Edgson, the faithful old butler, ruled the servants’ hall with a firm but genial sway. The yellow coils were the subject of much discussion among the other servants, but Edgson had ruled, with a fine decision, that it was both unladylike and ungentlemanly to discuss a lady’s back hair in the servants’ hall. The Fräulein Schneider, herself, maintained an austerity becoming the importance of her position, and the subject was therefore not discussed directly with that lady. Only one person was believed to have dared to a direct allusion to the crowning piece of the Fräulein’s headgear. One James Gibson, called “Jim” by his intimates, was possessed of a manly frame, well set off by Melton corduroys and leather gaiters. His curly beard was black, and well-trimmed, whilst his sparkling black eyes, that twinkled above his round, rosy cheeks, were counted irresistible by the lasses of that Kentish countryside.
Report had it that Jim met the Fräulein in the town of Lewes, nine miles away, and there purchased a fancy comb, which he induced her to wear for a brief while.
Unwittingly the comb was in position when the Fräulein responded to a sudden summons from the baroness. Not even the Fräulein Schneider could stand the withering stare, assisted by a jewelled lorgnette, of an indignant baroness, whose maid had dared to wear a comb in her well coiled, and oiled hair. The comb was never seen again.
For safe keeping the baroness’s jewels were placed in the strong safe in the wall of the library, during her stay at Aldborough Park.
The shooting season was near at hand, and Raife had invited his old college friend, Edward Mutimer, preparatory to the opening of the first of September, when the party would be increased.
Perhaps no festival was treated with greater respect and ceremony than that of “St. Partridge.” On the first of September, through the centuries, the line of shooters with the dogs and gamekeepers, have set forth in search of the “birds” that until this day had been so jealously guarded. The Aldborough estates have always been strictly preserved and famed for partridge and pheasant alike.
At eventime, when the shooters had returned from the prolonged and sometimes tiring sport, the fine old Tudor mansion, snug and warm within its ivy-covered walls, rang with the merriment that accompanied the hospitable festivities of such occasions.
The privileged dogs did take their place before the fire. There were “Grouse,” the setter; “Jo,” the pointer; “Nellie” and “Judy,” the two spaniels; “Prince,” the black retriever; whilst three or four less useful, less trained, but generally more pampered and self-assertive, were grouped around.
The toast of “St. Partridge” was given with the brevity that most good toasts deserve. Champagne, followed by port, are the wines for these commemorations.
In the servants’ hall the gamekeepers and every man and woman of the large household joined in the general festivity, and the usual liberality of the servants’ hall was still further extended. On such nights the genial old butler was at his best, for the task fell to him to propose the toast of “St. Partridge,” and do the honours generally. His well-studied and hoary witticisms came with such a hearty burst of his own laughter, that the infection spread around the depleted board, until joy was on every countenance.