Rosy Is My Relative (26 page)

“What was that again, sir?” said Mr Pucklehammer.

“Was your yard full of coffins and similar items of carpentry?” said Sir Magnus.

“Yes,” said Mr. Pucklehammer.

“I have often wondered,” said the judge, “how they manage to make coffins that shape.”

“I am sure, my lord,” said Sir Magnus smoothly, “that Mr. Pucklehammer would be delighted to give you a practical demonstration of this at the end of the proceedings.”

“Most kind,” said the judge.

“Now you say,” Sir Magnus went on, “that the elephant Rosy was brought into your yard. During the time she was there, two days I believe it to be, what was her demeanour?”

“Bread, mostly,” said Mr. Pucklehammer “Then we found she liked vegetables as well.”

“No, no,” said Sir Magnus “What was her behaviour like?”

“Wonderful,” said Mr. Pucklehammer enthusiastically. “She’s a lovely animal.”

“So she didn’t cause you any distress while she stayed in your yard?”

“None whatsoever,” said Mr. Pucklehammer. “Good as gold she was. Helpful too. She helped Adrian wash the trap down.”

“Wash the trap down what?” enquired the judge.

“Well, we were cleaning the trap, see, sir, and so Rosy squirted water on it with her trunk.”

“Extraordinary,” said the judge. “Have you ever in your experience, Sir Magnus, come across an elephant washing down a trap?”

“No, my lord, I can’t say that I have,” said Sir Magnus, “but I believe them to be immensely sagacious beasts.”

“Extraordinary,” said the judge again. “Pray continue.”

“So, during the whole two days she was in your yard, she did no damage to you or to your property?” said Sir Magnus.

“None at all,” said Mr. Pucklehammer determinedly. “I told you, she’s as timid as a mouse. Rosy’d never hurt anybody deliberately.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Magnus. He glanced at Sir Augustus interrogatively, but Sir Augustus, who hid not known about the Pucklehammer episode, was at a slight loss as to how to cross-examine, go he merely shook his head mournfully.

“Ca1l,” said Sir Magnus, “Emily Nelly Delilah Trickletrot.”

“Who the hell’s that?” whispered Adrian.

“Black Nell,” said Sir Magnus.

Black Nell, like a chirpy moth-eaten little bird, climbed into the witness-box and peered over the edge of it with some difficulty.

“I understand,” said Sir Magnus, “that you encountered the defendant Rookwhistle and his elephant when you were on your way to Tuttlepenny Fair.”

“That’s right,” said Black Nell.

“Now, you are by trade a fortune-teller?” enquired Sir Magnus.

“Witch,” said Black Nell.

A rustle immediately ran through the court. The jury gave her their absolutely undivided attention.

“Witch?” said the judge.

“Yes, your honour,” said Black Nell. “I am a white witch. Black Nell’s me name.”

“I find this very confusing,” said the judge, looking at Sir Magnus. “Would you like to elucidate?”

“Certainly, my lord. There are apparently two forms of witches. The black kind who do evil deeds or are reputed to do evil deeds, and the white ones who do good deeds. This lady is a white witch and during the course of her witchcraft the also tells fortunes.”

“Do you use a crystal ball?” enquired the judge.

“Sometimes,” said Black Nell. “Not always though.”

“I had one once,” said the judge musingly, “but I could never see anything in it.”

“It’s a question of concentration,” said Black Nell. “You should try it in a diamond ring some time.”

“Diamond ring? Really?” said the judge. “I must try that.”

“May I continue, my lord?” enquired Sir Magnus with a long-suffering air.

“By all means, by all means,” said the judge.

“Now, when you met the defendant and his elephant, what happened?”

“I was asleep, see,” said Black Nell, “and suddenly my whole caravan started to shake.”

“We now appear to be suffering from a surfeit of wheeled vehicles,” said the judge. “This caravan has not appeared before, has it?”

“No,” said Sir Magnus. “It is the caravan belonging to the witness.”

“Why was it shaking?” enquired the judge.

“Because the elephant was scratching herself against it,” said Black Nell.

“Do elephants scratch themselves against caravans?” the judge asked Sir Magnus.

“I believe, my lord, that all pachyderms, if they find a suitably abrasive surface, will ease any minor skin irritation by rubbing themselves against it,” said Sir Magnus.

“We are certainly learning a lot about elephants,” said the judge with satisfaction. “Well, go on.”

