Rosy Is My Relative (24 page)

He sat forward and fixed his gaze eagerly upon Lady Fenneltree like a child being told a fairy-tale.

“The food was, of course, ruined,” said Lady Fenneltree. “The elephant was completely out of control, rampaging to and fro and seeking whom it could devour. I was gently remonstrating with my husband for his foolishness in introducing a wild beast into such a place, when it first pulled down a priceless chandelier, and then, rushing up to me, seized me in its trunk.”

“By George!” said the judge. “What did you do, eh?”

“Being a mere woman,” said Lady Fenneltree in a voice like a bugle sounding a cavalry charge, “I fainted.”

“Very proper,” said the judge. “It must have been a harrowing experience.”

Lady Fenneltree bowed her head slightly, endeavouring. somewhat unsuccessfully to look like a cringing and modest virgin.

“When I came to,” she said, “I found myself on a salmon.”

“It seems to me,” said the judge in a puzzled manner, “that there are an awful lot of animals entering into this case. Were you aware, Sir Augustus, that there were so many animals in the case?”

Sir Augustus closed his eyes for a moment.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, “but the salmon was dead.”

“Well, it would be, in a ballroom,” said the judge. “Bound to be. Unless there was a fountain or something.”

“There is no fountain in our ballroom,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“Well, there you are,” said the judge in triumph. “It shows it must have been dead.”

“It was a cold salmon,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“Because it was dead?” enquired the judge.

Sir Augustus rose to his feet once again with a long-suffering air.

“For the edification of the guests, my lord,” he said, “Lady Fenneltree had provided a large, cooked salmon. This had been displaced by the activities of the pachyderm and when it had finished carrying Lady Fenneltree around, it deposited her unconscious figure upon the fish.”

“Fascinating,” said the judge. “I cannot remember when I have enjoyed a case so much. Tell us more, Lady Fenneltree.”

“When I recovered consciousness, I was on the salmon. I was just in time to see Sir Hubert Darcey being picked up by the elephant and dashed to the ground in what was obviously a deliberate attempt to kill him.”

Lady Fenneltree had never been Adrian’s favourite woman, and this deliberate lie he could not stomach. Since Sir Magnus was obviously not going to do anything about it, he felt he must.

“It’s a lie!” he shouted, leaping to his feet. “Rosy never harmed anyone in her life. You’re just a vindictive old cow.”

A wave of excitement and admiration ran through the court. Lady Fenneltree cast a look of contemptuous disdain at Adrian and turned to the judge.

“My lord,” she said with biting sweetness, “do you normally allow witnesses to be insulted in your court?”

“Not normally,” said the judge absent-mindedly. “But tell me, what has this cow got to do with it? Seems to me there are far too many animals in this case.”

Sir Augustus, looking like a very unsuccessful Horatio at the bridge, got unsteadily to his feet.

“I think, my lord,” he said, “that the witness has made it quite clear that the elephant was large, malevolent, uncontrolled and, indeed, uncontrollable, and with the wild creature’s natural desire to kill.”

“Rubbish!” shouted Adrian.

“Will you shut up,” said Sir Magnus, waking up for a brief moment. “You’re doing more harm than good, ranting and raving like that. Leave the old cow to me.”

“I think,” said Sir Augustus, ignoring Adrian’s outburst with exquisite courtesy, “I have made it plain to your lordship and to this fine body of men that make up the jury, that on two occasions this wild animal was allowed by the person who was supposed to be in charge of it, to wit Adrian Rookwhistle, to run riot. The extraordinary thing is, and indeed we have to thank a merciful providence for this, that nobody was killed.”

He sat down with a faint air of satisfaction and Sir Magnus rose slowly to his feet.

“Lady Fenneltree,” he said smiling at her archly, his eyebrows semaphoring up and down interrogatively, “you have given us a truthful and honest account of the events that happened on the evening of 28th April.”

Lady Fenneltree bridled.

“Naturally,” she said.

“From what you say,” said Sir Magnus tentatively, “you must have undergone a terrible, one might almost say unhinging experience, but you displayed all the qualities of courage and determination which have made English women the envy of the world.”

A slight outburst of clapping from the back of the court was immediately quelled.

“Whose side are you on?” hissed Adrian.

