Rosy Is My Relative (11 page)

“Bite of breakfast?” said Black Nell. “You can’t walk on an empty stomach.”

“It’s very kind of you,” said Adrian, “but I just had some breakfast.”

“Cold rabbit pie?” asked Black Nell. “Bit of cold rabbit pie, home-made bread and a mug of tea, eh?”

The thought of cold rabbit pie made Adrian’s mouth water.

“Well, if you’re quite sure you have enough,” he said.

“Plenty,” said Black Nell. “You get the fire a-going under the kettle and I’ll fetch the pie.”

So Adrian, Rosy and Black Nell sat down to have breakfast together. The pie was delicious the crust melting in the mouth, the chips of rabbit meat, pink or coral, embedded in jelly as brown as amber, redolent with herbs. Adrian decided that he had never eaten anything quite so delicious in his life, not even at Fenneltree Hall. After his third piece of pie he even started to view Rosy with a less jaundiced eye. Full of pie and hot tea he grew expansive and told Black Nell all about the trials and tribulations he had had since Rosy bad entered his life. To his surprise Black Nell thought it was one of the funniest things she had
ever
heard, and at his description of the ball she laughed until she cried, and Adrian, against his will, was forced to laugh too.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” gasped Black Nell, holding her sides. “I wish I could have seed that.”

“Looking back on it, I must admit that it was rather funny,” said Adrian. “But I didn’t think it was funny at the time.”

Black Nell wiped her eyes still giving shrill hoots of laughter. Then she delved in her pocket and pulled out a pack of stained and greasy cards.

“Come along, come along,” she said, “I’ll tell your fortune and let you know what’s in store for you.”

“I’m not altogether sure that I want to know,” said Adrian.

“Nonsense,” said Black Nell firmly, “’course you do, everyone does. Now, cut the cards and then pick out six rows of seven.”

Gingerly Adrian shuffled, cut the pack and then picked out the rows of cards. Black Nell turned them face upwards and pored over them, mumbling to herself.

“Ha, ha!” said Black Nell so suddenly that Adrian jumped and the hairs on the nape of his neck prickled.

“What is it?” he asked nervously.

“Nothing,” said Black Nell. “Your future’s very obscure, very obscure indeed.”

“Oh, well, don’t bother then,” said Adrian in relief.

“No, no, it’s coming,” said Black Nell. “I can see you going on a sea voyage.”

“A sea voyage?” said Adrian incredulously. “What, with Rosy?”

“And I see danger,” said Black Nell, lowering her voice to a hoarse whipser, “danger and a short, fat man. He’s going to cause you a lot of trouble.”

“Can’t you see anything nice?” asked Adrian plaintively. “I’ve had quite enough trouble recently.”

“Oh, yes, I can see something nice. But it’s very obscure, very obscure,” said Black Nell. “I’m glad all my clients don’t have such obscurity in their cards or we’d never got anywhere.”

She put the cards back into her pocket, took out a short black pipe and lit it.

“Tell you what,” she said, puffing out clouds of grey, chest-constricting smoke, “you’d better get a move on, young fellow. You’ve got a tidy bit of moor to cover and it’s as bald as an egg for hiding an elephant. Now, what I suggest you do is this. Go on along this road for a few miles, maybe six or seven, and you’ll come to a right-hand turn. It’s only a sort of rough track, really, but it goes through the dells and you’ve more chance of hiding there. Now, twenty miles or so along the track it crosses the railway line, see? And just after that it forks. You take the left-hand fork and presently you’ll come to a pub called the
Unicorn and Harp
, run by some people called Filigree. They’re the nicest people round those parts and very fond of animals. They’ll probably let you stay there until the hue and cry dies down. Tell ’em Black Nell sent you.”

“You’re very kind,” said Adrian warmly. “I’m most grateful to you.”

“Well,” said Black Nell philosophically, “if we what’s on the road don’t help each other it’s a sure and certain fact that no one else will.”

So Adrian hitched Rosy up to the trap again and said good-bye to Black Nell.

“Not good-bye!” she said enigmatically, “I’ll be seeing you again when wigs are in season.”

“What?” asked Adrian bewildered.

“Joke,” said Black Nell sardonically. “Cheerio.”

