Berry And Co. (3 page)

With a great gasp Agatha stopped dead, and I recoiled as from a spectre. Instinctively we clasped one another.

“It’s all right,” I whispered. “I’ve seen it too. It’ll go away in a moment. Shows what imagination will do.”

“But – but it’s real!” cried Agatha.

“Real enough, my lady,” said Jonah’s voice. He seemed to be speaking from a great distance. “And I’ll bet you never expected to see her again so soon,” he added, looking at me with a smile.

“To tell you the truth,” said I, “we didn’t.”

As in a dream I watched a dazed and stammering Agatha made welcome and set in a chair by my sister’s side. Somebody – Jill, I fancy – led me to the rug and persuaded me to sit down. Mechanically I started to fumble for a cigarette. Then I heard Jonah talking, and I came to my senses.

“We thought you’d be surprised,” he was saying, “but I didn’t think it’d take you like this. After all, there’s nothing uncanny about it.”

“But I don’t understand—”

“Listen. Will Noggin was sitting in the car when he heard a crash, and there was a fellow lying in the middle of the road, about fifty yards away, with a push-bike beside him. Naturally Will jumped out and ran to his help. The man seemed to be having a fit, and Will was just loosening his collar, when he heard the engine start and saw the Rolls moving. He left the chap in the road and ran like mad, but he was too late. Nobody ever saw the fellow with the push-bike again. Of course he was one of the gang, and his fall was a put-up job to get Will out of the way. Pretty smart – what?

“Well, you hadn’t been gone five minutes when Fitch arrived on his motor-bike. He’d come to bring us a can of petrol, for after we’d left he remembered the tank was almost empty.

“That gave me a bit of hope. If they stuck to the main road you were pretty well bound to catch them, for Fitch swore they’d never get five miles. But, of course, they might turn off. So I thought the rest of us had better follow and search the by-roads for all we were worth. So I sat on Fitch’s carrier with the can under one arm, and Daphne commandeered the curate’s push-bike and sent Berry after us.”

“Isn’t he back yet?” said I, looking round.

“Not yet,” said Jonah, with a grin.

“And doesn’t he know she’s found?”

“That pleasure is still awaiting him. Well, Fitch was right. We left the Bloodstock road for the second time at Dew Thicket, and at the foot of the hill there she was, dry as a bone, but as right as rain.”

“Abandoned?”

“Apparently. Anyway, there was no one in sight. I sent Fitch after you and drove her home. Fitch had a burst directly he’d left me, and had to walk back to Bilberry.”

“Is that all?” said I.

“Well, it’s enough, isn’t it?”

“Not nearly,” said I, rising to my feet. “Kindly accompany me to the stables.”

“What d’you mean, Boy?” cried Jill.

“’Sh!” said I. “Come and see.”

In silence I led the way, Agatha treading solemnly by my side. As we turned under the archway that led to the stable-yard—

“You see,” I said carelessly, “we, too, have met with some success.”

The Rolls was standing where I had left her, waiting to be backed into the garage.

My sister gave a cry and caught at Jonah’s arm. Jonah started violently and smothered an exclamation. Jill put one hand to her eyes, as if to brush away a vision.

There was a long silence.

At length I turned to Jonah.

“I fear that you were hasty, brother. A moment’s reflection will show you that you and Fitch have spoiled some poor car-owner’s day. Let me suggest that you return your ill-gotten gains to the foot of the hill beyond Dew Thicket without delay. As a matter of fact, I know the police are very concerned about this theft. It was the fourth in this district this morning.”

Fitch came forward, touching his hat.

“It’s a mistake anybody might make, sir. They’re as like as two pins.” He pointed to the car. “She’s the spit of ours, she is.”

“Don’t be silly,” said I. “I admit they’re exactly alike, but that’s ours.”

Fitch shook his head.

“Different chassis number, sir, to say nothing of the number-plates.”

I stared at him. Then—

“Nonsense,” I said sturdily.

“It’s a fact, sir. The one in the front’s ours. I’m afraid you’ve stole somebody else’s car.”

