Mr American. George Fraser MacDonald

lady clapped her gloved hands with delight, someone tittered, and the bald, ugly man shot a nervous glance at Mr Lancaster, who was regarding Mr Franklin with unmixed amusement.

      “You think that, do you?” said Mr Lancaster, and in that moment a frightful suspicion dawned on Mr Franklin, and was immediately transformed into a certainty; he stared at the neat grey beard, the heavy face with the cap set rakishly above it, the burly figure, and above all the bright little eyes in the sleepy, pouched cheeks. There were copper coins in his pocket bearing that face, and child of the Great Republic though he was Mr Franklin experienced a chill shock in his stomach and a momentary weakness at the knees.

      “Well, then?” said Mr Lancaster calmly.

      “Well, then,” echoed Mr Franklin, somewhat confused. “I guess it is your majesty’s fox.”

      “No doubt of that,” said the King, and laughed again. His glance, twinkling maliciously, strayed from Mr Franklin to the assembled hunt. “Going to have a report of this in The Field, Clayton, are you? Splendid headline: ‘Gone to earth in a picnic basket!’” He guffawed at his own wit, the huntsmen laughed with hollow enthusiasm, and the green-eyed Alice smiled at Mr Franklin.

      “‘American gentleman’s unexpected luncheon guest’,” she suggested.

      “Tell you what, Clayton,” said the King, and Mr Franklin became aware that the intelligent-looking man was at his elbow, smiling respectfully at majesty. “If you don’t want this in the penny papers, I suggest you invite Mr … ah, Franklin, isn’t it? – to dinner. Swear him to silence, eh? Have Miss Peggy persuade him,” and the little eyes warmed as they regarded the angel-faced girl, who bowed in the saddle.

      “A pleasure, sir,” said Clayton, looking as though it would be anything but.

      “Capital,” said the King. “See you this evening, Franklin. Play bridge do you? – of course, all Americans do. All right, Stamper,” he gestured to the chauffeur, but even as the car was moving off, the royal memory was stirred. “Wait, though – what about the fox, Franklin?”

      “At the moment, he is detained at your majesty’s pleasure,” said Mr Franklin, startling himself by his own readiness.

      “Give him time off for good behaviour, then,” said the King, and as the car moved off he called over his shoulder: “Provided he has behaved himself, in among your smoked salmon and foie gras!” His deep laugh sounded as the royal car passed on, the hunt bowing in their saddles respectfully. Mr Franklin found himself being considered by an interested group, in which Clayton, Miss Peggy, the large grinning Arthur, and the bald ugly man were prominent.

      “Well, well, old Ted’s in a better temper than I’ve ever seen him,” said Arthur, retrieving the hat he had thrown aside. “How’d you like to be court jester, Yankee?”

      “That will do, Arthur!” said Clayton sharply, and turned to Mr Franklin. “My name is Clayton, sir, how do you do? I seem to recall your name – are you by any chance the gentleman who has recently bought Lancing Manor?”

      “Yes, Mr Clayton.”

      “Ah – Sir Charles Clayton, in fact. My dear, may I present Mr Franklin – my daughter. The Marquis de Soveral –” at this the ugly man inclined his head “ – and my son, Arthur.” Clayton glanced round; the burly young man Frank was standing some distance off, in no good humour. “Lord Lacy, who is a neighbour of yours – Mr Franklin.” The American nodded, Lacy continued to glare. These civilities concluded, Mr Franklin felt that a word of explanation was in order.

      “May I say, Sir Charles,” he began “that I had no intention of kidnapping your fox. It just came flying –”

      “Not at all,” said Clayton, and Mr Franklin had the impression that he had said something indecent. “I think we may forget the fox. Jarvie! Will you be good enough to take the basket and release the animal – at a safe distance from hounds. The hunt,” he went on with dissatisfaction, “is at an end.”

      “Better say ‘please’ Jarvie, or Mr Franklin will certainly flatten you,” called Arthur cheerfully.

      “Stop it, Arthur,” said Peggy. “You can think yourself lucky Mr Franklin didn’t flatten you. Are you always so kind to animals?” she went on, innocently, and Mr Franklin had the impression that he was being flirted with, on very brief acquaintance. He was human enough to be pleased; she looked distinctly fetching, in her cute little mannish bowler, and the dark habit setting off her graceful figure. He noted approvingly that she sat side-saddle with unconscious ease. And apart from her obvious attractions, he was prepared to like her for her pert cheerfulness – her brother, too, for that matter, even if Father seemed a bit of a cool stick.

      “We shall be delighted if you will give us the pleasure of your company at dinner, Mr Franklin,” Clayton was saying, and it flashed across the American’s mind that he was in a position to cause acute alarm in the Clayton family if he chose to decline the invitation – had anyone, he wondered, refused to dine with the King of England? Probably not – and he was certainly not going to be the first. He murmured his acceptance, was informed that Oxton Hall was a mere six miles from Castle Lancing, and that dinner would be at 8.30.

      “And please, try to make the King laugh as much as you did this afternoon,” said Peggy. “Tell him American jokes, or something.”

      “Otherwise the curse of the Claytons will descend on you,” said Arthur.

      “Until this evening, then,” said their father, effectively cutting off his children’s indiscretions, and as the men remounted, Peggy waved gaily, and the party trotted off down the road after the rest of the hunt, Mr Franklin found his arm taken by the saturnine Marquis de Soveral, who proceeded to examine him carefully, but with extreme courtesy, as to his background, antecedents, politics, and ability to play bridge – the last of which concerned Mr Franklin somewhat, since his card repertoire was confined to pinochle, poker, black jack, and a little whist; of bridge he knew no more than he had picked up idly watching other passengers on the voyage from America.

      “Dear me,” said de Soveral, “that is a pity, since his majesty obviously intends that you should play. However, no doubt dear Mrs Keppel will see you through. Remember, only, that his majesty likes to win. And he is very easily bored, which is why – I say it without the least desire to offend, my dear fellow – you will be something of a godsend. You are new, you see – which is why I am finding out all I can about you.” The dark eyes twinkled shrewdly, and it occurred to Mr Franklin that the Marquis de Soveral, with his forbidding looks and bristling dark moustache, was nobody’s fool. “Officially, you understand, I am the Minister of Portugal at the Court of St James’s, but I occupy the much more exalted position of confidant to his majesty, and he will certainly want to know all about you when I return to Oxton Hall. That, of course, is what a diplomat is for. Evening dress, of course – ah, what more? You will be expected to stay the night, so I urge you to bring the necessary changes. You have a man – no? I shall arrange that. Might I presume to suggest that you bring a small gift for Mrs Keppel – the lady in the car with his majesty. It is not necessary, of course, but it would delight her, and what delights her pleases his majesty. She is a truly charming person, in every way, and keeps his majesty amused. You will not, of course, flirt with her – it would greatly embarrass her, and his majesty would be most offended. I merely mention it because she is so extremely attractive. For the rest, if you are in doubt at any time, catch my eye. And when his majesty says ‘No bid,’ and lays his cards flat on the table, do not, I implore you, if you are his partner, bid yourself – not unless you have a certain slam in your hand. Ah, I see Jarvie has recovered your horse. Well, Mr Franklin, it has been a great pleasure meeting you – to tell you the truth –” and the Marquis bared his teeth in a bandit smile “– I was delighted at your disruption of this afternoon’s hunt. So, I gathered, was his majesty. It is good for these squires to be reminded that the pursuit of the unfortunate fox is not quite a sacred ritual. I look forward to this evening.”

      He swung gracefully into the saddle and cantered off with a flourish of his hat, leaving an astonished, slightly