Berry And Co. (28 page)

“Get out of it!” he yelled. “Get out of it! I won’t have this intrusion. It’s monstrous. I won’t stand it. I tell you—”

“Hush, Vandy, hush!” implored his sisters in agonized tones.

Berry raised his eyebrows.

“Really,” he said slowly, “anybody would think that you had something to hide.”

Then he turned on his heel.

I was about to follow his example, when my cousin’s bloodshot eye perceived that Nobby was once more innocently investigating the scene of his labour. With a choking cry our host sprang forward and raised the pick…

Unaware of his peril, the dog snuffed on.

One of the women screamed…

Desperately I flung myself forward.

The pick was falling as I struck it aside. Viciously it jabbed its way into the earth.

For a long time Vandy and I faced one another, breathing heavily. I watched the blood fading out of the fellow’s cheeks. At length—

“Be thankful,” said I, “that I was in time. Otherwise—”

I hesitated, and Vandy took a step backwards and put a hand to his throat.

“Exactly,” I said.

Then I plucked the pick from the ground, stepped a few paces apart, and, taking the implement with both hands, spun round and threw it from me as if it had been a hammer.

It sailed over some lime trees and crashed out of sight into some foliage.

Then I called the terrier and strode past my brother-in-law in the direction of the postern.

Berry fell in behind and followed me without a word.

“But why,” said I, “shouldn’t you tell me the day of your birth? I’m not asking the year.”

“1895,” said Adèle.

I sighed.

“Why,” she inquired, “do you want to know?”

“So that I can observe the festival as it deserves. Spend the day at Margate, or go to a cinema, or something. I might even wear a false nose. You never know. It’s an important date in my calendar.”

“How many people have you said that to?”

I laughed bitterly.

“If I told you the truth,” I said, “you wouldn’t believe me.”

There was a museful silence.

It was three days and more since Berry and I had visited The Lawn, and Vandy and Co. were still at work. So much had been reported by an under-gardener. For ourselves, we had finished with our cousins for good and all. The brutal attack upon our favourite was something we could not forget, and for a man whom beastly rage could so much degrade we had no use. Naturally enough, his sisters went with him. Orders were given to the servants that to callers from Broken Ash Daphne was “not at home,” and we were one and all determined, so far as was possible, never to see or communicate with Vandy or his sisters again. It was natural, however, that we should be deeply interested in the success or failure of his venture. We prayed fervently, but without much hope, that it might fail… After all, it was always on the cards that another had stumbled long since upon the treasure, or that a thief had watched its burial and later come privily and unearthed it. We should see.

“I wonder you aren’t ashamed of yourself,” said Miss Feste. “At your age you ought to have sown all your wild oats.”

“So I have,” I said stoutly. “And they weren’t at all wild, either. I’ve never seen such a miserable crop. As soon as the sun rose, they all withered away.”

“The sun?”

I turned and looked at her. The steady brown eyes held mine with a searching look. I met it faithfully. After a few seconds they turned away.

“The sun?” she repeated quietly.

“The sun, Adèle. The sun that rose in America in 1895. Out of the foam of the sea. I can’t tell you the date, but it must have been a beautiful day.”

There was a pause. Then—

“How interesting!” said Adèle. “So it withered them up, did it?”

I nodded.

“You see, Adèle, they had no root.”

“None of them?”

“None.”

Adèle looked straight ahead of her into the box-hedge, which rose, stiff and punctilious, ten paces away, the counterpart of that beneath which we were sitting. For once in a way, her merry smile was missing. In its stead Gravity sat in her eyes, hung on the warm red lips. I had known her solemn before, but not like this. The proud face looked very resolute. There was a strength about the lift of the delicate chin, a steadfast fearlessness about the poise of the well-shaped head – unworldly wonders, which I had never seen. Over the glorious temples the soft dark hair swept rich and lustrous. The exquisite column of her neck rose from her flowered silk gown with matchless elegance. Her precious hands, all rosy, lay in her lap. Crossed legs gave me six inches of black silk stocking and a satin slipper, dainty habiliments, not half so dainty as their slender charge…

The stable clock struck the half-hour.

Half-past six. People had been to tea – big-wigs – and we were resting after our labours. It was the perfect evening of a true summer’s day.