We had returned to the front of the house and were wondering what to do, when our attention was attracted by a sudden outburst of cries and the noise of a car’s tyres tearing at the road. This lay but a hundred odd yards away on the farther side of the brown stream by which the lawn was edged. For the length of a cricket pitch the hedgerow bounding the highway was visible from where we stood, and as this was not more than four feet high, we were able to observe a scene which was clearly but the prologue to a drama in which we were presently to appear.

Under the explosive directions of a man in a grey hat, who was standing upright and holding on to the windscreen, frantic efforts were being made to turn what seemed to be a small touring car. Even as we looked, a savage gesture in our direction suggested that our friend was identifying the Rolls by our side as stolen property for the benefit of four individuals who crouched timorously behind him. To my consternation I observed that these were no less than an inspector and three constables of the County Police.

The next minute the car had been turned round and was being driven rapidly back to our lodge-gates.

“Leave them to me,” said Jonah quietly. “Go and sit down on the lawn, all of you. I’ll fix them.”

“That’s the fellow,” said Grey Hat, in a shaking voice, “and that’s his accomplice.” He pointed a fat hand at myself and Agatha in turn.

“I beg your pardon,” said Jonah. Grey Hat turned and looked him up and down. “Were you wanting anything? I mean, I live here.”

“I don’t know who you are,” came the reply. “But that’s my car, and those are the people who stole it.”

“One thing at a time. My name’s Mansel.”

“I’m the Chief Constable of the County.”

“Good. Now, about the car. I was under the impression that it was mine.”

“Don’t try and bluff me, sir,” roared the other. “You know perfectly well that that car was stolen from the outskirts of Bloodstock only a few hours ago. You’re a receiver, sir, a common–” He checked himself with an effort. “Inspector!” The officer addressed came forward and saluted. “Caution the three of them.”

“Hadn’t you better identify your property first?” said Jonah. “I mean, I don’t want to interfere, but if it’s a question of our arrest—”

The inspector hesitated, and the Chief Constable’s face took on a darker shade of red. He was a coarse-looking man, generously designed and expensively over-dressed. For a moment I thought he was going to strike Jonah. Then he caught a heavy underlip in his teeth, turned on his heel, and strode to the Rolls-Royce.

He cast a proprietor’s eye over her points. Then he stepped behind her as though to come to her other side. The next second he was back and shaking his fist in Jonah’s face.

“So you’ve had the infernal audacity to alter the number-plates, have you?” he yelled. “Thought to bluff me, I suppose. You impudent—”

“One moment,” said Jonah steadily. “Without looking at the dash, tell me your chassis number. Your chauffeur should know it.”

“One double seven eight,” came parrot-wise from the lips of the gentleman referred to.

“Thank you,” said Jonah.

Grey Hat almost ran to the Rolls, tore open the bonnet, and stared at the dash – stared…

We waited in a silence so charged with expectancy as to be almost unbearable.

At last the Chief Constable straightened his back. His eyes were bulging and his face redder than ever. Twice he essayed to speak without success. Then—

“I said it was my car,” said Jonah placidly.

For a moment Grey Hat stood glaring at him. Then, muttering something about “a mistake,” he started to lurch towards the police car. As the officers turned shamefacedly to follow their chief, Jonah’s parade voice rang out.

“Stop!” At the word of command, master and men alike stood still where they were. “My friends and I have been openly accused of felony and threatened with arrest.”

The Chief Constable swallowed before replying.

“I was mistaken,” he said thickly. “I – I apologize.”

“You mean to say you believed that to be your car?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“It’s exactly like it.”

“There must be some difference.”

“There’s no difference at all. If mine were here, I’d defy you to tell them apart.”

“Do you seriously suggest that I shouldn’t know my own car?”

“I do.”

“And that such a mistake on my part would be excusable?”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you,” said Jonah. “That excusable mistake was made this morning. My car was stolen and sought for. Your car was found. If you will accompany me to the stables, I shall be happy to restore it to you at once.”

Grey Hat started forward, his face transfigured with excitement and relief.

“You mean to say–” he began.

“Come, sir,” said Jonah icily. “I feel sure that the ladies will excuse your withdrawal.”

