Berry And Co. (23 page)

“How awful !” said Adèle. “You do see life as a magistrate, don’t you? And I suppose somebody kissed the wart-hog, and it turned into a French count? You know, it’s a shame about you.”

Berry looked round.

“Mocked,” he said. “And at my own table. With her small mouth crammed with food, for which I shall be called upon to pay, she actually—”

“O-o-oh!” cried Adèle. “It wasn’t. Besides, you shouldn’t have asked me.”

“I can only say,” said Berry, “that I am surprised and pained. From the bosom of my family I, as the head, naturally expect nothing but the foulest scurrility and derision. But when a comparative stranger, whom, with characteristic generosity, I have made free of my heart, seizes a moment which should have been devoted to the mastication of one of my peaches to vilify her host, then indeed I feel almost unsexed – I mean unmanned. Are my veins standing out like cords?”

“Only on your nose,” said I. “All gnarled, that is.”

“There you are,” said Berry. “The slow belly reviles the sage. The—”

Scandalized cries from Daphne and Jill interrupted him.

“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” said his wife, pushing back her chair. “And now let’s all have coffee on the terrace. That is, unless you three want to stay.”

Jonah, Berry and I shook our heads, and she took Adèle’s arm and led the way out of the room…

It was a wonderful night.

While Nature slept, Magic, sceptred with a wand, sat on her throne.

The sky was rich black velvet, pricked at a million points, from every one of which issued a cold white brilliance, just luminous enough to show its whereness, sharp and clear-cut. No slightest breath of wind ruffled the shadows of the sleeping trees. With one intent, Night and the countryside had filled the cup of silence so that it brimmed – a feat that neither cellarer can do alone. The faint sweet scent of honeysuckle stole on its errant way, ‘such stuff as dreams are made on,’ so that the silken fabric of the air took on a tint of daintiness so rare, fleeting, and exquisite as made your fancy riot, conjuring mirages of smooth enchantment, gardens that hung luxuriant beneath a languorous moon, the plash of water and the soft sob of flutes…

For a long moment all the world was fairy. Then, with a wild scrabble of claws upon stone, a small white shape shot from beneath my chair, took the broad steps at a bound and vanished into the darkness. The welter of barks and growls and grunts of expended energy, rising a moment later from the midst of the great lawn, suggested that a cat had retired to the convenient shelter of the mulberry tree.

The sudden eruption startled us all, and Berry dwelt with some asperity upon the danger of distracting the digestive organs while at work.

Menacingly I demanded the terrier’s immediate return. Upon the third time of asking the uproar ceased, and a few seconds later Nobby came padding out of the gloom with the cheerful demeanour of the labourer who has done well and shown himself worthy of his hire. Wise in his generation, he had learned that it is a hard heart which the pleasurable, if mistaken, glow of faithful service will not disarm. Sternly I set the miscreant upon my knee. For a moment we eyed one another with mutual mistrust and understanding. Then he thrust up a wet nose and licked my face…

For a minute or two there was no noise save the occasional chink of a coffee-cup against its saucer. Then—

“Since you ask me,” said Berry, “my horoscope is of peculiar interest.”

“What’s a horoscope?” said Jill.

“A cross between a birth certificate and a conduct sheet,” said I, nodding at Berry. “His is a wonder. You can get a copy of it for three and sixpence at Scotland Yard.”

“I was born,” said my brother-in-law, “when Uranus was in conjunction, Saturn in opposition, and the Conservatives in power. Venus was all gibbous, the Zodiac was in its zenith, and the zenith was in Charles’ Wain, commonly called The Cart. My sign was Oleaqua – The Man with the Watering Pot. When I add that a thunderstorm was raging, and that my father had bet five pounds I should be a girl, and had decided to call me ‘Hosannah,’ you will appreciate that it is no ordinary being who is addressing you. A singularly beautiful infant, it was at once obvious that I was born to rule. Several people said it was inevitable, among them an organ-grinder, who was ordered out of the grounds, to which during the excitement he had gained access. He didn’t put it that way, but he explained at the police court that that was what he had meant.”

“To whose good offices,” said Jonah, “do you ascribe your pretty ways?”

