Berry Scene (23 page)

“Well, now we come to the fence.

“Assume that the murdered man’s spirit, though it had left his body, was still in the Arras Room. What would have been its impulse – its burning desire, when it saw the file of servants passing the corpse?
To withdraw the sheet and reveal how their master had met his death
.

“It is my solemn belief that that poor ghost acquired too late the energy which it so much desired: that now, demented and helpless, it still frequents the scene; and that, on Sunday night, finding a body lying as once its own had lain, it set to work to strip it, because that impulse rules it and always will.”

There was a little silence.

Then—

“Speaking for myself,” said Daphne, “I think your interpretation is terribly good.”

“It’s pure surmise,” said Basing. “It can be nothing else. But I have always found that where one has reason to think that some old wrong has been done, from there the strongest evidence of the supernatural will be reported.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right,” said Jill. “But it’s terribly sad.”

“According to my observation, these things always are. The ghost is a tragedy.”

“You were lucky in Congreve,” said Berry.

“Indeed I was. He is the ideal witness in such a case. He didn’t believe in ghosts and he is a practical man. And here is a curious thing. The most startling reports I receive are from practical men. Ghosts seem to turn to them – I can’t say why.”

“And the lady?” said I.

“She goes as far as this – that if Congreve, Sir George and I believe that on Sunday night some supernatural agency was at work, she is not prepared to withstand the conclusions of three such men. (Congreve, of course, is a convert. His one idea is that Captain Rage shall be righted without delay.) She did not deny her reluctance to use the Arras Room. And when I asked why she was reluctant, she was attractively frank. ‘You can have your trick,’ she said. ‘I’ll confess to a superstition of which I am deeply ashamed. I
felt
that it shouldn’t be used – and that’s the truth.’

“That meant I was halfway home. And of course it explained so much. When Rage said the room was haunted, years ago, although he didn’t know it, he was flicking her on the raw. He was affirming the belief of which she was so much ashamed. And so she went off the deep end. And she wouldn’t believe him on Monday, because she was sticking so hard to her self-respect.

“She insisted on my staying to dinner – that you know. And when I was going, she said a most charming thing. ‘I’m a stiff-necked old fool, Mr Basing. But when I let Toby go, it tore my heart. He’s all I’ve got, you see. Thank you very much for giving him back.’”

All our arrangements had been made.

The Rolls was ready and waiting, and we were to leave for France on Thursday at three o’clock. That night we should cross from Newhaven to Dieppe: and the following evening we hoped to arrive at Pau. This would mean a run of more than five hundred miles; but the Rolls and I could do it – provided the roads were good. The traffic was then so slight that I knew I could count it out. But if the roads were ‘patchy’… Anyway, it would be an adventure.

But when, on Thursday morning, Berry came down to breakfast at ten o’clock and then asked me to help him to take his seat, I added my weight to my sister’s arguments.

“You’re not fit to do it,” I said. “Damn it,
my
back will be aching before we get to Bordeaux.”

“Good,” said Berry. “That’ll learn you. As a matter of hard fact, the only ease I’ve known in the last five days is when I’ve been in the Rolls. That back seat’s just right – far better than any chair.”

“Perhaps it is,” said I, “for forty or fifty miles at twenty-five miles an hour. But we’ve got to shift tomorrow: and five hundred miles is the very deuce of a run.”

“I won’t be thwarted,” said Berry. “I will have my change of air.”

“But, my darling,” said Daphne, “it’s absurd. This morning you come down at ten.”

“That’s not my fault,” said Berry. “It took me nearly ten minutes to leave the bath. I occupied it all right, but the evacuation was fearful. And then I couldn’t dry between my toes.”

“I begged you to let me help you.”

“I know, I know, my sweet. But you’d only have strained yourself. What I need is a crane.”

“And tomorrow you leave – not the bath, but the ship at half-past five.”

Berry stifled a scream – and drank heavily before replying.

“That’s – that’s all right,” he said. “I’ll forgo my bath tomorrow. Then I shan’t have to get up before half-past three. That’ll be just cock-crow, won’t it? You know, I never did like fowls.”

“But it’ll kill you,” cried Daphne.

