Chapter Fourteen
John hurried after the tall man, as he went through an arch opposite the clock tower, then took a sharp left along a path. The doctor had to break into a trot to catch up with him, which wasn't easy, given what he was carrying.
By the time he managed to do so, Nik Green was half way across a field heading for an enormous Sycamore tree, alongside what John could swear was a cricket pitch, complete with pavilion. The morning sun was burning off the mist over the lawns. The wind was beginning to pick up, too. On his left, he could now appreciate the side of the grey stone house that he had not seen last night. If anything, it was even more impressive when John could see it in the context of its location. To his right and behind him, he could see a lake. In front of him, the hills rose to form a natural amphitheatre embracing the house.
As he caught up with the tall man, John tried not to pant as he spoke. "Look, I'm sorry, Mister Green. I had no idea that you were going to be displaced when Sherlock told me I was to load for him. If it's important to you, I will tell him that I'd rather you did it."
That made Green turn and face him. "It's not for me to say; it's Sherlock's choice. It's just that…well, I've waited six long years for him to come back, and I won't deny that it's disappointing not to be working with him again. But, he is…what he is. And if he wants you to load, then, by God, you're going to do it. So listen carefully."
John slipped the two guns off his shoulder and the cartridge bag. "I'm listening."
"Right. How much shooting have you done yourself?"
"None. Well, apart from on afternoon on a farm when I was a kid."
Green closed his eyes in a kind of silent despair. "Wonderful. This is going to be a farce. You're going to be loading for one of the fastest, best shots in the county and you don't even know how to open a shotgun, do you?"
"Show me." John's determined tone of voice made the other man look more closely at him. And then the lesson began. He was shown how to break the gun open to expose the twin barrels, how to grab two cartridges out of his pocket with three fingers of one hand and to load them, then snap the weapon back together.
"Now let me show you where to stand. I'm the gun." Green took the other Purdey and stood, gesturing John to stand to the left and two paces behind him. "At least you're short; you won't have to duck when he tracks a bird moving to the left behind him." He mimicked the movement, putting the gun into his shoulder and swinging it around to his left, aiming high above John's head.
"Have you got earplugs? Sherlock wears heavy ear defenders- the noise can bother him, but you need to hear what he's saying, so just use plugs rather than the ear muffs."
John reached into the right chest pocket of the jacket and pulled out the ear plugs he'd found there- courtesy of Reginald from William Evans. He pushed them in place.
"Right. Can you still hear me?"
John nodded.
"What happens next is that Sherlock will track a bird and shoot. When he hits it using the first barrel, you wait for him to sight and shoot at a second bird. He does miss occasionally with the first and will fire both barrels. In either case, as soon as you hear the second barrel, take the safety off your gun, put it in your left hand and position it like this." Nik balanced the gun, with the barrel pointing skywards, holding it so that the stock could be taken by the person to whom he would be handing it.
"You have to take the empty weapon from him, and replace it immediately with the loaded weapon. He's got his eye on the birds, so he won't be looking at you, but you don't take your eyes off of him. He will just reach back. He won't look back; he'll keep his eyes on the trees. Try it- let's just do a half dozen hand offs."
By the last of the six swaps, John was getting the hang of it a bit better.
"Now it gets complicated. As soon as you take possession of the weapon that has been fired, you need to eject the cartridges and reload. And that's what takes time and practice to get right. Ideally, you need to be able to do it without really looking at it, because your eyes should be on him. Use your peripheral vision as best you can, so you don't lose track of where he is and what he is doing." He showed John how to eject the cartridges, turning the weapon so that the empty plastic and metal casings came out cleanly, and then re-loaded with fresh cartridges in one fluid movement, snapping the barrel back together and slipping the safety off. "It's against usual practice; loaders are always told to leave the safety on; but Sherlock wants it off. You'll make the mistake once, and he will bite your head off when he misses a bird because of it."
"Another tip- don't watch the birds. If you try to see whether he's hit the bird or not, you'll be too slow. As soon as he fires, he knows whether he's hit the bird or not. That's the weird thing about him. He does it all through trajectories and maths- I don't get it, but it works for him, and makes him better than anyone else I've ever seen shooting. If only he wanted to shoot regularly or competitively, he'd be an international competitor. Instead he shoots once a year- or less, given he hasn't been here for six years. But that won't make a blind bit of difference to how well he shoots today. He's so totally focused on it that nothing else matters. It's …kind of scary the first time you see it."
John thought about that and nodded. "He's like that when he's focused on a case."
Nik Green turned to him, as if seeing him for the first time. "You're that blogger bloke- the one who writes about his work."
John nodded.
"Oh." Then Nik nodded. "I guess that makes sense. You work with him every day. He must think you'll be able to understand what he needs." Then the taller man caught sight of something over John's shoulder. "Speak of the devil."
John turned to see Sherlock, with Bella in tow, coming across the field from the trees that surrounded the little church.
Sherlock was wearing breeks; the green shooting jacket that had seen better days was unzipped, revealing a scruffy green sweater underneath. The mud on his leather boots was fresh- and matched by the mud on Bella.
"Been getting the lie of the land again?" was Nik's friendly greeting, which Sherlock answered with a nod.
"Alright?" Sherlock's question was aimed at John, who gave a smile before adding, "But, I won't be as good or fast as Nik would be, so if that's important, I am happy to stand down and watch."
"Don't be absurd, John. You'll hardly learn anything sitting on the side-lines. Have you actually fired a gun yet? I didn't hear anything."
Nik shook his head. "Not yet, was just getting to that."
