Berry Scene (3 page)

“Yes, William. What do you know?”

“It was just beginning, sir. Joe Chinnock had got the chauffeur, and Mr Bertram was there.”

“Then we’ll hear all about it later. They’re all right now, I think; so we’ll get along.”

But I felt better already. Joe Chinnock came out of our village and plied a blacksmith’s trade.

Half an hour had gone by, and we were in the Deanery garden, taking a glass of sherry before we sat down to lunch.

“Act Two,” said Berry, “was most enjoyable. Let me say at once that I shouldn’t have enjoyed it so much, if I had had the faintest idea that you and my only wife had been on in Act One. But the phaeton was out of sight when I drove into the square.

“The first thing I saw was Joe Chinnock holding a wallah up by the scruff of his neck. Then he swung him into the horse-trough and let him lie.

“Now there was no constable present, and I felt that, if worse was coming, it might be my bounden duty to interfere. Not physically, of course. A dirty look, or something – you know what I mean.

“In some uneasiness, therefore, I trotted up to the scene.

“By the time I was there, the car, deprived of its helmsman, had ravaged a barrow of strawberries and butted the nearest lamp-post, which it had snapped in two. The top, complete with lantern, had fallen into the front or driver’s seat; but the bottom had held the car, whose engine had stopped.

“You never saw such a mess. Cast iron sticking out of the wind-screen, glass all over the cushions, and the whole of the car’s off forehand plastered with the succulent mush to which the slightest pressure reduces our scarlet fruit.

“The chauffeur had emerged from the horse-trough and was standing, streaming with water and trying in vain to unbutton his uniform: and a man, not unlike a gorilla, had erupted from the back of the car and, using most regrettable language, was declining the hawker’s invitation to view what had once been a barrow, but now bore no resemblance to that commodity.

“I had just told George to take Rainbow, when Constable Rowe appeared. This, of course, absolved me; so, as I had a good seat, I sat still where I was.

“Now Rowe never saw the chauffeur. But he saw the gorilla and the hawker, engaged in mutual abuse: he saw the strawberries and the lamp-post, clearly the prey of the car; and he jumped to the natural conclusion that the gorilla had been driving the car and had done first the barrow and then the lamp-post in.

“So the stage was set for confusion.

“After the opening chorus, which was taken very fast by the gorilla and the hawker and was consequently not so much incoherent as distracting, Rowe cursed the two into silence and took out his book. Then he turned to the gorilla.

“‘Well, if you wasn’t drivin’, who was?’

“‘Nobody was,’ cries Gorilla. ‘I tell you–’

“‘Then that’s ’ow it ’appened,’ says Rowe, beginning to write and reading his entry aloud. ‘
Car left unattended
.’

“‘It wasn’t unattended,’ yells Gorilla. ‘My chauffeur–’

“‘If no one was drivin’–’

“‘I was drivin’,’ says the chauffeur, who had come up unobserved.

“‘No, you weren’t,’ screams Gorilla. ‘Nobody was.’

“‘Well, I should ’ave been,’ says the chauffeur, ‘if–’

“‘Ah,’ says Rowe, staring upon him. ‘You should ’ave been, but you weren’t.’

“‘No,
no, NO
,’ screams Gorilla. ‘You’ve got it all wrong. The man was dragged out of his seat.’

“‘Just as well,’ says Rowe, regarding the front of the car. ‘’Ooever done it probably saved his life.’

“‘
Saved his life?
’ howls Gorilla. ‘He damned near killed us all.’

“‘Then he
was
drivin’,’ says Rowe. ‘Why couldn’t you say so at first?’

“‘Of course the man was driving, until he was dragged from the car.’

“Rowe makes another entry.

“‘
Chauffeur was driving – damned near killed us all
.’

“Till now, to my mind, the crowd had been very restrained; but, before this new rise of the tide of misunderstanding, all within earshot broke down. Pent-up emotion, so to speak, burst its banks. There was a roar of laughter to which even the hawker subscribed, and when, with a scream of rage, the gorilla seized Rowe’s notebook and flung it down upon the ground and then launched himself at the hawker, so that the two fell together into the billow of fruit, I frankly confess that the tears ran down my cheeks.

“And there I left the scene – for the police-station, where I saw the Inspector on duty and asked him to send a sergeant to help Rowe out.

