Berry Scene (2 page)

In Which I Drive Daphne to Brooch on Midsummer Day,

and Berry Gives Evidence

The day was Midsummer Day – and fairly deserved its name.

Breakfast had been served upon the terrace, for all the winds were still; and the meal refreshed the spirit as well as the flesh. This was natural. The cool, sweet air was laced with the scent of flowers: still overlaid with dew, the lawn was quick with magic – a sparkling acre of velvet that filled the eye: full-dressed, the peerage of timber stood still as statuary: and the great sun was in his dominion, arraying all foliage with splendour, gilding clipped yew and warming chiselled stone, and lending the lovely distance the delicate shimmer of heat.

As I watched, the spell was broken. A woodpecker fluttered to the lawn, and the boughs of a chestnut dipped to the swing of a squirrel at play.

My sister tilted her head and raised her voice.

“Do hurry up, darling. There’s a letter for you from Jonah. We want to see what it says.”

Berry’s voice floated down from the bedroom above.

“I know. So do I. I am devoured by curiosity. But I’m going to tread it under. Instead, I’m going to concentrate upon the suspension of my half-hose. Two confections confront me – one in smouldering amber and one in reseda green. Now, if my trousers come down—”

“If you don’t come down in two minutes…”

The protasis went unanswered; but fifty seconds later Berry appeared upon the terrace, perfectly groomed.

“Do be quick,” said Daphne.

Her husband frowned.

“The empty stomach,” he said, “must always take pride of place. Once the pangs of hunger have been assuaged—”

“By your leave,” said I…

I gave the letter to Daphne, who opened and read it aloud.

23rd June, 1907.

Dear Berry,

I’ve arranged for a car, with a chauffeur, for us to try. Hired the two for one month. If the vehicle suits us, we order a similar car. If it doesn’t, we don’t.

We shall, of course, be unpopular. Sir Anthony will denounce our decision and will declare that we are letting the neighbourhood down. But he’ll have a car himself in two years’ time. You see. Speed has a convenience which nobody can deny: and cars don’t have to be cared for, as horses have. Of course they are going to kill the romance of the road, rather as gunpowder killed the romance of the battlefield. But that is the price of progress.

Well, there we are. I feel at once ashamed and excited. It is going to be a remarkable experience – taking familiar roads at forty-five miles an hour.

Expect me, then, on Monday, complete with car. I shall hope to arrive for lunch, but we may be delayed.

Yours ever,

Jonah.

There was a guilty silence.

Then—

“There you are,” said Berry. “What did I say? That long-nosed viper left here on the strict understanding that he was surreptitiously to investigate the possibilities of good and evil which might result from our acquisition of an automobile. He was then to return to this mansion and submit his report. Does he observe those crystal-clear instructions? No. And now we’re all in the swill-tub up to the waist.”

“I feel quite frightened,” said Daphne. “What ever will everyone say?”

Berry continued his complaint.

“‘Forty-five miles an hour!’ And the day before yesterday I subscribed to the imposition of substantial fines upon no less than five motorists for covering a measured mile in less than three minutes of time.”

(Berry had lately been appointed a Justice of the Peace.)

“That’s all right,” said my sister. “You can ask where the traps are, and we can give them a miss.”

“And supposing we’re caught outside our area?”

“You won’t be summoned,” said I. “Unless you propose to drive.”

“Oh, nor I shall,” said Berry. “Then that’s all right. And if they take my name, I shall say I was being abducted. All the same, it’s going to be awkward. On the Bench, I mean, as soon as the news gets round. The Colonel’s nose will increase in crimson and purpure. He may even foam at the ears – I mean, the mouth.”

“Let him,” said Daphne boldly. “Why shouldn’t we have a car?”

“Oh, I know that bit,” said Berry. “But you haven’t got to consort with the bigoted fool. He says it’s a breach of one’s duty towards one’s neighbour. And when you remember the dust, I’m not sure he isn’t right.”

There was another silence.

“We must use the thing early,” said Daphne. “Before other people are up. It’s light at five now.”

Berry pushed away his plate and covered his eyes.

“I wish you wouldn’t say these things,” he said. “I know it’s just thoughtlessness, but idle words like those are bad for my heart. Fancy rising at four in the morning for the privilege of raving about a cheerless countryside, through lifeless villages, past promising pubs that are straitly shut and barred, with a herd of indignant milch-cows round every bend. Oh, no. We’ve done it now – or, rather, Jonah has. We shall have to brazen it out.”