So Adrian and Rosy set off across the brilliant moorland and by midday they had come to the turning that Black Nell bad described. She had been right, for the track dipped and wound its way through gentle undulation, and offered much more chance of concealment should their pursuers catch up with them. They had their lunch by a small pond whose contents were the only liquid refreshment that Adrian allowed Rosy to have, much to her annoyance. Then they pressed on.

Presently the sun nestled down in a great bank of feathery clouds in the west and busily turned them to gold and green and red. A purplish twilight settled down over the moor, and small bats flicked and purred across the track like metronomes. The track climbed up a small rise and when they reached the top of it Adrian could see at the bottom of the valley below, the gleaming railway lines running across the track.

“There we are, Rosy,” he said. “Nearly there now.”

The trap tinkled and creaked its way down into the valley and when they reached the railway lines Rosy stepped across them carefully. On Adrian’s instructions she drew the trap slowly after her until the wheels were resting against the lines. Then Adrian got his shoulder under the trap and heaved, at the same time telling Rosy to pull. The trap lifted, hung for a minute on the rail and bumped down. It was then that Adrian discovered that whoever had designed the rails had obviously done so with the malicious intention of entangling pony traps, for the wheels of the trap lay neatly wedged crosswise between the two lines and would neither move forward nor back. If Rosy pulled, the shafts creaked ominously, and Adrian was frightened that they would snap off. Glancing around, Adrian saw, lying some distance away at the side of the track, the remains of an old sleeper. This, he thought, would do admirably as a lever. Telling Rosy to stay still he went to fetch it, and it was as he was returning that he heard the train.

He had been so engrossed in his efforts to get the trap off the lines that he had been oblivious to the distant sounds. But now, to judge by the harsh scream and the roar and clatter, the train was. nearly upon them. Bathed suddenly in cold sweat, Adrian staggered down the line with his burden, feeling the rails throbbing and tingling with the approach of the train. He must move the trap. The roar and rattle of the train was terribly loud and frightening as he staggered up to the. back of the trap and wedged the sleeper under it. He got his shoulder under it and heaved.

“Pull, Rosy, pull,” he shouted, and Rosy stepped forward. The trap started to lift, teetered a moment and then bumped over the lines as the train roared round the corner like a ravening dragon. The trap was safe, thought Adrian exultantly. He turned to leap from between the lines, but the train caught him as he jumped and flung him viciously to one side. He landed in the heather covered with blood and as limp as a rag doll, while the train thundered on imperviously, flashing the golden lights from its windows and showering the countryside with glowing sparks like a meteor. It thundered away into the distance and gradually the noise of its progress faded. Adrian, bloodstained and unconscious, lay twisted in the heather, his white face staring up at the star-freckled sky.

When Adrian opened his eyes, his first impression was that he was lying on a bed composed entirely of red-hot knitting needles. His whole body ached savagely, and his right arm felt numb and bruised, Above him the star, were jerking to and fro across the sky in the most unorthodox manner and for a moment this puzzled him, until he suddenly realised that he was lying in the back of the trap which was progressing slowly along the dark road.

How, he wondered, had he got there? At length he decided that it must have been Rosy (faithful, sagacious Rosy) who had picked up his battered and unconscious body and placed it in the back of the trap. He tried to sit up, but a white-hot pain seared through him and he fainted.

When he came round, the cart was stationary, and suspended over his head in a miraculous way was a large sign on which was written
Unicorn and Harp
, and underneath it a tiny picture showing this unlikely combination. How clever of Rosy, he thought blearily, to have found the place that they were heading for. If he had been feeling himself, he would, of course, have realised that Rosy, having performed her rescue operation, had made all speed towards what her trunk told her was an old and redolent public house. With a tremendous effort, wincing with pain, Adrian managed to get down into the road. His right arm hung limply and he felt sure that it was broken. His legs had no strength in them and he staggered as though he were drunk. Rosy uttered a small pleased squeal and flapped her ears. The
Unicorn and Harp
, Adrian saw, was a long, low, timbered house with a reed roof like a great shaggy pie crust on top of it. Golden light spilled out of the mullioned windows on to the road. Weaving uncertainly to and fro like a swallow, Adrian staggered across the road and leant against the door. He was beginning to feel terrible again and he was frightened that he would faint before he could get inside, into that friendly light He grasped the big brass knocker and beat a thunderous tattoo on the oak door, and then slumped against the jamb trying to fight down the waves of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. He heard footsteps approaching, bolts were withdrawn from the door, and it was flung back.

