Jonah and Co. (10 page)

The steep, narrow street was walled by great houses of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, while at the top a little archway buttressed a mansion of obvious importance.

“We now enter,” said Berry, with the time-honoured flourish of the hired conductor, “the famous Bishops’ Row. At one time or another, in every one of these dwellings prelates of all sizes and shapes have snored, swallowed, and generally fortified the flesh. Upon that door were posted the bulletins announcing the progress towards recovery of Rudolph the Rash, who in the fifteenth year of his office decided to take a bath. His eventual restoration to health was celebrated with great rejoicing. From that window Sandwich, surnamed the Slop-pail, was wont to dispense charity in the shape of such sack as he found himself reluctantly unable to consume. Such self-denial surprised even his most devoted adherents, until it was discovered that the bishop had no idea that he was pouring libations into the street, but, with some hazy intention of conserving the remains of his liquor, invariably mistook the window for the door of a cupboard. The house on the left is of peculiar interest. Behind those walls—”

“I wouldn’t interrupt you for worlds,” said Daphne, “and I’m sure the cathedral won’t be half so interesting, but, perhaps, if we saw that first…”

“That’s right,” said her husband. “Twist the sage’s tail. Now I’ve lost my place. I shall have to begin all over again.” He paused to pass his hand across his eyes. Then he flung out an arm. “We now enter the famous Bishops’ Row. At one time or another, in every one of these dwellings prelates of all…”

We fairly fled up the street.

We had visited the shrine: we had wondered at the silver eloquence of architects: we had examined one by one sixty-six of the most exquisite stalls that ever graced a choir: we had stared at thrones, pulpit, organ-case and a great frieze – all of them carved with a cunning which money could never buy, and today great love and piety are too poor to purchase – we had walked in the cloisters: we had been shown the relics: and whilst the others were picking over some picture postcards, I was looking at an old fountain in the cathedral square.

“I say,” said a pleasant voice.

Upon the other side of the basin was a slim figure in a grey tweed suit – a nice-looking boy of about twenty summers. His thick, dark hair was uncovered, and there was a grave look in the big brown eyes.

“Hullo,” said I. “You’re the runaway.”

“That’s right,” he said quickly. “I only want to apologise. I’m afraid I was awfully rude to laugh like that, but I couldn’t help it. I wasn’t listening.”

He turned away hurriedly.

“Here, I say!” I cried, stepping after him. With his chin on his shoulder the boy hesitated, like some wild thing. “Don’t go,” I added. “It’s quite all right. If my brother-in-law likes to make a fool of himself, why shouldn’t you laugh?”

“I know, but—”

“My dear fellow,” said I, “the more the merrier. Besides, we use the same hatter. So let’s be friends. You’re all alone, aren’t you?”

“Er – yes. I’m really staying at Pau, and, as I’d got nothing—”

“I knew I’d seen your car before. Didn’t you go to Lourdes on Tuesday?”

The boy started.

“Yes, sir. I – I think I did.”

He was really extraordinarily nervous.

“That’s right,” I continued. “We were on the way back from Cauterets. By the way, I see you’ve got one of the new models. How does she go?”

We walked down to the gate, talking easily enough…

By the time the others arrived, the two-seater’s bonnet was open, and I had promised to teach him to change speed without taking out the clutch.

“Isn’t that sweet?” said Jill’s voice.

My companion started upright.

“You like it?” he said, flushing.

“I think it’s wonderful,” said my cousin.

So it was.

I have seen many mascots. But, seated upon the cap of the radiator, a little silver reproduction of the Ares Ludovisi knocked memories of nymphs, hounds, and urchins into a cocked hat.

“I’d like you to have it,” said the boy suddenly. “Which is your car?”

“Oh, but I can’t take it,” cried Jill breathlessly. “It’s awfully generous of you, but I couldn’t think of—”

“Well, let’s just see how it looks. You were in the first car, weren’t you?”

It was about a thousand to one against the two caps being interchangeable, but the miracle came off. Once Ares was in his new seat, nothing would induce his owner to disestablish him.

“Keep him today, at least,” he insisted. “Please do. I think it – it’ll bring me luck.”

“You’re awfully kind,” said Jill. “Why did you run away?”