“I imagine action will be taken; but if Joe Chinnock is summoned, by Heaven, I’ll see him through. If only I had been there…”

“I’m so thankful you weren’t,” said Daphne.

“That’s almost unkind,” said Berry.

The Dean put in his oar.

“The relish with which you have reported the discomfiture of the wicked convinces us that, had you witnessed Act One, your reluctance to interfere would have been less marked.”

“D’you blame me, sir?”

“Not in the least. I hope you’d have sent for me to bail you out. But I do share Daphne’s relief.”

Berry regarded his wife.

“I expect you’re right,” he said. “But she’s still as good as new, and I don’t want her bent.”

Two hours and a half had gone by, and we were about to be gone.

Daphne was taking her leave of Mrs Dean, but the Dean, who was still a fine whip, came out and into the Close, to have a look at the greys.

His inspection over, he motioned to Berry and me and strolled across to the sward.

As we fell in beside him—

“You’ll have to give them up,” he said quietly. “Next time whoever is driving mayn’t be so fortunate.”

“We can’t amble about, sir,” said I, “behind a couple of slugs.”

“No,” said the Dean, “you can’t. Youth must be served. Still, I value your lives. So I think you had better consider acquiring an automobile.”

As we drove back to White Ladies, my feelings were mixed.

The Dean’s approval apart, we now had a perfect excuse for acquiring a car: but I could not lose sight of the fact that sentence had been passed upon our stable and that its execution was now but a matter of time. And the horse was part of our lives. The pleasant smell of stabling, the rhythm of hooves upon the road, the creak of leather, the brush of a velvet nose – these things were familiar to us as the gurgle of the rain in the down-pipes and the afternoon sunshine that badged the library shelves. And now the end of that chapter was drawing near. Never again could we take the greys to Brooch. To Merry Down – yes: for a while we could use them to cover the countryside. But not for long. If, instead of a gig that morning, a car had come down to the ford… And the equipage would be superseded. Who, if he had a car, would take a carriage and pair to drive twelve miles to a dance – and twelve miles back…at three o’clock of a bitter winter morning? And what of the staff? Of Peters and George and William, sitting behind me now?

I thrust the nightmare away and pointed to a kingdom of barley, rippling under the touch of some zephyr we could not feel.

“You used to love that, darling.”

“I know,” said Daphne gravely. “I love it still. I think it beats falling water. It’s really a miracle – a rustle that you can see. What did Berry say about this business?”

“Summonses are to be issued. Joe Chinnock is to be summoned – of course for assault. The gorilla, whose name is Slober, is to be summoned twice – once for assaulting the hawker and once for obstructing the police. The cases will probably be heard on Monday week. Berry has instructed Mason on Joe’s behalf.”

“What will happen?”

“I’ve no idea. They’ll probably be taken together, and if Mr Slober is wise, he won’t press the case against Joe. I mean, if they send Joe down, they’re not going to let Slober off.”

“Will you have to give evidence?”

“I don’t know. But William will.”

My sister raised her voice.

“Do you hear that, William? You’ll have to go to Court and bear witness for Joe.”

“I’ll be happy to do that, ma’am. He only done his duty.”

“I entirely agree,” said I. “And so, I hope, will the Bench. Hullo, who’s this coming? First time I have seen that pair.”

“It’s Mrs de Lisle, sir,” said William. “She’s sold the bays.”

The landau approached us slowly. As we were drawing abreast, I checked the greys.

My sister leaned forward.

“How d’you do, Mrs de Lisle?”

“Good evening, my dear. Boy, where’s your button-hole?”

With a glance at my empty lapel—

“I’m afraid I forgot it,” said I.

Mrs de Lisle frowned.

“When driving a lady, you should be properly dressed. Never mind, you’re both in the country – which most young things of your age now seem to abhor. Did you lunch in Barchester?”

“Yes – with the Dean,” said Daphne. “We always do, you know, on Midsummer Day.”

“A pretty habit, my dear. And the Dean is the best of the bunch. The Close is well named. Most of their minds are as narrow as their hats are high. Because a man takes orders, he shouldn’t let orders take him. But the Dean is aware of the strangers without his gates.”

“And Mrs Dean’s very charming.”

