you suffer fits of madness, Mr. Campbell, I shall only think you lacking in the wit to come up with a better explanation.”
“Like the Norfolk men staring at the moon’s reflection in a pond?” he said, smiling down at her. “I think the only question that arises is why four otherwise perfectly sensible people are fighting gale-force winds in order to feed some ducks. The birds are dabbling quite happily without us, although large waves are now racing through the water, and our gentle spring breeze is rapidly threatening to carry us off.”
“Whatever the wind, I hope my feet at least are firmly planted on the ground. Oh, no!” Eleanor burst out laughing. “There goes Diana’s best bonnet!”
As she spoke, the wind also caught Eleanor’s parasol, which sprang open and was torn from her grasp. It sailed wildly after the devastating straw-chip bonnet with the blue ribbons that Lady Diana had selected with such care that morning. The truant hat whisked off across the duck pond. It seemed to hesitate for a moment above the water, then a fresh gust caught it and it went racing away into Little Tanning. The parasol, now floating like a giant dandelion seed, danced after it.
“Tally ho—the fox is away!” Walter cried. “Come on, Lee! Let’s after the quarry!”
“Have you nerve to face your jumps, Lady Eleanor?” he asked.
“I’ve ridden to hounds with my brothers, sir. I hope I’m game for anything.”
Diana and Walter were already racing around the pond after the bonnet. Eleanor laughed, picked up her skirts in both hands, and ran after them.
The bonnet was now bowling fast down the dirt lane that served Little Tanning for a main street. Walter ran full tilt after it, while Diana chased in his wake. Meanwhile, the parasol had soared over their heads and lodged for a moment in the faintly greening branches of an oak tree.
Eleanor raced over the bridge, but Mr. Campbell overtook her easily, tossed aside his hat, and began to climb the tree.
“For heaven’s sake, be careful, Mr. Campbell!” she cried. “The parasol is of no account whatsoever.”
Her only reply was a shower of twigs as he rapidly ascended the trunk. He had almost reached the offending parasol, when another gust caught it and sent it tumbling onto the rooftops of the cottages where it proceeded to bowl along the ridge cap.
He gave Eleanor a wink, let go of the tree, and leaped. Her breath stopped in her throat, then came back in a rush as he landed safely beside a softly smoking brick chimney. Instantly, he was on his feet and running lightly after the parasol. The silk fringe flapped wildly as it danced ahead of him and he jumped from one roof to the next.
“I suppose I should be grateful, Lady Eleanor,” she heard him say before the wind blew away the words, “that old Frank Garth repaired his roof.”
Eleanor picked up his hat and ran along behind the cottages as he traced the ridges of one after another. But the parasol skipped beyond them. He stopped at the edge of the last roof. The quarry had spun up again out of reach. It was now rolling across the high peak of Mrs. Pottage’s dairy barn. A little loop of leather hanging from its handle trailed behind it. With another burst of wind, it jumped up off the pantiles and the loop caught in the spinning tine of a weathervane. Solidly captured by the highest perch in the village except for the church tower, Eleanor’s parasol danced a jig in the wind as if mocking its pursuer.
The space between the buildings was too far to jump, and the barn roof was some feet higher than the cottages. Yet Mr. Campbell tugged off his jacket and tossed it to Eleanor, leaving him clad in his maroon waistcoat and buff breeches. The wind instantly flattened his white shirt against the strong muscling of his arms.
“If your ladyship would be so kind as to pass me that washing pole?” he said, as casually as if he were asking for more wine at dinner, rather than being balanced precariously on
“Like the Norfolk men staring at the moon’s reflection in a pond?” he said, smiling down at her. “I think the only question that arises is why four otherwise perfectly sensible people are fighting gale-force winds in order to feed some ducks. The birds are dabbling quite happily without us, although large waves are now racing through the water, and our gentle spring breeze is rapidly threatening to carry us off.”
“Whatever the wind, I hope my feet at least are firmly planted on the ground. Oh, no!” Eleanor burst out laughing. “There goes Diana’s best bonnet!”
As she spoke, the wind also caught Eleanor’s parasol, which sprang open and was torn from her grasp. It sailed wildly after the devastating straw-chip bonnet with the blue ribbons that Lady Diana had selected with such care that morning. The truant hat whisked off across the duck pond. It seemed to hesitate for a moment above the water, then a fresh gust caught it and it went racing away into Little Tanning. The parasol, now floating like a giant dandelion seed, danced after it.
“Tally ho—the fox is away!” Walter cried. “Come on, Lee! Let’s after the quarry!”
“Have you nerve to face your jumps, Lady Eleanor?” he asked.
“I’ve ridden to hounds with my brothers, sir. I hope I’m game for anything.”
Diana and Walter were already racing around the pond after the bonnet. Eleanor laughed, picked up her skirts in both hands, and ran after them.
The bonnet was now bowling fast down the dirt lane that served Little Tanning for a main street. Walter ran full tilt after it, while Diana chased in his wake. Meanwhile, the parasol had soared over their heads and lodged for a moment in the faintly greening branches of an oak tree.
Eleanor raced over the bridge, but Mr. Campbell overtook her easily, tossed aside his hat, and began to climb the tree.
“For heaven’s sake, be careful, Mr. Campbell!” she cried. “The parasol is of no account whatsoever.”
Her only reply was a shower of twigs as he rapidly ascended the trunk. He had almost reached the offending parasol, when another gust caught it and sent it tumbling onto the rooftops of the cottages where it proceeded to bowl along the ridge cap.
He gave Eleanor a wink, let go of the tree, and leaped. Her breath stopped in her throat, then came back in a rush as he landed safely beside a softly smoking brick chimney. Instantly, he was on his feet and running lightly after the parasol. The silk fringe flapped wildly as it danced ahead of him and he jumped from one roof to the next.
“I suppose I should be grateful, Lady Eleanor,” she heard him say before the wind blew away the words, “that old Frank Garth repaired his roof.”
Eleanor picked up his hat and ran along behind the cottages as he traced the ridges of one after another. But the parasol skipped beyond them. He stopped at the edge of the last roof. The quarry had spun up again out of reach. It was now rolling across the high peak of Mrs. Pottage’s dairy barn. A little loop of leather hanging from its handle trailed behind it. With another burst of wind, it jumped up off the pantiles and the loop caught in the spinning tine of a weathervane. Solidly captured by the highest perch in the village except for the church tower, Eleanor’s parasol danced a jig in the wind as if mocking its pursuer.
The space between the buildings was too far to jump, and the barn roof was some feet higher than the cottages. Yet Mr. Campbell tugged off his jacket and tossed it to Eleanor, leaving him clad in his maroon waistcoat and buff breeches. The wind instantly flattened his white shirt against the strong muscling of his arms.
“If your ladyship would be so kind as to pass me that washing pole?” he said, as casually as if he were asking for more wine at dinner, rather than being balanced precariously on
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