Daphne took my arm and called Berry. Together we strolled up the terrace. Jonah was showing Adèle the points of the two-seater.

“Who,” said my sister, “is this attractive youth?”

“I’ve not the faintest idea,” said I. “But he’s staying at Pau.”

“Well, Jill’s got off,” was the reply. “They’re like a couple of children.”

“Ah!” said Berry unexpectedly.

“What on earth’s the matter?” said Daphne.

“Listen,” rejoined her husband. “I’ve laid an egg – metaphorically. We’re all terrified of Jill getting pinched – again metaphorically – aren’t we? Very good. Let’s encourage this friendship. Let it swell into an attachment. They’re far too young to think about marriage. Of course, we shan’t see so much of her, but, as the sainted Martin said, half a cloak’s better than no bags.”

“Dear lad,” said Daphne, slipping her arm through his, “you’re not laying at all. You’re getting broody.” With that, she turned to me. “And what do you think about it?”

“He’s a gentleman,” said I. “And he’s a child. Children, I suppose, attract children. Let him be asked to tea, and they can play in the nursery.”

“Thank you,” said my sister. “Now I’ll break it to you. Subject to the usual formalities, Jill will marry that boy within the year.”

“B-but it’s absurd,” bubbled Berry. “It’s out of the question. They’d be like the Babes in the Wood. What that he-child’s doing on his own, I can’t imagine. I should think he’s a ward in Chancery who’s given his guardians the slip. And the two together’d make a combination about as well fitted to cope with Life as a mute with a megaphone.”

“On the contrary,” said Daphne, “they’ll get on splendidly. They’ll turn the world into a playground. Wherever they go, everybody’ll drop their tools and go down on their knees and play with them.” She laughed delightedly. “I tell you, it’ll be like a fairy tale.”

“Of course,” I said, “I see what it is. You’re at your old games.”

“I’m not,” was the fierce retort. “D’you think I want to lose Jill? But she’ll have to go some day. It’s inevitable. And the only thing she could ever really love is a playmate. The finest lover in the world would never find the trick of Jill’s heart. Only a child can do that. She might marry him easily – the lover, I mean. And she’d be happy, of course. But she’d miss the biggest thing in life. Well, eligible playmates are pretty scarce. I’ve been watching for one for years. Mind you, I don’t say this boy’s going to do. There may be a score of reasons that put his suit out of court. But, on the face of it, he’s nearer the mark than anything I’ve seen.”

Thoughtfully we turned back the way we had come…

After a long silence —

“Anyway,” said Berry gloomily, “the first thing to do ’s to find out who he is. Perhaps Jill’s done it.”

“That,” said my sister, “is the very last thing she’d think of.”

We returned to where Ping and Pong were standing, to find that Jonah and Adèle had disappeared, while Jill was being taught to drive the two-seater. The environs of Saint-Bertrand-de-Comminges do not make a good school, but master and pupil cared not for that. Indeed, they were so engrossed in their exercise that our approach was unobserved.

The two were at the top of their bent.

Flushed with excitement, laughing, chattering like old friends, lady and squire were having the time of their lives. They were, certainly, wonderfully matched. If Jill was a picture, so was the boy. His gravity was gone. The fine, frank face was fairly alight with happiness, the brown eyes dancing, the strong white teeth flashing merriment. From being good-looking, he had become most handsome. If he was to find the trick of Jill’s heart, she had laid a pink finger upon the catch of his charm.

For a moment we stood marvelling…

Then Jill saw us with the tail of her eye.

“I say,” she cried, twittering, “he’s going to teach me to drive. He’s coming to lunch tomorrow, and then we’re going along the Morlaas road, because that’ll be quiet.”

As Adèle and Jonah emerged from the gateway—

“You can’t have the Morlaas road tomorrow,” said Berry, “because I’ve got it. I’m going to practise reversing through goats. It’s all arranged. Five million of the best new-laid goats are to be in line of troop columns two kilometres south of the ‘L’ of a ’ill by three o’clock.”

Jill addressed her companion.

“We’ll go another way,” she said. “I don’t suppose he’s really going there, but, if he did…Well, when he says he’s going backwards on purpose, we always get out of the car.”

The naïveté with which this unconsciously scathing criticism was phrased and uttered trebled its poignancy.

