And Berry Came Too (18 page)

“All right,” said Berry. “Only, as we’re here, we may as well locate the vicarage. It’s almost certainly at Coven, but we’d better make sure.”

“The vicarage?” said his wife. “Why on earth do we want to know where the vicarage is?”

“In case we’re successful,” said Berry. “The vicar’s the proper person to administer what we find.”

“But it’s ours,” shrieked Daphne. “The man meant Bertram to have it, and Bertram’s right has now descended to us.”

“For shame,” said Berry. He raised his eyes to heaven and wagged his head. “Think of the widows and orphans to whom it never belonged. Think of the—”

“Rot,” said Daphne. “The man—”

“–was a common robber,” said Berry. “And I think it more than likely that when he’d sunk his, er, surplus, he went to
The Dog-Faced Man
and had a large blood and tears.”

“I was talking of—”

“Some infamous relics,” said Berry, “if I remember aright. Which a man meant Bertram to have and have now descended to us. If we add to the grisly collection, am I to be allowed to display the ones which we have?”

My sister swallowed.

“I don’t see what that’s got to do with it. If—”

“Then,” said Berry, “we’ll take the vicar’s advice. If he says—”

“Oh, I suppose if you want to turn the library into a Chamber of Horrors…”

“That’s a good girl,” said Berry, and entered the nearest car. “On the way back we’ll stop at
The Case is Altered
and drink the testator’s health.”

“Then you’ll drink it alone,” said his wife. “If there’s anything going, we may just as well have it as anyone else. But I don’t pretend I’m grateful. It wasn’t the brute’s to give.”

“Quite right,” said Berry, “quite right. Besides, the question of gratitude may not arise. I mean, it mayn’t be what we think. All sorts of things are b-buried. Sometimes they go so far as to bury the dead.”

I helped my sister into the other car.

Three days and a half had gone by when I brought the Rolls to rest in front of
The Dog-Faced Man
.

Outside the inn, in the shade of some whispering limes, was standing a well-worn car to which was attached a trailer, no longer smart. The two carried camping equipment of every kind – I knew: I had helped to load them five hours before.

My cousin strolled out of the inn – according to plan.

“At last,” he said. He turned to call to his sister. “Jill, they’re here. Come along.” He returned to us. “Your advance-guard has done very well. We’ve found an excellent field a mile away. I fixed things up with the owner an hour ago.”

Jill and the Knave came flying out of the inn.

“Daphne darling, it’s priceless. Wait till you see. He was awfully sticky at first – the owner, I mean. But Jonah talked farming with him and after a quarter of an hour he showed us a map of his land and said we could go where we liked.”

“How – how marvellous of him,” said Daphne, and meant what she said.

Ten minutes later I slowed down behind the trailer just short of the five-barred gate which gave to a field we knew. Here everyone alighted except my cousin and me. The gate was opened by Berry, and Jonah drove into the field: and then, my way being clear, I proceeded to place the Rolls. The turf by the side of the road made an excellent berth. I brought the great car to rest
with her nose in line with a milestone some seventeen paces ahead
. All this, according to plan. It was now but five o’clock and the daylight was broad, and the turf was conveniently smooth: but had it been dark and had there been a pit a yard square two paces in front of the Rolls, her headlights, when dipped, would have illumined the hole, and, what is as much to the point, if the car were advanced three paces, the petty excavation would have been lost to view. In a word, the stage was set.

That our preparations were laboured, I do not pretend to deny: but they had not been made without reason, for one cast-iron condition was ruling the enterprise.
Neither whilst it was being done nor after it had been done must we be so much as suspected of what we proposed to do
. We could not afford exposure. For one thing only, what we were going to do was against the law.

These things being so, it goes, I think, without saying that we could not make our attempt except under cover of night. Now, though we might hide our labour, we could not conceal our presence in such a neighbourhood. Hence the camping equipment. Once the two tents were up, no one would give two thoughts to the simple-minded strangers who had “managed to get old Belcher to let them camp in his field.” So far, so good: but the work which we were to do had got to be done by the side of the King’s highway. And the King’s highway is open to all and sundry, by night as by day. The work would take time. Fifteen paces, Studd said. But what was the length of his paces? And had he walked perfectly straight by the edge of the road? Add to this that we could not work without light. And a light can be seen in the country a long way off…

The camp would account for our presence: the Rolls, with her headlamps dipped, would afford us a furtive light: and if the alarm was given, we had but to drive her forward to cover the hole we had dug.

