And Berry Came Too (5 page)

“The stranger leaped to his feet.

“‘I don’t want another one sent. I want to get on. Why can’t you lay ’old of the swine and let me go?’

“‘I’m sorry,’ said I, ‘but you know the answer to that.’ I rose from my stump. ‘If you want to get on – we’ll go with you. That’s all I can say.’

“The fellow pushed back his hat and threw a hunted look round. Then he squatted down and tried to allure that dog. His first attempt was abortive, for the Knave misconstrued his efforts and thought he was out to play. And when the Knave plays, he barks. Now no one knows better than I how distracting a dog’s bark can be, but I really thought that that man would go out of his mind. Squinting with emotion and clasping his head in his hands, he writhed like a soul in torment, calling upon me to ‘stop him’ as though the dog was not barking but passing sentence of death. I managed to stop him – of course by shouting him down; but so far from being grateful, the look that that fellow gave me would have poisoned a sewage farm.

“‘You and your dog,’ he hissed. ‘I guess I’ll remember you: but not in my prayers.’

“‘I don’t know that I blame you,’ I said, ‘but that’s neither here nor there. If you want to catch that dog, I shouldn’t bend down.’

“The advice, which he took, was sound. In fact his second attempt would have been a success. After some hesitation, the Knave began to approach, mouthing the silk like a plaything which he was disposed to share. He was less than four feet away and still coming on when all of a sudden he stiffened and dropped the silk. He was looking past the stranger and of course I knew in a flash that we were no longer alone. As I turned to follow his gaze, a couple of uniformed police stepped out from behind a couple of burly trees.

“‘Good morning, gents,’ said the sergeant. ‘It’s a lovely day to take the dog for a stroll. And now might I see the contents of that dispatch case? I daresay it’s only sponge cakes, but I’d like to be sure.’

“Well, here we have another hiatus. All I can tell you is that I realized certain things. I understood why the stranger had been so mad to get on and why he had shown such a violent objection to noise. The Knave’s infatuation had cooked his goose. The dog had delayed and betrayed an escaping thief. And something else I perceived. And that was that
I was involved
. Already the police had assumed that the stranger and I were colleagues: my presence there was suspicious: I was plainly on terms with the thief: my appearance was dead against me: the truth was too fantastic to be believed, and the Knave was without the collar that bore my name and address: what was a thousand times worse, the dog’s demeanour was insisting that the stranger and I were close friends – we might have been his joint-owners… And there I met the thief’s eyes – and read my doom. The glare of Vengeance was sliding into a grin. My dog and I had ruined his chance of escape. Here and now was his chance of paying me back.

“‘Well, George,’ he said slowly, ‘I guess we’ll be wise to go quiet. And perhaps another time, you’ll do as I say. If we’d stuck to that road…’

“I called him a blasted liar and turned to the police. I can’t remember how I had meant to begin, but I know that the words I had chosen died on my lips. The sergeant had opened the dispatch case, and out of Jill’s nightdress he was withdrawing Jill’s pearls.

“‘Good God,’ I said. ‘They’re my cousin’s.’

“Then three things happened – all together.

“First, the police were shaken. I’d spoken straight from the heart, and I saw the doubt in their eyes. Secondly, I saw that the Knave was a super-dog – that he bore no love to the stranger, but had scented and meant to stick to his mistress’ clothes. You ought to have seen him licking that sergeant’s face. Thirdly, I made a movement – I clapped my hands to my coat…one to each breast-pocket…TO SEE IF DAPHNE’S BRACELETS WERE SAFE.

“I’d forgotten all about them. I picked them up this morning, just as I was leaving our room. They were on the dressing-table, and I thought it was madness to leave them for any odd thief to pick up. She was out in the garden then, and I meant to give them to her before I went off in the car.

“Yes, the constable saw my movement, and before I knew where I was he had hold of my wrists. And the sergeant abstracted the bracelets with bulging eyes…

“Well, there you are. I maintain that I died at that moment. I suggest that upon that buffet my ghost withdrew. Life was a shade too pregnant – too big with frightfulness.

