Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend

hair was a warm brown worn rather long that melted into the golden oak leaf pattern of her spencer. She was tall, not as tall as Charlotte perhaps, but she certainly shared my friend’s posture. Her dark, practically black eyes, made her appear quite imperious, and were the only visible trait that linked her with her short, stout father.
    ‘Crack!’
    ‘Damn!’
    ‘Mr Stilton, please.’ I heard his wife say in the repeat of another conversation I had heard many times now.
    ‘Sorry, Mrs Stilton,’ he replied.
    ‘It is obviously defective sir,’ said Mr Potterthwaite, who attended Mr Stilton.
    ‘Eh, what’s that?’
    ‘It is defective. I saw you leading that bird remarkably well. You could only have missed were it defective.’
    ‘How very perceptive of you, my boy.’
    Mr Potterthwaite bowed to Mr Stilton and then shot a look back at Mrs Fitzhugh, seated next to me, who gave him a smile of approval in return.
    ‘Crack!’
    ‘Blast!’
    ‘Papa, elbows down,’ Miss Blankenship said.
    ‘Mr Potterthwaite, might you inspect my piece?’ Sir Walter asked, ignoring his daughter.
    ‘There is nothing wrong with it, sir. Your shoulder is too high and your head is too bent and you’re squinting,’ his daughter said. I had to agree with her assessment.
    ‘I would be happy to, sir,’ Mr Potterthwaite said, delighted to be thought of as a perceptive young man. ‘As they are a matched set, they may both suffer from the same defect,’
    ‘How very thoughtful Mr Potterthwaite is, Mrs Walthorpe,’ I heard Mrs Fitzhugh say quietly to our hostess. I turned to look and noticed now that Mrs Walthorpe bore an irritable expression that seemed directed at the large curate—or under curate.
    ‘What is that?’ she asked, curtly.
    ‘He seeks to console your guests and finds them excuses for their poor aim.’
    ‘Oh, is that what he’s doing?’
    ‘Most assuredly. To his obviously educated eye he must know there is nothing wrong with those very handsome fowling pieces. They belonged to your late husband, I presume?’
    ‘Yes they did. I … how clever of you to notice Mr Potterthwaite’s solicitousness toward my guests.’
    ‘Danger averted,’ I heard in my ear, and I turned to Charlotte.
    ‘Margaret is very skilful,’ I agreed. ‘I worried that Mr Potterthwaite had gone too far in his criticism.’
    ‘And what do you think of Miss Blankenship’s criticism of her father’s shooting?’
    ‘Accurate, although I think the principal reason he has failed to down any birds is that he closes his eyes before he fires. He is quite gun shy.’
    Charlotte laughed. ‘You are correct. Have you ever fired a weapon?’
    ‘Yes, several times. We are country folk and my father had no sons, so he often included my sister and me in his manly pursuits, over the objections of my mother.’ I smiled at the recollection and I realized this was the first time since his death that I had thought of our happy times together. Nevertheless, I dared not think too much of him lest I be undone by grief, so I asked Charlotte, ‘Did you have an opportunity to speak to the Blankenships privately?’
    ‘No, their late arrival made that impossible. In fact, you remind me that I should take some steps in that direction. Come, see if you can follow my lead as I sow some mischief.’
    ‘Mr Worcester, why do you not join the shoot?’ Charlotte asked in a loud voice.
    ‘As I said at dinner, I have lost my interest in shooting,’ he said with a glance at Sir Walter. He sat some distance from us, playing with the gamekeeper’s dogs that, because of the failure of the men to fell any birds, were otherwise unoccupied.
    Sir Walter, overhearing our conversation, said ‘Ha!’ but did not further elaborate.
    Charlotte gave me a little nod and I said, ‘Oh Mr Worcester, please won’t you give it a try.’
    ‘Go ahead Bertie,’ Miss Stilton urged. ‘You can’t do any worse than father.’
    Finally he agreed and Mrs Walthorpe’s gamekeeper provided him a weapon and then signalled to his game flushers. Half a minute later two pheasants streaked into the air and Mr Worcester brought them both down.
    ‘Well done … I mean lucky shot Worcester,’ Mr Potterthwaite said.
    Mr Worcester gave his weapon to the gamekeeper and tried to look nonchalant but I could tell he was proud of his shot. I could also see that Mr Stilton and Sir Walter resented his skill.
    ‘Did you know he could do that?’ I whispered to Charlotte.
    ‘Yes, I remembered