Berry Scene (6 page)

“Try to remember,” he rasped, “that you are not on the Bench.”

“May I respectfully offer the same advice?”

In a pregnant silence, the two men regarded each other. Then Counsel returned to his brief.

“When you arrived upon the scene, where was the chauffeur?”

“In the trough,” said Berry.

“And Mr Slober?”

“Standing beside the car.”

“And the hawker?”

“Was importuning Mr Slober, who seemed preoccupied.”

“Preoccupied?”

“Yes. He was, er, soliloquizing upon what had occurred.”

“Soliloquizing?”

“Yes, in blank prose.”

When the gust of laughter had passed—

“And the hawker had hold of his arm?”

“No. The hawker never touched him from first to last.”

Counsel wagged a menacing finger.

“I put it to you that he did.”

“You can put it,” said Berry, “where you like, but—”

In the roar of delight at this answer, the rest of the sentence was lost.

But Counsel stuck to his guns.

“The defendant will swear, Mr Pleydell, that the hawker took hold of his arm.”

“That will confirm the opinion I formed at the time.”

“What opinion was that?”

“That the defendant was beside himself. Didn’t know what he was doing or what was being done. If he didn’t know then, he can’t remember now.”

“His evidence should be ruled out?”

“That is a matter for the Court.”

“Of course. But you would advise them to disregard it?”

“I should not presume to advise them on any point.”

“But you’re a Justice of the Peace.”

“Yes,” said Berry, “I am. I’m also a member of the MCC and the Army and Navy Stores. But at the present moment I’m a witness.”

As the laughter died down—

“When you are, er, enthroned at Riding Hood, do you frequently reject evidence on the ground that the witness was temporarily insane?”

“No.”

“Yet you’re asking this Court to do so.”

“I am doing no such thing.”

“What are you doing?”

“I was under the impression that I was giving evidence.”

“Which you ask the Court to accept?”

“That, I think, is the privilege of the advocate.”

“Are you trying to teach me my business?”

“No,” said Berry, “I’m not. My ability is, er, limited.”

Counsel glared.

Then—

“You saw the constable arrive?”

“I did.”

“And proceed to take particulars?”

“Yes.”

“He produced the traditional note-book?”

“Naturally.”

“Would it be fair to say that he was officious?”

“It would not.”

“And obtuse?”

“No.”

“What was he?”

“Dutiful.”

“Thank you. He hasn’t said that Mr Slober was out of his mind?”

“Neither have I. My words were ‘beside himself’.”

“What is the difference?”

“Well, I’m not a lexicographer,” said Berry, “but I believe ‘out of his mind’ to be the more serious condition of the two.”

“He didn’t even say ‘beside himself’?”

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“The phrase may not have occurred to him. He said ‘labouring under excitement’.”

“Do you agree with that statement?”

“Fully.”

“He had had enough to excite him?”

“More than enough. A chauffeur in a horse-trough, and a car doing a lamp-post to the bushel – well, it’s like a bad dream.”

I am glad to record that Counsel contrived to smile.

“The arrival of the constable did not improve matters?”

“I don’t agree.”

“Can you deny that after his arrival the situation deteriorated?”

“That was not the officer’s fault.”

“Whose fault was it?”

“If it was anyone’s, it was Mr Slober’s.”

“How do you make that out?”

“The constable’s confusion provoked him to violence; but it was his own incoherence that confused the constable.”

“Incoherence?”

“That,” said Berry, “was the word I used.”

“I am aware of that, sir. Of what did his incoherence consist?”

“Of an inability to give intelligible replies.”

“Give me an instance.”

“The constable asked him who was driving the car. Mr Slober replied, ‘Nobody.’ Well, that wasn’t very helpful.”

Counsel leaned forward.

“It happened to be the truth?”

“No doubt. It would have been equally true
and
misleading to say that his chauffeur had gone to have a bath.”

There was a roar of laughter.

As it died down—

“Mr Slober is charged with obstruction. Honestly, Mr Pleydell, can you substantiate that charge?”

“To this extent – that I saw him snatch the note-book out of the constable’s hand.”

“I suggest that the constable dropped it.”

Berry shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I saw the, er, rape of the book.”

“And the alleged assault?”

“Just naughty temper,” said Berry. “The hawker’s laughter provoked him and so he went for the man.”

“You saw that, too?”

“I did.”

“Is there anything you didn’t see?”

“Oh, quite a lot,” said Berry. “I didn’t see the accident happen. I didn’t see any reason to interfere. I didn’t see the hawker pull Mr Slober’s nose.”

