Berry Scene (36 page)

(I did not tell him what I knew Baal would do. On the ground of the prisoner’s ill health, he would get the appeal postponed until the Spring. And then he would bring in his doctors… That was exactly what happened. And a powerful silk was instructed, to lead Mr Romeo. So the Sessions quashed the conviction upon the third charge – and six months later Berry retired from the Bench.)

“I won’t go,” said Berry.

“You must,” said Daphne. “After all, it’s the Dean’s daughter.”

“I don’t care if it’s the Archbishop’s morganatic wife. Which reminds me – I dreamed last night that I was an exceptionally hansom cab. Pleased with my appearance, his Grace climbed into my recesses and took his seat upon mine. After a rum shrub at
The Elephant and Castle
—”

“That’ll do,” said Daphne. “I promised that you would be there.”

Berry expired.

“At this stage of our union,” he said, “it should be superfluous for me to remind you that for a mammal to engage her lord is not only nugatory, but provocative. Besides, strange as it may seem, a sale of work is among those undertakings whose allurement, so far as I am concerned, defies detection.”

“My darling,” said Daphne, “this is no sale of work. Diana Cigale is opening a luxury shop – the kind of shop you see in South Molton Street. Brooch has nothing like it, and she ought to do very well.”

“All the more reason,” said her husband, “why we should keep away. We have no money to spend upon luxury goods. I want a new cummerbund, but I’m making the old one do,”

“Don’t you want a backgammon board?”

“She won’t have that,” said Berry. “Nothing useful belongs to the luxury shop. She’ll have nests of looking-glass tables and leather cocktail sets: pewter book-ends and cigarette-lighters about ten inches by eight.”

“She’s having three boards for us to choose from. Is that any good?”

(Our board had not been improved by the addition, in a moment of excitement, of half a pint of beer. It was Berry’s beer, it was Berry’s cuff that upset it; and when, because his chances were good, he proposed to postpone its removal, until the game had been won, even Jill had condemned his outlook in scathing terms.)

“Oh, the siren,” said Berry. “I ought to have plugged my nose. Don’t say they’ve got cork bottoms?”

“They’ll be lined with cork,” said his wife, “if that’s what you mean. But don’t you worry. I’ll choose one.”

“Oh, the vixen,” said Berry. “And what do you know about that venerable game? Why, you can’t even set the board out, without my help. When I was Bung-si-Hole in the Gong dynasty, my boards were specially made – of ivory, fretted with gold and floored with ambergris. No, this a different matter. If she can produce to me a board, at once discreet, sumptuous and inexpensive…”

“She’s promised,” said Daphne, “to give us a special discount.”

Her husband fingered his chin.

“When do the shambles open?”

“On Thursday afternoon.”

“Well, we can’t go,” said Berry. “We’re lunching at Maintenance.”

“That’s tomorrow,” said Jill.

Berry swallowed.

“I decline to promise,” he said. “My attendance will depend upon my health. How would you like to dream that a dignitary of the Church had dropped his fare in your straw. Roked it about with his feet, causing me the greatest discomfort. And he never found his gaiter-button. I suppose it’ll be all right.”

Seven months had passed since the Hon. Edward Vision had faced the Riding Hood Bench, and another Midsummer Eve was only a week away. Jenny Chandos’ husband was not at home, and when we had lunched at Maintenance, she would return with us, to spend a week at White Ladies, to our content. To her content, too, I think, for between her and Jill was a bond which was stronger than understanding: both belonged to Nature, heart and soul, and where others swam or struggled, the two of them seemed to walk upon the waters of Life.

We were always happy to visit Maintenance. The William-and-Mary mansion, the ancient rookery, the blowing meadows that ran right up to the house, a leisure of cows, suspending mastication, the better to watch the car, and now a pride of hunters cropping the shadows of immemorial trees: these things made up a picture, to warm the heart.

On this particular Wednesday, the expedition seemed fairer than ever before. The weather was brilliant, the countryside superb. And goodwill seemed to be rampant. We found a char-à-banc in trouble, and Fitch and I were able to help the driver to put it right. When we had done, the occupants crowded about us, shaking our hands and clapping us on the back. Yet, there was the Rolls waiting… It was more than an echo of the old days. Something more precious than gold was once again current coin.

“This,” said Jenny, “is Cyclops. He’s only one eye, you see: but he doesn’t miss much. He’s always about the stables. The horses love him so.”