“Uranus,” was the airy reply. “From that deity came also meekness, an unshakable belief in human nature, and the fidgets.”

“You ought to have been called after him,” said Adèle.

“My godfathers thought otherwise. In a fit of generosity they gave me my name and a pint pot, which the more credulous declared to be silver, but whose hallmark persistently defied detection. Then the fount dried up. And now let me read your hand. Or would you rather I taught you the three-card trick?”

“It’s too dark,” I protested. “Besides, she’s going to sing.”

“Who said so?” said Adèle. “I was going to suggest that you told us a fairy tale.”

“A song for a tale,” said I.

“Done.”

“There was once a princess,” said I, “with eyes like brown stars and a voice like the song of a silver brook. One day she was sitting all alone by the side of a shady trout-stream, when she heard a bell. For a moment she thought she was dreaming, for she was rather tired. Then she heard it again – a clear tinkle, which seemed to arise from the heart of the stream itself. This surprised the princess very much, because no bells were allowed in her father’s kingdom. The old man was a bit of an autocrat, and one morning, when he had been rung up seven times running by subjects who wanted quite a different number, he just passed a law prohibiting bells, and that was that. Well, while she was wondering what to do the bell rang again rather angrily, and, before she knew where she was, she had said ‘Come in.’

“‘At last,’ said a voice, and a large frog heaved himself out of the water and sat down on a tuft of grass on the opposite bank. ‘I shan’t knock next time.’

“‘I didn’t hear you knock,’ said the princess.

“‘I didn’t,’ said the frog. ‘I rang. How’s your father?’

“‘Full of beans,’ said the princess. ‘And yours?’

“‘That’s my business,’ said the frog. ‘Are you married yet?’

“‘No such luck,’ said the princess. ‘And, what’s more, I never shall be.’

“‘Why?’ said the frog. ‘Half the kingdom goes with you, doesn’t it?’

“‘Exactly,’ said the princess. ‘And there’s the rub.’

“‘Where?’ said the frog, looking round.

“‘Well, I’m all right,’ said the princess, ‘but who wants half a one-horse kingdom that’s mortgaged up to the hilt and a bit over?’

“At this the frog looked so wise that the princess felt quite uncomfortable, and began to think he must be a waiter at the Athenaeum who had had a misunderstanding with a witch. Suddenly—

“‘Which of your suitors do you like best?’ said the frog.

“‘Albert the Watchguard,’ said the princess. ‘He’s a bit of a fool, but you ought to see him dance.’

“‘No, I oughtn’t,’ said the frog. ‘It would be extremely bad for me. Listen. Tell Albert to come down here with a sieve tomorrow morning. He may be a bit of a fool, but, if he doesn’t apply for you before lunch, he’s a congenital idiot.’ And with that he took a short run and dived into the stream.

“The princess did as she was bid, and at eleven o’clock the next morning Albert the Watchguard appeared, complete with sieve, upon the bank of the trout-stream. Twenty-five minutes later, with a cigarette behind his ear and
a nugget of gold in each boot,
he made formal application for the hand of the princess and half the kingdom – a request which was immediately granted.

“Two days later they were married.

“What Albert the Watchguard said, on learning that his half of the kingdom did not include the territory watered by the trout-stream, is not recorded.

“If you remember, he was a bit of a fool.”

“Good for you, old chap,” said Daphne.

Jill’s hand stole out of the darkness and crept into mine.

Berry turned to Adèle.

“A blinking wonder,” he said, “is not he? Fancy turning out a comic cameo like that on demand. But then for years he’s been on the staff of
Chunks
. He does the
Gossipy Gobbets
column.”

Adèle laughed musically.

“It was very nice of him to do as I asked,” she said. “And as a bargain’s a bargain…”

She rose and turned to the open windows…

I saw her settled at the piano, and then stole back.

A moment later the strains of her beautiful mezzo-soprano floated out into the darkness.

It is doubtful whether
Printemps Qui Commence
ever enjoyed a more exquisite setting.

It was a wonderful night.

If we had driven straight to Brooch the incident would not have occurred.

We had lunched early, for Berry and I were determined to attend the sale of Merry Down. Sir Anthony, who was sure to be there, would need comforting, and we had, moreover, a feeling that we should like to see the last of an old friend. Once the place had passed into the power of the dog, we should try to forget. It was Adèle’s suggestion that she should accompany us.