“When I rose again, I found myself cuffed to the stranger and staggering over the sward. The sergeant was walking in front and the Knave was trotting beside me, licking my hand. But I was past consolation. What happened then and thereafter is pardonably and mercifully blurred. The one thing that does stand out was the stare of respect and admiration inhabiting the eyes of the thief. You see, I’d left him standing – Greek had met Greek. He’d lain for those bracelets for weeks, and I’d got in before him and whipped them from under his nose.”

Five hours and more had gone by, and Basingstoke and the police were things of the past. Sick, I suppose, of life, ‘the stranger’ had betrayed his accomplice – a footman whom we had engaged some six weeks before: my brother-in-law and the Knave had been borne to and received at Cock Feathers as though they were demigods – a triumph which, to my mind, they most justly deserved; and Perdita and I were strolling the formal garden upon flagstones which had been tapped by Queen Elizabeth’s heels. This, in silence. My companion may or may not have had ears to hear: that she had eyes to see was most apparent: her full appreciation of the manor had been immediate, and her quiet recognition of beauties which I had missed had shown me that I should do better to hold my peace.

“I think that should be the nursery.” A slim hand pointed to a casement which was lighting a corner room on the second floor. “Do you think we might go up and see?”

“I don’t see why not,” said I. “If somebody’s dressing there, we can always withdraw. But how do you tell a nursery? I mean, how—”

“From the ceiling. If it’s still the original ceiling, we’ll know at once. There’ll be animals there – in plaster. We do the same today when we paper a nursery’s walls.”

Feeling extremely humble, I followed her into the mansion and up the lovely staircase which led to the room she sought. Happily, this was empty…

The low-pitched ceiling was squared with a moulding of plaster from wall to wall: in each corner of every square was a plaster beast – elephants, bears and peacocks, to gladden a baby’s eyes.

As soon as I could speak—

“Have you been here before?” said I.

Perdita shook her head.

“All the same, if you look over there, you’ll find my name on one of the window panes. My grandmother’s home was Cock Feathers and she used to play in this room. She’s told me all about it so many times. When she was only a scrap, she fell off a chair one day and hurt her head: and just at that moment her father, the fourth Lord Amersham, opened the door. And to stop her crying, he took off a ring he was wearing and with the diamond he cut her name on the pane.”

Together we moved to the casement.

The straggling copper-plate writing was easy enough to read.

Perdita 1844.

After a long look I straightened my back.

“My dear,” I said, “words fail me – and that’s the truth.”

Perdita the Second smiled.

“It only shows that Saul was among the prophets. If you remember, you said there was more to come.”

“The Knave, the diamonds…and the Queen.”

“‘The Lost Lady’ – that’s what
Perdita
means.”

“I picked up a Queen,” I said firmly. “The Knave found the diamonds, and Berry found the Knave: but I found the Queen that was missing for ninety years.”

Her chin on her shoulder, a child looked up to my face. All the sweet of her nature looked out of her glorious eyes.

“Do I seem to belong here, Boy?”

I glanced round the nursery, gay with the precious issue of evening sun.

“Yes, sweetheart,” I said, stooping. “And always will.”

How Berry Perceived the Obvious, and

Daphne and I Put Spokes in Each Other’s Wheels

Berry pushed back his plate and lighted a cigarette.

“I suppose,” he said, “that if I were to venture to protest, I should be subjected to insult.”

“That,” said I, “is more than probable – because your idea of protesting is to compare unfavourably and most offensively those with whom you happen to disagree.”

“Permit me to observe,” said Berry, “that that is a venomous lie. Because, under great provocation I may have gone so far as to suggest that my views would receive more consideration from the humbler denizens of the jungle than from my own flesh and blood—”

“‘A bunch of blue-bottomed baboons,’” said Daphne. “That was your elegant phrase.”