“So she is. I was her bridesmaid a good many years ago. And a dashing young lady she was. But the odour of sanctity’s drugged her. The charm is there, but the mettle has disappeared. Never mind. Come to lunch on Tuesday and tell me the news. Withyham may be there – but I hope he won’t.”

“Oh, dear,” said Daphne.

(Lord Withyham was our
bête noir
).

Mrs de Lisle smiled.

“Very well. Come on Friday instead. And Berry, of course. And I quite agree with you – Withyham doesn’t go with weather like this.”

“We’ll love to.”

“I’m not so sure: but I’m selfish. And you and Berry and Boy will do me good.” The lady raised her voice. “Drive on, Weston.”

We cried our farewells, as the carriage moved leisurely on, and the greys, impatient for their stable, snatched at their bits.

One more encounter we had that Midsummer Day, and that was with General Stukely – a man among men.

The four-wheeled dog-cart was still, drawn up by a gap in the hedgerow on Steeple Ridge. From his seat beside his coachman, the General was viewing the acres which had stood in the name of Stukely for more than three hundred years. And soon another would claim them, for he was ninety-two and the last of his line.

It was not a great estate – less than a hundred acres, when all was in: but love and pride had made it a specimen piece. There was the rose-red manor, neighboured by timber so lovely it seemed unreal. Horses were grazing in a paddock, and cows were standing, musing, under a parcel of elms. The purest woodland embraced the pretty picture – oak and beech and chestnut, in splendid heart: and here, in the foreground, a magnificent crop of oats was spreading an apron of promise, to fill a farmer’s eye.

As we drew alongside the dog-cart—

“Good evening, General,” cried Daphne.

“Good evening, my dear. You look so fresh and so eager, you might be going to market, instead of coming back.”

“You always say nice things to me, General.”

“An old man’s privilege, Daphne – one of the many we have. Boy, you’ve your father’s style – and there’s a compliment.”

“Thank you, sir.” I pointed with my whip to the oats. “You maintain the standard, General, which the Manor has always set.”

“They look very well, don’t they? The soil is good, you know, and I do my best.” He returned to my sister. “And how is Berry, my dear?”

“Very well, thank you. He took the dog-cart today. We’ve been to the Deanery to lunch.”

“You keep good company, Daphne. The Dean and his lady adorn the office he holds. Will you come and take tea at the Manor one of these days?”

“May we come next Friday, General?”

“It will give me great pleasure, my dear. Whom may I ask to meet you?”

“Mayn’t we come alone?” said my sister. “And then we can over-eat and I can pour out the tea.”

The General smiled.

“You give the right answers, Daphne. You always did. And your lady mother before you, bless her soul. And now I’ll delay you no longer. White Ladies should have its mistress before the sun goes down. Goodbye, my dear. My kind regards to Berry. And I shall look for your coming on Friday next.”

We left him there, by the edge of his fair demesne, and five minutes later we crossed the verge of the forest to which White Ladies belongs.

Here Nature came into her own.

The sun was low and was lacing the beauty about us with golden light. Majestic oaks rose from a quilt of bracken that might have been cloth of gold: birches laid heads together, so that their lovely tresses made up one golden shower: a watch of firs became a gleaming cohort: and a glorious company of beeches, their shapely boles flood-lit with golden magic – an order of pillars holding the shadows up, spoke to enchanted forests and all the lovely lore of fairy-tales.

So, for the last four miles, our progress was royal – the dark-blue phaeton skimming the yellow roads, and the constant flicker of the sunshine caparisoning the equipage, now badging Order’s shoulder, now making the panels flash, now leaping up from the splash-board, to magnify the beauty for which my sister was known.

Ears pricked to catch a whisper, obedient to some presence we could not feel, the greys sped through the forest – a model pair. When a gypsy rose out of some bushes, to brandish a broom, they took no notice at all: the two might have been bewitched – I think they were.

So we came back to White Ladies in the evening of Midsummer Day.

Three hours had gone by, and a precious silence reigned in the library.

Daphne was reading a novel, Berry was at his table and I was nodding over
The Morning Post
.

“How are your arms?” said Berry.

“Not too good,” said I.

“You wait till tomorrow,” said Berry. “You won’t be able to dress.”

Daphne put out a hand and touched my hair.

“I don’t think I thanked you, darling, for saving my neck.”