It was a glorious bright morning with the sun sparkling on the snow-clad Lovey Tor. At breakfast Lady Hawse-Gorzley announced that she and her family had to attend the funeral of Miss Ffrench-Finch but suggested that the chauffeur drive those who were interested around the local beauty spots, to show them the sights in this part of Devon. They could stop for lunch in an old pub in a historic village. The Upthorpes and Wexlers both wanted to do this. The countess declared that she had spent childhood holidays in Devon before anyone else in the room was born and had no need to see it again. Badger thought he might want to come along for the ride (having become, I suspected, rather enamored of Ethel Upthorpe, or at least of Ethel Upthorpe’s money), but Lady Hawse-Gorzley stopped him.

“You’ll want to start training for the Lovey Chase with the other boys, surely, Badger?”

“The Lovey Chase? What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

“Remember I told you, old fruit,” Monty said. “All the young men of the area compete in a steeplechase. Have to run around the course and jump over the fences, wearing a dashed ridiculous saddle. And the crowd places bets, just like a real horse race. I actually won a couple of years ago when I was just down from Eton and remarkably fit.”

“Before you went to seed at Oxford,” Bunty commented. “It’s awfully good fun, Badger. Nobody takes it seriously.”

“And it’s quite historic. Goes back to 1700, I believe—when there was a powerful Catholic family in the area and Catholics were not allowed by law to own horses. So they invented their own alternative horse race with their own sons.”

“Absolutely fascinating,” Mrs. Rathbone said. “Can’t wait to see it. I adore these old English traditions, don’t I, Reggie?”

“Is it only for the young bloods or can an old codger like me take part?” the colonel asked.

“Reggie, you are not going to make a fool of yourself stumbling over fences while wearing a saddle,” Mrs. Rathbone said.

“Well, I’m to be a contender,” Johnnie Protheroe said. “Don’t care if I have passed forty. How about you, Sechrest?” This was clearly thrown out as a challenge.

“Might just take you up on that,” Captain Sechrest said.

“So I thought you young men might want to go out and view the course, practice the jumps and all that,” Lady Hawse-Gorzley said.

“Absolutely,” Darcy said. He looked at me. “I hope you plan to bet a large sum on me.”

“Are you fit enough to win?”

“I haven’t seen the competition yet.” He chuckled. “If we’re up against some strapping young farm lads, then I don’t know.”

“Oh, it’s only for the sons of good families,” Bunty said. “We don’t allow the riffraff to join in.”