It was half an hour later, just when we were finishing tea, that a cry from Jill made us all turn to follow her gaze down the curling drive.

Twenty paces away was Berry, plodding slowly in our direction, wheeling a tired-looking bicycle. His clothes were thick with dust, his collar was like a piece of wet rag, and on his face there was a look of utter and profound resignation.

As we started to our feet—

“Don’t touch me,” he said. “I’m leading in the Marathon race. The conditions are fearful. Competitors are required not only to walk, but at the same time to propel a bicycle, the hind tyre of which must be deflated. You’re only allowed five falls, and I’ve used four of them.” With a final effort he reached the edge of the lawn and laid the bicycle gently on its side. “‘How we brought the good news from Aix to Ghent,’” he continued. “Yes, I see the car, but I’m not interested. During the last five hours my life has been so crowded with incident that there is no room for anything else. Isn’t there a cycling club about here I can join? I’ve always fancied a grey sweater.”

“Did I hear you say that you had fallen, brother?” said I.

“You did. Four times were these noble limbs prostrated in the dust. The first time was when the handle-bars came off. Oh, it’s a beautiful machine.” Solemnly he waited for the laughter to subside. “But she doesn’t turn easily. If my blood counts, there are at least three corners in the County that are for ever England. And now will somebody fetch the Vicar? I shan’t last long. And some drinks.” He stretched himself upon the grass. “Several drinks. All together in a large vessel.”

Jill fled, weak with laughter, to execute his commands. Berry proceeded to remove his collar and tie.

“I can’t think,” he said suddenly, “why they call them safety bicycles. I suppose it’s because they strike only on the box.” He turned to Daphne. “Since I left you this morning, woman, I have walked with Death. Oh, more than once. Of course I’ve walked without him, too. Miles and miles.” He groaned. “I never knew there was so much road.”

“Didn’t you do any riding?” said Jonah. “I know they’re called push-bikes, but that’s misleading. Lots of people ride them. That’s what the saddle’s for.”

“Foul drain,” said my brother-in-law, “your venomous bile pollutes the crystal flood of my narration. Did I ride? That was the undoing of the sage. When he recovered consciousness for the second time, it was to discover that the chain was missing and that the back tyre was windless. In my endeavours to find the chain I lost myself. That reminds me. I must put an advertisement in
The Times
to the effect that any one returning a bicycle-chain to White Ladies will be assaulted. I have no desire to be reminded of today. If anybody had told me you could cover about fifty miles of open road in England without meeting anything but road-hogs, who not only failed to stop when I hailed them, but choked and blinded me with their filthy dust, I should have prayed for his soul. And not a pub open!”

He stopped to watch with a glistening eye the approach of Jill, bearing a tankard in one hand and a large jug of some beverage in the other.

“What is it?” he said.

“Shandy-gaff.”

“Heaven will reward you, darling, as I shan’t.” He took a long draught. “And yet I don’t know. I’ve got an old pair of riding-breeches I don’t want, if they’re any use to you.”

There was a shriek from Agatha and Jill.

“Is anybody going to church?” said Daphne, consulting her wristwatch.

Berry choked.

Gravely I regarded him.

“Run along and change,” said I. “And you can return the curate his bicycle at the same time. Besides, a walk’ll do you good.”

“Don’t tempt me,” he replied. “Two hours ago I registered a vow. I shall drink no water till it is accomplished.”

“Let’s hear it,” said I.

“To offer no violence to a fool for six months,” said Berry, refilling his tankard. “By the way, you’ll have to be very careful when you take off my boots. They’re very full of foot this evening.” He sank back and closed his eyes. “You know I never look at the almanac, but before I was up this morning I knew that this was a blue-letter day.”

“How?” said his wife.

“I left a stud within the bath, and heard Jonah find it.” He spread out a dramatic arm.

“
And he thereon did only sit,

So blind he couldn’t see,

And then the fat-head yelled and swore,

Not at himself, but me.”

How Daphne Wrote for Assistance,

and Mr Holly was Outbid

“Blow this out for me, Boy, there’s a dear.”