“I’d like to see Brooch,” she had said, “and I want to get a new piece of silk for my wristwatch. Besides, I can sit in the car while you and Berry are at the sale. That’ll save your taking the chauffeur.” We agreed readily enough.

Because Adèle was with us we started in good time, so that we could go by way of Hickory Hammer and Three Horse Hill. That way would bring us on to the London road at a point five miles from Brooch, and, while the view from the hill was as fine as any in the neighbourhood, Hickory Hammer was not only extremely ancient, but generally accounted one of the most picturesque villages in the whole of England.

I was driving, with Nobby beside me, while Adèle and Berry sat on the back seat. Our thoughts were not unnaturally dwelling upon the sale, and now and again I caught fragments of conversation which suggested that my brother-in-law was commenting upon the power of money and the physiognomy of Mr Dunkelsbaum – whose photograph had appeared in the paper that very morning, to grace an interview – with marked acerbity. Once in a while a ripple of laughter from Adèle came to my ears, but for the most part it was a grave discourse, for Berry felt very bitter, and Adèle, whose father’s father was the son of an English squire, had taken to heart the imminent dis-seizure with a rare sympathy.

It was five minutes to two when we slid out of Lullaby Coppice and on to the London road. A furlong ahead the road swung awkwardly to the left – a bend which the unexpected
débouchement
of a by-road rendered a veritable pitfall for the unwary motorist. I slowed for the turn cautiously, for I knew the place, but I was not surprised when, on rounding the corner, we found ourselves confronted with a state of affairs presenting all the elements of a first-class smash.

What had happened was transparently clear.

Huddled between a trolley and the nearside bank, which was rising sheer from the road, was a large red limousine, listing heavily to port and down by the head. Both vehicles were facing towards Brooch. Plainly the car had sought to overtake the trolley, which was in the act of emerging from the by-road, and pass it upon the wrong side. The former, of course, had been travelling too fast to stop, and the burden which the latter was bearing had made it impossible for the other to pass upon the right-hand side. Three sturdy oaks, new felled, one of them full fifty swaying feet in length, all of them girt by chains on to the trolley’s back, made a redoubtable obstruction. The chauffeur had taken the only possible course and dashed for the narrowing passage on the left. A second too late, the car had been pinched between the great wain and the unyielding bank, like a nut between the jaws of the crackers. But for the action of the carter, who had stopped his team dead, the car would have been crushed to flinders.

The two occupants of the limousine were apparently unhurt, for, when I first saw them, they were standing in the middle of the road, looking anxiously in our direction. The next moment they were signalling to us violently, spreading out ridiculous arms, as if the treetrunks were not putting our passage of the road for the present out of the question.

As I brought the Rolls to a standstill, I heard a stifled cry. The next moment Berry’s voice hissed in my ear.

“Talk of the devil… Look at the cove on the right.
It’s Dunkelsbaum himself
.”

A lightning glance showed me the truth of his words. The original of the photograph over which we had pored that morning was standing before us in all the grossness of flesh.

Almost before I had recovered from the shock, the other – a long sallow creature with a false grin and a cringing air – was at my elbow.

“You mutht eckthcuthe me,” he lisped, uncovering, “but could you pothibly give uth a lift ath far ath Brooch? Thith gentleman” – he indicated Mr Dunkelsbaum – “hath a motht important engagement there at half-patht two, and, ath you thee, we have been unfortunate. Tho, if you could thee your way to accommodating uth, we thould be greatly obliged.”

Before I could reply—

“We can get there by half-past two,” said Berry, speaking slowly and distinctly, “if –
if we go through Ramilly
.”

Now, Ramilly was a great enclosure, and could be entered from the by-road down which the trolley had come.
But it was not on the way to Brooch.

With the greatest difficulty I repressed a start. Then I leaned forward as if to examine the dash, but in reality to conceal my excitement…

Apparently guileless, my brother-in-law’s protasis was nothing less than a deliberate direction to me to postpone Mr Dunkelsbaum’s arrival at Brooch until Merry Down was no longer in the market.

My heart began to beat violently.

Berry was speaking again.