As I entered the good-looking meadow—

“But we must have water,” cried Daphne. “I’m dying to wash my hands.”

“I know,” said Berry. “So’m I. But I’m going to tread it under and wipe them upon the grass.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said his wife. “I’m not going to go without water until we get home. Besides, we’ve got to wash up.”

“There’s a stream,” said Jonah, pointing, “the other side of that ridge.” He produced two canvas buckets. “Would you rather fetch the water or put up a tent?”

“That isn’t grammar,” said Berry. “No man born of woman can put up a tent. I’ll subscribe to its erection, if that’s what you mean. But I’m not going to drag my nails out, clawing sailcloth about against its will. Besides, we must spare ourselves. We didn’t come here to make our abode in this field.”

“We’ve got to pretend that we did. So the tents have got to go up and the water has got to be fetched.”

With his eyes on the buckets—

“About this water,” said Berry, thoughtfully.

“Why don’t we make a chain? A chain of people, I mean – like they do at a fire?”

“From here to the stream?” said I.

“That’s right,” said Berry. “I know we’re only six: but if we spread out—”

“Which end of the chain,” said Daphne, “are you proposing to be?”

My brother-in-law swallowed.

“Well, we ought to draw lots,” he said. “That’s the fairest way. But I don’t mind. If I can walk so far, I’ll – I’ll take the other end.”

“All right,” said Jonah. “You go on with the buckets. As you’ll have the farthest to go, we’ll give you ten minutes’ start.”

“But we all start together,” cried Berry. “That’s the whole point of the thing. Then Number One falls out – at the head of this field: Number Two at the top of the ridge: and so on. It’s the only way to fetch water.”

“But what’s the sense of us all going?” said Jill.

“Well, it saves time for one thing,” said Berry. “We get the water much quicker. Number Six fills the buckets and gives them to Number Five. Number Five runs with them to Number Four. Number Four runs to Number Three. And so on.”

“But we don’t get the water quicker, because when it arrives we’re not here.”

“I’m not going to argue with you,” said Berry. “If you can’t see – Besides, Number Six will be here. I mean, Number One.”

“No, he won’t,” said Jill. “Nobody’ll be here. You said—”

“But he
must
be here,” screamed Berry. “How can the water arrive except by his hand? Number Six arrives with the water.”

“Well, I call that silly,” said Jill. “If Number Six—”

“I mean Number One,” snapped Berry. “How the devil could Six be here? He’s down at the stream.”

“Well, you said it,” said Jill, indignantly. “You said—”

“What if I did?” raved Berry. “Ignorant obstruction like this is enough to make anybody say anything. I understand you want water. God knows why, but you do. Very well. I teach you the way to get it. I lay before you the way in which water is got. In which water has been got for millions of years. It’s the first labour-saving device the world ever saw. More. I—”

“But you said it saved time,” said Jill.

“So it does.”

“Well, I can’t see it,” said Jill. “There’s six of us going to get it instead of one, and we shan’t have it any quicker because we shan’t be here when it comes.”

“But we
shall
be here,” raved Berry. “Almost at once. And there’ll be the water waiting. We’ll have rushed the whole thing through in one-sixth of the time. Less than that, really: for Numbers Five and Six can wash in the stream.”

“Well, what about Number Four? He won’t be able to wash for ages.”

“Yes he will. Four can take some soap with him and wash on the way. And so can Three. And so can Two and One, for the matter of that.”

“Then what’s the good of getting it?” said Jill.

“There isn’t any,” yelled Berry. “There never was. Not the faintest odour of welfare. It’s a waste of time and labour and an insult to common sense.”

“It is –
your
way,” said Jill. “Fancy running about with a lot of dirty water. And I don’t believe they’ve always done it like that. Why don’t you go and get it, as Daphne said? Your way, you’d have been Number Six, so what’s the difference?”

There is a
naïveté
which is more deadly than any wit.