The sun was streaming into the library, in a cage upon the broad hearth there was a blazing log fire, and the appointment of the breakfast-table was good to look upon.

So also was Jill.

Installed behind the cups and silver, my cousin made a sweet picture. Grave eyes set wide in a smiling face, a pile of golden hair crowning her pretty head, the slenderest throat, from which the collar of a green silk coat fell gracefully on either side – so much a cunning painter might have charmed faithfully on to canvas. But the little air of importance, of dignity fresh-gathered that sat so naively upon her brow – this was a thing no brush nor pencil could capture, but only a man’s eye writing upon a grateful heart.

It was but three days since Daphne had left White Ladies for London, and grey-eyed Jill reigned in her stead. Berry had accompanied his wife, but Jonah and I had stayed in the country with Jill, lest we should lose a note of that echo of summer which good St Luke had this year piped so lustily.

But yesterday the strains had faltered and died. A sour east wind had arisen, that set the trees shivering, and whipped the golden leaves from their galleries, to send them scudding up the cold grey roads. Worse still, by noon the sky was big with snow, so that, before the post office was closed, a telegram had fled to London warning my sister to expect us to arrive by car the following afternoon.

Jill renewed her appeal.

Above the little spirit lamp which she was holding hovered a tiny flame, seemingly so sensitive that a rough word would quench it for ever. When I had kissed my cousin, I blew steadily and fiercely from the south-west. Instantly a large tongue of fire flared half-way to where Jonah was eating his porridge and knitting his brows over
The Times
.

Jill’s hand began to shake.

“You wicked child,” said I. “You knew—”

“Oh, Boy, but it’s so silly. We had to leave it for you. Jonah nearly burst himself just now, trying.”

“Thing’s bewitched,” said Jonah calmly. “The more air you give it, the fiercer it burns. I’d sooner try to blow out a hurricane lamp.”

“Nonsense,” said I, taking a deep breath.

At the end of the round—

“Yes,” said Jonah. “Do you mind blowing the other way next time? It’s not my face I’m worrying about, but this is the only copy of
The Times
in the house.”

Jill was helpless with laughter, so I took the lamp away from her and advanced to the fireplace.

“I’ll fix the swine,” I said savagely.

Two minutes later, with a blast that almost blew the lamp out of my hand, the flame was extinguished in a flurry that would have done credit to a whale. As I straightened my back—

“Well done, Boy,” said Jill. “There’s a letter for you from Berry. Do see what he says. Then I’ll read you Daphne’s.”

“Read hers first,” said I. “Strange as it may seem, I entered this room to eat.”

“Right oh!” And in her fresh little voice my cousin began to read.

JILL DARLING,

The sooner you all come up the better. Everything’s ready and Berry’s more than I can manage alone. His shoulder was aching last night, but when I wanted to rub him he said he was a kind of Aladdin’s lamp, and wouldn’t be responsible if I did. “Supposing a genie appeared and formed fours, or the slop-pail rolled aside, disclosing a flight of steps.” Result, today in Bond Street he turned suddenly to look at a passing car, and had a seizure. He just gave a yell as if he’d been shot, and then stood stock still with his head all on one side. Of course I was horrified, but he said he was quite all right, and explained that it was muscular rheumatism. I stopped a taxi and tried to make him get in, for people were beginning to look. Do you think he would? Not a bit of it. Stood there and said it was a judgment, and that he must stay where he was till it had passed. “That may not be for years. They’ll put railings round me after a bit, and people will meet at me instead of the Tube. You will be responsible for my meals, some of which you will cook on the spot. I’ll have a light lunch today about 1300 hours.” One or two people stopped, and I got into a taxi just as a man asked him if he was ill. “Brother,” said the fool, “my blood tests are more than satisfactory. A malignant Fate, however–” When I asked him if he was coming he told the man I was taunting him, so I just drove home. The Willoughbys brought him back in their car quarter of an hour later. Madge said she’d never laughed so much in her life, but I can’t bear it alone. Mrs Mason is at last reconciled to the idea of an electric cooker, and your new curtains look sweet. Come along. Love to you all.