The goat considered us severally, licking his lips.

“An acquired taste,” said Berry, “look at it how you will.”

“He’s very friendly,” said Jenny.

“Yes,” said Berry. “I wasn’t thinking of that. Their quality, like that of mercy, is not strained. I sometimes feel that’s a pity.”

Here Cyclops advanced upon him, rose upon his hind legs and, to our infinite mirth, removed his button-hole.

“Cyclops!” cried Jenny.

“That’s all right,” said Berry. “The sk-goat is always downright. And his need is greater than mine.”

“It isn’t all right,” said Jenny. “He ought to be ashamed of himself. Go and say you’re sorry at once.”

“Oh, er, don’t bother him,” said Berry. “I mean, his idea of sorrow…”

“Go and say you’re sorry,” said Jenny.

Cyclops let fall the rose and advanced upon Berry again. After eyeing him carefully, he rose again upon his hind legs and, placing a hoof upon his breast, approached his muzzle to my brother-in-law’s chin.

With starting eyes—

“Okey doke, Cyclops,” said Berry. “Remorse is better than sacrifice, as I feel sure you’ll agree. And now shall we break away? I mean, you’ve purged your contempt.”

Cyclops looked at him very hard. Then he withdrew, taking Berry’s silk handkerchief with him, before its owner could think…

The next few moments were crowded.

Arrested, reviled and threatened, Cyclops rendered to his mistress a sodden rag, while Berry gave his head to the air and spoke of the cloven hoof.

As we returned to the house—

“But I can’t understand it,” wailed Jenny.

“My love,” said Berry, “between the goat and me there is a great gulf fixed. Any attempt to bridge it has always failed. To begin with, as you have seen, our respective outlooks upon the rights of property are poles apart. I should never attempt to dispossess a goat of the piece of refuse adhering to its beard. I mean, it wouldn’t enter my mind. On the other hand, the goat has only to see me to be filled with a burning desire to despoil me of what I have. A year or two back, it was a pearl-grey Homburg: by the time it had been recovered, its hue was, er, less fashionable and its general condition not to be mentioned by those of the Christian faith. Then again, our respective body odours do not, I fear, find favour, the one in the other’s sight. It’s the old story – ‘The reason why, I cannot tell, I do not like thy filthy smell.’ Indeed, to be perfectly frank, if I offend the goat as much as the goat offends me, then Cyclops has shown great restraint. Mark you, I bear him no malice. Possibly, in his eyes – eye, I was overdressed. And I should like him to have that handkerchief in memory of today. Soak it in asafoetida first, and then perhaps he’ll revise his opinion of me.”

“Shall I tell you what I think?” said Jenny.

“Of course.”

“Well, he’s terribly wise, Cyclops. And when he heard what you were saying—”

“That’s right,” said Jill. “About his being an acquired taste. Of course he got cross.”

“Wait a minute,” said Berry. “Let’s get this straight. Is it your solemn belief that that most attractive ruminant understood all I said?”

“Perhaps not all,” said Jenny. “But I think he got the general idea.”

“I’m much obliged,” said Berry. “If he could be put in a loose-box, I’ll have another word with him after lunch.”

We came home by Dovetail and Gamecock: the latter had seen sore changes, since Big James’ day. Shops were flanking a garage on the site of that master’s forge: Mulberry Corner was gone, and a block of hideous cottages stood in its place. As a matter of fact, few villages had been spared: not all had been so much corrupted, but few had been spared. This seemed to us a pity, for beauty should cost no more than ugliness.

The next day we visited Brooch – and the luxury shop.

I was sure, from the moment I saw it, that its lease would be very short. Brooch was too small and old-fashioned to digest so lordly a dish. In the window was standing a modern tallcase clock, with a dial of black and silver, most easy to read: I could see its pendulum swinging: but it did not tell you the time: it told you the day of the week and the day of the month. I confess I should have liked to possess it. I later learned that its price was one hundred pounds. At its foot was a glass ashtray, at least twelve inches square. Such is my outlook, I should have liked that, too.

“There you are,” said Berry. “What did I say? Is shambles singular or plural?”

“Do be quiet,” said Daphne, and led the way in.

Several people we knew were there, all looking something subdued. Mrs Cigale was waiting upon Miss Cobbold, who was looking very hard at a demijohn full of water, turned into a table-lamp.

