Joe sneaked through the trees, retracing the steps he’d taken when he’d trotted back to the hall in the sights of an unknown gunman earlier that morning. A gunman who was still on the loose.

No use looking for the spent cartridge, he decided. The gunman would have meticulously picked up after himself. But Joe’s essential piece of evidence was in a perfectly safe place. He found the large-leaved lime tree again, noting with relief that the smooth bole was obligingly spoked at intervals by sturdy branches. A climb a five-year-old could have managed. He took out his pocketknife and thumbed the blade out ready. In three hauls he was up the tree and digging out the bullet. A swift examination of the crumpled metal made him smile with satisfaction.

“You bugger!” he breathed. “Got you!”

CHAPTER 21

Cecily’s patience ran out on the stroke of twelve. With a snort of exasperation she turned to Joe. “Blow the whistle, Joe! The villagers and the horses were here on time and I won’t keep the children in suspense a moment longer.”

Joe nodded and strode over to Flowerdew to give the signal for the start of the parade. Cecily had judged the moment well, he reckoned. The crowd was still keyed-up and good-humoured but a few minutes more and they would become restive. The children were eager for the maypole dancing and the buns and lemonade refreshments the Hall had laid out for them but, above all, they were anxious to see the horses appear. Most of them had a baby brother or sister, born in the last twelve months, being held ready by their mothers. If one of the babies cried during the presentation, Cecily had explained, its screams would be greeted with indulgent laughter but also a secret shame for the older siblings who risked being plagued with playground taunts of: “Who’s little brother’s a cowardy custard, then?”

“Children can be so cruel,” she commented.

The village boasted an ex–army trumpeter and a drummer of some skill. Between them they managed to alert and silence the crowd and give a military flavour to the occasion. The horses played their part admirably, aware that they were the centre of attention. These were no longer plough horses with bent heads and straining limbs; they stepped forward proudly onto the lawn, two by two, flanks gleaming in the midday sun, manes and tails bright with ribbons, bells tinkling. Did they know that—for this moment—they were the finest animals in creation? Sentimentally, Joe thought so and he was quite certain it had occurred to them. The crowd let out claps and cheers and gasps of admiration. Even Cecily dabbed quickly at her eyes with a lace handkerchief.

A bad moment for a cortège of cars to appear in the distance. The Rolls and the Bentley from London came purring on up the drive. Ancient and modern vying for attention. Cecily launched a hunting-field oath and seemed uncharacteristically perplexed.

“Leave the horses to Flowerdew,” Joe advised, “and the motors to me.”

He exchanged a signal with the head horseman, who continued with his choreography. The horses lined up, heads to the crowd, scarcely needing the guidance of their young grooms. The mothers, dressed in their Sunday best frocks, lined up also, babies in shawls held in their arms or up on their shoulders. Waiting.

Joe moved forward to greet the newcomers, telling the other guests with a gesture to remain where they were and enjoy the ceremony. He brought both cars to a halt under the porte-cochère and said briskly, “Sir James. Welcome. You’re just in time. We’re about to start the presentation.”

The man’s aplomb was astonishing, Joe thought. If he was surprised to find Joe in charge, he showed no sign of it. After a discreet nod, he herded his party out of the cars and formed them up into a group.

“Carry on, Sandilands. Sorry we’re late. We stopped and took a break some miles away. Spent too long at the Angel in Bury but at least none of us needs to dash off indoors. Introductions later. Horses come first.” His eye ranged, proud and proprietorial, along the line of Suffolks. “A fine display this year. Four of these are new but you’d never guess it.”

The trumpet and drums, the children and the babies all fell silent and the procession began. One by one, the mothers walked the line of the horses, led by Mr. Styles, who seemed to be performing a stately introduction.

“This is Mrs. Reynolds and her son, Samuel,” Joe heard him say.

“And this is his namesake horse, Sammy also,” Flowerdew responded, indicating the first horse in the line-up. There was utter silence from the crowd but a series of squeaks and murmurs fluttered up from the newly arrived guests behind Joe as the baby was held with a confident smile by its mother right up to the muzzle of the great horse. The baby was tiny, the horse had a head with all the rounded bulk of a butter-churn. Even Joe tensed and swallowed nervously.

“Sammy, meet Sammy,” the mother said with a giggle. She held her baby steadily while the saucer-sized inquisitive nostrils descended on the child. The horse snorted gently and with its grey-velvet lower lip nibbled delicately at the hand the baby was holding out to it. “Good old ’oss!” the mother commented and she scratched his nose and passed on with her gurgling child down the line.

Mrs. Bedford’s William met William and so on until the corresponding names gave out. Then Baby Frank met Joker and Baby Poppy met Blossom, or was it the other way around? No baby cried. No horse showed its yellow teeth. As the last child was carried to safety, a female sigh of relief escaped from someone in Truelove’s party. Not from the dark-haired beauty in the yellow dress, Joe thought. A sideways glance had shown Dorcas Joliffe, enraptured, standing next to Truelove and smiling at the spectacle. She of all people would have understood that the babies were in no danger from these gentle beasts. Joe looked away quickly.

The completion of the ceremony, which Joe guessed had deep roots going back to the tribes of horse-rearing Celts, was the signal for a party to break out. The horses were led off into the freshly mown meadow to offer a little bareback riding by the older boys. Some bold ones, apprentice grooms, Joe guessed, performed circus tricks, standing and pirouetting on the horses’ broad backs. Three donkeys and a pair of elderly ponies made an appearance to entertain the younger children. Joe was surprised, this being the Sabbath, to hear the sudden blare of an old-fashioned wind-up gramophone. But then, this was non-conformist Suffolk, their vicar was not only present but turning the handle, and this was Midsummer, when a little madness was expected. A dozen children formed themselves into an impromptu chorus line and galloped about to the sound of ‘Light Cavalry.’

Looking on, Joe’s mind was suddenly filled with the image of his young son. Already a useful horseman, Jackie would have overcome his shyness and joined in the fun, Joe hoped. He turned with a sigh from the sunlit innocence of the scene, catching a wistfulness chiming with his own in the eyes of Cecily. She too was looking with the fondness of old age at the romping children. All from the village. No contribution from the empty nest at the Hall. She caught his gaze on her and, understanding, gave him a wry smile.

Hanging back, Joe braced himself to observe and then meet Truelove’s guests. He thanked Lily silently once more for her phone call. All three were expected by him and he had even had time enough to calculate reasons for their appearance. None he could come up with was edifying.

From her manner, Cecily could well have been expecting these very guests with keen anticipation for a month.

“Mama, may I present Mr. Guy Despond and his daughter, Miss Despond: Dorothy. The Desponds are over on a visit from New York. Miss Joliffe you will remember, of course …” Truelove went through the many introductions with flawless manners and easy good humour.