“‘Blue-based,’” said her husband. “‘Blue-based.’ Never mind. As I was saying, I confess that upon occasion I have hinted that I should value the ruling of mammals more simple-minded than ourselves. Frankly, I should value it now.”

“There you are,” said Daphne. “What did Boy say?”

Berry expired.

“What is there offensive,” he demanded, “in saying that I should like to submit the point at issue to one or more baboons – blue-based, if possible?”

“Nothing at all,” said Jonah, “provided you don’t aver that their considered opinion would be of more value than ours.”

“Oh, I shouldn’t do that,” said Berry. “I should never do more than suggest that, if they were so consulted, the baboons would agree with me.” He sighed. “I suggest as much now.”

“Well, what if they would?” said Jill. “Baboons don’t count. They’re simply idiotic.”

“Worse,” said Berry, mournfully. “Baboons – particularly the B-B B’s – are actively imbecile. Not only is their outlook, if any, beneath contempt, but their utter inability to concentrate is aggravated by a distracting irrelevance which is sometimes, I grieve to say, characterized by vulgarity.” He sighed again. “That, of course, is inexcusable.”

“Then why,” began Jill…

“Don’t,” said Daphne. “You’ll only play into his hands. I admit I can’t see the catch, but I know it’s there.”

“There’s no deception,” said Berry. “I can’t put it more plainly than I have.”

A pregnant silence succeeded these highly equivocal words. We looked from one to the other, each of us seeking guidance and finding none. The deadly insult had not been levelled at us. Of course, if we chose to appropriate it… As though awaiting our decision, the author of our vexation gazed at the chandelier with the artless, dreaming air of a little child. To corroborate this conceit, he began to illustrate the alphabet.

“A is for Argument – battle of wits,

B for Baboon who is blue where he sits,

C is for Character, noble and wise,

D for Deception which far from us flies…”

His delivery was so faithful to the traditions of childhood that I surveyed my surroundings – rather than catch Jill’s eye.

The dining-room was pleasantly cool and quick with the lively splendour of indirect sun. This swelled in through the windows after the manner of music, organ-made. Without, the world was blazing: the turf was brilliant: flowers glowed like jewels in their beds: the very foliage glanced, and already the haze of heat was masking the face of Distance with a shimmer that teased the sight.

I found myself hoping very hard that weather like this would smile upon Perdita Boyte. The latter was due at White Ladies in four days’ time.

My sister returned to the charge.

“Why,” she demanded, “why shouldn’t we go to the sale?”

“Because we’ve no money to spend, but already more furniture than we can conveniently house.”

“But I don’t want to buy anything.”

“I know,” said Berry. “I know. This is where the baboons come in. You don’t want to buy anything: yet you want to rush fifty miles across country to go to a sale. Now if those two facts were communicated to our parti-coloured friends, what gesture do you think they would make?”

There was another silence.

Only the night before I had happened to read in
The Times
that the contents of Hammercloth Hall were being sold. The announcement was common enough: had we not stayed at the house, it might not have caught my eye: as it was, we were more than interested. We knew ‘the contents,’ and when we saw them described as ‘one of the finest private collections of Jacobean furniture,’ we knew that the description was just.

Grey-eyed Jill pushed back her chair.

“Of course we must go,” she said. “If that table’s not too expensive…”

“Ah,” said Berry, quietly – and left it there.

The lovely refectory table had stood in our hearts for three years. Massive, yet elegant; perfectly proportioned and preserved; laid with a gorgeous patina which Time had taken three hundred years to spread, it was one of the most glorious survivals that we had ever known. More. The moment you saw it, it called up the spirit of its age: the men that had made it and used it rose up about its oak: it was as though something of their natures had entered into the wood. Imagination, if you will: but the table inspired imagination, presenting, to eyes that could see, the manners of vanished days. But that was not all.
It might have been made for White Ladies, our Hampshire home
. Panelling, sideboard and chairs – we had the rest: but for us there was only one table, and that was at Hammercloth Hall, some fifty miles off. For all that, we had never dared hope that the object of our desire would ever be sold. Its owner, Geoffrey Majoribanks, was very rich and clearly enjoyed the collection which he and his father had made. But now, for some reason or other, his heart was changed.