DAPHNE.

“Berry’s version should be engaging,” said Jonah. “Slip along with that porridge.”

“Don’t hustle me. Gladstone used to masticate every mouthful he took seven million times before swallowing it. That’s why he couldn’t tell a lie. Or am I thinking of Lincoln?”

The hostility with which my cousins received the historical allusion was so marked that it seemed only prudent to open my brother-in-law’s letter without further delay.

I did so and read the contents aloud.

DEAR BROTHER,

Your constant derision of human suffering has satisfied me that the facts I am about to relate will afford you the utmost gratification. Natheless I consider that for form’s sake my wife’s brother should know that I am in failing health. This morning, whilst faring forth, as is my wont (pronounced “wunt “), upon a mission of charity, I was seized with an agony in the neck and Old Bond Street just opposite the drinking-fountain. Believing it to be appendicitis, I demanded a chirurgeon, but nobody could spell the word. The slightest movement, however, spelt anguish without a mistake. My scruff was in the grip of Torment. Observing that I was helpless, the woman, my wife, summoned a hackney carriage and drove off, taunting and jeering at her spouse. By this time my screams had attracted the attention of a few passers-by. Some stood apparently egg-bound, others hurried away, doubtless to procure assistance. One fool asked me if I was ill. I told him that I had been dead for some days, and asked him if he knew of a good florist, as I wanted them to send no flowers. Had it not been for Madge Willoughby, I should have been there now.

Organized bodies of navvies are slowly but surely ruining the streets. No efforts are made to stop them, and the police seem powerless to interfere.

There is no room in London. I never remember when there was. But don’t you come. The air is the purer for your absence, and your silk hats seem to fit me better than my own. My love for Jill is only exceeded by my hatred of you and my contempt for Jonah. I have much more to say, but I have, thank Heaven, something better to do than to communicate with a debauched connection, whose pleasure has ever been my pain, and from whom I have learned more vicious ways than I can remember. For I am by nature a little child. Just before and after rain you may still see traces of the halo which I bought at Eastbourne in ’94. My gorge is rising, so I must write no more.

BERRY.

“What’s muscular rheumatism?” said Jill, gurgling with laughter.

“Your muscles get stiff,” said Jonah, “and you get stuck. Hurts like anything. I’ve had it.”

“Now you know,” said I, selecting a sausage. “Will you be ready by half-past eleven (winter time) or must we lunch here?”

“I’m ready now,” said Jill. “But you and Jonah said it was indecent to start earlier.”

“So it is. We shall get to Pistol comfortably in an hour and a half, and if we start again at half-past two, we shall be in London for tea.”

Jonah rose and limped to the window.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” he said. “It’s going to be a devilish cold run.”

Jonah was right.

We sat all three upon the front seat, but even so we were hard put to it to keep warm. The prospect of a hot lunch at Pistol was pleasant indeed. Jonah was driving, and the Rolls slid through the country like a great grey bird, sailing and swooping and swerving so gracefully that it was difficult to believe the tale which the speedometer told. Yet this was true enough, for it was not a quarter to one when we swept round the last corner and into the long straight reach of tarmac, at the top of which lay the village we sought.

Pistol is embedded in a high moor, snug and warm, for all its eminence. The moor itself is girt with waving woods that stretch and toss for miles, making a deep sloping sash of foliage which Autumn will dye with such grave glory that the late loss of Summer and her pretty ways seems easier to bear. Orange and purple, copper and gold, russet and crimson – these in a hundred tones tremble and glow in one giant harmony, out of which, at the release of sun, come swelling chords so deep and rich and vivid that the sweet air is quick with stifled music and every passing breeze charged to the full with silent melody.

We had left this girdle of woodland behind us and were within half a mile of the village, when some activity about the gates of a private house attracted our attention. A little knot of men stood arguing in the roadway, three cars and an old fly were berthed close to the hedge, while a good-looking landau was waiting for a furniture van to emerge from the drive.

The next moment we were near enough to learn from a large poster that “the entire contents of Cranmer Place were to be sold by auction” this day, “including a quantity of valuable antique furniture,” and with one accord Jill and I called upon Jonah to stop.