“Did he?” – excitedly.

“Not that I know of,” said Berry. “That’s probably why I didn’t see it.”

There was a howl of delight.

Counsel was trembling with anger.

“My point, sir, is that you are suspiciously well informed.”

Berry shrugged his shoulders.

“Sitting up in a dog-cart, I could see more than some.”

“On a Bench of your own?” sneered Counsel.

“No,” said Berry, “I had a box-seat put in. They’re really more comfortable.”

Another burst of laughter shook the room.

“And you, a Justice of the Peace, sat there at your ease, watching one assault after another?”

“That,” said Berry, “is a perversion of the truth.”

“Aren’t you a Justice of the Peace?”

“That’s right,” said Berry excitedly. “Of Riding Hood. If you remember, you asked me if I dispensed liquor – I mean, Justice, and I said—”

“Didn’t you watch two assaults?”

“No. I saw them committed.”

“What is the difference?”

“What you want,” said Berry, “is a grammar – not a witness.”

“Never mind what I want, sir,” raged Counsel. “Answer the question. What is the difference between watching an assault and seeing it committed?”

Berry took a deep breath.

“Watching suggests anticipation. I
watch
you heading for a cesspool: I
see
you…”

The rest of the sentence was rather naturally lost.

“Tell me this, Mr Pleydell. Is it fair to say that if a pair of horses had not taken fright, this Court would not be hearing two summonses today?”

“That,” said Berry, “is undeniable.”

“And the lady behind those horses happened to be your wife?”

“That is equally true.”

“Bearing those things in mind, would you be human if you did not hope for Mr Slober’s conviction?”

“To be perfectly honest,” said Berry, “I don’t care a hoot. So far as I am concerned, he and his chauffeur have paid their respective debts. He’s had his car done in and the chauffeur was ducked. And I’ll lay they stop their engine next time they’re asked.”

There was a burst of applause.

“Are you posing as Solomon?”

“No,” said Berry. “As Job.”

The retort was deservedly acclaimed.

Counsel played his last card.

“It is easy to see that you’re not a motorist.”

Berry raised his eyebrows.

“My car’s outside,” he said simply. “I always leave it outside – it’s too big to…”

The rest of the sentence was lost, and Counsel sat down.

As Jonah later observed, the case was over when Berry stepped out of the box. Mr Slober was certainly called, but Berry had queered his pitch: and when Mason declined to cross. examine, the impression that his evidence was worthless was driven home.

After a short consultation, the Chairman announced the decision of the Bench.

“We understand that Mr Slober is prepared to compensate the hawker and to pay for the damage to the lamp-post. In these circumstances, the Bench is satisfied that justice will be done if, on the summons for assault, he is bound over in his own recognizances to keep the peace for six months. The summons for obstruction will be dismissed on payment of costs. With regard to the other defendant, the Bench feels that it would be unfair to deny to him the clemency shown to Mr Slober: while he had no shadow of right to take the law into his own hands, we cannot lose sight of the fact that, if the chauffeur had acceded to the groom’s request—”

“Which he misunderstood,” said Counsel violently.

The Chairman looked at him.

“The Bench,” he said coldly, “does not accept the chauffeur’s evidence on that point. As I was saying, had the chauffeur acceded to the groom’s request, no lives would have been put in peril, no damage would have been done and the Bench would not have been hearing these summonses today. Joseph Chinnock will, therefore, be bound over in his own recognizances to keep the peace for six months.”

“Scandalous,” said Counsel; but the word was nearly drowned in the tide of applause.

When I left the court, he and his client were still engaged in a furious altercation, regarding, I imagine, his conduct of the case.

An hour had gone by, and we were in the Deanery garden, where we had had a late tea.

“As no doubt you realize,” said the Dean, “the
deus ex machina
, from whom, of course, all credit has been withheld, was the lamp-post. Had the lamp-post not stopped the car, Joe Chinnock might well have faced a much more serious charge. Had the lamp-post not damaged the car, Berry could not have submitted that Slober had been punished enough. Still, Joe Chinnock’s been saved, and we can throw up our hats – though I have an uneasy feeling that Counsel’s final comment was not altogether undeserved. Mark you, had I been on the Bench, I should have let him off, too. But I fear I should have been wrong. Rough justice is as attractive as going to sleep in Church: but it is equally indefensible.”

“Yet, if he’d been sent down, sir, justice would not have been done.”