“No, it won’t,” said her husband. “I shall let a steward into my secret, and he can do up my shoes. That’ll save me twenty minutes. And at Rouen we’ll stop at a barber’s, and I can be shaved.”

“That’s just what we can’t do,” said I. “We shan’t have time. Besides, the shops won’t be open. I hope to be clear of Rouen by half-past six.”

“Chartres will do,” said Berry.

“Look here,” said I. “I don’t want to spoil your fun. But I want to get Jill to Pau by tomorrow night. Well, I shan’t do that if I’m driving an ambulance.”

Berry expired.

“Can you get this?” he said. “I am
not
a sick man. I’m not suffering from typhoid or pneumonia or even bubonic plague. I don’t think I’ve ever felt better. But certain muscles in what is called ‘the small’ of my back are temporarily out of commission, thus putting it beyond my power to move with that careless carriage which ordinarily distinguishes not only my goings out, but my comings in. This condition has its inconveniences. Should a loved one let fall her nose-wipe, I should be unavoidably prevented from restoring that humble but necessary appendage. But it does not prevent me from being transported from one locality to another. My temperature will not rise—”

“Mine will,” said I. “If we strike a bad patch, you’ll yell that you’re being murdered and that if I don’t slow down—”

“In such an unlikely case, I shall withdraw. As previously contemplated, I shall leave the automobile at the next convenient town. The French are very solicitous. The moment they hear my screams—”

“I can see,” said I, “that we’re in for a lively run. Fancy threading a market town with somebody yelling blue murder down every street.”

Daphne cupped her face in her hands and looked at me.

“I wouldn’t come with you,” she said, “for fifty thousand pounds.”

“My sweet,” said Berry, “listen. I know this blasted complaint. Unless I take some action, it may very well continue for two or three weeks. No treatment is any earthly. Bridget the Good has ironed me – without the slightest result. But a change of air may do it – a startling change. And that I shall get tomorrow, if I set out today. If I can’t go on, I promise I’ll stop at Chartres. But I hope that I shall get better with every mile.”

“It’s very drastic,” said Daphne, finger to lip.

“So are my seizures,” said Berry. “More than once this morning ‘the pains of hell gat hold upon me’ – and then some. The worst occasion was when I was engaged with my
coiffure
. You may have heard me exclaim.”

“I remember it perfectly,” said Daphne.

So did everyone within doors.

“Precisely,” said Berry. “And so I seek to lay your alarms by an excursion. Be of good cheer, my poppet. Your lord will return restored.” He looked at me. “I believe I could do another kidney. Don’t bother to taste it first.”

At two of the following morning our packet was berthed at Dieppe. Ten minutes later, the AA man came to my cabin, as I had desired.

“Good morning,” I said. “I’m going to disembark at half-past five. Major Pleydell is far from well, and we’ve got a long way to go. There’s two hundred francs for the Customs, if I am on the road at a quarter to six.”

“Very good, sir. May I have your papers? They’ll be putting the Rolls ashore in a quarter of an hour.”

The papers passed.

“And petrol?”

“I’ll have two cans here, sir. And then if you’ll drive to the garage, we’ll fill up there.”

“That’s the style,” said I. “See you at half-past five.”

The AA man withdrew, and I went to sleep again for two hours and a half…

From the quay, at half-past five, I watched a procession take shape.

First came Jill, walking backwards and doing her best not to laugh. Then came my brother-in-law, supported by cabin stewards, one upon either side. He was dwelling freely in French on the joys of early rising and confessing to ‘a foolish desire’ to die in the Pyrenees. As he made to step up on the gangway, he let out a roar of pain, and his two supporters clasped him, imploring him to go gently and not to exhaust himself.

Standing beside me, the only Customs officer on duty was deeply moved. Indeed, it was thanks as much to his emotion as to my two hundred francs that the Rolls slid off the quay at eighteen minutes to six.

As we pulled up at the garage—

“There you are,” said Berry. “Who says I don’t pull my weight? But for me, you’d have been there for half an hour.”

This was true. The bonnet had not been opened and our baggage had not been touched.

Ten minutes later, we whipped past the sleeping hotels and on to the Rouen road.

We met no traffic at all, and the road from Dieppe to Rouen had recently been remade. As we entered the city’s suburbs, I glanced at the clock in the dash. Five and twenty minutes to seven. At least, we had started well.