Berry collapsed amid a roar of laughter.

Then Jonah pulled out his watch, and we began to arrange ourselves. That Jill might return with her brother and have her mascot too, we had to swap cars; for, as the only two mechanics, Jonah and I never travelled together. I was sorry about it, for Pong was the apple of my eye. Seldom, if ever, had we been parted before. Jonah, I fancy, felt the same about Ping.

Our new friend was going straight back. We, however, were proposing to return by Bagnères-de-Bigorre, and suggested that he should accompany us. He shook his head gravely.

“No. I – I have to get back,” he said heavily. “I must.” Then he bowed to Daphne and to us all. “You’ve been very kind to me. Goodbye.”

As he turned —

“Till tomorrow,” I cried heartily. “You know where we live?

“Oh, yes. You’re Captain Pleydell.”

“That’s right. Oh, and – er – by the way, I don’t think we know your name.”

For a moment the boy hesitated. Then he turned scarlet.

“N-neither do I,” he said.

It was four o’clock by the time we reached Lannemezan, so, after a little discussion, my wife and Berry and I determined to cut Bagnères-de-Bigorre out of our itinerary and return to Pau by the way by which we had come. Whether the others, who were ahead of us, had come to the same decision, we could not tell.

Berry was driving like a professional. The fact, however, that between Lannemezan and Tarbes the pleasant road was littered with more dog-carts and bullock-waggons than one would have expected any three departments of France to be able to furnish, tended to cramp his style. The uses, moreover, to which the occupants of these vehicles subjected the way argued a belief not so much in progress as in
esprit de corps
. As often as not the carts moved three abreast, their human complements comparing excited notes, gossiping and making merry with as much disregard of their whereabouts as if they were gathered in a familiar tavern. As for the waggons, these were frequently unattended, their custodians trudging disinterestedly in rear, absorbed in good-natured argument and leaving their bullocks to place their own interpretation upon the rule of the road. Such confidence was seldom misplaced: still, for the driver of an approaching car to share it, demanded, I suppose, an experience of oxen which we did not possess.

After a few miles my brother-in-law’s patience began to show signs of wear and tear, and by the time we had reached Tournay it was positively threadbare. For this Adèle and I paid almost as heavily as he. But for the horn by his side, many an infuriated chauffeur would have lost his reason. It is a kind of safety-valve. Berry’s employment of this convenient accessory was characterised by a savagery which, if deplorable, is not uncommon. The frequency, however, with which passage simply had to be asked was truly terrible. Disapproval at once so bitterly and constantly expressed was most distressing. Our heads began to ache violently…

To crown our annoyance, we picked up a cast shoe – with the inevitable result. When, fortified by the knowledge that it was my turn to change the wheel, Berry ventured to point out that such an acquisition was extremely fortunate, the power of speech deserted me.

Dusk was falling as we ran into Tarbes…

“D’you think,” said Adèle, “that we could find a chemist? My head feels as if it was going to burst.”

We sought diligently without success. After a little we stopped and asked a postman. An apothecary of sorts, it appeared, was plying his trade two side streets away. Adèle and I descended to go and visit him.

I was rather sceptical about the virtue of the drug which was eventually produced to us, but, after a little discussion, we purchased the tablets and asked for some water with which to swallow them.

I must confess that when we returned to find no sign of the car, I was extremely annoyed. It was rapidly growing dark and it had become cold. Adèle was tired and had had no tea. The market was up, with the result that the streets were swarming. I cursed my brother-in-law with pardonable acerbity.

“It’s all right, old chap,” said Adèle, taking my arm. “He’s probably just around somewhere. Let’s go and look for him.”

He was not around anywhere.

We struggled to the right, we fought our way to the left, we pushed and were pushed back to the
pharmacie
, and we returned laboriously to our starting point. All the time we were devilled by the lingering idea that Berry was searching for us, and that we were just avoiding him at every turn. After another two minutes, I took my protesting wife back to the chemist’s shop, requested his hospitality on her behalf, and, after seeing her received by a glowing Frenchwoman into an inner room, turned up my collar and advanced blasphemously into the street.

Almost immediately Berry stumbled into my arms.

“
The car
!” he gasped. “
A plant! Quick! Or they’ll do us down!
”