“That’s a good point,” said the Dean. “‘
Their justice
rooted in
injustice
stood.’ Any way, to mark my gratification at Joe Chinnock’s deliverance, kindly instruct Mr Mason to send me his bill of costs.”

In Which Withyham Pays the Piper,

But Berry Calls the Tune

Six weeks had gone by, and the car which we had ordered was overdue. We were, of course, keeping the hireling, until our own car should come.

On the whole, our fall from grace had been well received. A few eyebrows had been raised: Mrs de Lisle had been caustic: Withyham had been rude. But our farmer friends were amused and the village was proud.

“That’s a fact,” said the Vicar. “Bilberry’s one up on Cleric – I heard the taunt hurled myself. ‘We’ve got an auto, we ’ave.’”

“I confess I’m a convert,” said Daphne.

“Not a convert,” said Berry. “A complacent heretic.”

“So,” said my sister, “are you. You never stop abusing the thing, but, if anyone took it away, you’d go off the deep end.”

“I’ll say it’s convenient,” said Berry.

“No more than that?” said I.

“No more than that.”

“Then don’t you come tomorrow. We’re only going to lunch with a friend of mine.”

Berry regarded the Vicar.

“There’s a viper,” he said. “Just because I decline to vomit a lot of slush about—”

“You disgusting brute,” said Daphne.

“There you are,” said Berry. “That’s what I have to put up with. I sometimes think I shall take orders. You don’t want a curate, do you?”

As soon as the Vicar could speak—

“I have a feeling,” he said, “that, even if you were available, I should look somewhere else. But I’ll give you this – I think the church would be crammed when you were going to preach. By the way, have you heard the latest? Lord Withyham has closed the Roman Lane.”

“But he can’t,” cried everyone.

“He’s done it,” said the Vicar. “He’s put up a five-barred gate – and the gate is locked.”

“And here’s trouble,” said Berry. “There’s been a right of way there for years and years.”

“So I’m told,” said the Vicar. “D’you think you could see him about it?”

Berry shook his head.

“We’ve never got on,” he said. “He’d take it better from you.”

“He won’t listen to me,” said the Vicar. “But something will have to be done. If I know the parish, feeling will run very high.”

“And there you’re right,” said Jonah. “The neighbourhood won’t stand it – and that’s the truth, With us, the right of way is the Ark of the Covenant.”

There was an uneasy silence.

Then—

“We must avoid violence,” said the Vicar. “If the matter must go to the Courts, to the Courts it must go. But there must be no violence.”

“I don’t know about violence,” said Berry. “But, once the murder is out, that gate will be short of its hinges within the hour.”

“More,” said I. “Old Chalk’s to be buried on Wednesday.”

“Oh, dear,” said Daphne.

The Vicar looked round, wide-eyed.

“But what of that?” he said.

“There’s an old belief,” said Berry, “that where a funeral has passed, there for ever will be a right of way. In fact, it’s bad in law; but such beliefs die hard. 1 think it more than likely that an attempt will be made to take Old Chalk to the churchyard by way of Romany Lane. And Withyham may try to stop it.”

The Vicar covered his eyes. “This is dreadful,” he said.

“Why d’you think,” said Daphne, “Lord Withyham won’t listen to you?”

The Vicar frowned.

“We had words last year,” he said. “The Scouts spent week at Bluecoat – camping, you know. The weather was very fine, and they were abroad all day: but their camp was in the meadow. I know it’s close to the house, but they did behave very well and they made no noise. But Lord Withyham resented their presence. He wouldn’t even give them water. And when I protested, I’m sorry to say he ordered me out of the house.”

“Outrageous,” said Daphne. “And if that was how he felt, why did he let them come?”

“He didn’t,” cried the Vicar. “It was Ightham’s meadow – not his.”

“But you said it was at Bluecoat.”

“So it is. But that meadow belongs to Ightham.”

The three of us stared at him.

“Well, I thought I knew Bluecoat,” said Berry: “but this is a new one on me.”

“I must be right,” said the Vicar. “If the meadow had been Lord Withyham’s, he would have turned them out.”

“Well, I don’t understand it,” said I. “But it’s perfectly clear that you can’t go to the man.” I looked at Berry. “You and I’d better beard him tomorrow. On our way to Hammercloth – we have to go by his gates.”

“You’re very good,” said the Vicar, and got to his feet.

“Don’t speak too soon,” said Berry.

The Vicar smiled.

“I’m not speaking too soon. Whether you fail or succeed cannot alter the fact – that you are very good to do so distasteful a duty on my behalf.”