“We can’t tell the Dean,” said I. “He’d turn us out of the house.”

Always, on Midsummer Day, we lunched at the Deanery, Brooch – a very pleasant engagement, which we were happy to keep. The Dean was a human prelate and, though very much older, a distant cousin of ours. He was also intensely conservative.

Berry addressed his wife.

“Which reminds me, if you must have the mail-phaeton, then Boy can drive. I’ve split three new pairs of gloves, holding those greys. And my arms were half out of their sockets on Monday night. I’ll take the dog-cart – Rainbow was properly mouthed.”

“The greys,” said I, “are short of exercise.”

“Well, I’m not,” said Berry, passing his cup. “And when I am, I’ll take it – in some conventional way. Bowls, for instance. But I won’t be dismembered.” Daphne’s hand flew to her mouth. “Yes, you may laugh, you siren. You just sit still and radiate sex-appeal: but I have to hold the swine.”

“I’m s-sorry, darling,” wailed Daphne. “But, Boy, if you could hear him. He talks to the greys just as if they were naughty children, and on the way home he told them a fairytale.”

“I was seeking to divert them,” said Berry: “in the hope of saving our lives. They’ve only got one idea – that is to out-strip the phaeton. And they did seem to listen – till Order noticed a haystack a couple of fields away. Oh, and who called them Law and Order. If he’d called them Battle and Murder, he’d have been nearer the mark. Anyway, I’ve got to see Merton. So I’ll go by Dimity Green and be there as soon as you.”

My sister regarded her wristwatch.

“I should like,” she said, “to leave here at half-past ten. I want to give an order at Wilson’s before we drive to the Close.”

“Make it eleven,” said I. “We’re bound to be there in less than an hour and a half.”

“Half-past ten,” said Daphne. “I love having time to spare.”

Berry was right about the greys. Before eleven o’clock I had split my left-hand glove. I was glad when we came to the foot of Hunchback Hill. Here was a long ascent, and, as we approached its head, I saw a brewer’s dray at rest by the side of the road. The driver was breathing his cattle after the climb.

As I turned my head, to give the fellow good day—

“It’s Curly,” shrieked Daphne. “Stop, Boy, stop. Curly, Curly, how good to see you again!”

I pulled the greys in to the hedgerow, and William, sitting behind us, slipped down and ran to their heads. I gave the reins to my sister and left my seat. As I gained the road, the mighty drayman came forward, cap in hand.

“It’s my day out, Master Boy.”

“And ours, Curly.” I shook his enormous fist. “Come and – meet Mrs Pleydell.”

The fine old waggoner stepped to the side of the phaeton, touched his forelock and made my sister a bow.

“Your servant, ma’am.”

“How dare you, Curly? Shake hands and call me ‘Miss Daphne’, just as you always have. How many times have you put me up on Yorick? But what does this mean? You’ve not come back to the road?”

“For two months only, Miss Daphne. Two of our drivers are sick, an’ I was glad of a chance to help the firm. They’ve been very good to me; and in summertime, you know, I’m as good as I was.”

For five or six minutes we spoke of bygone days, for Curly Jordan was one of our childhood’s friends. Then the three of us went to make much of his ‘unicorn’. Three fine shire horses they were, with bells on their collars and plaited manes and tails. The leader was outstanding – a benevolent giant that blew upon Daphne’s face and then stood on his dignity.

“They do you great credit, Curly.”

“One does one’s best, Miss Daphne. An’ now that I’m back, you know, I feel I want to go on.”

“I’m sure you do. So should I. But I hope you won’t. The winter weather, Curly, would bring you down.”

“Maybe you’re right, Miss Daphne. I’m rising seventy-four.”

Then we all strolled back to the phaeton, and Curly stood beside it, while I put Daphne up and then climbed back to my seat.

He was smiling gravely as he stood there, still a magnificent figure, his humble apron of sackcloth about his waist. But as my eyes met his, I read their long farewell, and I knew I was looking my last upon a great-hearted man. And Curly knew it, too.

My sister leaned forward.

“Come round to my side, Curly.”

