The Shape of Their Hands

Friday 3rd October

Charlotte’s POV

A slow breath, gun held steady.

Stance precise, every minute action affected the next.

Tracking my prey and staying ahead of their positions all came naturally,

Split seconds stretched.

A smooth pull on the trigger; precise movements and a steady swing mattered more than speed, as eighteen years of experience, focussed down to this moment. Gun and owner became one being.

The shot cracked through the air, a muted punch of sound even through the earplugs.

Gunpowder burned the air, then vanished into the wind.

A fleeting heat kissed my cheek before the cool wind swept it away, followed by the soft thump of a body landing in bracken.

Success.

“Piglet. Fetch.” The command sent a black blur into the undergrowth.

“Good shot, Lady Charlotte.” Walker’s voice got closer as he moved forward, ready to take my gun.

The spent cartridges dropped to the mud as I cracked open the gun, handing it back to Gamekeeper Walker. Seconds later, Piglet, my black lab, brought back the latest pheasant, his mouth soft, offering me my prize undamaged.

My hand went to his head. “Good boy, that’s our last.”

Piglet stood calmly, tongue lolling out, tail on overdrive, as I scratched his head.

I grinned at his response. He was one of the few truly uncomplicated things in my life. A devoted companion and perfect shield.

“It’s just Charlie when we are alone.” I gave Piglet a treat before turning fully to Walker. “When was the last time my brother went shooting?”

Walker’s head turned toward me. “Not for two years, Charlie. Not since he married her Ladyship,” his words trailed off.

I snorted and looped the hanging twine around the pheasant’s neck. “I suppose the estate isn’t flashy enough for her anymore. Hard to filter a cold morning on the stand for a social media feed, isn’t it?”

Walker’s lips twitched, though his eyes remained on the beaters, calling them in with a wave.

“Can’t comment, Charlie, but the estate isn’t like it was under the late Earl’s guidance.” He paused. “I wonder why your brother keeps me on,” Walker’s words ended in a slight wheeze.

“The Countess has dropped hints about making the estate cottages into holiday lets.

“Just pleased my son didn’t want to follow in my footsteps.” He let out a weary sigh.

“Never mind me, Charlie.” He nodded to the pheasants. “Glad I could be here with you, always said you were the better shot. Bagged more in one afternoon than he would in a day.”

The grin spread across my face as I handed him two brace of pheasants. “These are for keeping me company; Andrea makes a mean game pie, so they won’t go to waste.”

The large, grey hall loomed in the distance, drawing my gaze. “And the Countess can shove it; I’ll have words with my brother.

“God, they can even let the shooting out for commercial days, or cut back on all the entertaining they post all over Instagram.

“You taught me how to shoot at ten,” I smiled.

His steady hands, encouragement when I missed, it was always, ‘You were closer that time, Lady Charlotte,’ ‘Smoother on the mount next time.’

“As long as I’m breathing, you have a job here.”

His eyes were red as he nodded his thanks, putting away the pheasants.

This poor man had dedicated his life to this estate; if I had to fund his salary, he would stay.

“See you tomorrow, Walker. Send my best wishes to Andrea.” Opening my old Land Rover doors, Piglet jumped in just as Walker called Monty and Whisky into his.

Another change she, my darling sister-in-law, had instigated. Estate dogs were only welcome when clean. Lucky buggers. They didn’t have to spend the evening in her presence.

“Sorry, Piglet, you’re with me in purgatory.”

Dropping some treats on the seat for him, I drove back, stopping first at the cold store to hang up today’s bounty and hose down Piglet.

“Charlie!” Maggie, the house cook, yelled out as I headed into the kitchens. “And Piglet… have I got treats for you!”

Piglet, the traitor, immediately shadowed Maggie, getting a raw chicken leg as his reward. “Fickle dog,” I uttered, but my smile formed regardless.

“Oh, I’m sure you worked him hard… he deserves a treat after a busy afternoon!” Maggie’s face beamed as he gave her his best puppy eyes.

“Seven brace are in the game larder. Walker took two more to Andrea.” I called over my shoulder, already heading for the sink.

Maggie intercepted me with practised ease, flapping a tea towel at me. “Shoo, clean up in the boot room, you menace.

“I’ll put the kettle on and get the cakes ready.”

Laughing, I walked away, “Sweet talker!” I called out, a smile spreading across my face.