“When you finally came out of your caravan,” said Sir Magnus, “did the elephant attack you?”

“Lord bless us, no,” said Black Nell. “Tame as a rabbit she was. We all sat down and had breakfast together.”

“So she did no damage to your caravan, nor did she attempt in any way to harm you?”

“No,” said Black Nell. “That creature wouldn’t harm a fly.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Magnus, and again glanced at Sir Augustus.

But Sir Augustus was feeling that he was liable to get bogged down in a lot of irrelevant details about witchcraft and again refused to cross-examine.

“Will you now call,” said Sir Magnus, “Peregrine Filigree.”

Mr. Filigree, wreathed in smiles, undulated his way into the court and wedged himself with a certain amount of difficulty into the witness-box.

“Hello, Adrian,” he shouted, waving a fat hand. “How’s it going?”

The judge peered at him.

“Mr. Filigree,” he said, “I would be grateful if you would confine yourself to giving evidence and not carry on an exchange of saucy badinage with the defendant.”

“I am sorry, your lordship,” said Mr. Filigree, chastened. The clerk of the court held out the Bible for him to take the oath.

“You haven’t by any chance got a prayer wheel, have you?”

‘What’s that?” said the judge.

“A prayer wheel, my lord,” said Sir Magnus. “I believe it to be something that is used quite extensively in Tibet and similar places where Buddhism is the basic religion.”

“What do you want a prayer wheel for?” asked the judge.

“Because,” said Mr. Filigree, “I am a Buddhist.”

“I don’t really think, Sir Magnus,” said the judge, “that we can expect the clerk of the court to go running around at this late date in order to find a prayer wheel. I am not altogether sure that it would be legal either.”

“Perhaps, Mr. Filigree,” said Sir Magnus, “you would be kind enough to take the oath on the Bible, and pretend that it is a prayer wheel.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Filigree. “If it’s going to be of any help to you.”

“Now,” said the judge, “perhaps we can proceed.”

“Mr. Filigree,” said Sir Magnus, “on the night of the 29th April the defendant, Adrian Rookwhistle, and his elephant arrived at the
Unicorn and Harp
, a hostelry which you and your daughter run?”

“That’s right,” said Mr. Filigree, beaming. “It was a most lovely surprise.”

“Would you like to tell his lordship and the jury, in your own words, exactly what happened.”

“I’d love to,” said Mr. Filigree.

He clasped his fat hands together as though in prayer and fixed his round eyes on the judge.

“You see,” he said, “I haven’t had an elephant for years.”

“Do you mind elaborating that extraordinary statement?” said the judge.

“Well, you see,” said Mr. Filigree, “I once had one hundred and one of them; the chief one, of course, was Poo-Ting. But that was some considerable time ago.”

“Am I correct in believing, Sir Magnus, that the witness is saying on oath that he had one hundred and one elephants?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It seems to me,” said the judge, “and please do Correct me, Sir Magnus, if I am wrong, that the defendant had considerable trouble with one elephant. How is it that this gentleman managed successfully to keep one hundred and one?”

“I believe, my lord, that he kept them while in India in a previous incarnation,” said Sir Magnus suavely. “Though that is not the really important point at all. I merely brought this witness into the box as he has had such considerable experience with elephants.”

The judge was now even more confused than the jury. “I suppose,” he said, “he is what you might call an expert witness.”

“Exactly so, my lord.”

The jury had been nodding and whispering like a barnful of hens and the foreman got to his feet.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said, “but could we have one point made dear?”

“Yes, I think so,” said the judge doubtfully. “There are several points which I would like to get clear. What is it you wish to know?”

“Well, we’re a bit puzzled like with this incarnation thing.”

“A good question,” said the judge, and looked hopefully at Sir Magnus.

“In parts of the world,” said Sir Magnus oratorically, “where they believe in Buddhism as opposed to Christianity, one of the beliefs is that you live a whole series of lives.”

“Quite right,” said Mr. Filigree.

“Therefore, in calling Mr. Filigree as a witness, we are exceedingly lucky. Nay, I would go further and say that this is probably the most extraordinary piece of evidence ever to have been put in front of a jury. You are having the benefit of Mr. Filigree’s expert knowledge of elephants, gathered over the course of years, and as you have gleaned, gentlemen of the jury, not just one elephant, not even a passing acquaintance with a pachyderm, but he had in his possession one hundred and one of them. Now you will all instantly perceive that a man who has possessed no less than one hundred and one elephants is in a much better position to advise us more humble mortals, who have not even had the privilege of keeping one elephant.”

