The Observations (28 page)

“Ah!” says master James with evident pleasure like as if the notion of watch regulation was as gratifying as that of a bang-up meal. “Very good, Bessy,” he says. “You have done well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now,” he says. “Just to ensure that your mistress will be able to cope with a trip to Edinburgh and all that will entail, we will be hosting a tea party tomorrow afternoon at 3 o’clock. I have sent Hector out with the invitations. You can expect the Reverend Pollock and Mr. Flemyng, myself of course and your mistress. She managed a trip to town without much trouble—but let us just see how she fares in company”

Missus never minded Flemyng of course. But later on, I happened to overhear her talking with her husband and noted that she was less than thrilled about the inclusion in the party of the other guest. As I listened, she put up a number of objections. Not enough notice had been given, she says, and the Reverend would not be able to come. On the contrary, said master James, the man had already replied in the affirmative. In that case it was selfish, says missus, to keep the minister from his more important business about the parish, he did not want to be frittering his time away with tea parties. Nonsense, says master James, he was delighted to come, wild horses could not keep him away. After a pause, missus expressed some doubts about whether the tea service had seen its best days. Would it not be far better, she proposed, to postpone until a smarter set had been acquired? Balderdash, goes master James, there was bog all wrong with the china.

Eventually, after a much longer pause, missus sighed and admitted that—perhaps—she wasn’t as yet feeling quite well enough to play hostess and was it
inconceivable
that she might keep to her room while master James held the tea party in her absence?

“Roof!” went master James. As it happens circumstances prevented me from hearing the rest of his response but the mark of her success in Voiding the tea party lay in the fact that on the following afternoon at 5 to 3 missus was at her place in the parlour, ready and waiting. She Was white of face and stony of aspect, it was perfectly clear to me that “e was not looking forward to the afternoons events, not one iota. I ”•shed master James had listened to her for I feared she would have a relapse. But she seemed resigned to playing her part for the course of the next few hours.

Mr. Flemyng was first to arrive having walked over from Thrash-burn. I opened the door to him. He said he had not yet heard from his publisher but that as a gift to me he had wrote out a neat copy of one of my songs complete with musical notes. However he had forgot to bring it. He was most apologetic, calling himself all classes of fool and insisting that he go home to fetch it. This, of course, I could not allow as it would have made him late for the tea party which might then be construed as my fault. Therefore I protested that he do no such thing. Flemyng kept making as though to step out of the porch and I had to keep pleading with him and plucking at his sleeve in an attempt to prevent him from leaving. It was while we were thus engaged that the Reverend Pollock appeared.

“Ah-haah!” he goes. “Here we are! Ah-haah!”

I had not heard him approach and wondered how this was possible unless he had levitated across the flipping gravel. At any rate, from the delighted look on his face, he was under the impression that he had disturbed some sort of illicit liaison.

“Reverend Pollock, good afternoon,” says Flemyng with a nod of his head. Then he turned to me and sighed most regretfully. “It seems, Bessy, that the other guests are arriving,” he says. “Perhaps there won’t, after all, be time for me to return to Thrashburn.”

“I should think not, sir,” I says. “Don’t worry, I can see that thing any time.”

“Of course,” says Flemyng. “I was a fool to forget it.”

Reverend Pollock was listening to this exchange with a great deal of interest. Smiling and nodding away, the old nosy scut. I decided that the best thing was to deliver the both of them into the parlour without further delay. This was not possible however as the Reverend was in no hurry. He and Flemyng exchanged a few pleasantries on the step until I insisted they step inside out the cold then the Reverend turned in the open doorway and stood there for several moments gazing out with great admiration at the drive and shrubbery as though they were amongst the 7 Wonders of the World. It took a good deal or manoeuvring on my part to put myself between him and the door and to close it behind him. Once he was in, the usual struggle to get him out his coat and hat ensued. From some pocket he produced one of his tracts and this he attempted to push into my hands. I demurred and pushed it back at him. Eventually after a little chivvying from me the paraffin-scented coat came off. Then the hat. And finally, with great relief, I showed the two men into the parlour.