We sat and chatted the afternoon away. Every so often Maggie got up and stirred a pot or tasted the sauce. Deft hands picked up herbs and spices; years of cooking played out before me to create the perfect flavours.

Everything reminded me of my childhood; when the kitchen was my refuge. Tasty nibbles, warmth, and adults who tolerated incessant questions as the rain drummed down outside had been the cornerstone of my youth.

“You best get going, Lady Bowland likes to have drinks served at six thirty and food at seven sharp.” Maggie took the mugs and walked to the sink.

“So early?” I huffed, mentally cursing her. My hand reached for Piglet’s head, running over his soft fur.

The splash of water as she washed the mugs didn’t drown out her answer. “Her Ladyship likes to eat earlier, says it’s unfair on the staff to keep them late.”

My hand stilled. Something, in all my years, I’d never considered.

Maggie turned, smiling as she saw my face. “Her Ladyship’s changes aren’t bad, Charlie. Just different.” Her eyes slowly ran over me. “Now away with you, the estate still changes for dinner.”

Taking the friendly rebuke, I made my way to the door. Behind me, Piglet, took a last mournful look at her and followed me out.

An hour later, showered and changed, I stood in front of the Turner hanging in the drawing room, studying the smallest details.

Like the small figure of a sailor, thrown overboard, fighting the waves, overlooked unless you really studied the painting.

Finding the smallest details that artists added, things others missed, had become a habit that started young. One that allowed me to compose myself.

‘Tears don’t help, Charlotte. One simply needs to restrain your emotions in public.’ The words of my mother were clear in my head, even decades later.

The door handle creaked just before it opened. “Charlie!” we both announced, not quite in unison.

Charles, the current Earl and my eldest brother, beamed and bundled me into a brief hug. “You went shooting without me, squirt,” he grumbled before moving over to pour the drinks.

“I was told you were busy.” I glanced over at him.

“Not so busy that I couldn’t move things about; find time to spend with my little sister.” He handed over the drink.

“Come deer stalking with me tomorrow, Charlie. Walker would love to see you.” My smile broadened.

To have my brother, not the Earl, for just one day, sent a warm glow through me.

His face relaxed as a grin formed.

“His name is Charles;” Serena interrupted. “I wish you’d both stop using those childhood names. It really is unbecoming.”

“Serena, darling.” I forced a smile and stood for the obligatory two air kisses.

“We will forever be the two Charlies in this house.

“It’s just a terribly boring habit of the estate, really.” I smiled sweetly as her eyes narrowed.

Serena stiffened, turning to my brother, she spoke. “We have the caterers tomorrow to finalise the Christmas ball menu,” she smirked at me.

I settled back into the armchair, claiming the space the way I always had. This house was in my blood, regardless of whose name was on the title.

Charles handed his wife a drink.

Sipping my drink, I dropped my next line. “I’m sure you are more than capable of managing that alone as the lady of the house. The images you post always look so beautifully organised.” My eyes flicked between them.

Piglet sat close, head on the arm of the chair, getting a few scratches.

“Charlie is right, my love. Between making the estate profitable and everything else, I haven’t been able to go deer stalking for years.” Charles settled into a chair nearby. “It will give me time to talk to my sister.”

The long look he gave Serena raised the hairs on my arms, even more so when she returned his stare with a sharp nod.

Brushing her dress down, she sat. “I don’t know why you shoot at all; we have gamekeepers. It all seems so barbaric to me.” Her lips thinned.

Serena had a way of sucking the joy right out of the place. Her views would be easier to swallow if she were vegetarian; but for her, it was about the optics.

My jaw tensed. “Because stags need to be culled, and the keepers have other jobs to complete. You certainly have no problem eating the results.” I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling; I swear I tried.

Charles shook his head. “It’s not for everyone, Charlie, you know that.”

Lifting my glass, I turned back to Charles. “Maggie knows there’s fourteen pheasants hanging in the game larder, so expect it to feature on your coming meals.”

“Wow, losing your touch,” Charles leant forward, ready to needle me, “I expected at least two more. Looks like the stags are mine tomorrow”

“Oh, Charles,” I grinned. “I took eighteen, just gave the rest to Walker.” I winked.

Serena’s mouth tightened, poised to speak, but the dinner announcement cut her off.