Sir Magnus smiled a quiet smile, took his snuff box out of his waistcoat and then, catching the judge’s eye, replaced it.

“There are several things that you have not told us,” said Sir Magnus, “and this displays a quality of modesty in your make-up which is, if I might be allowed to say so, utterly feminine and utterly charming.”

Lady Fenneltree inclined her head regally.

“For example,” said Sir Magnus looking at the jury and throwing out a hand, “you have not said anything about your lineage. You were, I believe, a Plumbdragon?”

“I was,” said Lady Fenneltree. “My father was Lord Plumbdragon.”

“The Plumbdragons and Fenneltrees have, I believe, been part of the aristocitatic backbone of this country for something in the neighbourhood of four hundred years. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“During that time,” said Sir Magnus looking at the jury, “the Plumbdragons and Fenneltrees have ruled over vast acres, cosseting and nurturing the lesser mortals who dwelt therein. They have been shining examples to the communities that lived at their gates, examples of modesty as personified by Lady Fenneltree herself, of honesty, of fair play and, above all, of truthfulness. For people like you and me (people of lesser clay) the Plumbdragons and Fenneltrees are people to be looked up to. In olden days, before the establishment of dignified, fair-minded courts like this, who was it that we, the humble, looked to for compassion and for those qualities which have made this country of ours what it is–fair play and honesty? We looked to the Plumbdragons and Fenneltrees of this world.”

Sir Augustus, scenting a rat without being able to discern its shape, got to his feet.

“My lord,” he interrupted, “I really don’t see–fascinating though it is–what my learned friend’s speech adds to the case.”

“My lord,” said Sir Magnus, “I know that I am appearing for the defence. Nevertheless, I do not want it to appear that I have bullied and frightened a woman in the witness box and a woman, moreover, who has all those qualities of which I have been speaking.”

“But Sir Magnus,” pointed out the judge, “you have hardly as yet questioned the witness. There can be no possible reason for saying that you have bullied her.”

“M’lord,” said Sir Magnus, “I wish the jury to be easy in their minds.”

Here he cast a glance like a blow-lamp over the jury.

“We are all trying to get at the truth. That is why we are gathered here, and all I am saying to you, my lord, and to the jury, is that from the lips of such a noble, modest and aristocratic woman, we can expect nothing but the truth.”

“Well, she
is
on oath,” said the judge petulantly. “I would have thought that was sufficient. I feel it would be helpful if instead of lecturing us, Sir Magnus, you questioned the witness, endeavouring wherever possible not to bring any more animals into the case.”

“As your lordship pleases,” said Sir Magnus.

He turned and smiled at Lady Fenneltree caressingly. “Your recollections of the evening of the 28th April seem remarkably clear,” he said.

“They are,” said Lady Fenneltree, “extremely clear.”

“You forgive me for asking that question,” said Sir Magnus. “To a sensitive, well brought up woman, such an experience must have been terrifying in the extreme, and so it would be understandable if your recollections of certain points were slightly blurred.”

“Sir Magnus,” said Lady Fenneltree crisply, “I may or may not be endowed with all the qualities that you suggest, but I have one quality which never deserts me. I am observant in the extreme.”

“So observant,” said Sir Magnus as though to himself, “that you overlooked the fact that an elephant had taken up residence in your stables.”

Lady Fenneltree glared at him malevolently. “I do not normally,” the said cuttingly, “spend my life in the stables, and my husband had concealed the fact that he had an elephant secreted there.”

“Of course,” said Sir Magnus, soothingly, “it is a thing that we could all overlook, isn’t it?”

He glanced at the jury as though hoping that they would sympathise with Lady Fenneltree in her failing.

“However,” he continued, “to return to the night of the 28th April. You say that the elephant skidded into the ballroom, upset the tables containing the food and drink and then proceeded to rampage about, to use your own words, seeking whom it might devour. Your recollection of this part of the story is quite dear, is it?”

“Quite dear,” said Lady Fenneltree suspiciously.

“Later on, you say you recovered consciousness,” said Sir Magnus, “in time to see the elephant deliberately endeavour to kill Sir Hubert?”

“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“Your impression was that this was an unprovoked attack by a dangerous and uncontrolled wild animal?”

