And Berry Came Too (15 page)

A husband addressed his wife.

“I trust,” he said grimly, “that your quest has been crowned with success: that the silk you set out to purchase some fifty minutes ago—”

“Oh, it wasn’t too bad,” said Daphne. “Not what we wanted, you know, and in any event it’s gone. I suppose I must have dropped it. We did look back, but you know what the pavements are like on market day. And now do let us get on. I hate having lunch too late; it throws everything out.”

An hour and a quarter later we berthed the cars in a lane which ran from the main highway.

The spot was notable, for it had the look of a cloister which man had long ago founded and nature had brought to perfection in many years. On one side a six-feet bank was supporting a hazel wood – arras above a dado, vivid, cool and fragrant, starred here and there with flowers: the other side lay open except for a row of beeches along the edge of the turf: and, above, the boughs had woven a living roof – a maze of choirs for singing birds to sweeten, airy and yet so stout that the sunlight had sunk to a glimmer by the time it had pierced the leaves. Between the natural pillars appeared a peaceful prospect, fit for the eyes of such as have long forsworn the vanity of the world. Meadows, studded with trees, sloped to a pleasant valley which broadened into a chessboard of well-kept fields: to the left, the ground fell sharply, to hide the middle distance except for the gay, green tops of a line of elms: to the right, a sash of woodland sloped with the park and made a handsome bulwark against the winter wind. Of such was Thistledown…

Jonah glanced at the lane.

“Perfect for us,” he said. “But isn’t this way ever used? I mean, nothing can pass here, can it? We are ‘occupying’ the lane.”

“I rejoice to inform you,” said Berry, “that here, at least, I can put my car where I like.
And no one born of woman can say me nay
– not even a policeman by Epstein, with a hand like a bunch of bananas and the way of an anthropoid ape. This is a private road, and as Thistledown stands in my name, no one can so much as use it, if I like to order them off. As for making me give place…”

We alighted without more ado and set about the business of making ready to lunch.

The chuckle of a neighbouring rill suggested a means of cooling what drinks we had, and, whilst Jonah attended to this, I lugged the luncheon baskets into the shade of some chestnuts which seemed to be taking counsel a little way off.

Averse to such menial duties, Berry took his seat on the turf and declared the points of the landscape for such as had ears to hear.

“The property ends at that fence. It’s not a very good shape – about four times as long as it’s broad, and there’s too much slope about it. It’s a frontage of half a mile to the Salisbury road: I used to think that was of value, but it seems I was wrong. The house stood down in that dip, where you see the heads of the elms. And a glorious sight it was – a memorial of cream and old rose, with, I think, the loveliest chimneys I ever saw. But there you are. Take away the jewel, and you see what the setting is worth.”

Whatever its market value, it made us a dining-room that was fit for a king: and when, perhaps half an hour later, we gathered about the cloth which the girls had spread, the luxury of our condition compelled our gratitude. Earth, air and sky were giving us of their best: commanding handsome country, yet sheltered from wind and sun, we had to ourselves the smiling neighbourhood: food and liquor were before us: and the
tout ensemble
had the air of one of those hunting banquets that live in the tapestries.

“We should do this more often,” said Daphne. “Lunch out of doors like this is really ideal.”

“And who brought you here?” said her husband. “Whose was the lovely instinct that led you to—”

Here the Knave smiled into his eyes and then licked the piece of chicken adorning his fork.

“There’s a skunk,” said Berry. “There’s an unprincipled—”

“It isn’t his fault,” bubbled Jill. “The silly fools forgot to put in his lunch.”

“They didn’t?” – indignantly.

“Yes, they did. We’ll have to make him up some out of the scraps.”

“Poor dog,” said Berry, compassionately, and gave him the morsel which he had made bold to denote. “All the same, er – go to Daphne, old fellow.” The Knave laid a paw on his arm and let out a bark. “Yes, I know. It’s a rotten shame. I’m very sorry about it. If I had my way… This
ragout’s
extraordinarily good. Why can’t we have dishes like this when we’re sitting at home?”

“What
ragout
?” said Daphne.

“Well, I don’t know what you’d call it. It’s made with savoury rice.”

