And Berry Came Too (25 page)

“It’s all right. The bumper saved us. But she really was awful about it. She said—”

“It’s a hideous satire,” said Berry, “from first to last.” He laid himself down on the sward and closed his eyes. “Swift might have done it justice – I can’t think of anyone else. With illustrations by Hogarth… I suppose she was a woman: she’d a voice like a bugle-band and her upper parts were just about twice life-size.”

“What exactly happened?” said Perdita.

Berry drew a deep breath.

“You won’t believe me,” he said, “but Jill will confirm what I say. About to emerge from Warfare, I found myself directly behind a mechanically-propelled vehicle which for some reason which I was unable to see had ceased to advance. I, therefore, stopped too, as did the lorry behind me and the hackney-coach or omnibus, apparently designed for the conveyance of eight elephants or a hundred and twenty men, a short two inches away from my offside wings. After a considerable delay – which was nonchalantly improved by one of the younger patrons of the omnibus by spitting such plum stones as he no longer required across the gulf between us into my lap – the driver of the car before me saw fit to recoil upon the Rolls. At once I sounded my horn… Retire myself I could not – the lorry was biting my neck. But the car before me came on. I continued to protest – frantically. Then the car ahead of me stopped, and its driver leaned out and looked round…

“‘Stop that noise,’ she blared, ‘and reverse your ridiculous car.’

“There are upon this earth some beings whom having seen one feels it would be imprudent to thwart. To be assaulted in public by a harridan of such dimensions would have been unsatisfactory. And violence sat in her face.

“I turned to the lorry driver and asked if he could give place. From his reply, which included two oaths I had never before encountered, I gathered that he was reluctant to do so. The man may be forgiven. I later perceived that he had behind him two trailers, laden with stone.

“As I returned to my bugbear, the threatened collision occurred, and, as if it had been waiting for that, the traffic jam was relieved and we all were free to proceed. But only for a moment or two. As I got to the side of the street, we were stopped again – this time with my nose abreast of the bugbear herself.

“Well, I got out to see the damage – which, happily, hadn’t been done, and as I looked up from the bumper, the bugle-band voice rang out. Will you believe me?
That hell-cat ticked me off
. Said that by sounding my horn I had sought to impose upon her my ‘vulgar will.’ That she pitied my womenkind. That I was ‘a tin-pot tyrant,’ and that next time I wanted a lesson I’d only to let her know. When I tried to reply, she told me to hold my tongue, to go and ‘bully my slaves,’ or, better still, to hire a children’s nurse to teach me how to behave… She broadcast these recommendations – screeched her rotten lies for the world to hear. And of course it did. A crowd began to collect. Everyone within earshot began to rush to the scene. And though nobody knew what had happened, everyone heard the monstrous suggestions she made. And then the traffic gave way and off she went… And as I got back in the car, the police came up and told me to ‘move along.’…

“You know that’s the kind of show that shortens one’s life. It’s brutal injustice gone mad. And what can I do? Nothing. Jill got her number, but what can I charge her with? In the old days she’d have been ducked for a common scold: but today she can scorch my soul for something I never did, and because there’s no mark on my car…”

“Poor old fellow,” said Jill. “You really behaved like a saint.” She turned to us. “When he found she wouldn’t listen, he bowed very gravely to her and then came back to me and began to tell me how Warfare got its name.”

“One had,” said Berry, “to try and carry it off. I mean, that was all that was left. And now let’s dismiss the affair. I’ve not felt too good all day – since Bauble and Levity landed their kidney-punch.”

Perdita lifted her voice.

“If Daphne were here, she’d drink to you with her eyes, and you’d feel refreshed. But she isn’t here, and so we must – call for wine.” She pointed across the lawn. “There’s an inn there,
The Running Footman
, just out of sight. It looks like a woodcut – a tail-piece to some old volume of Georgian days. But I expect it’s meant to be used… And Jill and I will wait here, if you’re not too long.”

As Berry got to his feet—

“My dear,” he said, “you’ll make a marvellous wife.”

Perdita’s judgment was good. To be stayed with a flagon was just what Berry required: the creature comfort ministered to his mind. For myself, it quenched a thirst which I was thankful to slake. And when we returned, the girls were unwilling to move. So we lay on the greensward, talking…and sipping another liquor, older and rarer than any the innkeepers sell. And Quality made a good host. Sip as we would, our cup was always full.

