Rosy Is My Relative (23 page)

“Yes,” hissed Adrian, “he’s twisting everything to make it look as though Rosy and I are guilty.”

“Bound to,” said Sir Magnus. “That’s what he’s paid for.”

“But can’t you say something?” said Adrian. “Can’t you get up and tell the judge it isn’t true?”

“Don’t panic, dear boy,” said Sir Magnus. “Remember that a spider spends hours weaving a web which you can destroy with a walking-stick with the flick of a wrist.”

And with this Adrian had to be content. Sir Augustus was shuffling through his notes and re-settling his gown, and Adrian examined the jury.

All of them looked sour-faced, gimlet-eyed and unrelenting, and those who had not immediately gone into a trance spent their time looking surreptitiously at their watches and did not appear to be concentrating on anything in particular. They looked at Adrian as though they would be willing to condemn him there and then, either from a sense of vindictiveness or from a desire to get back to their businesses as rapidly as possible.

“I will now call my first witness,” said Sir Augustus “Sir Hubert Darcey.”

“Call Sir Hubert Darcey,” cried the clerk of the court.

Sir Hubert strode into the court as though on to a parade ground. He looked even more magnificently be-whiskered and terrifying than Adrian had remembered him. He stamped into the witness box and took the oath with the air of one who finds it faintly insulting that anyone should even question his truthfulness.

“You,” said Sir Augustus, “are Hubert Darcey of Bangalore Manor in the village of Monkspepper?”

“Yes,” replied Darcey thunderously.

“Sir Hubert,” said the judge, “I wonder if you would be so good as to offer your evidence in a slightly lower tone of voice? The acoustics of this place are such that if you use the full power of your lungs, it sets up an extraordinary reverberation which runs through both my desk and my chair.”

“Very good, my lord,” Darcey barked.

“You are the Master of the Monkspepper Hunt, are you not?” enquired Sir Augustus.

“Yes,” said Darcey. “Have been for twenty years.”

“Now, do you recall the 20th April?”

“I do,” said Darcey. “Vividly,”

“Well, would you be so kind as to tell his lordship and the jury, in your own words, exactly what happened.”

“Yes,” said Darcey in his muted roar. “It was a fine mornin’, mi lud, and the hounds had found in the oak woods behind Monkspepper . . .”

“Found what?” enquired the judge.

“The scent,” said Darcey.

“What sort of scent?” enquired the judge with interest.

“The scent of a fox,” said Darcey.

“These rural pursuits are really most interesting,” said the judge musingly. “Pray continue.”

“Well, the line took us through the oak woods down the Monkspepper Road and eventually led us into a meadow which abuts the river. I would like to say that there was only one entrance to this meadow and it was completely surrounded by a very thick and large bull-finch,”

“Did you say bull-finch?” enquired the judge.

“Yes,” said Darcey.

“I think, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, feeling that at this rate he would be unable to get any evidence out of his witness at all, “I think the witness means a thick hedge. A bull-finch is a term meaning a thick hedge.”

“I thought it was a term meaning a bird with a red breast.”

“It is the same word, but with different connotations,” said Sir Augustus.

“Thank you,” said the judge.

“Well,” said Darcey, “the hounds went into the meadow and we followed ’em. The first thing that caught my eye was an extremely vulgar-lookin’ trap, painted in bright colours such as a gipsy might have used. Then suddenly, from behind the trees, there appeared to my astonishment an elephant. Not unnaturally, the hounds panicked, as did the horses, to such an extent in fact that even experienced riders like myself, caught unawares, were thrown. I unfortunately landed on my head and was only saved by my top hat. Before I could rid my eyes of this encumbrance, I was seized by the elephant, carried across the meadow and dashed to the ground at the feet of the accused who, to my horror, I saw was wearin’ nothin’ but a pair of very damp underpants.”

“Why was he only in underpants?” asked the judge, obviously fascinated.

“He told me that he had been swimmin’ in the river with the elephant, mi lud–frightenin’ the salmon.”

“Did you sustain any injury from this encounter?” enquired the judge.

“Fortunately, mi lud, just some slight bruising.”

“I bring this matter up, m’lord,” said Sir Augustus, “merely in order to prove my point that the defendant did in fact know his elephant to be a dangerous creature, as this type of assault upon people had happened prior to the affair at the Alhambra Theatre.”

