The Ivory Child | Page 5

quite right, but the fourth, let us say, would be
conspicuous either by its utter absence or by its unwanted appearance.
He could speak, when describing the Ragnall pictures, in rotund and
flowing periods that would scarcely have disgraced the pen of Gibbon.
Then suddenly that "h" would appear or disappear, and the illusion was
over. It was like a sudden shock of cold water down the back. I never
discovered the origin of his family; it was a matter of which he did not
speak, perhaps because he was vague about it himself; but if an earl of
Norman blood had married a handsome Cockney kitchenmaid of native
ability, I can quite imagine that Samuel Savage might have been a child
of the union. For the rest he was a good man and a faithful one, for
whom I have a high respect.

On this occasion he conducted us round the castle, or, rather, its more
public rooms, showing us many treasures and, I should think, at least
two hundred pictures by eminent and departed artists, which gave him
an opportunity of exhibiting a peculiar, if somewhat erratic, knowledge
of history. To tell the truth, I began to wish that it were a little less full
in detail, since on a December day those large apartments felt
uncommonly cold. Scroope and Miss Manners seemed to keep warm,
perhaps with the inward fires of mutual admiration, but as I had no one
to admire except Mr. Savage, a temperature of about 35 degrees
produced its natural effect upon me.
At length we took a short cut from the large to the little gallery through
a warmed and comfortable room, which I understood was Lord
Ragnall's study. Halting for a moment by one of the fires, I observed a
picture on the wall, over which a curtain was drawn, and asked Mr.
Savage what it might be.
"That, sir," he replied with a kind of haughty reserve, "is the portrait of
her future ladyship, which his lordship keeps for his private heye."
Miss Manners sniggered, and I said:
"Oh, thank you. What an ill-omened kind of thing to do!"
Then, observing through an open door the hall in which my hat had
been taken from me, I lingered and as the others vanished in the little
gallery, slipped into it, recovered my belongings, and passed out to the
garden, purposing to walk there till I was warm again and Scroope
reappeared. While I marched up and down a terrace, on which, I
remember, several very cold-looking peacocks were seated, like
conscientious birds that knew it was their duty to be ornamental,
however low the temperature, I heard some shots fired, apparently in a
clump of ilex oaks which grew about five hundred yards away, and
reflected to myself that they seemed to be those of a small rifle, not of a
shotgun.
My curiosity being excited as to what was to be an almost professional
matter, I walked towards the grove, making a circuit through a

shrubbery. At length I found myself near to the edge of a glade, and
perceived, standing behind the shelter of a magnificent ilex, two men.
One of these was a young keeper, and the other, from his appearance, I
felt sure must be Lord Ragnall himself. Certainly he was a splendid-
looking man, very tall, very broad, very handsome, with a peaked beard,
a kind and charming face, and large dark eyes. He wore a cloak upon
his shoulders, which was thrown back from over a velvet coat, and,
except for the light double-barrelled rifle in his hand, looked exactly
like a picture by Van Dyck which Mr. Savage had just informed me
was that of one of his lordship's ancestors of the time of Charles I.
Standing behind another oak, I observed that he was trying to shoot
wood-pigeons as they descended to feed upon the acorns, for which the
hard weather had made them greedy. From time to time these beautiful
blue birds appeared and hovered a moment before they settled, whereon
the sportsman fired and--they flew away. /Bang! Bang!/ went the
double-barrelled rifle, and off fled the pigeon.
"Damn!" said the sportsman in a pleasant, laughing voice; "that's the
twelfth I have missed, Charles."
"You hit his tail, my lord. I saw a feather come out. But, my lord, as I
told you, there ain't no man living what can kill pigeons on the wing
with a bullet, even when they seem to sit still in the air."
"I have heard of one, Charles. Mr. Scroope has a friend from Africa
staying with him who, he swears, could knock over four out of six."
"Then, my lord, Mr. Scroope has a friend what lies," replied Charles as
he handed him the second rifle.
This