When the waggoner did her bidding, she put out her hand for his.

“D’you remember you used to say that I was the light of your eyes?”

Curly bent his grey head.

“Ay, Miss Daphne,” he said. “I used to make that bold.”

“I’m so proud to remember it, Curly. I always shall be proud that such a famous waggoner said such a thing of me.”

She stooped and kissed his rough cheek.

As Curly stood back, glowing, I nodded my head to William, whose eyes were upon my face.

He sprang aside and I touched the greys with the whip…

Two miles had bowled by before Daphne lifted her voice.

Then—

“We’re going down, Boy,” she said. “We don’t breed men like Curly Jordan today.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” said I. “Now, don’t be silly, Law – that’s only a five-barred gate.”

The way from White Ladies to Brooch is still a lovely way, but now there is much more traffic, and pretty roads that were crooked have been made straight. And the tarmac has swallowed verges, amid time-honoured trees have been felled. But on that midsummer morning the way was as it had been before my father was born.

Three miles I well remember as being the fairest of all. Here Nature and Husbandry seemed to go hand in hand: wild rose and honeysuckle tricked out the wayside hedge, elms guarded lovers’ stiles, and oak and ash and chestnut held up a ragged canopy for passers-by. Now and again an aged, five-barred gate hung like a window-sill, to offer such a landscape as Thomson sang and Constable loved to paint, and once the road curled down to a little ford, where the stream ran clear upon gravel, murmuring out of a thicket and into a meadow’s arms, and turning sweetness to fragrance down all its length.

There I pulled up the greys that morning, for the day was hot and the water was good for their legs, and the spot was one which from childhood my sister and I had loved.

So we rested for five or six minutes…

As we were leaving the water, a gig came slowly towards us, drawn by a strawberry roan.

“Mary Anne,” said Daphne.

Mary Anne was the roan.

I checked the greys, and the farmer driving pulled up and took off his hat.

“Good morning, Mr Ightham.”

“The sweet of the morning to you, ma’am.” His eye ran over the greys. “You’ve a handful there, Mas’r Boy.”

I laughed.

“My arms’ll be stiff tomorrow. Mrs Ightham quite well?”

“In wonderful trim, sir, thank you.”

“And Bridget?” said my sister. “I thought she was coming to me.”

“So she hopes, ma’am. She wrote her letter last night. But don’t you spoil her, Miss Daphne. Her mother came out of White Ladies, and Bridget’s going to you to learn how to make a good wife.”

“I’ll bear that in mind, Mr Ightham. Her mother’s name is still a household word.”

“Like mistress, like maid, Miss Daphne. An’ Mas’r Berry? I hope he’s keeping well.”

“In splendid form, Mr Ightham. You know he’s a magistrate now?”

“That’s as it should be, Miss Daphne. I reckon he’ll put them motorcars where they belong.”

“He’ll, er, do his best, Mr Ightham. Give Mrs Ightham my love.”

“Thank you kindly, ma’am.”

We bade him goodbye and drove on.

As the phaeton swung up the hill—

“‘Them motorcars,’” breathed my sister. “We’re going to lose half our friends.”

“For the time being only,” said I. “I quite agree with Jonah – that very soon our neighbours will follow suit.”

I saw a car in the distance, as we were entering Brooch. Before Law and Order had seen it, I turned to the left. It was no good asking for trouble. But when I had fetched a compass, to enter the square of St Giles, there was another car fuming some fifteen paces away.

Happily the square was not crowded, for the greys, with one consent, proposed to mount the pavement, if not to enter some shop.

I spoke over my shoulder to William.

“Ask the chauffeur to stop his engine. Be very polite.”

With the tail of my eye I saw my orders obeyed, but the chauffeur only laughed and let in his clutch.

There was only one thing to be done.

As the car moved forward towards us, I stood up, lashed Law and Order and let them go. Oblivious of all but the pain, the greys leaped forward, flung past the moving car and down the length of the square.

To this day I do not know how we entered Bellman Lane, but I managed to pull them up before we had reached its end.

William came running, white-faced.

“All’s well,” I said, “but stand to their heads a minute.”

When he was there, I gave the reins to Daphne and went to their heads myself. I did my best to repair the wrong I had done them, soothing and making much of the handsome pair. Then I turned to the groom, who clearly had news to tell.