“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“You had yourself just had an unpleasant experience by being carried by the elephant,” said Sir Magnus, “and you fainted, which is of course very right and proper. When you recovered consciousness you were lying, it appears, upon a salmon?”

“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“Did you sustain any bruises or contusions from this brief encounter?”

“No,” said Lady Fenneltree, “but I can only attribute this to the fact that, mercifully, the animal put me down in favour of attacking Sir Hubert.”

“Not an insatiable elephant,” said Sir Magnus. “One would have thought that it might have finished off one victim before starting on another.”

“Yet that’s what happened,” said Lady Fenneltree.

Sir Magnus sighed, took out his snuff-box absentmindedly, applied snuff to his nostrils and sneezed.

“Sir Magnus,” said the judge, “I hope I won’t have to remind you again about sneezing in court.”

“I apologise, m’lord,” said Sir Magnus. “I was carried away by emotion. It is with the utmost reluctance I have to make Lady Fenneltree undergo the very unpleasant experience of being in the witness-box. To a truthful, law-abiding citizen, this can be nothing but a degrading experience.”

He snapped his snuff-box shut, returned it to his pocket and turned once more to Lady Fenneltree. Somehow a subtle change seemed to have come over him. He bristled and quivered like a small, alert terrier at a rabbit hole.

“We have established then, Lady Fenneltree, have we not,” he said, “that you are exceptionally perceptive and that your recollection of the evening in question is exceedingly dear, and we have established, of course, your honesty without a shadow of a doubt.”

He glanced at the jury, a shiny, twinkling glance, and they all involuntarily nodded.

“Therefore,” said Sir Magnus, “I need not keep you very much longer. But there is just one small point which I would be glad if you would dear up for the sake of the jury.”

He paused and glanced down at his notes. It was perfectly obvious to everybody, including Lady Fenneltree, that he was not reading his notes. The pause was for effect, while he waited, open and gleaming like a gin trap. Lady Fenneltree realised she was being manoeuvred into something–her regal nose snuffed danger, but she could not see from which direction the danger threatened. Eventually Sir Magnus looked up and waved snow-white eyebrows at her in a disarmingly friendly fashion.

“You say that the elephant skidded down the ballroom and into the tables containing food?” he enquired.

“I have already told you that,” said Lady Fenneltree. Sir Magnus shuffled his notes.

“After that,” he said, “the elephant rampaged about?”

“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“During the course of its destructive progress,” said Sir Magnus, “you say that it pulled down the chandelier.”

“Yes,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“The ballroom at Fenneltree Hall, I take it,” said Sir Magnus, “is fairly large?”

“It is a magnificent room,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“It has, I believe, a minstrels’ gallery at one end?” said Sir Magnus.

“That’s where the band was situated,” said Lady Fenneltree.

“One would assume then,” said Sir Magnus silkily, “that since it is obviously a magnificent room, the ceiling is quite high.”

“I believe,” said Lady Fenneltree complacently, “that the ballroom is fifty feet high.”

“Have you,” enquired Sir Magnus, “ever measured an elephant’s trunk?”

There was an electric silence. Everybody in court had suddenly become aware of the line that Sir Magnus was taking with the exception of the judge and the jury.

“I do not spend my spare time measuring elephants’ trunks,” said Lady Fenneltree with dignity.

“Well, during the last ten days, I have had this unique opportunity,” said Sir Magnus, “and I have found, by experiment, that it is impossible for an elephant–however evilly disposed–to reach up and pull down a chandelier that is fifty feet above it.”

He paused and straightened his wig.

“Lady Fenneltree,” he said softly and sympathetically, “you underwent a ghastly experience. It is only to be expected that a woman of your fine qualities, under such circumstances, could make a mistake like this.”

Lulled into a sense of false security by Sir Magnus’s sudden change from harshness to sympathy. Lady Fenneltree inclined her head.

“On this one point,” she said, “I may possibly be mistaken?”

“It is a pity,” said Sir Magnus smoothly, “because, as you say, you are so observant. It is just on this one point (and who is to blame you for it) that you made a mistake. But you tell us that the rest of your description is completely accurate, and who am I to doubt the word of a lady?” He gave a small bow and sat down.