Missus was on her own as master James had not yet deigned to come out his study. She
1/2
rose from her chair to greet the guests. She looked frail and a little nervous. I would have stayed to make sure she was all right but she gave me a couple of warning looks and finally she says, “That will be all, Bessy,” so I had no choice but to step outside and close the door.

On my way to the kitchen I noticed the Reverends tract on the hallstand, he must have snuck it there while I was hanging up his coat. This time it was not
Dear Roman Catholic Friend
but
The Evil Effects of Modern Dancing,
I had a good laugh over that in the kitchen. Apparently dancing damaged the health of all who engaged in the pursuit. The waltz came in for particular disparagement since invariably it resulted in the violation of the 7th commandment, generally speaking there was no valid excuse could be offered in favour of dancing since “even a stupid African or monkey might be taught to excel in the art‘.

Flip me if I didn’t waltz over to the fire and drop the tract onto the dancing flames.

When I returned to the parlour with the tea tray, master James had just joined the company, they were discussing the progress of his plans to install a fountain in the village. Personally speaking I do not think master James cared the core of a kidney whether the villagers had clean drinking water easily obtainable or not, it was just another way of currying favour. Especially with Duncan Pollock MP since he owned the foundry that made the fountains. Master James had received from him a manufacturers catalogue, he brought it out now to show his guests, as proud as a dog with two jacks. As I began to set up the tea table, he opened the catalogue at the relevant page and passed it to the Reverend.

“Here it is,” he says. “This one. Perhaps you know it, sir. Number thirty-three. It has four columns as you can see and a canopy.”

Reverend Pollock settled back in his chair and began, slowly and carefully, to read aloud what was printed on the page, in a way that forced everyone to attend to him.

“
”Pagoda-shaped drinking fountain nine feet six inches tall. On two of the sides provision is made for receiving inscription.
“Ah-haah!
”Whilst on the other two sides is the useful monition “Keep the pavement dry‘.”
Ah-haah! Very good, James, very good. But what will your other inscription say I wonder? Something pertinent, no doubt. I have it, the very thing.“ He adopted a tone that was not only loud but threatening and doleful, I assumed it was his pulpit voice. ” “Whoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again!”“

Master James took a breath and leaned forwards as though to speak, but the Reverend raised a finger for silence, he was not yet finished.

“ ”But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give him shall be in him a well of water springing up into everlasting life!“” He turned, smiling, to missus and with a little bow of his head, concluded, “John, chapter four, verse 14. Ah-hah! New Testament perhaps but pertinent nonetheless.”

Master James screwed up his eyes as though considering the Reverends suggestion though if you ask me he looked more like he was in pain. “I fear,” he says, “apt and admirable though that sentiment may be it would prove too discursive.”

“Oh?” says the Reverend. “Discursive?”

“It would not fit on the inscription plate,” says master James shortly.

“Ah-haah!” says Bollix. “Something pithy is required then. In that case, let us go to Psalms number 42.” Again, the doleful pulpit voice. “ ”As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, oh God!“”

“Yes,” says master James. “That is more concise. However, unfortunately, I have in fact already commissioned the inscription.”

“I see,” says the Reverend. “Pray tell, what did you choose?”

“Yes dear,” says missus. “What does your inscription say?”

Up to this point she had been silent and anxious-looking and I had begun to worry about her but now I could see a twinkle in her eye as she regarded her husband.

Master James cleared his throat. “It says simply, ”Donated by James Reid“.”

The Reverend raised a disapproving eyebrow. “Pithy indeed,” he says and went back to reading the catalogue, this time muttering the words under his breath. For a moment or two nobody else spoke. But master James seemed to feel the need to explain himself, he turned to Flemyng.

“You see, every letter is charged extra. I felt that after outlaying such a substantial sum on the fountain itself, it would be more thrifty to keep the inscription to a minimum.”

“Of course,” says Flemyng. “Quite right, sir, quite right. May I be so bold as to enquire how much such a splendid installation might cost?”

