Roger—Being butler, his is a powerful position. He must know most of the people who call on Ewing, as well as how to treat them according to their station. He’s a good, reticent man.
Weymouth—Roger’s son, in his twenties. He does a good job but he lacks his father’s drive.
Bumbee—She’s in charge of the weaving, buying yarns and fabrics. She’s an artist, truly, and the ladies who work with her do as they are told.
THE SLAVES: BIG RAWLY
DoRe—Runs the stables, is Barker O’s counterpart. As Jeffrey Holloway now builds sumptuous carriages, DoRe shows them off to buyers. He has been courting Bettina.
Elizabetta—As Maureen’s replacement lady’s maid since Sheba vanished with a fortune in pearls set amidst diamonds, hers is a nonstop position. She’s lazy when Maureen is away. She’s a decent sort.
William—Worked in the stables but escaped Big Rawly riding a neighbor’s blooded horse. He has sneaked back, foolish, but he’s come to steal more things and he’s come for Sulli.
Sulli—Pretty, in her teens, she believes she and William can run away together and live happily ever after. Not only will they be free; they will be free and rich. She thinks she’s in love.
THE ANIMALS
Mrs. Murphy—Harry’s tiger cat, who often evidences more brains than her human.
Pewter—A fat gray cat with an inflated opinion of herself. She believes the world began when she entered it.
Tee Tucker—An intrepid corgi bred years ago by Susan Tucker, the sensible dog watches out for Harry and endures Pewter.
Pirate—A half-grown Irish wolfhound who came to Harry and Fair when his owner died. He is very sweet and learning the ropes from Tucker. Rule One: Never believe anything Pewter says.
Tomahawk—Harry’s retired gray Thoroughbred.
Shortro—A gift from Joan Hamilton of Kalarama Farm, this young Saddlebred is adjusting to hunt seat. He’s smart.
Ruffy—A beagle ghost living at the Institute.
THE EIGHTEENTH-CENTURY ANIMALS
Piglet—The corgi that started the corgi line still at Big Rawly. He endured the war and captivity with Charles West.
Reynaldo—A blooded horse, terrific conformation and fast. He’s young, full of fire.
Crown Prince—The above’s half brother, calmer.
Black Knight—Thoroughbred stolen by William, he has come to Cloverfields, where he has been restored to health and happiness.
Chief—A bombproof horse who takes care of Ewing Garth.
Sweet Potato—A saucy pony for the children.
1
April 5, 2018
Thursday
“Do you think I’m going to answer that question?” Arlene Billeaud laughed at her.
Harry Haristeen, her best friend, Susan Tucker, Arlene Billeaud, Jason Holzknect, and his wife, Clare Lazo Holzknect, sat by the fireplace in the large stone building known as the Institute in Aldie, Virginia. Built in the 1850s as the Loudoun Agricultural and Chemical Institute, it had weathered many a storm. In 1855 an advertisement claimed that courses would benefit the farmer, the merchant, the engineer, certainly a broad student base. But the panic of 1857, a damaging depression for so many, ended the Institute. Next came the war. Still it persevered, today being the home of the National Beagle Club of America.
The people in the inviting room had come from Maryland and Virginia to clean up paths, move downed trees, and repair the kennels, as violent storms had swept through Loudoun County and much of Northern Virginia.
They were there to prepare for the annual competition hosted by Hounds F4R Heroes at the end of the month. Anyone could enter two pairs of beagles—four hounds—to hunt, prizes being given to the top couples.
The purpose, to raise money for veterans, drew many spectators and competitors. The funds were used to provide veterans with fishing and hunting events. This was done in other states as well and was growing nationally.
The small group arrived early for tomorrow’s work. Others would drive in the next morning. Harry and Susan stayed in one of the cabins, the first ones built in 1917 when the Institute was just up and running. Other cabins were added later, tight, warm if you kept the fire going, with enough windows to let in the light. Harry’s two cats, Mrs. Murphy and Pewter, along with her two dogs, Tucker, a corgi, and Pirate, a half-grown Irish wolfhound, were back at the cabin. No dirty paws at the Institute.
“Another drink?” Jason, tall, maybe mid-fifties, offered, pointing to the opened bottle of wine.
“No thanks,” Harry, not a drinker, replied.
“A smidge.” Susan raised her glass as did the other two women.
Apart from the work they expected to face tomorrow, they talked about packs of hounds, both bassets and beagles; their hunting season, which had just ended; friends in common.
“Oh, come on.” Harry tweaked Arlene. “We know you had a dangerous job before you retired.”
“Not as dangerous as you might think. I was not an undercover agent.”
Arlene had recently retired from the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Rats.” Harry pretended to pout. “I want good stories.”
“Well, this isn’t a good story, but my area was Russia, so I was responsible for absorbing and digesting information from that area.”
“From undercover agents there?” Harry was fascinated.
“I would never say we have agents there, but I can promise you we have their agents here.” Arlene smiled.
Clare, a former Navy captain, sipped her white wine. “Not only does Russia have agents here but so do our allies. Everyone spies on everyone and yes, Harry, we, too, have agents everywhere. One must.”
“The best way to look at this is that power is amoral.” Jason settled into his chair, having poured himself another glass of wine.
“I know what you’re saying is true, but it drives me crazy,” Susan said. “All that money to sift through people’s computers, hacking this and hacking that. Following people, and I suppose killing some. Harry isn’t far wrong.”
“So the question is if one must kill, say, a Nigerian undercover agent who is funneling American funds to a terrorist group, thousands are dying, is the murder justified?” Arlene asked a question back.
“Well, if we aren’t being killed, no.” Harry was firm.
“What about the terrorists, at least I think of them as terrorists, who kidnapped the girls in Nigeria? It doesn’t affect us, but you don’t kidnap hundreds of children.” Susan tried to think this out.
“But sending operatives over there costs a lot of money, sending troops outright even more,” Jason said. “When I was in the diplomatic corps, depending on where I was assigned, we were always told and trained, ‘Hands off!’ ”
Clare spoke again. “The theory is that every state has sovereign rights. They may treat their people quite differently than we treat ours, but we have no right to interfere in internal issues, no matter how repugnant. Hence agencies like the CIA, which does not necessarily interfere, but provides information to shape our foreign policy that a diplomat going through normal channels may not be able to provide.”
“Jason, did you ever feel you were in a tight spot?” Harry’s curiosity kept her questioning.