In a way, our chance was at hand…

My sister threw down the mask.

“It may go for nothing,” she said.

Her husband wrinkled his brow.

“It may,” he said. “I don’t quite see why it should, but you never know. At the critical moment those present might lose the power of speech. And movement. But unless they do, it should make six hundred pounds. Or more.”

“At least, we can go and—”

“No, we can’t,” said Berry. “I’ll tell you why. Once we set eyes on that table, the awful lust for possession will take command. We shall simply have to have it…at any price. The result will be what an auctioneer calls ‘a fight,’ and whether we win or lose, we shall purchase the brand of trouble which comes to stay. If we win, we shall beggar ourselves: if we lose, we shall be for ever tormented by the thought that we might have won, if only we’d kept our nerve and sprung another ten pounds.”

Jonathan Mansel looked up.

“May be all over,” he said. “The sale began yesterday.”

I shook my head.

“Yesterday, household stuff: furniture, today and tomorrow: silver on Thursday.”

Here a pressure upon my left thigh remembered the Knave, and I turned to regard the Alsatian we all adored. For a moment his brown eyes held mine, then he lifted his lovely head to stare at the toast. All the time, his great tail was swaying…

Such address was that of a courtly, forgotten age.

“Sir, It will give me great pleasure if you can see your way to oblige, Your most obedient servant.”

As I stretched out my hand to the rack, I touched my breakfast-cup with the cuff of my coat…

Upon such incidents do the fates of nations depend. Together, Jill and I proceeded to deal with the mess in the time-honoured way – by lifting the edge of the cloth and thrusting a plate between the stain and the wood. This simple operation exposed the table itself – the nice-looking board which had served us for twenty years.

My cousin ran her slim fingers along the edge of the oak. Then she looked up.

“What should we do with this one? We couldn’t possibly sell it. It’s part of our home.”

“I agree,” said Daphne. “The old fellow’s done us too well. He’d go very well in the hall where the coffer is now.”

“That’s right,” said I. “And the coffer at the head of the stairs.”

“With the Kneller above it,” said Jonah. “Then we can put the tallboy where the Kneller is now and hang the Morland where it always ought to have hung.”

“That’s an idea,” cried Daphne…

So we entered the broad, smooth road that was leading to Hammercloth Hall and the sale-by-auction of a table which we could not afford to buy. Our descent of this pleasant way was easy enough. We perceived a whole chain of improvements which our purchase of the piece would begin: reviewing these charming effects, we saw that upon its acquisition was depending the condition of our home: we began to style it ‘a godsend’: an eager anticipation subdued the qualms of conscience in unfair fight; and we hugged our guilty intention with the ardour which only mischief can ever inspire.

I am bound to say, in his favour, that Berry hung back, but at length he threw in his hand and joined in the rout.

“But for God’s sake,” he said, “don’t let’s make fools of ourselves.”

“We’re doing that by going,” said Jonah.

“I know,” said Berry. “I know. The baboons wouldn’t go. Not even the B-B B’s. But it’s too late now. We’ve visualized possession: we’ve eaten the apples of desire. But don’t let’s magnify our folly. If the dealers go after that table, we’ve got to withdraw.”

“Let’s be clear about this,” said Daphne. “How far d’you think we can go?”

“My conscience,” replied her husband, “suggests about twelve and six. But I’m not going to listen to that. If Jonah and Boy will come in, I’ll let my tailor wait and scratch up a hundred pounds.”

“Three hundred, then?” said Jonah.

After a painful calculation, I nodded assent.

“Of course that’s hopeless,” said Daphne. “Three hundred pounds!”

“Well, sell your sables,” said Berry, “and call it three hundred and ten.”