“It’s marked eleven guineas. I’ll let you have it for ten. They’re getting so scarce, you know. In another year or so… Good afternoon, Mrs Pleydell. Will you go through? Your boards are on a table right at the back.”

As we made our way down, my eye was caught by a snowstorm – one of those little glass balls, with a baby cottage inside. And when you shake it, snow-flakes begin to fall. I had not seen one for years; but I had found one in my stocking, when I was a little child. I decided to buy it for Jenny… But when I had looked at its ticket, I hardened my heart. Twenty-two shillings and sixpence. And I very much doubt if mine had cost eighteenpence.

The backgammon boards were the finest I ever saw. One was of Russia leather and had a table to match. The
ensemble
was marked thirty-five guineas. I supposed there were people who could afford such things. Another was of crocodile skin, with retractable, chromium legs. Its price was nineteen pounds ten. The third was of scarlet morocco – I must say I liked it well. It was a ‘travelling’ board: that is to say, its cups and dice and counters reposed in a leather case that fitted within the board, and the board could be closed and locked, and boasted a little handle, to carry it by. I do not have to say that it was lined with cork, so that the dice when falling would make no sound. But its price was ten guineas.

“Better not,” said Berry. “Perhaps Baal’ll send us one next Christmas, and then what fools we shall feel.”

Mrs Cigale arrived.

“That’s my favourite,” she said. “I know it’s a lot of money, but it will always look as it looks today. And it’s very pleasant to play on a good-looking board. Miss Rocket.”

Her assistant glided to her side.

“Yes, Mrs Cigale.”

“This board is marked ten guineas. Can we possibly do it for nine?”

Miss Rocket looked rather rueful.

“Oh, I think we can,” said her mistress. “It’s nine guineas to you, Mrs Pleydell. But please don’t think you must have one, because I have got them down.” She turned to me. “How d’you like that clock in the window? It strikes at midnight, you know, just to ring the old day out.”

“I covet it,” I said; “but I haven’t a hundred pounds.”

“I know. It’s a lot of money. But what an almanac. Ten per cent. discount for cash.”

“Sorry,” I said, “and I mean it. But I’m not a millionaire.”

Of course we bought the board, and I got the snowstorm for Jenny for twelve and six.

As we were driving home—

“The thing,” said Berry, “is this. If we’d liked to go to the Stores, we could have got a board for two pounds ten. A first-class, cork-bottomed board, that would see out Time. But the moment you step inside the luxury pale – well, your entrance fee is added to what you pay. And a superfine board like this is behind the bars. If you want it, you’ve got to go in and pay the entrance-fee. We were mugs to do it, of course: but we don’t often splurge like this, and it’s rather fun.”

“That almanac clock,” I sighed. “I can’t get it out of my mind. I’ve never seen one before, but they must make them cheaper than that.”

“Not very much,” said Berry. “They’re also within the pale. If you want a black bath, you can have it – at twice the price of a white.”

My sister’s arm was in his.

“Aren’t you glad you decided to come?”

Yes, I suppose so,” said Berry. “I’m deriving a guilty pleasure from what we’ve done – savouring that monstrous relish which only an unwarrantable extravagance can ever generate. But no drinks on the table with this one.”

As soon as she could speak—

“Is that observation,” said Daphne, “directed to me?”

“To all present,” said Berry, piously. “We have seen the horrid waste which liquor, improperly quartered, may commit upon its lodging. It would be a great shock to me if this very beautiful board were to be likewise debauched.”

“I have heard,” said his wife, “of Satan rebuking sin: but Satan admonishing the good is a new one on me.”

Berry sighed.

“I don’t see why it should be,” he said. “St Francis addressed the birds: why shouldn’t the Prince of Darkness exhort the goats?”

“I said ‘good’, not ‘goats’.”

“This speculative theology,” said Berry, “is beyond me. I think, perhaps, it’s because of the mote in my eye.”

Twelve days had gone by, and Adèle and I were staying deep in Scotland, at Castle Ruth. The Cullodens made perfect hosts and the lovely weather was that of the golden world. Susan Culloden was also American-born, and I had known her husband for thirty years. They could not afford to entertain house-parties, but if an old friend was willing to share what they had, they made him very happy day in day out. It was immensely refreshing to stay at their pleasant home, and though they had little money, I found them absurdly rich.