Master James blew a gust of air from between his lips and shook his head. “One can pay 50 or a hundred pounds, depending on the-”

“I believe this type costs 18 pounds,” the Reverend interjected, with a crafty smile. “I know it from the factory. It is one of the most basic models. The exact price should be noted here, let me see…” He began flipping the pages of the catalogue.

Master James scowled at him and turned back to address Flemyng. “Some of them are overly ornate in my opinion. All those fanciful Moorish designs and griffins and strange beasties. Far better to have simplicity of line, less curlicues.” He spoke with what sounded like authority but this was undermined by the fact that as soon as he fell silent he began biting his nails.

Indeed,“ says Flemyng. ”I quite agree. And where will you put the fountain, sir?“

Master James didn’t seem to hear this question, the way he was scowling at the Reverend Pollock you would almost think he’d have liked to be savaging the clerical gentleman instead of his own nails.

Missus reached out and gently took her husbands hand away from is mouth. “James dear,” she says. “Davy would like to know where the fountain will be put.”

But just then the Reverend let out a cry. “Here we are!” he says. “Price list!” He began running his finger down the page.

Missus leaned forwards and spoke to him. “I wonder, Reverend, would you mind showing me the picture of the fountain, I have not yet seen it.”

This was a cod to distract him from the price list, master James cast a grateful glance in her direction but the Bollix would not be swayed.

“Yes, Arabella, just a moment,” he says without looking up. The briefest scowl crossed her face and for a second only you could see how much she disliked him. “Now where was I?” he goes. “Number 33— yes—that would be, as I thought, 18 pounds and 10 shillings precisely.” He sat back in his chair and beamed around at the company.

“Well,” says Flemyng. “What a remarkable bargain. I am sure the folk of Snatter will be tremendously grateful to you, James, both now and in perpetuity. It is most generous. I take my hat off to you, sir. You are an example to us. And if you ever chance to do a fart I would be most delighted and honoured to catch it.”

Matter of fact he didn’t say that last bit, I did.

“How kind of you, Davy,” says missus. “But you are absolutely right.” She turned to her husband. “I am proud of you, James, for providing such a thoughtful and useful amenity. We could have a little opening ceremony to celebrate, what do you think?”

The Bollix was in danger of falling into a sulk, since his revelation about the price had not had quite the discomfiting effect he desired. Noticing this, missus appealed to him.

“I wonder, Reverend,” she says, “if we might impose upon your generosity to say a few words in honour of the occasion? I know you are busy, but I don’t think a ceremony would be complete without an inaugural speech from your good self.

Straight-faced, as though she really meant it! You had to admire her, she was wonderful.

Needless to say the Bollix was not immune to such flattery. “Ach well,” he says. “I may be able to do some wee thing.”

“I do hope it,” says missus. “I have of course read your pamphlet on William of Orange many times but have never heard it spoken aloud. Perhaps, at the fountain ceremony you would do us the great honour of reciting it for us?”

“That is one option,” says master James hastily. “Or perhaps the Reverend could be persuaded to write something more suited to the occasion.”

Just then, missus glanced up and caught my eye, I suppose I had been stood there for some time watching them having long since finished arranging the tea things.

“Is tea ready, Bessy?” she says and when I nodded she says brightly, “Very good then. Thank you.”

I curtseyed and left the room, pausing on the way to shoo out the cat that had crept in through the open door. As I left, they were all on their feet in a general movement towards the tea table. Missus had took the Reverends arm and was listening politely as he deliberated over what form his speech might take. While Master James, confidence restored, had assumed a magisterial pose (one foot propped upon a chair and arms akimbow) and was explaining that over 200 feet of pipe would be laid to service the fountain, information which was greeted by Flemyng with such astonishment and admiration by Jove you would have thought it an unprecedented feat of engineering.

About 5 o’clock the guests left, apparently satisfied with their tea. All in all missus had acquitted herself well, you might say better than her husband. I myself was greatly relieved. Despite a shaky start she had been gracious and charming, almost her old self. Not only had she been effortlessly diplomatic with the Old Bollix but she had more or less saved her husband from embarrassment. If she could do all that, then surely she must be well?