Nobby appeared in the foreground, strolling unconcernedly over the turf and pausing now and again to snuff the air or follow up an odd clue of scent that led him a foot or so before it died away and came to nothing.

“How,” said Adèle slowly, “did you come by Nobby?”

Painfully distinct, the wraith of Josephine Childe rose up before me, pale and accusing. Fragments of the letter which had offered me the Sealyham re-wrote themselves upon my brain…
It nearly breaks my heart to say so, but I’ve got to part with Nobby… I think you’d get on together…if you’d like to have him…
And there was nothing in it. It was a case of smoke without fire. But – I could have spared the question just then…

Desperately I related the truth.

“A girl called Josephine Childe gave him to me. She wanted to find a home for him, as she was going overseas.”

“Oh.”

The silence that followed this non-committal remark was most discomfiting. I had a feeling that the moments were critical, and – they were slipping away. Should I leap into the tide of explanation? That way, perhaps, lay safety. Always the quicksand of
Qui s’excuse, s’accuse
, made me draw back. I became extremely nervous… Feverishly I tried to think of a remark which would be natural and more or less relevant, and would pilot us into a channel of conversation down which we could swim with confidence. Of all the legion of topics, the clemency of the weather alone occurred to me. I could have screamed…

The firebrand itself came to my rescue.

Tired of amusing himself, the terrier retrieved an old ball from beneath the hedge and, trotting across the sward, laid it down at my feet.

Gratefully I picked it up and flung it for him to fetch.

It fell into a thick welter of ivy which Time had built into a bulging buttress of greenery against the old grey wall at the end of the walk.

The dog sped after it, his short legs flying…

The spell was broken, and I felt better.

“You mustn’t think he’s a root, though,” I said cheerfully, “because he isn’t. When did you say your birthday was?”

“I didn’t,” said Adèle. “Still, if you must know, I was born on August the thirtieth.”

“Today! Oh, Adèle. And I’ve nothing for you. Except…” I hesitated, and my heart began to beat very fast. “But I’d be ashamed – I mean…” My voice petered out helplessly. I braced myself for a supreme effort…

An impatient yelp rang out.

“What’s the matter with Nobby?” said Adèle in a voice I hardly recognized.

“Fed up, ’cause I’ve lost his ball for him,” said I, and, cowardly glad of a respite, I rose and stepped to the aged riot of ivy, where the terrier was searching for his toy.

I pulled a hole in the arras and peered through.

There was more space than I had expected. The grey wall bellied away from me.

“What’s that?” said Adèle, looking over my shoulder.

“What?” said I.

“There. To the right.”

It was dark under the ivy, so I thrust in a groping arm.

Almost at once my hand encountered the smooth edge of masonry.

I took out a knife and ripped away some trails, so that we could see better.

There was nothing to show that the pedestal which my efforts revealed had ever supported a statue. But it was plain that such was the office for which it had been set up. Presumably it was one of the series which, according to Vandy’s book, had displayed imaginative effigies of the Roman Emperors, and had been done away in 1710. The inscription upon the cornice upheld this conclusion.

PERTINAX IMPERATOR.

I looked at Adèle.

“PER…IMP…” said I. “Does the cap fit?”

“Yes,” she said simply. “That’s right. I remember it perfectly. The other seemed likely, but I was never quite sure.” Trembling a little, she turned and looked round. “And you came out of that break in the hedge with the tomato, and – Oh!”

She stopped, and the colour came flooding into her cheeks…

Then, in a flash, she turned and sped down the alley like a wild thing. As in a dream, I watched the tall slim figure dart out of sight…

A second impatient yelp reminded me that Nobby was still waiting.

The firm of silversmiths whom we employed to clean the collection, after it had been disinterred, valued it for purposes of insurance at twenty-two thousand pounds.

We saw no reason to communicate with Vandy. The exercise was probably doing him good, and he had shown a marked antipathy to interruption. A tent had been pitched at The Lawn, and the work of excavation went steadily on. Not until the twenty-eighth of September did it suddenly cease.

Three days later we had occasion to drive into Brooch. We returned by way of The Lawn. As we approached the entrance, I slowed up…

From the tall gates a brand-new board flaunted its black and white paint.

But the legend it bore was the same.