“My dear, good sir,” said Berry, taking his arm. “For you and the village, we’d do far more than this. That is what White Ladies is for. She has always done what she could to be Bilberry’s rod and staff. Our reluctance to interfere here was dictated by one thing alone – the fear that with Withyham, White Ladies will cut no ice.”

We all came to the door, to see the good man off.

The Reverend John Chisholm had been with us nearly three years. A gentle fellow of Oxford, he was a man of peace. On four Sundays out of five, he lunched with us, and we were glad at his coming and sorry to see him go.

The first Lord Withyham had been a riveter when he was seventeen. He had risen by sheer merit, to become the honoured Chairman of one of the shipping lines. Never was a peerage more deservedly bestowed. And then he died, and his son, the present Withyham, reigned in his stead. But his was a spirit of another sort. It was said that his mother had spoiled him. Be that as it may, he was not even a shadow of what his father had been. The man was proud of his title, ashamed of his birth. He set no store by work, but much by his dignity. His father had never had time for a country place. Withyham repaired the omission the moment the Will was proved. The Ferrers had lived at Bluecoat for more than two hundred years, but the last of the line was poor, and the place was for sale. Withyham bought it as it stood… And there you are. I fear that Withyham disliked us, because, though Bluecoat was lovely, White Ladies took pride of place.

As we returned to the terrace—

“The man must be mad,” said Daphne. “Romany Lane has always been a short cut. It goes through his land, of course.”

“That doesn’t matter,” said Berry. “No doubt, many years ago, it was a private road. But the Ferrers were lax or kindly and failed to close it once in twenty-one years. And so the public acquired a right of way. I can’t go back so far, but plenty of people can.”

“What exactly d’you mean?” said his wife.

“Well, if it comes to a show-down – a fight in the Courts – people will have to be found who can swear that the lane’s been open for twenty-one years. Prove that, and Withyham’s sunk.”

“That’ll cost money,” said Jonah. “That’s what he’s banking on – that no one will put up the money to fight the case.”

“We’ll put it up,” said Daphne. “if we have to re-let Cholmondeley Street.”

She spoke for us all.

Number Thirty-eight Cholmondeley Street had always been our home, when we were in Town. Seven years ago the house had been let on lease. But now that lease was up, and the house was being decorated against our return. But better that we let it again than that Romany Lane should be closed.

“That’s all right,” said I, “so far as it goes. But don’t forget this – with the Law, you never know. No case is ever cast-iron. I’d say that the odds against Withyham were about five to one. Well, that’s good enough. But I must remind you that there’s a Court of Appeal…and the House of Lords… If Withyham took us up to the House of Lords, and there we lost, the costs we should have to pay would probably be between six and eight thousand pounds.”

“Oh, hell,” said everyone.

“Exactly. We cannot afford to stake eight thousand pounds. But Withyham can. So, if we can possibly avoid it, the case must not go to the Courts. We cannot
afford
a row. If the parish gets his goat, Withyham will force our hand.”

“Well, what do we do?” said Berry.

I raised my eyebrows.

“We’d better put Peters wise and tell him to learn what he can at
The Rose
tonight. And tomorrow we call on Withyham.”

“Yes, that’s going to be a genial interview, isn’t it? You must take what he says in shorthand, behind your back.”

“Oh, my dears,” said Daphne, “I am so sorry for you. Yes, Falcon?”

The butler approached.

“I think you would like to know, madam, that Mrs Ightham is here.”

“Oh, splendid,” said Daphne. “She’s come to see Bridget?”

“Yes, Madam.”

“Ask her to come to the Blue Room in ten minutes’ time.”

“Very good, Madam.”

“Falcon,” said Berry, “is Mr Ightham here?”

“Yes, sir. He drove her over.”

“Where is he now? With Peters?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right. I’ll go and see him.”

“Shall I tell him, sir?”

“If you please.”

Falcon bowed and withdrew. Berry raised his eyebrows.

“May as well get the low-down, what ever it is.”

Ten minutes later Ightham declared the truth.

