Cat on the Scent

            “Can you put this aside? I mean, you two are marching in the same company.”

            Vane-Tempest shrugged, the shrug of superiority. “He won’t bother me. I apologize for losing my temper in the first place. I don’t like his attentions to my wife.”

            “Henry!”

            He laughed. “He does look at you all the time.”

            “That’s not why you were fighting. Leave me out of this.”

            “It’s none of my business.” Ned took a step back to leave. “But please keep a lid on it out there.”

            The two kitties ducked their heads, scampering back to Fair and Harry.

            “What’d you make of that?” Mrs. Murphy felt something was unexpressed, something beyond anger.

            “Unevolved.” Pewter scooted in under the tent bottom, nearly emerging between Harry’s feet. “Humans are unevolved.”

            “Where have you two been?” Harry pointed a finger.

            “Eavesdropping.”

            “I’m taking you to the truck. I’ll leave the windows cracked, but you all aren’t going to get into that crowd. I can’t believe you snuck under the seat of the truck to begin with, little devils.”

            That fast and without consulting each other, the cats tore out of there.

            “Mrs. Murphy! Pewter!” Harry ran after them and Fair started after her but the bugle called him to formation.

            “Should we stay just in view or dump her?” Pewter asked.

            “Let’s just stay in sight and run her to exhaustion.” Mrs. Murphy laughed, turning to see Harry, mad as a wet hen, tearing after them, Tucker right at the human’s heels.

            15

            Sarah Vane-Tempest rustled with each step, her long pastel skirts swaying. H. Vane and company had departed to join their regiment, already marching toward the old racetrack on the west side of the oak tree. From there they would wheel out of sight, marching southeast until the land flattened out. They’d be at the edge of beautiful hayfields.

            Her parasol provided some relief from the warming sun. She twirled it in irritation.

            Mrs. Murphy and Pewter raced by her. She barely noticed them but she did notice Blair Bainbridge, long legs eating up territory as he hurried to fall in with his regiment. He waved as he dashed by.

            Harry, panting, slowed down by Sarah. The cats slowed, too, walking the rest of the way but keeping well ahead of Harry.

            Miranda Hogendobber joined Harry and Sarah. She’d been in the hunter barn, which was on the way to the oak tree from the main house. She’d brought Fair some hotcakes, a recipe from her grandmother, who remembered the time of Virginia’s sorrows. Since Mrs. Hogendobber’s great-grandfather had ridden with the cavalry, she gravitated toward the barn.

            “The more I think about those two the madder I get.” Sarah’s parasol whirled savagely.

            “Making me dizzy,” Mrs. Hogendobber remarked. She meant the twirling parasol.

            “What I should have done is crown them with it.” Sarah stopped twirling. “They’re like two little boys fighting over a fire truck.”

            “Exactly which fire truck?” Harry got to the point.

            “The zoning variance.” Sarah closed her parasol. “H. Vane is still livid over Archie squashing his request for a variance to open the quarry. His revenge is to push for the reservoir.”

            “But Archie appears to support the reservoir, although, God knows, he has obstructed everything. I told Fair after that commission meeting that Archie is saying one thing but doing another. Who knows what he’s really going to do about the reservoir when the chips are down?” Harry hated politics, especially in her own backyard.

            “”Appears’ is the operative word. Behind the scenes he’s doing everything he can to retard progress. My husband knows all of this, of course.“ She sighed. ”Henry adores political intrigue.“

            “So what side is Sir H. on?” Harry bluntly asked.

            “His own.” Sarah laughed, spirits a bit restored.

            “Well—” Miranda fanned herself with a program advertising whalebone corsets and hoop skirts as well as bayonets and haversacks. “I hope they mend their fences.”

            “Ego! Neither one will make a peace offering.” Sarah tapped her foot with the closed parasol. “How did women wear these things?” She pushed her crinolines forward, and the entire bell of the skirt flowed with them. “The heat doesn’t help.” A warm front had moved in and the weather was sticky.

            “If you were dropped out of a plane you’d be safe.” Tucker snickered.

            Sarah glanced down at the dog, a frown on her pretty mouth; it was as if she knew what the corgi was saying to her. “Damn! I forgot H.”s extra canteen. He’ll be furious.“

            “What’s in the canteen?”

            “Glenlivet.” She raised an eyebrow. “He’s cheating. I really do think this authenticity thing has gone too far. Do you know they even have rules about how to die?”

            “You’re kidding!” Harry laughed.