“What for?” said the latter, as he brought the car to a standstill. “Don’t say you want to go and watch the rector’s wife bidding against her conscience and the draper for a what-not.”

“Such,” said I, “is our intention.” I hoisted myself to my feet and, opening the door, descended stiffly into the road. As I helped Jill to follow me, “You push on to Highlands,” I added, “and order the lunch. We’ll only stay a minute or two.”

“And you never know,” said Jill, “we might see something priceless.”

Jonah shook his head.

“Depend upon it,” he said, “the oleographs have gone to Christie’s, same as the fumed oak. Only the dud stuff’s left. However, have it your own way.” With a sigh, he let in the clutch. “If you’re not there by a quarter past one, I shall begin.”

Jill slid an arm through mine, which she squeezed excitedly.

“I’m sure we shall find something, Boy. I just feel it. It always happens like this. You see, it isn’t as if we were looking for a sale. We’ve just run right into one. And last night I dreamed about cretonnes.”

“That settles it,” said I, as the Rolls glided out of our way and we started to cross the road. “All the same, Jonah’s probably right. But I love a sale. I’m afraid it’s curiosity more than anything.”

Catalogues were handed us at the front door, and we passed into a fine square hall, where a dresser and a large gate-table, each conspicuously labelled, declared that the late occupant was a man of taste.

“Two very fine pieces, sir,” said a voice. “Coming up this afternoon.” I turned to see a short stout man in a 1907 bowler and two overcoats, which he wore open, regarding the furniture with an appraising look. With difficulty he extracted a card from an inside pocket. “If you’re thinkin’ of buyin’ anythin’, Major, that’s me card, an’ I’ll be very ’appy to ac’ for you.”

“Thanks, I don’t think—”

“All right, Major, all right. Only if you should, I’m always about,” he added hastily, turning away in response to a cry which had arisen for “Mr ’Olly.” “Comin’, comin’!” he cried, making for what I took to be the drawing-room.

I slipped his card into my pocket and we passed on.

The tallboy chest was standing alone in its dignity at the top of the broad staircase.

The moment I saw it I knew it was good stuff. And Jill gave a little cry and began to chatter, till I laid my hand on her arm with a warning pressure.

“Hush,” I said quickly, “don’t give it away. Of course they all know it’s good, but we needn’t seem over-anxious. Try and look as if you thought it might do for the harness-room if it was enamelled.”

“O-o-oh, Boy.”

Such chests may be handsome and – rarely – elegant, but this was dainty. Standing upon short cabriole legs, it was small, but of exquisite proportions, and had been built, I judged, in the reign of Queen Anne. The walnut which had gone to its making was picked wood, and its drawers were faced with oyster-shell and inlaid with box. Their handles were perfect, and, indeed, the whole chest was untouched and without blemish, shining with that clean lustre which only wax and constant elbow-grease can bring about.

When I had examined the piece as carefully as I dared, I winked at Jill and descended into the hall.

Mr Holly was awaiting us.

Casually I addressed him.

“There’s a tallboy at the top of the stairs, labelled 207. I’m not crazy about it, but it’s about the right size for a recess in my bedroom. If you like to buy that for me on a five per cent. basis—”

“Certainly, Major.” He wrote in a fat notebook. “Lot 207. An’ ow’ ’igh will you go?”

I hesitated.

“I’ll go up to a hundred pounds. But the cheaper you get it, the better for you. Understand?”

“I’m there, Major. Will you be coming back?”

“No. But there’s my card. You can telegraph to that address this evening, and I’ll send you a cheque.”

“Very good, sir.”

A minute later we were walking along the road towards Highlands and, while Jill was talking excitedly, I was considering my own recklessness.

As we entered the grounds—

“Don’t say anything about it,” I said. “Let it be a surprise.”

The first person I saw, as I entered the lounge of the hotel, was Berry.

“Do you mind not asking me why I’m here?” he said languidly. “I’ve just finished telling Jonah, and repetition always wearied me.”

“Your movements have never interested me,” said I. “All the same, I thought you were in the grip of Torment.”