“No wonder you’re beaten, sir; it’s a curious case. Our land marches with Bluecoat, as well you know. A hundred years ago, the Ferrers o’ that day wanted to buy the acres we call the Dale. My great-grandfather, George – he wouldn’t sell. ‘But I’ll tell you what, sir,’ he says, ‘I’ll give you a lease.’ An’ that’s what he did. A ninety-nine years’ lease. Well, that was near enough freehold… An’ if you ask me the truth, I think the Ferrers forgot. An’ then, two years ago, just after his lordship buys it, the lease falls in. Now if it had been Mr Ferrers, he should have had the Dale. Ninety-nine years is a lifetime – an’ more than that. I’d have let ’is lordship have it, if only he’d spoken me fair. But he couldn’t do that. We’re only farmer stock, and he’s a lord. But he’s a stranger, sir, and we’ve been here for a hundred and fifty years. An’ he talked to me as if I was one of his gardeners… ‘I’m buying those meadows,’ he says. ‘I don’t want another lease. I’m telling my lawyers so, and you’ll hear from them.’ Well, that’s not neighbourly, sir. An’ when his lawyers wrote, I said they was not for sale. An’ then he writes to me, an’ talks about ‘impertinent conduct’. So I put the Boy Scouts there… An’ now he shuts Romany Lane… He don’t know behaviour, sir, and that’s the truth.”

“What on earth’s he playing at – shutting the lane? I mean, he must know he can’t do it.”

“That he can’t,” said Ightham, “and so he’ll find. To my knowledge that lane’s been open for forty-five years. And there’s others older than me.”

“Then why’s he done it?” said Berry. “He must know the law.”

“It’s a try-on, sir. He’s having a very big house-party next weekend. Some foreign royalties is coming – a German prince an’ princess. That’s what Jack Belcher told me – he’s acting as bailiff now. Jack told him he couldn’t do it: but his lordship shouts him down. Says his guests’ privacy’s got to be respected, he says. ‘You carry out your orders,’ he shouts.”

“A temporary measure?” said I.

Ightham shrugged his shoulders.

“The gate’s there, sir. I’ve seen it. An’ now it’s there, I can’t see him taking it down.” He laughed abruptly. “A stranger shouldn’t do that.”

“What d’you know, Mr Ightham?”

The farmer looked round.

Then—

“I’m told, sir, Old Chalk’ll open it Wednesday next.”

We called at Bluecoat the next day, precisely at ten o’clock.

“His lordship in?” said Berry.

“He is, sir.”

“Ask him if he’ll give me ten minutes.”

“Certainly, sir. Will you please to come this way?”

We entered a chamber which I had known as a child.

One minute later the peer strode into the room.

“Morning, Withyham,” said Berry. “Forgive us for calling so early, but, if we hadn’t come now, we couldn’t have come today.”

“Is it so urgent, Pleydell?”

“Yes,” said Berry, “it is. The thing is this. I know your respect for tradition. Of that respect you chose Bluecoat, and of that respect you maintain it, as Bluecoat should be maintained. For that reason, I venture to ask you to reopen Romany Lane. I know—”

“If I’d had—”

“Bear with me for a moment.” Lord Withyham bit his lip. “I know it’s a temporary measure, but—”

“And there you’re wrong,” said Withyham. “Romany Lane is mine.”

“Of course it’s yours,” said Berry. “But everybody has used it for many years.”

“And now they think it’s theirs.”

“They don’t, indeed,” said Berry. “And there is no reason at all why you shouldn’t put up a gate. But you’ve put a chain on the gate – and that is what upsets them. You see, they feel—”

“They think they’ve a right of way. Is that what you’re trying to say?

“They do,” said Berry. “And country people are jealous of rights of way.”

“Well, I don’t think – I know. Prescription doesn’t apply in a case like this.”

“I don’t agree,” said Berry, “but that’s beside the point. You don’t want to cross your neighbours – I’m sure of that. Yet, you want to close Romany Lane for the next weekend. Now, if you put a card on the gate—”

“Very clever,” sneered Withyham. “A card requesting their indulgence. And then, when it comes to Court, that card’s produced against me.”

Berry frowned.

“I hope,” he said quietly, “I hope it won’t come to Court.”

“I know. You’re trying to bluff me. You and that snivelling priest—”

“Really, Withyham, you must not talk like that. John Chisholm’s a better man than you or I. And—”

“What are you here for, Pleydell? To tell me how to behave?”

Berry raised his eyebrows.

“I wish you’d see reason,” he said. “Today the public is ready to perceive the mote of oppression in every great man’s eye. And you are offering them a beam. You really are. Giving them something to get hold of. And that’s – unfortunate, Withyham. Class hatred’s a dreadful thing. It’s been deliberately fostered for some years now – by certain politicians, to gain their ends. But it’s never touched our parish – we’ve always been happy here. And there’s no reason why it should: for there’s nothing for it to breed on. But if you shut Romany Lane—”