“Let me see it. I never ordered—”

“It’s the Knave’s lunch,” shrieked Jill. “He’s eating the—”

“Moses’ shrub,” screamed Berry, and covered his mouth.

Now since the Knave understood whatever was said, it was but natural that he should acclaim our discovery of the truth which meant much to him, which he had been doing his very best to expose. Be that as it may, the second sweep of his tail knocked Berry’s glass of cool beer clean into his lap. And the glass was capacious and full.

The resultant confusion was awful.

With beer streaming down his legs, my brother-in-law stamped about the meadow, spitting grains of rice and roaring dismay. Weak with laughter, we pursued him, napkins in hand, while the Knave, unaware of his trespass, went backwards before his victim, barking a frantic approval of active revelry.

(My cousin said later that only the brush of a Boucher could ever have captured the scene: he suggested a title,
Silenus Routed by Nymphs
.)

With the return of coherence—

“Oh, very funny,” said Berry. “Quite side-splitting. First, by the grossest negligence, I am allowed to consume a lot of filthy beastliness prepared for the belly of a dog.”

“It’s p-perfectly good,” wailed Daphne. “The vet wrote down exactly—”

“Oh, I’m sure it was the best horse-flesh,” said Berry. He swallowed, with starting eyes. “But I can’t help feeling that this weather—”

“It – it w-wasn’t horse-flesh,” sobbed Jill. “
It was b-boiled mutton
.”

So soon as he could make himself heard—

“Thank you,” said Berry, gravely. “In that case, as you surmise, we know where we are.” He glanced at his watch. “To the best of my recollection—”

“B-be quiet,” begged Daphne. “It can’t do you any harm. It just happens to be called his food, but—”

“Yes, I know that bit. And what disgusting rites attended its concoction?” A gasp from Jill made him look round. “Good God, don’t say he’s having powders?”

With tears coursing down my cheeks—

“Only flowers of sulphur,” I said.

“I see,” said Berry, thoughtfully. “What a very beautiful name. Flowers of sulphur. It looks as if I was in for a busy time.” He lowered his eyes. “Just consider those trousers, will you? Every bit about them that matters, steeped, stained, soaking and soon to stink.”

“You must t-take them off,” quavered Daphne.

“I propose to,” replied her husband. “Almost at once. And other mysteries with them. What I want to know is why am I selected for these indignities? I came here in love and charity. In faith and hope I committed my body to your care. And here I am, corrupted within and without…”

My sister and I escorted him back to the lane.

Now to take off your trousers is easy: effectively to replace them is very hard – when you are in the depths of the country and your wardrobe is sixty miles off.

It was Jill who thought of the cretonne…

Under Perdita’s supervision, I cleansed the stains from the cloth in the chuckling rill: then I found a bramble-bush and spread the trousers to dry in the blaze of the sun: then I rejoined the others – to find a transformation which had to be seen to be believed.

My pen cannot justly describe the picture which Berry made. So far as appeared, he was wearing nothing at all but socks, shoes and a
chiton
, as worn by the ancient Greeks – a shapeless tube of material, kilted about the knees and brooched upon either shoulder, to make one hole for the neck and two for the arms. The pattern of the cretonne, however, suggested leanings less orthodox… The whole effect was not so much arresting as frightening. The most daring of hikers would have withdrawn from the field. A post-futuristic ballet-master would have burst into tears. Even the Knave kept his distance, and, on being conjured to approach, retreated backwards, barking.

Since Berry can rise to an occasion more highly than anyone I know, the meal was memorable, while the exhibition dances with which, unasked, he rounded the entertainment would have made a more critical audience split its sides. It was half-past three before he decided to change.

“Not that I object to this kit. It’s free and easy and cool, and, as I can’t see the design, I’ve nothing to fear. But I feel that the world is unready for such an effect. People in Salisbury might stare, and the policeman I met this morning might seek to improve an acquaintance which I prefer to forget. So if somebody’d fetch my trousers… They ought to be dry by now.”

Reflecting that all good things must come to an end, I rose to do his bidding without a word.

Two minutes later I had the shock of my life.

The bramble-bush was empty. The trousers were gone.