So soon as he could speak—

“Show me a tent,” said Berry, violently. “Show me some pegs and a maul.” Savagely he flung off his coat. “Especially a maul – and I’ll show you how to pretend. I’m going to
pretend
to set up a monument. You know. A thing like Stonehenge.”

“Well, don’t overdo it,” said his wife. “It’s got to come down tomorrow.”

Berry laughed hysterically.

“Wait till I’m through,” he said, “and you’ll think that we’re here for years.”

With a snarl, he fell upon some canvas, and, after two efforts to lift it, began to drag it incontinently towards the hedge…

Perdita picked up a bucket and looked at me.

“Shall we make a chain?” she said shyly.

Two minutes later I handed her over the fence at the head of the field…

It was as we surmounted the ridge that Perdita caught her breath and stood suddenly still.

“I don’t believe it,” she said. “If we go any nearer, I’m sure it’ll fade away.”

The scene before us might well have been painted or sung. It was like a piece of Old English – a page from The Book of Proverbs, so simple and yet as matchless as one of Shakespeare’s songs.

A meadow went sloping down to the stream we sought. On the farther side of this, the rising ground was laid with a quilt of leafage, perhaps some sixty feet thick. Oak and ash and chestnut – all manner of magnificent trees, massed in inimitable disorder, made such a hanging garden as Babylon never knew, and the tops of those that stood highest were fretting with delicate green the blue of a flawless sky. Sunk like a jewel in the greenwood, set like a jewel on the silver sash of water, was an old, half-timbered mill.

Rose-red from footings to chimneys, the ancient seemed to welcome the smile of the evening sun. This laid bare a detail which filled the eye, and, even from where we stood, we could mark the good brick-nogging that was framed by the grey, old oak, the gentle sag of the roof, which is but the stoop of a man that is full of years, and the lead of the lattices keeping the aged panes. And something else we could see. Neighbouring the wall of the mill, the water-wheel hung upon its spindle over the race – a very comfortable monster, like Bottom’s sucking dove. For me, it painted the lily, not only calling back Time as one having authority, but relating the business of Nature to the work of men’s hands. And the wheel was running…the fine old fellow was at work. His felloes were dark and glistening, all the beauty of lively water flowed or dripped or leaped from his flashing fans, and the sunshine played upon the flourish, making a magic beyond the reach of art.

Perdita clasped two hands that would have added a verse to Solomon’s Song.

“Oh, please may I have it? It is the very loveliest toy that I’ve ever seen.”

Wishing very much it was mine—

“No toy,” said I, “but a fable – the stuff the old England was made of…the England that Goldsmith knew.”

Perdita nodded thoughtfully. Then she set a hand on my shoulder, keeping her eyes on the mill.

“England,” she said, “is really a picture book. It’s old now, and some of its pages are missing and many of those that are left are torn and spoiled. But there are such a lot that are just as they always were. And this is the little vignette that goes on the title page.” She lifted a glowing face. “Am I lucky or not to have seen it?”

“Honours are even,” said I. “It’s seen a lot of fine ladies in all its days, but it’s had to wait till now for an Eve with the way of a maid and the heart of a child.”

“I’m afraid that’s not true. Don’t move.” Her beautiful face approached mine. “I’m regarding myself in your eye, and I don’t think so fine a fellow would fall for a lady like me.”

“When you say ‘so fine a fellow’”–

“I mean the mill.”

“Never mind,” said I. “Don’t move. I’m considering the bow of your mouth. I believe—”

Perdita danced out of range and blew me a kiss.

“It’s not the same,” I said sadly. “And I needn’t have given you warning of my approach.”

“I know. But that’s why I like you. You – Oh, I don’t know. Most men regard women as game, to be trapped or caught. But you always encourage my freedom – like a man that is glad to let live. And now let’s go down to the water and be Numbers Five and Six.”

As we passed over the meadow—

“You know,” said I, “you haven’t got it quite right. I admit I’m not a satyr. But Plato’s theories have never appealed to me. I’m glad to let live – as you put it: but I have a definite weakness for living myself.”

Miss Boyte took my arm and laid a cheek to my sleeve.

“You are stupid, aren’t you?” she said. “That’s just what makes it so nice.”