Mr Miller was evidently a Conservative.

How Nobby Met Blue Bandala,

and Adèle Gave Jonah a Kiss

“Listen to this,” said Berry.

“SIR,

Shortly before six o’clock this evening an extremely valuable Chow, by name Blue Bandala, which I purchased last March for no less a sum than six hundred pounds, was brutally attacked in Bilberry village by a rough-haired mongrel, which was accompanying two girls. I am given to understand that this animal belongs to you. I was at first determined to issue a summons, but I have now decided to give you a chance before doing so. If it amuses you to keep such a cur about your house, there is nothing to prevent you from so doing. But you must understand that once it leaves your property it must be under proper and effective control, and if it ever attacks a dog of mine again, I shall either destroy it upon the spot or apply to the Bench for its destruction. I may say that Blue Bandala is not only very well bred, but a very quiet and friendly dog, and was in no way to blame for what occurred.

HERBERT BASON.

B PLEYDELL, White Ladies.”

The explosion which the reading of this letter provoked is indescribable.

“It’s a lie!” cried Jill in a choking voice. “It’s a beastly lie. His dog started it. Nobby would never have touched him. He wasn’t paying any attention. The Chow came up from behind and just fell upon him. And how dare he say he’s a mongrel? It’s just one lie after another, isn’t it, Adèle?”

“It’s outrageous,” said Miss Feste. “Directly I saw the other dog I thought he meant mischief, but before I could tell Jill, he’d started in. Nobby didn’t even know he was there.”

The door opened, and dinner was announced.

“Falcon,” said Berry.

“Sir,” said the butler.

“Who brought this note?”

“It was a chauffeur, sir. I don’t know ’im by sight, sir.”

We filed out of the library, smouldering with resentment.

“But what an awful man he must be,” said Daphne. “Even if our dog had been in the wrong, that’s no reason for writing a letter like that.”

“It’s unpardonable,” said I. “It’s quite bad enough to have him living in the neighbourhood, but if this is the way he’s going to behave…” I turned to Adèle. “Was his manner very bad at the time?”

“He seemed more rattled than anything else. He was clearly afraid to interfere. Jill and I got them apart, as I told you. He got very red in the face, but beyond muttering with his teeth clenched, he never said a word.”

“Must have gone straight home and got it off his chest,” said Jonah. “I expect he’s awfully proud of that letter, if the truth were known.”

“Well, don’t let’s dwell on it,” said Berry, regarding the oysters which had been set before him. “After dinner will do. You hardly ever go down with typhoid within six hours.” He turned to Adèle. “Bet you I’ve got more strepsicocci than you have,” he added pleasantly.

“Shut up,” said Daphne. “Adèle dear, d’you like oysters? Because, don’t you eat them if you don’t.”

“No, don’t,” said Berry. “If you don’t, whatever you do, don’t. And whatever you don’t, I will”

Adèle looked at him with a mischievous smile.

“I couldn’t bear,” she said, “to have your blood on my head.”

Then she glanced gratefully at Daphne and picked up a fork.

Mr Herbert Bason had arisen out of the cloud of War. The time had produced the man. The storm had burst just in the nick of time to save the drooping theatrical interests which he controlled, and the fruit which these had borne steadily for the best part of five long years had been truly phenomenal. A patriot to the backbone, the bewildered proprietor obtained absolute exemption from the Tribunal, turned the first six rows of all his pits into stalls, and bought War Loan with both hands. It was after the second air-raid upon London that he decided to take a house in the country… Less than a year ago he had disposed of his music-halls and had settled near Bilberry for good.

“By the way,” said Daphne, “did I tell you? The laundry’s struck.”

“Thank you,” said her husband, “for that phrase.”

“Don’t mention it,” said my sister. “But I thought you’d like to know. Heaven knows when they’ll go back, so I should go easy with your stiff collars and shirts.”

“What, have the saws stopped working?” said Berry. “I can’t bear it.”

“What about my trousers?” said I. “I’ve only one clean pair left.”

Daphne shrugged her white shoulders.

“What about my tablecloths?” she replied.

Berry addressed himself to Adèle.