My report was received with hysterical consternation. The concern was genuine: the desire to laugh immoderately was irresistible: for a moment my hearers hovered between two stools. Then–

“Gone?” screamed Berry. “Gone? Oh, don’t be obscene.”

The stool of the sense of humour gave way beneath our weight.

Berry was on his hind legs.

“I demand,” he barked, “the immediate restoration of the raiment committed to your charge. If it’s lost, it’s got to be found. If it’s stolen, it’s got to be recovered. I won’t take any excuse. I let you convey it away in the full and sacred belief that it was to be handed back. That was the governing condition: I demand that it be fulfilled.”

“I’m most frightfully sorry,” I said. “But it isn’t my fault. I can only think that—”

“I must decline,” said Berry, “to discuss the matter. When my trousers have been restored, I will consider an appropriately worded apology for the delay. I don’t suppose I shall accept it, but that is beside the point – which is that I refuse to contemplate a contingency which cannot occur.” He regarded his watch. “Between now and a quarter past four I shall be glad to receive the apparel to which I have already referred. It has got to be produced – somehow. And that is my very last word. Within thirty-five minutes my modesty
must
be redeemed.”

With that, he lay down on his back and closed his eyes.

Something had to be done.

After a hurried consultation, the Knave and I – with Perdita Boyte in support – set out on the hopeless quest, while Jonah took one of the Rolls, proposing to purchase some trousers in Salisbury Town. Daphne and Jill remained within Berry’s call, ready to offer consolation as soon as the latter consented to swallow his nauseous draught. Carry it off as you will, to be short of a pair of trousers is to walk with Ignominy herself.

A quarter of an hour had gone by, and I was waist deep in bracken, savagely cursing the flies and hopelessly scanning surroundings which looked very honest and charming, but told me nothing at all, when a sudden outburst of barking came to my ears. This rose from beyond and below, and almost at once I heard Perdita calling the Knave. I, therefore, made for some bushes directly ahead, to find that, as I had thought, they were masking the head of some bluff. Lest this should be steep and sudden, I dared not thrust through: but I lay down and worked my way forward, passing beneath the bushes until I came to the brink…

I was looking into a sandpit. At the mouth of this were two dogs, confronting the Knave. In the pit was a gypsy encampment – a weather-beaten tent and a painted van, surrounded by vessels, tarpaulins and all the battered equipment which nomads use. A tripod bestrode a fireplace, made up of loose stones, and washing was hanging on a line which ran from the roof of the van to a neighbouring fir. On the top of the van – and so out of sight of all but the fowls of the air – were lying Berry’s trousers, carefully spread to make the most of the sun.

A girl was standing, calling the dogs to order and watching the Knave: two children had suspended their play and behind the tent an elderly woman was sitting, with a battered book in her lap. Her demeanour was brutally furtive. She could not see, and, except from the edge of the cliff, she could not have been seen; but her head was cocked to one side, the better to hear.

Using the utmost caution, I withdrew by the way I had come, and, when I was back in the bracken, I hastened round and down to the mouth of the pit.

With a hand on the Knave’s collar, Perdita was addressing the girl.

“He’s very friendly: I don’t think he’d start a row. Your dogs are watchdogs, of course: they were doing their job.”

With her eyes upon me—

“You never know,” said the other. “I am all alone.”

Perdita turned to me.

“I expected you’d hear the flurry. Mercifully, her dogs are obedient and the Knave respected my voice.”

“You spoke as one having authority.”

“I did my best. Where were you?”

“Down by the water,” I lied, and turned to the girl. “Will your grandmother tell our fortunes?” I took the loose change from my pocket and counted five shillings out. “At half-a-crown each…before the others come back?”

With her eyes on my palm—

“I am all alone,” said the girl.

“If you say that again,” said I, “I shall go and ask her myself.”

The girl’s eyes burned in her head. Then she turned on her heel, but before she had taken two paces, the other came forth.

There was no mistaking her race. She was a true-bred Roman. That she wore the kerchief and earrings was nothing at all. Her pride of carriage alone proclaimed her ancestry.

I lifted my hat.

“Good day,” I said quietly.

The keen, grey eyes surveyed me – with a fearless, insolent stare.