Even the Knave fell under the spell of the place. He moved about gently, proving the beautiful turf, raising his head and snuffing, as though the scented past was stealing upon the air. And once, when a cat came out of a garden gate, he watched her take to the road and then returned to a reverent study of the stocks. Perhaps, on Quality’s green the lion would lie down with the lamb.

When we took our leave of the village, the sun was low, and I had to let the Rolls out, to make up the time we had fleeted, gathering rosebuds that bloomed when Herrick was young. We ripped the veil of evening for thirty sweet-smelling miles, while meadow, wood and hamlet flashed to our side – as though to bid farewell to the pretty stranger who loved them with all her heart. Perdita Boyte was to leave us the following day.

As we swept to the door of White Ladies, my cousin, Jonathan Mansel, appeared on the steps.

“Daphne says you’ve got to be quick. We’ve a guest – for one night only: a Miss Theresa Weigh. She was to have stayed at the Vicarage, but one of the children’s gone sick and they can’t take her in. Glanders, I think. No, mumps. She’s mucking about, giving lectures – to such as have ears to hear. And she seems to be pretty hot stuff where pomps are concerned. We’ve got to have our cocktails upstairs.”

There was a dreadful silence.

Then—

“Oh, give me strength,” said Berry. “Twice in one eight-hour day! You know, it’s rather hard.”

“Twice?” said Jonah, frowning.

“Twice, as I live,” said Berry. “What’s this one like?”

“Striking,” said Jonah, simply. “She’s roughly twice life-size and—”

Four cries broke the sentence to bits.

“St Skunk and all devils,” screamed Berry. “Don’t say she’s got a voice like a bugle-band.”

“Almost exactly,” said Jonah. “And now I should look alive. If anyone’s late for dinner, she’ll tell them where they get off.”

Seated at Berry’s right hand, Miss Weigh surveyed the table with an aggressive eye. Then, with a scowl, she turned her champagne glass down.

“Strong drink is raging,” she said.

“Er, on occasion,” said Berry, moving his glass out of range. “A desire, which I venture to maintain is laudable, to honour the sex which you adorn is responsible for the presence of these sinister beakers or goblets, for which I could otherwise offer no shadow of excuse.”

Miss Weigh regarded him straitly.

“Explain yourself,” she commanded.

Berry sat back in his chair.

“Unable,” he said, “any longer to support the flagrant abomination of my company, despite my frantic entreaties, your beautiful
vis-à-vis
has determined to leave this house. In accepting this natural decision, I have conceived it to be my manifest duty on this, her last, night to do her the utmost honour I can. According, therefore, to a tradition so ancient as to compel respect, I have brought forth my rarest wine – not in a futile endeavour to make glad our hearts, which in view of her imminent departure would be impossible, but to pledge her charm and wisdom as best we may. It is, therefore, no vulgar carouse, but a seemly rite to which in all honour we mean this night to subscribe – the honest, if clumsy, homage of a man not yet sunk so low as to be unable to recognize virtue, to distinguish right from wrong, and to render to lovely woman the things that are hers.”

Miss Weigh appeared to hesitate. Then, to her lasting credit, she once more reversed her glass.

“Not that I’m deceived,” she announced. “Any excuse for an orgy will serve for you. But at least you’re civil about it. Why couldn’t you have been civil this afternoon?”

“Madam,” said Berry gravely, “had you not been prevented by the instant roar of a traffic for which the streets of Warfare were never designed, you would have heard my humble endeavours to explain that my failure to accommodate you was dictated by no indecent impulse to resist your lawful desires, but by the bile or venom of the foul-mouthed carrion to whose charge the vehicle directly behind me had been unaccountably committed. The moment that I perceived that you were proposing to retire – an intention, I may say, which I had the honour to anticipate – I naturally determined to accord you such place as your manoeuvre might demand. Most unfortunately, however, the rude and incompetent boor to whom I have already referred had so placed his wain or waggon that I was utterly prevented from consulting your convenience, and, when I acquainted the reptile with my predicament, my words were received not only with the foulest contumely but with a disregard of the proprieties so shocking as to be almost impious. To advise you of a position which caused me much pain, I made bold to sound my horn, for, while I was well aware that such action might be mistaken for that of a bully or road-hog demanding way, it seemed to me still more important that you should not put in peril your elegant car – by counting upon an obedience which you had a right to expect, which I, through no fault of my own, was unable to bear. To my infinite confusion, madam, though not, I may say, to my surprise, you most naturally interpreted the somewhat peremptory note, not as the counsel of despair, which in fact it was, but as the impudent agent of an outlook which would, I submit, disgrace a blue-based baboon; and I suffered a disapproval which was most justly due, when in fact it was the toss-pot behind me – that black-throated son of Belial, whom we may shortly expect to be eaten of worms – that was, so to speak, the fountain of my dishonour.”

