Page 28 of To Catch a Husband
‘Yes, he arrived but this morning, with good153references, by which I mean he is some distant relative of Mrs Peplow and thus “trustworthy, competent and respectful”. I would not be surprised if you are the first person he has admitted into the house. His name, by the way, is Hanford.’
‘I shall remember it. I confess, Sir Rowland, to a little trepidation. I have never given instruction before and fear that I may appear positively overbearing. I am not a very patient person, alas, excepting when it comes to rod and line. You cannot rush a fish.’
‘I promise not to be put into a quake.’ He took a key from his pocket and opened the door to the gunroom, hearing her take a deep breath as she entered. It was not the sort of deep breath that preceded doing something arduous, but one of familiarity and contentment. ‘I do not recall exactly which bag it was that I was to take.’
‘This one, Sir Rowland.’ Miss Lound went unerringly to a bag slung part way along the line of hooks. ‘I have some of my own flies, but we will also take a selection from here. I do not think we need to take another landing net and basket today, since I will only be casting to illustrate the method and so we shall not both be fishing.’
‘Besides, there is little chance that I shall catch a fish?’
‘There is such a thing as beginner’s luck, of course, but I would not set your heart upon it. The concept that one comes to water, casts one’s line, and brings forth a fish from the depths each time is quite erroneous and does not necessarily imply any failing upon the part of154the fisherman. One needs “angler’s luck”.’
‘Then I shall not be downcast if we return without supper.’ He smiled.
‘Oh no, you really must not.’ Her answer was made in all seriousness, and he found it hard not to laugh. For her part, she was focused upon what she must impart, and was suddenly aware that this might necessitate her being rather closer to Sir Rowland than she had imagined. It was oddly disconcerting, and thrust all thought of entrapping him from her mind for the time being. An air of constraint rose between them, and it was a silent couple, several feet decorously apart, who drew close to the lake’s edge. There Miss Lound halted and set down her basket.
‘We begin, Miss Lound?’
‘We begin, Sir Rowland, and far enough from the water’s edge that the fishes do not know we are here. Firstly, you must become proficient in putting your rod together. I would suggest that you try it in the gunroom, repeatedly, and eventually you ought to be able to do so without looking at the ferrules at all. It has to become an act more of nature than intent. If you would take your rod from the bag and copy my actions.’
He watched her dexterous fingers, and the way that they truly seemed to move without her thinking. For his part he fumbled a little, dropped the hazel end, and frowned in concentration when trying to attach the whalebone tip. She guided, her hand hovering close to his own, encouraging as one would a child. When he had155completed the construction, she smiled and congratulated him.
‘Now, take it apart, and do it all again, then I will show you how to attach your line and how the multiplying winch works.’
He obediently repeated the process, and then she showed him with her own rod how to run the line through, how to attach the multiplying winch and to tie on the short leader and then a fly. The fly being rather small, and the knot fiddly, he had, perforce, to be rather close to her when she did this. She then put a fly upon her own line, explaining that the choice of fly was dependent upon the month and which real insects would be available to the fish, and then advised him to watch her as she made a few casts without explanation.
He watched her, seeing a grace in her movements more than the execution of good casting. She sent her fly to within a foot of the same place three times in a row, and then turned to him.
‘Now, if I tried it very slowly the line would not have tension, so you must simply understand that the twirl about the head is to give momentum to the line. It is the fly you are attempting to launch over the water, via the line, not throwing a javelin. Strength is unnecessary, merely balance and precision. Watch once more and then you must try it for yourself.’
She began to draw in her line, and as she did so, a fish took the fly. She had cast into shadow without thinking, and gave a little ‘oh’ of surprise. The fish ran156from her, and she let it do so for a few yards, and then, without haste, began to reel it in, permitting it to exhaust itself in a series of ultimately futile runs. Once it leapt clear of the surface, the sheen of the water silvering its scales in the soft sunlight, and she dipped her rod, lest the force of the fish landing back in the water broke her leader. Sir Rowland took up the landing net, and would have scooped the trout up in it, but her hand went out, imperiously, and he gave it to her to perform the task. She laid the net upon the grass, a good-sized trout flapping about in it, then took what Sir Rowland saw was a short length of ash sapling, cut with some root ball to make a small club, and despatched it swiftly, before removing her hook.
‘Nicely done, Miss Lound. I mean, even a novice could see the skill in that. Did you know where the fishes would be?’
‘Not consciously, but I have fished this lake so many years it is perhaps, like casting, second nature. I had not intended to try for a fish myself. It is not very polite, I think, for a teacher to “show off”, but I promise you it was mere chance.’
‘Chance aided by knowledge, ma’am. Do not belittle the achievement. You will have to teach me to “read the water”, but first I must master the cast. You make it look very easy, and I am sure it is not so.’
‘We shall see, Sir Rowland. Let me put this trout in the basket and then we shall continue.’ She pulled several dock leaves and laid the fish upon them in the basket,157then dipped her hands in the water and rinsed them off. As she straightened, she smiled at him, an open, natural smile of one pleased with a small triumph. He thought it enchanting, and smiled back. There was something in that smile that made her blink, for she had not seen it in a man’s gaze before. ‘Take up the rod, then, sir, gather sufficient line, and see what you can do.’
He did as he was told, but in truth was thinking far more about his teacher than the instruction. He swirled the rod upright about his head and then flung his forearm back ready to throw the line forward, but it whipped out behind him and caught in the lowest boughs of a lime tree.
‘Who put that there?’ he complained, though with a laugh in his voice.
‘Impressive, if you want to catch trees, Sir Rowland, but not cast for fishes,’ remarked Miss Lound, and pursed her lips.
‘I am not a very apt pupil, ma’am,’ replied Sir Rowland, apologetically, laying down his rod and going to the willow to try and untangle his line from it.
‘It is not a matter of aptitude, but of doing as I tell you,’ she said with authority, and came to join him. He was all fingers and thumbs, and she shook her head at him. She was lost in the teaching, but he was lost in her closeness, the tress of soft, golden hair that had escaped from under her straw hat and hung in a slight wave before her right ear, the healthy glow of her skin, not tanned, but not the pallid look of those ladies who avoided the158outdoors unless veiled, for fear of the sunshine. ‘Now, we do it again. Your arm is too stiff, and you flung your arm back. It is not a javelin, Sir Rowland.’
‘No? Well, that is something I really must remember.’ His lips twitched.
‘This is where you are stiff, sir, in the wrist.’ Her hand took the offending wrist, and for a moment he held his breath. She seemed totally unaware of the ‘intimacy’, and then it was she who tensed, and, to his total surprise, gave him a look under her noticeably long lashes which in Madeleine Banham would have looked innocently coy, and which from Mary Lound appeared as though she had clumsily engineered the situation, which he was sure she had not. He frowned, and saw her withdraw, not just her hand, but her whole being.
‘I am sorry, Sir Rowland,’ she murmured, ‘I did not intend to embarrass you.’ Her voice pitched a little lower than normal, and he blinked. It was as though an entirely different person had taken over her body.
‘You did not do so, ma’am. Please, correct my error.’ He sounded calm but was in some confusion.
‘When you are about to make the pass about your head you are making too great a movement and using too much of the arm. It ought to be like this.’ She stepped away from him, and picked up her own rod, deftly performing the manoeuvre and sending her fly gracefully over the water. He thought it very good, but she knew it was not as good as she would normally achieve. He could have no idea that her heart was pounding, and159that doing something so natural to her was as much to calm her nerves as to instruct. ‘You see?’
