Baby (8)

Summary: Meet John Thorpe, big game hunter.

8: Wild Boar/Bore

Catherine parked the car in the garage next to Mr. Sherman's vehicle. She got out and stood next to Henry, gaping at the empty stall.

"Henry, where's Baby?" she asked in a voice of dreamlike worry.

"I don't know, Catherine," Henry replied.

"How did he get out?"

"I don't know, Catherine."

"Why would he go anywhere? We left him food and water. What more does a leopard want?"

"I don't know, Catherine," he repeated once more. "I am a paleontologist, not a leopard-opterist or whatever they're called!"

She seemed surprised by his outburst but really, the bigger surprise was that he had borne so much before breaking.

"Do you think he'll be safe?" she wondered half to herself.

"Baby's a leopard," Henry reminded her. "It's the rest of us I'm worried about. Does your aunt keep any animals on the farm?"

"There's a pond where we get ducks every year but it's not that kind of farm. There's no animals but George," answered Catherine before a thought occurred to her. "You don't think Baby would eat George, do you?"

"Not on a full stomach, but if George harasses Baby, there's no telling what the leopard may do in response," he answered morosely. And if that dog was mauled or killed, who knew if Henry would ever find the intercostal clavicle again.

"Henry, that's awful! We have to do something!" declared Catherine.

Further conversation was interrupted by an astonished whistle from the door. "Mercy, Miss Catherine!" exclaimed the maid. "You said there was a mess in here but I had no idea." Susan then entered and studied the pile of debris up close, circling it to see it from all angles. Clearly, she had overheard nothing about the missing leopard. "It'll take hours to clean this," she concluded with the tone of someone who pitied whoever else would be saddled with the task.

"We're very sorry," Catherine began to apologize but Susan waved her off.

"Nevermind, Miss Catherine," she said. "It's not my problem, and I don't think it's your fault either. I've told Geoffrey who drives for Mrs. Allen many times that the cabinet and shelves needed to be replaced but he told me to mind my own business. It seems only right that this mess is his business. He can clean it up tomorrow. Come into the house now and sit with your aunt, there's nothing else for you to do tonight."

Susan started walking away. After blinking at each other, Catherine and Henry trailed after her.

"The cleaners said your suit would be ready tomorrow morning but not to expect miracles," Susan informed them as an afterthought. "And Mrs. Allen has offered to let you stay here tonight, Mr. Noh. She's already hosting Mr. Thorpe so what's one more?” she said with the general air of grievance that came from being responsible for the additional work that sprang from such generosity. “She is also offering to let you borrow one of Mr. Allen's old suits for the rest of the evening. And she's telephoned your parents, Miss Catherine, that you'll be home after dinner."

"What exactly did she say to my parents?" asked Catherine, suddenly worried for reasons that had nothing to do with leopards.

"I hardly have time to eavesdrop," stated the maid matter of factly. "But Mrs. Allen would never say a disparaging word about you."

.o8o.

Catherine sat with Mr. Thorpe, eager to demonstrate how well she had earned her aunt's respect and trust. Henry jingled after Mrs. Allen, eager to find more appropriate attire.

"What brings you to Connecticut?" Catherine asked, determined to fill in as hostess during her aunt's absence.

"Mrs. Allen invited me, and I had nothing else pressing at home," he replied. There was a small pause when Catherine thought she might need to say something to keep the conversation going, but then the man kept talking. "It turns out that my mom and your aunt are in the same sorority. They knew each other from way back and got to talking at the reunion in Boston. Now, as I mentioned, I got nothing going on right now --" There was a small inflection to let Catherine know this period of idleness was short lived and self-imposed. "Well, your aunt and I shared a few words and the next thing we know, we got more connections than just my mother. You see, Mrs. Allen lives out here in Fullerton, Connecticut and I have a really good friend who's from Fullerton, Connecticut so I came along to surprise his family."

The pause is more noticeable now. "Who do you know?" Catherine asked on cue.

"Jimmy Morland," answered Mr. Thorpe.

"You know my brother James?" Catherine rephrased.

"Yeah," Thorpe answered. "We go way back, met in college. I ran into him again 8 months ago and we spent some time together."

Catherine let that soak in for a moment. She no longer wondered why Mrs. Allen had invited this man to visit the area. Mr. and Mrs. Morland would be delighted to talk with one of James' friends. But if Mr. Thorpe last saw her brother eight months ago, that meant, "You were in Africa?"

"Of course I was! Last I saw of him, Jimmy had this leopard cub that he was toting around like a baby, singing it lullabies, and feeding it from a bottle."

"How adorable!" she exclaimed at the mental image of her brother with Baby as a kitten.

Thorpe made a face as he prepared to say more. "Oh, they look cute when they're small, but a leopard is no pet. I told him he needed to get rid of the thing before it grew up and mauled somebody. Too bad we had to part ways before I could make him see reason. I just hope he's okay."

Catherine, who knew that Baby hadn't mauled anyone except a duck, was able to dismiss that concern. "But what were you doing in Africa, Mr. Thorpe?"

"I was working," he shrugged in an approximation of humility. "I have a little business in which I help my clients who are inexperienced hunters collect trophies from Africa to bring home."

Catherine, who was familiar with receiving all sorts of trophies and medals for various athletic achievements, innocently asked, "What do your clients do to earn these trophies?"