"Right- I'll show you once with Nik, and then you can swap and try it. The noise can be a bit disconcerting. Bella- sit and stay."
Sherlock took the gun from John, who stepped aside to watch. Sherlock pulled a pair of ear defenders from his pocket and slipped them on, stuffing his flat cap into the same pocket. He checked the weapon was loaded, then clicked the safety off, giving it a scowl. Then he took his stance, shotgun in tight against his right shoulder. Nik stood two paces behind and one pace to the left, waiting. Sherlock took aim at the top of the sycamore tree ahead of them.
BANG!
It was louder than John had anticipated, and he flinched slightly. The second bang, almost immediately after, was followed by Nik taking a step forward to take the empty gun was it was handed back to him, replacing it with the loaded gun in one smooth movement. Sherlock had it back into his shoulder a second later, and fired the first barrel. In the meantime, Nik broke the gun open and the cartridge cases automatically ejected. Inserting two fresh ones, he managed to get it shut again just as Sherlock fired the second barrel, and the process happened started over again.
Sherlock turned to John. "Is the noise too much? I know you were used to hearing gunfire in the army, but it's a different sound and I wouldn't want it to cause you any problems." John realised that Sherlock was probably referring obliquely to his PTSD, but in a way that Nik Green wouldn't get the reference.
"If I thought it would be a problem, I wouldn't have agreed, Sherlock. Let me have a go."
He practiced the swap twice. The second time, he forgot to click the safety off. There was the sound of a click when John expected a bang, and then Sherlock looked back at him. "The gun safety goes on automatically when you close the breech, so click it off manually before you hand it over." It was practical advice, rather than 'having his head bitten off', and John wondered what the difference was between now and six years ago that had made a change for the better.
Then Nik reminded them of the time and they walked back to the courtyard, which was now full of people. The beaters were all piling into a couple of trucks with bench seats around the sides, the spaniels were jumping in as well, and then a third truck with a trailer on it loaded up with labs and pickers up, before trundling out of the courtyard in convoy.
Wallace caught Sherlock's eye and came over to him, with two field cockers at his heels. "I'll take Cleo with me- that's the black cocker; you get Rollo. I'll show you why. He stopped and the two spaniels sat obediently, looking up. "Cleo- find the pheasant!" gesturing ahead of him. The black one tore off, quartering the ground in front of her, nose to the ground- first one direction to the right, then back toward the left, but each time moving the hunt further away from Wallace. About thirty seconds later Wallace gave two short peeps on his whistle. A good fifty meters out, Cleo looked up and he called her in.
Once she was sat beside him again, Wallace grinned. "Now watch. Rollo- find the pheasant!" He gestured ahead, to the same ground that Cleo had just searched. The dog didn't move. He just looked in the direction that Wallace had pointed, and then back up at the Gamekeeper. His lip actually curled.
Sherlock started to smile. Wallace then pointed off to the left- away from where Cleo had worked, and Rollo shot off, covering the ground much faster than Cleo had. By now Sherlock was smiling. "Wallace- I would never have believed it- you've managed to breed a cocker with a brain."
John looked puzzled. Sherlock turned and explained. "Why should he go over the same ground that Cleo had just searched? He's smart enough to know better. Ninety nine out of hundred cocker spaniels would have done what was asked of them, even if they knew it was pointless."
"Aye- Rollo has an attitude problem. Thinks he's smarter than any beater alive, and that's why we keep him just for the peg. You'll get on famously."
Then Mycroft called the guns together and began the briefing.
"There will be two drives and then a break for coffee, then another two before lunch, which will be set up out in the park, and then two more after that, assuming the light and weather hold. The drives are all different, involving different ground. Some will be in open fields, a couple are in the woods and that makes the shooting much more challenging, as you have only seconds to snap a shot off before they are back into cover again. The land rises to the south of the house, giving some fine high birds. And there's a bit of heathland too- so we should be able to get a walk up drive for partridge after lunch. "
"Gentlemen and ladies who are shooting, I must remind you of the rules. No ground game of any kind, even if a fox is brazen enough to walk in front of you. Shoot only when you can see sky, and can get a clean shot. Pick up all spent cartridges. One short blast on the whistle to start the beaters off. When the beaters are all out, I will use the whistle again- two short blasts means the drive is over, so break your guns immediately. If we have to stop for any reason in the middle, three longer blasts. Once you are on your peg, you are able to shoot, so don't wait for the whistle if a good target presents itself."
"Please draw your peg numbers." He fanned out a set of eight cards, and offered Elizabeth Ffoukes the first choice, then the Prince. The Brigadier chose next. Sir Martin was followed by the American Ashton, then Wills, the banker. Mycroft took one of the last two cards- number 4, and handed Sherlock the last one- number 8.
The guns and their guests were divided up and assigned a Landrover. The prince had his own, with his aide, and two rather self-conscious looking bodyguards. Elizabeth, Lady Caroline and Arabella went with Mycroft and Nik Green; two black labs were put into the back. The Ashton siblings shared with Sarah Barnard and David Wills, Sir Martin Whetle and his wife were joined by the Brigadier and his wife in another- both driven by Parham staff.
Frank Wallace took Sherlock and John in his own Landrover, and put three dogs in the back. He hoisted Bella in, and then the pair of cockers. As he got into the driver's seat, he said. "I haven't the heart to leave her behind, but I will keep her in the car. Be prepared, though, for a lot of whining and the mother of all sulks- I'll bet you she won't touch a bit of her supper tonight."
Not for the first time, John thought of how Bella and Sherlock were in tune with one another. Deprive them of their pleasures, and you got similar reactions.