With a suspicious sniff, Miss Weigh appeared to consider the value of Berry’s reply, much as some god, by snuffing the rising smoke, might seek to appraise the ingredients of sacrifice done. Before she had finished, Jonah, beside her, made some polite remark, and Perdita fell upon Berry, demanding an oral itinerary – of which she had no need, which, if Berry pleased, would take some time to recite. All ears, as was only natural, Daphne, Jill and I made some pretence to converse, and to accept as normal the most embarrassing meal to which I have ever subscribed. Meanwhile the champagne was served…

Miss Weigh was addressing Berry with all her might.

“And what is your mission in life?”

“I – I don’t think I’ve got one,” said Berry. “I’ve waited for years, but I’ve never had a definite call. You know, that does happen sometimes,” he added, plausibly.

“Never,” said Miss Weigh, shortly. “Everyone has some mission, however vile they may be. Consult your conscience, sir. If that’s not dead, it will answer. If it is, I shall revive it. The revival of conscience is one of my missions in life.”

The vision of Miss Weigh applying artificial respiration to Berry’s soul was so awe-inspiring that we sat about the table like dummies, holding our breath.

After a frantic look round—

“M-meditation,” said Berry, wildly. “That’s right. Meditation. I often think I ought to have been a nun – I mean a monk. But it’s too late now.”’

“What do you mean – meditation?”

Never were five words so crammed with indignant scorn.

“Well, that’s my call,” said Berry, desperately. “My conscience tells me that that is my mission in life.”

“Don’t trifle with me, sir,” said Miss Weigh.

“Madam,” said Berry, gravely, “even if I had not the honour to be your host – a relation which automatically forbids impertinence – I am not, believe me, so – so verminous as to be unable to perceive the enormity of such an attention.” Before Miss Weigh had recovered from this majestic broadside, he continued fluently. “At the same time I would beg you not to condemn out of hand the efforts of a definitely weaker vessel to raise himself and his fellows not to the peaks of self-discipline which you command, but at least above the level of the steaming midden of inefficiency upon which the lower animals are content to sprawl.”

Miss Weigh drank some champagne.

“Fine words,” she said. “Meditation is bosh – and you know it as well as I.”

“But look at the lamas,” cried Berry. “Look what they do… And all by meditation.”

“Well, what do they do?” said Miss Weigh.

“They perceive the meaning of things. And that’s where we fail. We take everything for granted – a hideous mistake. Take that glass of champagne, for instance.”

“What about it?” said Miss Weigh.

“Well, it’s more than that, really,” said Berry. “A great deal more. Only you and I can’t see it.”

“This is beating the air,” said Miss Weigh, testily.

“That’s just what I said,” said Berry. “My very words. And then I tried. I meditated upon some ordinary, commonplace thing. And after a while, you know, I began to see round. I saw that it wasn’t what it seemed.”

“What did it seem?” said Miss Weigh.

“A slop-pail,” said Berry. “A common, vulgar—”

“And what was it really?”

“A human document,” said Berry. “I can’t put it more plainly than that. The secrets of meditation will never go into words.”

“Yes, they will,” said Miss Weigh, violently. “‘Drivel’ and ‘Balderdash.’”

My brother-in-law sighed.

“I don’t blame you,” he said. Miss Weigh choked. “Before the snails – scales fell from my eyes, I felt the same. I was even more outspoken. From my criticism of the mystery I omitted no circumstance of ribaldry, and epithets I blush to remember spurted like – like grapestones from my lips. And then one day, in prison, I—”