and rearranged it over the cage. The parrot muttered for a moment then grew silent.
‘Deborah Staunton, do you mean to tell me that you’re taking that—’ Hugo pointed an accusing finger at the cage—‘that parrot to Aunt Elizabeth? At the Vicarage?’ His finger shifted to the dog, now sitting scratching his fleas. ‘And the dog, too? What on earth were you thinking of?’
‘I couldn’t very well leave them behind in Maids Moreton, could I?’
‘I don’t know. But you must have windmills in your head if you expect Aunt Elizabeth to take them in—especially if the parrot often says the sort of thing I’ve just heard. And do you mind telling me why you found it necessary to drag them with you along this road? Why on earth didn’t you leave them with Nanny Humble at the inn?’
‘Er… It wasn’t possible.’
Hugo looked at Miss Staunton’s companions and nodded. ‘I suppose the landlord refused to have them?’
Miss Staunton hung her head. ‘The landlord’s wife took great offence at something the parrot said to her. And she caught Autolycus stealing… Well, he was very hungry, Hugo! I must say I think it was very foolish of her to leave a whole leg of mutton out on the table.’
Hugo surveyed her grimly. ‘You haven’t lost your talent for getting into trouble, have you?’
‘I do try not to, Hugo.’ Miss Staunton sighed. ‘Things just seem to happen. And I’ve had so much to deal with…’
‘And now there’s no one at the Vicarage today to help you…’ Hugo eyed her for a moment, then, with the air of a man facing the inevitable, he said reluctantly, ‘Very well, I shall have to take you to the Hall. I haven’t room in the curricle for the animals, but we’ll tie the dog to that tree over there—he’ll be all right in the shade. And the parrot can stay with him. As soon as we get to the Hall we’ll send someone to fetch Nanny Humble and the rest of your things. They can pick up these two, as well.’
‘Hugo! I wouldn’t dream of tying Autolycus to a tree and leaving him behind. Nor will I leave the parrot. Autolycus and the parrot both stay with me.’
‘Don’t be such a simpleton, Deborah! I can’t take you all. There isn’t nearly enough room in the curricle.’
‘I won’t leave them behind!’ said Miss Staunton stubbornly. Autolycus, hearing further sounds of disagreement, left his fleas to their own devices, got up bristling, and growled again. He advanced on Hugo.
‘Down, sir!’
The authority in Hugo’s voice stopped the dog in his tracks. He looked uncertainly at Miss Staunton, who took a firmer hold of the rope and said gently, ‘Sit, Autolycus dear.’ The dog looked again at Hugo.
‘Sit!’
Autolycus sat. Hugo nodded in satisfaction and then turned to Miss Staunton. ‘You will leave the dog and the bird here,’ he said, quite pleasantly, ‘and I promise that they will be collected within the hour. Come, no more nonsense! Get in, there’s a good girl. My horses won’t tolerate this heat much longer. Get into the curricle, Deborah.’
‘I will not!’
Timothy Potts peered round to gaze again at the creature who had dared to oppose his master’s will with such determination. She looked as if a breath of wind would blow her away, but the pointed chin was raised in defiance, and her voice was firm.
‘It’s no use your trying to bully me, Hugo. My mind is quite made up. The animals and I stay together. So pray continue on your way, and let me continue on mine.’ With this she picked up the cage, gave the rope a slight tug and set off towards Abbot Quincey.
‘Stop!’ She paused without turning round. Hugo ran his hand through his hair and said in exasperation, ‘I can’t leave you to walk the rest of the way in this heat. Be reasonable, Deborah. Look—the animals would do perfectly well in the shade over there, and it wouldn’t be long before they were collected.’
Miss Staunton hesitated, and Hugo pressed his advantage. ‘I’ll come for them myself, if you insist,’ he added with a persuasively charming smile.
‘Very well. I’ll see if they will stay,’ she said, as she coaxed Autolycus over to the tree. Hugo shook his head at such soft-heartedness.
But the animals refused to stay for even two seconds. When Miss Staunton moved away, Autolycus sat down and howled long and mournfully as soon as he found he could not follow. The parrot took exception to this powerful lament and danced on his perch with loud squawks and raucously vulgar cries. It was an impressive duet and the sound echoed far and wide across the peaceful countryside.
‘For God’s sake!’ said Hugo disgustedly. ‘I can’t bear it. You’ve won, the three of you. Deborah, you can take that parrot on your knee, and the dog can run alongside. Hold the horses, Potts, while I release that misbegotten hearthrug.’ Autolycus who had apparently regarded this last remark as a compliment of no mean order, stood wagging his tail and very ready to oblige. ‘Right!’ Hugo released the dog and walked to the curricle. ‘Now, sir! Come here!’ This command was obeyed with such enthusiasm that Hugo staggered under the onslaught. ‘Down, sir!’ he roared, brushing his previously immaculate coat. It was evident that cattle had recently sought shade under the tree. Autolycus grovelled with an anxious look up at his new friend. Hugo took the rope and tied it to the side of the curricle. ‘That dog needs a few lessons in manners, I don’t trust him to behave properly. Let’s hope that somewhere in the general medley there’s carriage-dog ancestry.’
‘He’s half Dalmatian,’ Deborah informed him. ‘And half Irish wolfhound. I think.’
‘I suppose that might account for his…unusual appearance,’ said Hugo.
Deborah fired up in defence of her pet. ‘He’s lovely!’ she said fiercely. ‘And he’s been out quite often with Mrs Dearborne’s gig.’
‘Good! Potts, if the dog starts pulling away, let him loose—understand? He could pull the lot of us over.’ Hugo got into his seat. ‘Let them go, Potts!’ The curricle moved slowly off, the horses, impatient at the delay, kept to a moderate pace under Hugo’s iron hand.
All went well, though the sight was now curious, rather than stylish. The driver was, as before, blond, tall, handsome and still reasonably immaculate. But the pace was considerably less dashing. Other than a tattered straw hat leaning out to the side, nothing could be seen of his passenger, hidden as she was behind a large, duster-covered cage. The groom’s upright posture in the rumble seat was somewhat spoilt by his nervous hold on a rope knotted round the rail. And at the end of the rope was a dog, clearly having the time of its life, as it loped alongside the curricle, waving its tail like a banner. It was hard to say what colour it was, for its coat was half plain, half a patchwork of white, brindle and fawn with touches of black. But though so large, it looked amiable enough, a large black patch over