“I see,” said the judge doubtfully.

Sir Augustus sat down and the judge, peering at the apparently unconscious Sir Magnus, said, “Would you care to join us for a brief moment, and cross-examine the witness?”

“Yes, m’lord,” said Sir Magnus, rising slowly to his feet. He fixed Darcey with a penetrating eye. “You say that the only damage you suffered was slight bruising?”

“Yes.”

“Was your horse a good one?” Sir Magnus enquired unexpectedly. Darcey’s face grew purple.

“I breed the finest horses in the country,” he barked.

“But it obviously could not have been very well trained?” enquired Sir Magnus.

“It’s a perfect mount,” snapped Darcey. “But horses outside circuses are not trained to cope with elephants.”

“So you would say it was quite normal for your horse to panic and throw you?” said Sir Magnus.

“Of course,” said Darcey.

“So your bruises were in fact sustained by falling off the horse?” enquired Sir Magnus. Darcey glared at him.

“Come, come,” said Sir Magnus silkily, “surely that is what you have been telling us?”

“I don’t really see where this line of questioning is getting us,” said the judge plaintively.

“M’Iord,” said Sir Magnus, “I am merely trying to point out to your lordship and to the jury” (here he cast a fierce eye which seemed to electrify the entire jury) “that the
slight
bruising, and I use the witness’s own words, that he sustained, was due to the fact that be was thrown off his horse and that the bruising had nothing whatsoever to do with the elephant in question.”

Sir Augustus got to his feet.

“My lord,” he said, “the fact that the witness sustained the bruising through falling off his horse is not the point. He would not have fallen off his horse if it had not been threatened by the elephant.”

“Did the elephant do anything to your horse?” enquired Sir Magnus of Darcey.

“No,” said Darcey reluctantly. “It just trumpeted.”

“Trumpeted, eh,” said the judge. “Interesting. I don’t think I have ever heard an elephant trumpet. What’s it sound like?”

“A sort of squeaking noise, your lordship,” explained Sir Magnus.

“However,” he continued, glancing at the jury, “I think we have made the point that in fact the elephant in question was not responsible for any damage the witness sustained. Do you not agree, your lordship?”

“Yes, yes. That’s very clear,” said the judge and made a note.

Sir Augustus cast a baleful stare in the direction of Sir Magnus. The point, as far as he was concerned, had not been made very clear at all, but if the judge said it had, he could not very well argue the point.

“I have no more questions,” said Sir Magnus, sitting down with an air of satisfaction. With the air indeed of one who has won the case. The jury were visibly impressed.

“I would perhaps like to recall this witness,” said Sir Augustus, “a little later in the proceedings.”

“Certainly, Sir Augustus,” said the judge. He bent over his notes for a moment or so and then looked up at Sir Magnus. “A squeaking noise, you said?” he enquired.

“Yes, my lord,” said Sir Magnus. “Rather like the noise of a slate pencil magnified.”

The judge carefully wrote this piece of natural history down in his notes.

“I would like to call Lady Berengaria Fenneltree.” Lady Fenneltree, clad in a deep purple velvet dress and with a black veil on her straw hat, sailed into court like a successful galleon. She took the oath, threw back her veil and nodded to the judge as much as to say “you may proceed now”. In answer to Sir Augustus’s questions she identified herself in her clear penetrating voice and so impressive was her demeanour that even the more absent-minded of the jurymen sat up and took interest.

“Lady Fenneltree,” said Sir Augustus, “do you remember the evening of the 28th April?”

“It is an evening,” said Lady Fenneltree, in a voice as brittle as the sound of icicles falling off the roof, “that is indelibly engraved upon my memory.”

“Would you like to tell his lordship and the jury why?” She half turned to the judge, pinned him to his chair with a hypnotic blue gaze, clasped her hands in front of her and began.

“On the 28th April it was my daughter’s eighteenth birthday,” she said.

“Does this have any bearing on the matter?” enquired the judge.

“I was asked,” Lady Fenneltree said quellingly, “to tell the story in my own words.”

“By all means, by all mean” said the judge, and made a hasty and irrelevant note.