There in the light stood one of the fattest men that Adrian had ever seen. He was in his shirt sleeves and trousers and wearing a pair of enormous carpet slippers richly embroidered with sunflowers, marigolds, chrysanthemums and similar brightly coloured flowers. His face was as round and as rubicund as a baby’s and the top of his vast head was covered with a faint, wispy halo of pale golden hair. Under the last of his double chins, his enormous stomach swelled out in a great and noble curve that would have made a pouter pigeon look positively emaciated. He stared at Adrian’s tattered, blood-stained form without any change of expression whatsoever.

“Good evening,” he said, in a sweet, shrill, flute-like voice. “Is there anything you desire?”

“Accident,” mumbled Adrian blearily. “I was hit by a train. Rosy’s outside.”

The pub and the fat man disappeared into blackness as Adrian slumped forward. The fat man, with remarkable speed caught him as he fell, wrapped his massive arms around him, and lifted him as effortlessly as though he had been a feather. He turned and waddled into the pub carrying Adrian with him. The front door led directly into a gigantic, stone-flagged kitchen at one end of which a log fire glowed and twinkled in a huge fireplace, reflecting in the polished surfaces of the rows and rows of copper pans that hung on the walls. The fat man laid Adrian down on a large horse-hair sofa, loosened his collar, and then waddled rapidly over to the bar at the far end of the room. He poured brandy into a tumbler and went back to the sofa, lifted Adrian’s head and forced a little of the liquid between his lips. Adrian coughed and spluttered and his eyes opened.

“Ah,” said the fat mail contentedly in his flute-like voice, “that’s better. Now you just lie still while I get something to cover you.”

Adrian peered myopically round the vast kitchen with its bar at one end and its huge fire at the other, and the brandy he had gulped warmed his stomach and seemed to ease some of the pains that racked his body. The fat man soon returned carrying a vast billowing eiderdown.

“I thought this would be warm,” he said shrilly, tucking it carefully round Adrian. “It’s genuine goose-down Warmest thing you can have. I always wore one when I was in Tibet.”

Even in his sorry condition, the mental image of the fat man wearing a goose-feathered eiderdown made Adrian grin.

“You’re very kind,” he said. “I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”

“Not at all,” fluted the fat man. “A pleasure, my dear sir. Have some more brandy.” He held Adrian’s head while he gulped down the rest of the brandy.

“Wonderful thing, brandy,” said the fat man unctuously. “The barges used to bring it regularly from France when I was in Egypt.”

“I’m sorry to worry you still further,” said Adrian, “but there’s Rosy outside.”

“Ah, yes,” said the fat man. “I’d quite forgotten. You did mention her just before you fainted. How remiss of me; poor little thing.” And so saying, he turned with extraordinary nimbleness and surged to the front door.

“It’s . . .” began Adrian, but the fat man had disappeared.

There was a long pause broken only by a squeal from Rosy. It was one of her pleased squeals, but in a completely different key to the one she normally used. Adrian could only hope that this augured well. Perhaps she would think that the fat man was another elephant and take to him. Suddenly the fat man reappeared, his pink baby face wreathed in smiles. He danced across to the sofa his hands clasped as though in supplication, his eyes shining.

“An
elephant
,” he cooed shrilly. “A real, live
elephant
. My dear fellow, you couldn’t have brought me anything I’d like better. I haven’t had an elephant since I was in Nagarapore. And she likes me too. She actually put her trunk round my neck.”

“Oh, yes. She’s very friendly,” said Adrian.

“I remember,” said the fat man dreamily, “I used to have a hundred and one of them. Ah, those happy days. The tiger hunts, the pomp, the ceremony . . .”

“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” said Adrian, but I wonder if it would be possible for me to see a doctor? I rather think I have broken my arm.”

“My dear fellow,
anything
,” said the fat man. “But you must stay quite still and we’ll bring the doctor to you. Sam will be back in a minute and then everybody will be organised. In the meantime, might I have the privilege of putting your elephant in our barn?”