The foreman of the jury looked faintly stunned. He opened his mouth once or twice like an exhausted goldfish and then sat down,

“Mr. Filigree,” said Sir Magnus, “I have pointed out to the jury your expertise on all matters appertaining to elephants. I would now like you to tell the jury what your impression of the elephant in question, Rosy, was.”

“Rosy,” squeaked Mr. Filigree, his face growing even pinker, “is one of the sweetest, most adorable elephants I have ever met in my life. If she had a fault at all, it was the minor one of not having any tusks.”

“Why is the lack of tusks a fault?” enquired the judge.

“You cannot bore holes in them,” said Mr. Filigree.

“Sir Magnus,” said the judge, “I do wish you would exercise a little control over your witnesses. It seems to me they are dragging in a lot of extraneous matter which has nothing to do with the case in question.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Sir Magnus

“I had no wish to appear harsh towards Rosy,” said Mr. Filigree earnestly, waving his fingers at the judge.

“Would you have said, then that she was a vicious creature?” enquired Sir Magnus.

“Vicious!” said Mr. Filigree, his face growing deep red at the mere thought. “Rosy vicious! She’s one of the nicest elephants I have ever met.”

“Thank you,” said Sir Magnus. “And you speak, of course, as we all know, from a vast experience of keeping elephants.”

Sir Augustus did not really want to cross-examine but, since he had been forced to let two witnesses slip through his fingers, he felt he ought to put up some sort of show. He rose to his feet and glared at Mr. Filigree.

“Mr. Filigree,” he said, cuttingly, “would you not say that if we do not share your beliefs in reincarnation, that the evidence you have given is null and void?”

“No, no,” fluted Mr. Filigree earnestly. “You cannot help it if you don’t believe. You see, I have positive evidence. I was telling Adrian about my cat. That is a very good example.”

“Sir Augustus,” said the judge, “I don’t know why it is, but every time you get up to examine a witness, you manage to introduce a new animal of some sort. I find this very confusing.”

“My lord,” said Sir Augustus, “I was merely trying to make clear . . .”

“Well, you are not making it dear,” snapped the judge. “We have now got a cat mixed up in it.”

“It was a beautiful cat,” said Mr. Filigree. “He recognised me instantly.”

“The cat has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with the case,” said the judge. “I find your line of questioning, Sir Augustus, most irrelevant.”

“As your lordship pleases,” said Sir Augustus with restraint. “Then I have no further questions.” He sat down and glowered at Sir Magnus, who was lying back with his eyes closed and a beatific smile on his face.

“The witness may stand down,” said the judge. He shuffled through his notes and then looked at Sir Magnus.

“Do you intend to call any more witnesses, Sir Magnus?” he asked.

“Yes, my lord. I have several more.”

The judge looked at his watch.

“Well, I would be glad if you would make it as rapid as possible,” he said.

The next witness that Sir Magnus introduced was Honoria, and to Adrian’s astonishment, for his heart had sunk when her name was called, she proved to be an admirable witness. It was not until afterwards that Adrian learned that a bottle and a half of gin had gone into the making of her performance, but she stood in the witness-box, her magnificent bosom heaving in a low-cut dress that bad every juryman’s eye fixed longingly upon it. She was in turn soulful and vibrant. Her eulogy on Rosy and on her own friendship with her was a masterpiece. She stood heaving and panting in the witness-box, her head held up proudly while tears trickled in vast quantities down her checks as she described how she and she alone had been responsible for the wrecking of the theatre by her introduction of gin into Rosy’s diet. By the time she had finished, there was not an unmoistened eye among the jury and even the judge had to blow his nose vigorously before dismissing Honoria.

The next witness to enter the box was Ethelbert. He corroborated Honoria’s story and even added a few embellishments of his own. He was reprimanded at one point for calling the judge “darling boy”, but nevertheless it was obvious to everyone in court that he was an honest and enthusiastic witness.

Sir Magnus had wanted to call Samantha, but Adrian had put his foot down. He was not going to have Samantha standing in a witness-box being bombarded with question, from Sir Augustus. As it turned out, he need not really have worried, because, Sir Augustus, after his futile attempt to cross-examine Mr. Filigree, sat hunched like a depressed crow, and shook his head every time he was asked to cross-examine.