In the middle of all this, and just as Bruno, smiling uneasily, rode his mount into the stable yard, Miss Harkness, forgotten by all, burst into eloquence.

She was “discovered” leering over the lower half-door of an empty loose-box. With the riding crop, from which she appeared never to be parted, she beat on the half-door and screamed in triumph.

“Yar! Yar! Yar!” Miss Harkness screamed, “Old Bloody Unk! She’s bloody done it, so sucks boo to rotten old you.”

Her uncle glared at her but made no reply. Jasper, Carlotta, and Louis were administering a severe if inaudible wigging to Bruno, who had unwillingly dismounted. Syd Jones had disappeared.

Julia said to Ricky: “We ought to bring Bruno and Dulcie together, they seem to have something in common, don’t you feel? What have you lot been saying to him?” she asked her husband who had come across to her.

“I’ve asked for another mount for him.”

“Darling!”

“He’s got to learn, sweetie. And in any case Harkness doesn’t like the idea of him riding her. After that performance.”

“But he rode her beautifully. We must admit.”

“He was told not to put her at the hedge.”

Syd Jones came out and led away the sorrel. Presently he reappeared with something that looked like an elderly polo pony upon which Bruno gazed with eyident disgust.

The scene petered out. Miss Harkness emerged from the loose-box, strode past her uncle, shook hands violently with the sulking Bruno, and continued into the house, banging the door behind her.

Mr. Harkness said: “Dulcie gets a bit excitable.”

Julia said: “She’s a high-spirited girl, isn’t she? Carlotta, darling, don’t you think we ought to hit the trail? Come along, boys. We’re off.”

There was, however, one more surprise to come. Mr. Harkness approached Julia with a curious, almost sheepish smile and handed up an envelope.

“Just a little thing of my own,” he said. “See you this evening. Have a good day.”

When they reached the end of the drive Julia said, “What can it be?”

“Not the bill,” Carlotta said. “Not when he introduced it like that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. The bill, after all, would be a little thing of his own.”

Julia had drawn what appeared to be a pamphlet from the envelope. She began to read. “Not true!” she said, and looked up, wide-eyed, at her audience. “Not true,” she repeated.

“What isn’t?” Carlotta asked crossly. “Don’t go on like that, Julia.”

Julia handed the pamphlet to Ricky. “You read it,” she said. “Aloud.”

“DO YOU KNOW,” Ricky read, “that you are in danger of HELLFIRE?

“DO YOU KNOW, that the DAY of JUDGMENT is AT HAND!

“WOE! WOE! WOE!!! cries the Prophet—”

“Obviously,” Julia interrupted, “Mr. Harkness is the author.”

“Why?”

“Such very horsey language. ”Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!”

“He seems to run on in the same vein for a long time,” Ricky said, turning the page. “It’s all about the last trump and one’s sins lying bitter in one’s belly. Wait a bit. Listen.”

“What?”

“Regular gatherings of the Inner Brethren at Leathers on Sunday evenings at 7:30 to which you are Cordially Invited. Bro. Cuthbert (Cuth) Harkness will lead. Discourse and Discussion. Light Supper. Gents 50p. Ladies a basket. All welcome.”

“Well,” said Jasper after a pause, “that explains everything. Or does it?”

“I suppose it does,” said Julia doubtfully. “Mr. Harkness, whom we must learn to call Cuth, even if it sounds as if one had lost a tooth—”

“How do you mean, Julia?”

“Don’t interrupt. ‘Cuspid,’ ” Julia said hurriedly. “Clearly, he’s a religious fanatic and that’s why he’s taken Miss Harkness’s pregnancy so hard.”

“Of course. Evidently they’re extremely strict,” Jasper agreed.

“I wonder what they do at their parties. Would it be fun—”

“No, Julia,” said Louis, “It would not be fun, ladies a basket or no.”

Carlotta said: “Do let’s move on. We can discuss Mr. Harkness later. There’s a perfect green lane round the corner.”

So all the Pharamonds and Ricky rode up the hill. They showed for some moments on the skyline, elegant against important clouds. Then the lane dipped into a valley and they followed it and disappeared.

iii

The little pub at Bon Accord on the extreme northern tip of the island proved to be satisfactory. It was called the Fisherman’s Rest and was indeed full of guernseys, gumboots, and the smell of fish. The landlord turned out to be a cousin of Bob Maistre at the Cod-and-Bottle.

Jasper stood drinks all around and Julia captivated the men by asking about the finer points of deep-sea fishing. From here she led the conversation to Mr. Harkness, evoking a good deal of what Louis afterwards referred to as bucolic merriment.

“Cuth Harkness,” the landlord said, “was a sensible enough chap when he first came. A riding instructor or some such in the army, he were. Then he took queer with religion.”

“He were all right till he got cranky-holy,” someone said. “Druv himself silly brooding on hellfire, I reckon.”

“Is Miss Harkness a member of the group?” Louis asked and Ricky saw that mention of Miss Harkness evoked loose-mouthed grins and sidelong looks.

“Dulce?” somebody blurted out as if the name itself was explicit. “Her?” And there was a general outbreak of smothered laughter.

“Reckon her’s got better things to do,” the landlord said. This evoked a further round of stifled merriment.

“Quite a girl, our Dulcie, isn’t she?” Louis said easily. He passed a white hand over the back of his patent-leather head. “Mind you,” he added, “I wouldn’t know,” and he called for another round. Carlotta and Julia walked out into the fresh air where Ricky joined them.

“I wish he wouldn’t,” Carlotta said.

“Louis?” Julia asked.

“Yes,” said Carlotta. “That’s right. Louis. My husband, you know. Shouldn’t we be moving on?” She smiled at Ricky. “But we’re an ever-so-jolly family, of course,” She said. “Aren’t we, Julia?”

“Come on,” Julia said. “Let’s get the fiery steeds. Where’s Bruno?”

“With them, I expect. Still a bit huffy.”

But Bruno left off being huffy when they all rode a fine race across a stretch of open turf. Ricky’s blood tingled in his ears and his bottom began to be sore.

When they had pulled up Louis gave a cry. He dismounted and hopped about on his elegant left foot.

“Cramp?” asked Jasper.

“What do you suppose it is, love, hopscotch? Blast and hell, I’ll have to get this boot off,” groaned Louis. “Here. Bruno!”

Bruno very efficiently pulled off the boot. Louis wrenched at his foot, hissing with pain. He stood up, stamped, and limped.

“It’s no good,” he said. “I’ll have to go back.”

“I’ll come with you, darling,” his wife offered.

“No, you won’t, damn it,” he said. He mounted, holding the boot in his right hand. He flexed his right foot, keeping it out of the iron, and checked his horse’s obvious desire to break away.

“Will you be OK?” asked Jasper.

“I will if you’ll all be good enough to move off,” he said. He turned his horse and began to walk it back along the turf.

“Leave it,” Carlotta said. “He’ll be cross if we don’t. He knows what he’s doing.”

In spite of a marked increase in his saddle-soreness, Ricky enjoyed the rest of the day’s outing. They took roundabout lanes back to the cove, and the sun was far in the west when, over a rise in the road, L’Espérance came unexpectedly into view, a romantic silhouette, distant and very lonely against a glowing sky.

“Look at our lovely house!” cried Julia. She began to sing a Spanish song and the other Pharamonds joined in. They sang, off and on, all the way to Leathers and up the drive.

“Will Louis have taken the car or is he waiting for us?” Bruno wondered,

“It’d be a hell of a long wait,” said Jasper.

“I fancy he’ll be walking home,” Carlotta said. “It’s good for his cramp to walk.”