“It was my daughter’s eighteenth birthday,” recommenced Lady Fenneltree, “and we bad arranged a ball in her honour. We had naturally invited a number of people. In fact,”–she allowed herself a small grim smile–“I can say that everybody who is anybody was there. I had asked my husband to think up some original entertainment, possibly of a humorous nature, for the edification of the guests. He assured me he had this matter well in hand, but wished to keep it a secret, I had been up in town shopping with my daughter, and on my return I found that” (she said gesturing disdainfully at Adrian) “installed in the house.”

“With his elephant?” enquired the judge.

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“But how,” enquired the judge giving her his full attention, and obviously deeply interested, “how did he manage to get it up and down stairs?”

“Er, my lord,” said Sir Augustus getting to his feet hurriedly. “I think it should be explained that the defendant kept his elephant in the stable yard, unbeknownst to Lady Fenneltree.”

“Oh,” said the judge, “that’s different”

He looked at Sir Magnus, convinced by now that he was an authority on elephants.

“Can elephants walk up stairs?” he asked.

“Indubitably,” said Sir Magnus.

“Anyway,” said Lady Fenneltree, irritated by the judge’s interruption, “my husband had secreted the elephant in the stables, as Sir Augustus said, unbeknownst to me. He had worked out a ridiculous scheme which, if it had been brought to my attention, I would have put an immediate stop to. He and that Rookwhistle creature were going to dress themselves up as Indians and bring the elephant into the ballroom, sitting in a howdah.”

The judge leant forward and stared at her, puzzled. “But I always though,” he said, “that a howdah was a thing that elephants wore on their backs.”

“They do,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“But then, how,” asked the judge plaintively, “did they manage to get the elephant into the howdah?”

Sir Augustus leapt to his feet once more, aware that Lady Fenneltree was on the verge of giving the judge a short but pungent correction.

“My lord,” he said, “Lord Fenneltree and the defendant dressed themselves in Indian costume, put a howdah on the back of the elephant and rode into the ballroom in the howdah.”

The judge started to make small squeaking, snuffling noises to himself, shaking all over as though with ague. It was some seconds before the court realised that he was laughing. Presently, still trembling with mirth, he wiped his eyes and leant forward.

“What you could almost call, Sir Augustus, a pretty how da do, eh?” he said and lapsed once more into helpless laughter.

“Ha, ha,” said Sir Augustus dutifully. “Extremely witty, my lord.”

A ghastly silence settled over the court while the judge grappled with his sense of humour. Presently, wiping his eyes on his handkerchief and blowing his nose, he waved a hand at Lady Fenneltree. “Do please go on, madam,” he said.

“My guests were all enjoying the humble but adequate entertainment that we were offering them,” said Lady Fenneltree, “when suddenly the doors of the ballroom burst open and the elephant rushed in and slid to the end of the room.”

“Slid?” enquired the judge.

“Slid,” said Lady Fenneltree firmly.

The judge peered at Sir Augustus. “I am not altogether sure,” he said, “that I understand the witness.”

“It slid, my lord,” said Sir Augustus, “on the parquet floor.”

“Slid,” said the judge musingly. He looked at Sir Magnus. “Can elephants slide?” he enquired.

“Given a suitable polished surface and sufficient impetus, I believe, my lord, that even an elephant may slide,” said Sir Magnus.

“Was it meant to slide?” enquired the judge, looking at Lady Fenneltree.

“Whether it was meant to slide or not is beside the point, she said crisply. “It slid straight into all the tables containing the food and wine. My husband was in the howdah in his ridiculous outfit and he and the howdah fell off. I approached him and asked him why he had seen fit to introduce an elephant into my ballroom.”

“A good question,” said the judge, struck by Lady Fenneltree’s penetration. “And what did he answer?”

“He said,” said Lady Fenneltree, with a wormwood-like bitterness, “that it was a surprise.”

“Well,” said the judge judicially, “it was an honest answer. It was a surprise, wasn’t it?”

“Since that evening,” said Lady Fenneltree, “I have been searching my mind for a word which would describe the experience adequately, and ‘surprise’ was not one that I dredged up from my not inconsiderable knowledge of the English tongue.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more,” said the judge with decision. “That is exactly what I think myself.”

“May I continue?” enquired Lady Fenneltree. “Preferably without further interruptions?”

“Of course, of course,” said the judge. “Yes, by all means. What happened next?”