“We live in pleasant times, do not we? Almost a golden age. I wonder what the trouble is now. Probably some absent-minded
blanchisseuse
has gone and ironed twenty socks in ten minutes instead of ten socks in twenty minutes, without thinking. And the management refuse to sack her for this grievous lapse into the slough of pre-War Industry, out of which a provident Trade Union has blackmailed her to climb.”

“I’ve no doubt you’re right,” said I. “The question is, where are we going to end? It’s the same everywhere. And the mere thought of Income Tax sends my temperature up.”

“Ah,” said Berry. “I had a quiet hour with the Book of the Words, issued by that Fun Palace, Somerset House, this afternoon.
Income Tax, and How to Pay it
. Commonly styled, with unconscious humour, The Income Tax Return. By the time I was through I had made out that, if I render a statement according to the printed instructions, my tax will exceed my income by one hundred and forty-four pounds. If, on the other hand, I make an incorrect return, I shall be fined fifty pounds and treble the tax payable. You really don’t get a look in.”

“If you say much more,” groaned Jonah, “you’ll spoil my appetite. When I reflect that in 1913 and a burst of piety I sent the Chancellor of the Exchequer a postal order for eight and sixpence by way of Conscience Money, I feel positively sick.”

“Not piety,” corrected my brother-in-law. “Drink. I remember you had some very bad goes about then.”

“What a terrible memory you have!” said Adèle. “I feel quite uneasy.”

“Fear not, sweet one,” was the reply. “Before I retail your indiscretions I shall send you a list of them, with the price of omission clearly marked against each in red ink. The writing will be all blurred with my tears.” Here Adèle declined a second vegetable. “There, now. I’ve gone and frightened you. And marrow’s wonderful for the spine. Affords instant relief. And you needn’t eat the seeds. Spit them over your left shoulder. That’ll bring you luck.”

There was an outraged clamour of feminine protest.

“I won’t have it,” said Daphne. “Disgusting brute!”

“And that,” said Jonah, “is the sodden mountebank who dares to cast a stone into the limpid pool of my character. That is the overfed sluggard—”

“Take this down, somebody,” said Berry. “The words’ll scorch up the paper, but never mind. Record the blasphemy. Capital ‘M’ for ‘mountebank.’ ‘Sluggard’ with an ‘H.’ And I’m not overfed.”

“You’re getting fatter every day,” said Jill, gurgling.

“That’s right,” said my brother-in-law. “Bay the old lion. And bring down these grey hairs in—”

“Talking of mountebanks,” said I, “who’s going to Fallow Hill Fair?”

“Adèle ought to see it,” said Daphne. “Why don’t you run her over in the car?”

“I will, if she’d like to go. It’s a real bit of old England.”

“I agree,” said Berry. “What with the cocoa-nut shies and the steam roundabouts, you’d think you were back in the Middle Ages. I think I’ll come, too.”

“Then you go alone,” said I. “I don’t forget the last time you went.”

“What happened?” said Adèle, her eyes lighted with expectation.

Berry sighed.

“It was most unfortunate,” he said. “You see, it was like this. B-behind a b-barrier there was a b-booth with a lot of b-bottles, at which you were b-bothered to throw b-balls. If you b-broke three b-bottles—”

“This nervous alliteration,” interposed Adèle, “is more than I can b-bear.”

“–you received a guerdon which you were encouraged to select from a revolting collection of bric-à-brac which was displayed in all its glory upon an adjacent stall. Laden with munitions, I advanced to the rails… Unhappily, in the excitement of the moment, I mistook my objective… It was a most natural error. Both were arranged in tiers, both were pleading for destruction.”

“Nonsense,” said Daphne. “You did it on purpose. You know you did. I never saw anything more deliberate in all my life.”

“Not at all,” replied her husband. “I was confused. A large and critical crowd had collected to watch my prowess, and I was pardonably nervous.”

“But what happened?” said Adèle.

“Well,” said I, “naturally nobody was expecting such a move, with the result that the brute got off about six balls before they could stop him. The execution among the prizes was too awful. You see, they were only about six feet away. The owner excepted, the assembled populace thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever seen.”

“Yes,” chimed in Jill. “And then he turned round and asked the man how many bottles he’d won.”

“I never was so ashamed,” said Daphne. “Of course, the poor man was nearly off his head.”

“And I paid for the damage,” said Jonah.