"Usually they just stand there and pull the trigger," Thorpe grinned at her. "Of course, I charge them for the work I do: arranging transportation; buying the ammunition and food; tracking the animals; showing them how to load the guns or hold them; paying off any officials who want to make trouble. It's all very corrupt over there; if they can smell a dollar on you, they'll do what they can to take it from you. Anyway, I help my clients find the big game and stick a gun in their hands, and they pay me for my time and connections. Very few men come all the way to Africa thinking they'll let me do all of it -- they've done target practice or shot a turkey or something -- but after a week in the bush, shooting at shadows and hitting not-even-that, they come around."

"You kill the animals?" Catherine said, color drained from her face.

"Not like Mrs. Allen's barking dog; not someone's pet," he assured her. Catherine did not feel assured. "We're talking big, dangerous, wild beasts. Trust me, you wouldn't want to meet up with something like that."

Catherine thought it was terrible to go chasing after animals just to kill them for sport but Mrs. Allen rejoined them before she could think of what to say.

"And what do you think of James' friend, Catherine?" she asked. "Imagine my surprise to discover that one of my sorority sisters has children who know the Morland family! I simply had to invite him to meet the rest of you. And his stories, so fascinating! He talked the entire drive home and I think he barely scratched the surface. Did you know Africa was so dangerous?"

Again Catherine struggled to reply, but Mr. Thorpe swooped in to her rescue and answered so thoroughly that no one remembered what the original question was.

Then Henry came down looking 20 years out of fashion and a little small in his clothes but no longer a clown.

"Henry!" Catherine couldn't help exclaim. She didn't spring up from her chair to greet him, but she felt a magnetic pull just the same. "You look better."

"I feel better," he concurred, smoothing the line of his suit. "And thank you so much for your hospitality, Mrs. Allen."

"Any friend of the Morlands is a friend of mine," she replied. And with both Henry and John Thorpe in her home, no other proof was needed.

"So what do you do, Mr. Noh?" asked his hostess.

"I study…" Henry stopped. He didn't want to admit anything that tied him back to the museum in front of Mrs. Allen but he didn't have enough hobbies to tell much of a lie. "I study animals, in New York."

"What a coincidence. I study animals too, in Africa," said Thorpe. "So what animals do you study, then, Mr. Noh?"

"And what does it have to do with George?" Mrs. Allen asked.

"Oh, he stole Henry's clavicle," Catherine said, then expounded, "the clavicle that Henry wants to show to Sacha."

"How did you get your hands on a clavicle?" asked John Thorpe.

"It was a gift from my sister. She lives in Wyoming," he explained, then added, "with her husband."

Thorpe whistled in appreciation. "They still have buffalo out there? Those beasts are huge."

"Majestic," Henry agreed, having seen a display in the museum.

"I wonder what it would take to bring down an animal that size," Thorpe said mostly to himself.

"You can't hunt them," Henry replied, aghast.

"Mr. Noh," Susan said from the door to the kitchen but Henry didn't notice her.

"They've nearly gone extinct," he continued. "Even now, there's serious work to bring back their numbers."

"Mr. Noh," the maid repeated more forcefully.

"Buffalo are an American symbol, as representative of our country as the bald eagle," he went on, and might have kept rambling except for Catherine's gentle interruption of, "Henry?"

At that point, he turned to the maid who merely repeated, "Mr. Noh," one more time.

"No?" He blinked owlishly, having forgotten his temporary last name. Then it came rushing back. "I mean yes. I mean, yes, I'm Mr. Noh."

"Mr. Noh, the dog's run outside again if you want to follow him," said Susan. She had seen far more foolishness than this in her time and could take it in stride but she was beginning to suspect that Miss Catherine's friend was less equipped.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Allen, Mr. Thorpe," Henry said as he stood and left the room. Social obligations were secondary to recovering the fossil.

"I'll just see if I can help him," Catherine added as she followed him out.

After fifteen minutes of fruitlessly pawing at the ground, George returned to the kitchen to rest up. Henry and Catherine returned empty-handed to the parlor where John Thorpe was continuing to entertain his hostess with all sorts of wild and improbable stories. The seated pair made polite inquiries into the search but it was obvious from the long faces that George had yet to return the treasure he had stolen.

"Tough luck then," Mrs. Allen sympathized with them. "Mr. Thorpe was just telling me of some near misses of his own."

This was all Thorpe needed to retell an outlandish hunting tale which ended in a grisly death that he barely edited to make suitable for the ladies.

Henry sat and looked mildly attentive but his mind was with his missing fossil, in a random hole somewhere on the property. It allowed him to avoid thinking of John Thorpe as exceedingly tedious and vain and prone to exaggeration.

And when the maid came back to announce George had wandered out again, Henry didn't need to be told twice. He went, and if he thought at all about the impression he was making, he was at least glad it was consistent and under a fake identity.

Catherine watched him leave and wondered how rude it would be to Aunt Bess and her other guest if she went as well. Surely if Aunt Bess could keep company with Mr. Thorpe, then Catherine ought to keep company with Henry. Rather than spend too much time thinking about it, Catherine stood up, excused herself, and went after Henry.

---

Note: not a colonel but a big game hunter. Hope that works for you, Harvey.