“Don’t be a fool,” said his wife. “You said yourself it would fetch six hundred or more.”

“So it will,” said Berry.

“Then, what’s the good of our going?”

“No good at all,” said Berry. “It’s about the most futile thing that we’ve ever done. I tell you, the baboons wouldn’t go. They may be feeble-minded, but they wouldn’t drive fifty miles to pick up a stomach-ache.”

A master of the art of provocation, my brother-in-law’s delight is to sow the wind. As the whirlwind subsided—

“The point is this,” said Jonah. “The saleroom is full of surprises. Sales are not governed by the law of supply and demand. The bids are ruled by private calculations which no one on earth can divine. That table might go for two hundred – just because, for private reasons, nobody present considered it worth his while to pay any more.” He glanced at his watch. “If I am to drive, I must have an hour and a half. And the sale begins at midday. If we start in a quarter of an hour, we ought to get there on time.”

As we fled from table—

“But what about lunch?” screamed Berry. “I’m not going to…

Ten minutes later we pushed him into the Rolls.

The way to Hammercloth ran through the lively pageant which only an English June can ever present. It had rained the night before, and now the grateful sunshine was clothing a world refreshed in a magic of green and silver that filled the eye. The pale-blue sky was cloudless, the cool, still air was charged with the lovely odour of English earth, and the brown roads were printed with shadows of the lovely creations which another summer had designed for the wayside trees.

As we ran through the village of Broomstick, the church clock told us the hour – eleven o’clock. With twenty miles behind us, we had a bare thirty to go.

I was sitting with Jonah, and Berry was seated behind, between Daphne and Jill. At their feet the Knave lay couched, as a good dog should.

My sister addressed her husband.

“Have you got your chequebook?” she said.

“A good moment to ask,” said Berry. “We’re very near half-way there. If you’d asked me as we were leaving—”

“Well, I’ve only just thought of it.”

“That’s my point,” said Berry. “Now If I had forgotten the thing, I should be abused and reviled till I couldn’t think straight. Yet you yourself have let twenty-one miles go by before—”

“Have you got it?” demanded Daphne.

“I decline to answer,” said Berry, “until you admit your fault. What about the tickets last week? Nobody gave them a thought till we got to the theatre steps – but I had to stand the racket. Talk about execration… I might have been Titus Oates.”

“Oh, be a sport,” purred Daphne. “Just for my peace of mind.”

“Confess your fault,” said her husband.

“All right. I confess. I ought to have asked you before.”

“Then we’re both to blame,” said Berry, “because I’ve left it behind.”

The explosion of dismay which greeted this shocking announcement may be better imagined than set down. Daphne and Jill recoiled from the delinquent – two lovely Furies, bristling with horror and wrath: voicing his indignation, my cousin set a foot on the brake: I flung round in my seat, fiercely demanding confirmation of a fact which I could not accept; and the Knave, from whom nothing was hid, leaped from his place to plant his forepaws upon Berry and bark like a fiend possessed.

As the storm died down—

“If we go back,” said Jonah, “we shall not get to the sale before a quarter to one. That may not matter at all. The table may not come up till this afternoon. But of course it may come up at a quarter past twelve.”

“We’d better go on,” said I. “They’ll probably waive the deposit if we can give them a card.”

“Have you got a card?” said Daphne.

“No,” said Berry, “I haven’t. I’ve three pounds ten in notes and a snapshot of you at Biarritz in ’94. Perhaps if we showed them that—”

“Who’s got a card?” – violently.

There was a painful silence – nobody had a card.

“I did get it out,” murmured Berry. “It’s on the library table, south of the blotting pad. I can see it now.” He turned to his wife. “I can’t think how we forgot it,” he added reproachfully.

Before Daphne could find her tongue—

“Who’s doing the sale?” said Jonah. “If it’s a firm that knows us—”

“That’s an idea,” said Berry. “What luck if it’s Bamptons. We owe them two hundred pounds.”