I looked across at Adèle.

“So, if he comes with us,” I said, “you know what to expect.”

My lady threw back her head and laughed.

“I suppose you’re to be trusted,” she said.

“Once past the pub,” said Berry, “he’ll be all right. But if he says he feels faint outside the saloon-bar, don’t argue with him, but come straight home.”

“At any rate,” said Adèle, “I shall have Nobby.”

The reference brought us back to Mr Bason with a rush.

In spite of our resolution to eschew the subject, that gentleman’s letter was heatedly discussed for the remainder of dinner.

Today was the third of September, and on the eleventh a dog-show was to be held at Brooch. I had not entered Nobby, because I felt that his exhibition would probably cause us more trouble than the proceeding was worth. It now occurred to us that Mr Bason would almost certainly enter – had probably long ago entered his precious Chow. Any local triumph, however petty and easy for a man of means to procure, would be sure to appeal to one of his calibre, and the chance, which the show would afford, of encountering, if not accosting, one or two County people would be greatly to his relish. Supposing we did enter Nobby…

The idea of beating Mr Bason in the race for first prize with the “rough-haired mongrel” which “it amused us to keep about our house” was most appealing.

As soon as dinner was over, Berry rang up the Secretary.

Our surmise was correct. Blue Bandala was entered.

“Well, am I too late to enter a Sealyham?”

“Not if you do it tomorrow,” came the reply.

“You shall have the particulars before mid-day.”

“Right-oh.”

Berry replaced the receiver.

“Little Herbert will take the first prize for Chows,” he said. “That can’t be helped. But he’s entered his dog for the ‘All Comers,’ and that’s our chance. If we can’t lift that goblet from under his ugly nose, I’ll never smile again.”

“What exactly’s ‘All Comers’?” said Jill.

“The best all-round specimen of any breed. Manners, carriage – everything’s taken into consideration.”

“If personality counts,” said Jonah, “Nobby’ll romp home.”

I regarded our unconscious representative with an appraising eye. Supine upon the sofa, with his head out of sight behind Adèle, there was little to recommend him as a model of deportment. With a sigh I resumed the composition of a reply to Mr Bason’s remarkable letter.

When I had finished the draft, I gave it to Berry. The latter read it through, nodding solemn approval. Then he repaired to the writing-table and copied my sentences, word for word, on to a sheet of notepaper.

As he laid down his pen, he rose to his feet.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If the blighter replies, and Nobby comes off at the show, we’ll send this correspondence to the local Press.”

“Let’s have it,” said Jonah.

Berry handed me the letter, and I read it aloud.

SIR,

I have received your note.

As an alloy of misrepresentation of fact, arrogant bluster and idle menaces, I doubt whether it has ever been equalled upon this side of the Rhine.

Indeed, its legibility would appear to be its only merit.

Not that I care for your style of handwriting, but in these degenerate days it is, you will agree, a relief to receive a letter which can be easily read.

You did go a bust on Blue Banana, didn’t you?

Pray act upon your first impulse and apply for a summons. The Bench will not grant your application, but – again you will agree – it is the effort, and not the result, which counts.

It is nice of you to inquire after my Sealyham. He is none the worse, thanks, and I fancy he made old Blue Banana sit up.

Yours faithfully,

BERRY PLEYDELL.

H BASON, Esq.

P.S. – You must forgive me for addressing you as “Esquire,” but it is difficult to break a foolish habit of courtesy which I formed as a child. BP

“Fifteen thirty,” cried Adèle, making ready to serve. “Hullo!” She pointed with her racket over my shoulder. “Nobby’s gone lame.”

I swung on my heel to see the terrier limping apologetically towards me, and going dead lame upon the near fore.

As he came up, I dropped my racket and fell upon one knee, the better to search for the cause of the trouble. Carefully I handled the affected limb… My fingers came to his toes, and the Sealyham winced. With a sigh of relief, I laid him upon his back.

“Got it?” said Adèle.

I looked up into the beautiful face three inches from mine.

“I fancy so.” I bent to peer at the small firm foot. “Yes. Here we are. He’s picked up a puncture.”

The next moment I plucked a substantial thorn from between two strong black toes. A warm red tongue touched my restraining fingers in obvious gratitude.