again,’ he said as the horses began the slow ascent to the house.
Mrs Flawse could see nothing good about it. ‘What’s that tower at the end?’ she asked.
‘That’s the old peel tower. Much restored by my grandfather but the house is structurally much as it was in the sixteenth century.’
Mrs Flawse had few doubts about that. ‘A peel tower?’ she murmured.
‘A refuge for man and beast when the Scots raided. The walls are ten feet thick and it took more than a passel of marauding Scotsmen or moss troopers to break their way in where they weren’t wanted.’
‘And what are moss troopers?’ Mrs Flawse enquired.
‘They aren’t any more, ma’am,’ said the old man, ‘but they were in the old days. Border raiders and cattle thieves from Redesdale and North Tynedale. The king’s writ didn’t run in the Middle Marches until well into the seventeenth century and, some say, later. It would have taken a brave law officer to come into those wild parts much before 1700.’
‘But why moss troopers?’ Mrs Flawse continued, to take her mind off the looming granite house.
‘Because they rode the moss and built their strongholds of great oak trunks and covered them with moss to hide them away and stop them being fired. It must havebeen a difficult thing to find them in among the bogs and swamps. Aye, and it needed a courageous man with no fear of death in his heart.’
‘I should have thought that anyone who chose to live up here must have had a positive longing for death,’ said Mrs Flawse.
But the old man was not to be diverted by the Great Certainty from the great past. ‘You may well say so, ma’am, but we Flawses have been here since God alone knows when and there were Flawses with Percy at the Battle of Otterburn so celebrated in song.’
As if to emphasize the point another shell exploded to the west on the firing-range and as its boom died away there came another even more sinister sound. Dogs were baying.
‘My God, what on earth is that?’ said Mrs Flawse, now thoroughly alarmed.
Mr Flawse beamed. ‘The Flawse Pack, ma’am,’ he said, and rapped on the window with his silver-headed stick. Mr Dodd peered down between his legs and for the first time Mrs Flawse saw that he had a cast in one eye. Upside-down, it gave his face a terrible leering look. ‘Dodd, we’ll gan in the yard. Mrs Flawse would like to see the hounds.’
Mr Dodd’s topsy-turvy smile was horrible to behold. So too were the hounds when he climbed down and opened the heavy wooden gates under the archway. They swarmed out in a great seething mass and surrounded the brougham. Mrs Flawse stared down at themin horror. ‘What sort of hounds are they? They’re certainly not foxhounds,’ she said, to the old man’s delight.
‘Those are Flawse hounds,’ he said as one great beast leapt up and slobbered at the window with lolling tongue. ‘Bred than myself from the finest stock. The hounds of spring are on winter’s traces as the great Swinburne has it, and ye’ll not find hounds that’ll spring so fierce on anything’s traces as these beasts. Two-thirds Pyrenean mountain dog for their ferocity and size. One-third Labrador for the keenness of scent and the ability to swim and retrieve. And finally one-third greyhound for their speed. What do ye make of that, ma’am?’
‘Four-thirds,’ said Mrs Flawse, ‘which is an absurdity. You can’t make four-thirds of anything.’
‘Can ye not?’ said Mr Flawse, the gleam in his eye turning from pride to irritation that he should be so disproved. ‘Then we’ll have one in for your inspection.’
He opened the door and one of the great hybrids vaulted in and slavered in his face before turning its oral attentions to its new mistress.
‘Take the horrid thing away. Get off, you brute,’ shouted Mrs Flawse, ‘stop that at once. Oh my God …’
Mr Flawse, satisfied that he had made his point, cuffed the dog out of the coach and slammed the door. Then he turned to
Mrs Flawse could see nothing good about it. ‘What’s that tower at the end?’ she asked.
‘That’s the old peel tower. Much restored by my grandfather but the house is structurally much as it was in the sixteenth century.’
Mrs Flawse had few doubts about that. ‘A peel tower?’ she murmured.
‘A refuge for man and beast when the Scots raided. The walls are ten feet thick and it took more than a passel of marauding Scotsmen or moss troopers to break their way in where they weren’t wanted.’
‘And what are moss troopers?’ Mrs Flawse enquired.
‘They aren’t any more, ma’am,’ said the old man, ‘but they were in the old days. Border raiders and cattle thieves from Redesdale and North Tynedale. The king’s writ didn’t run in the Middle Marches until well into the seventeenth century and, some say, later. It would have taken a brave law officer to come into those wild parts much before 1700.’
‘But why moss troopers?’ Mrs Flawse continued, to take her mind off the looming granite house.
‘Because they rode the moss and built their strongholds of great oak trunks and covered them with moss to hide them away and stop them being fired. It must havebeen a difficult thing to find them in among the bogs and swamps. Aye, and it needed a courageous man with no fear of death in his heart.’
‘I should have thought that anyone who chose to live up here must have had a positive longing for death,’ said Mrs Flawse.
But the old man was not to be diverted by the Great Certainty from the great past. ‘You may well say so, ma’am, but we Flawses have been here since God alone knows when and there were Flawses with Percy at the Battle of Otterburn so celebrated in song.’
As if to emphasize the point another shell exploded to the west on the firing-range and as its boom died away there came another even more sinister sound. Dogs were baying.
‘My God, what on earth is that?’ said Mrs Flawse, now thoroughly alarmed.
Mr Flawse beamed. ‘The Flawse Pack, ma’am,’ he said, and rapped on the window with his silver-headed stick. Mr Dodd peered down between his legs and for the first time Mrs Flawse saw that he had a cast in one eye. Upside-down, it gave his face a terrible leering look. ‘Dodd, we’ll gan in the yard. Mrs Flawse would like to see the hounds.’
Mr Dodd’s topsy-turvy smile was horrible to behold. So too were the hounds when he climbed down and opened the heavy wooden gates under the archway. They swarmed out in a great seething mass and surrounded the brougham. Mrs Flawse stared down at themin horror. ‘What sort of hounds are they? They’re certainly not foxhounds,’ she said, to the old man’s delight.
‘Those are Flawse hounds,’ he said as one great beast leapt up and slobbered at the window with lolling tongue. ‘Bred than myself from the finest stock. The hounds of spring are on winter’s traces as the great Swinburne has it, and ye’ll not find hounds that’ll spring so fierce on anything’s traces as these beasts. Two-thirds Pyrenean mountain dog for their ferocity and size. One-third Labrador for the keenness of scent and the ability to swim and retrieve. And finally one-third greyhound for their speed. What do ye make of that, ma’am?’
‘Four-thirds,’ said Mrs Flawse, ‘which is an absurdity. You can’t make four-thirds of anything.’
‘Can ye not?’ said Mr Flawse, the gleam in his eye turning from pride to irritation that he should be so disproved. ‘Then we’ll have one in for your inspection.’
He opened the door and one of the great hybrids vaulted in and slavered in his face before turning its oral attentions to its new mistress.
‘Take the horrid thing away. Get off, you brute,’ shouted Mrs Flawse, ‘stop that at once. Oh my God …’
Mr Flawse, satisfied that he had made his point, cuffed the dog out of the coach and slammed the door. Then he turned to
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