The road out of Rouen was shocking, and, though Berry never complained, I had to slow down. Some of the pot-holes were monstrous. So, for perhaps three miles. But the long, steep bill had been mended; and from there to Pont-de-l’Arche we went like the wind. I whipped the Rolls over the cobbles and let her go at the hill – the long hill that parts the forest, as a barber will part a man’s hair. The surface was good, and we scudded up to the crest, as a bird on the wing. But we lost ten minutes in Louviers – more than that: for there it was market-day, and the peasants and all that was theirs were ruling the streets. By the time we were clear of the town, it was five and twenty to eight.

Ten minutes later, we stopped to break our fast by the side of the way…

The morning was big with promise: so far as I saw, there was not a cloud in the sky. Soon it was going to be immensely hot. The countryside was lovely: Husbandry seemed to be at the top of her form.

“It’s gorgeous,” said Jill. “I knew it was going to be.” She turned to Berry, devouring a sausage-roll. “How’s your back?”

“It might be worse,” said Berry. “Very much worse. Just after leaving Rouen, I thought we’d left the road. In fact, I think I lost consciousness. But except for that explosion of agony, which I trust you will observe I suppressed, my suffering has been more or less normal. And now what about our progress? Are we up to time, brother?”

“I’m afraid we’re not,” said I. “Sixty miles in just under two hours is no damned good. The French are really hopeless. Louviers, I can forgive. Markets are wholesome things, and I hope they survive. But it’s nearly six years since the war, and look at that road out of Rouen – a busy port. Think of the damage done to vehicles using that three-mile stretch.”

“That,” said Berry, “explains its condition. The
garagistes
of Rouen are paying the Surveyor of the Department five hundred francs a week, so long as that stretch of road is not remade.”

“That,” said I, “is entirely probable. But if the
garagistes
of all the principal towns on our route have had the same idea – well, we shan’t get to Pau tonight.”

“Who cares?” said Jill. “I told my babies tomorrow – just in case. At least – I told Meakin to tell them. All the same, why shouldn’t we do it? As long as we’re in by eleven – we mustn’t be later than that.”

“I’ll do my best, my darling.”

“Quite so,” said Berry. “Er, quite so. But don’t abuse the car. I mean, I should be mentally uneasy if I felt you were doing that. After all, she was constructed to be used on roads – not rockeries.”

“Shall I be frank?” said I.

“You can have a stab,” said Berry. “From what I’ve seen of you, I should judge that estate to be beyond your reach.”

“Whenever I drive the Rolls, I consider the car first and the passengers afterwards.”

“I see,” said Berry. “What a very beautiful thought. Is Fitch, whose wages I pay, afflicted with the same outlook?”

I raised my eyebrows.

“I think it more than likely.”

“Give me strength,” said Berry. “Here am I, a simple—”

With one consent, we hustled him into the car.

We made good time to Chartres, and reached the ancient city at half-past nine.

I turned to Berry.

“All right?” I said.

“The faculty of speech,” said Berry, “is still retained. I nearly lost it as we were entering Dreux. I am forced to the merciful conclusion that the
garagistes
of Dreux can only afford fifty francs. Never mind. There’s quite a good barber—”

“Not on your life,” said I. “Besides, you’ve done your bit.”

“Oh, I’ve shaved all right,” said Berry. “But I must have a pine shampoo. They’re wonderfully refreshing. Besides, what about the
pâtés
? You can’t thread Chartres, without purchasing one of its
pâtés
.”

I spoke over my shoulder.

“I’m going to have a damned good try.”

“Vandal,” said Berry. “Your idle words—”

My cousin raised her voice.

“Let’s just look at the windows, Boy. I mean, we can’t go past them and not just pay our respects.”

“If you put it like that, my sweet…”

I drove to the cathedral forthwith – and there the glory of Chartres detained us for half an hour.

More to silence Berry than anything else, I then made for a shop which purveyed the
pâtés de Chartres
. It was as we were regaining
La Place des Epars
that Cousin Jill let out a cry.

“Stop, Boy, stop. There’s Patricia.” She leaned out of her window. “Patricia.
Patricia
, darling.”