“Faint, sir?” said the coachman quickly.
“Looks like it,” said I. “We’d better take her outside. The air’ll pull her round. D’you think you could find some cushions and bring them down to the lawn. I’ll carry her down. And some water.”
“Very good, sir. I’ll set the front door open for you as I go. You can find your way, sir?”
“Yes, thanks.”
He hurried away, his boots clattering over the bare boards and down the great staircase. I followed with the girl in my arms. Half way across the hall she stirred and opened the grave eyes. Then she started and put a hand on my arm, as if she would sit up.
“It’s all right, Bébé,” said I. “Lie still.”
She flung a bare arm across her eyes, turning her face to my shoulder. I saw the colour surge into the white face.
Under the shadow of the great cedar I set her down, but she was on her feet in an instant.
“I’m a fool,” she said passionately. “A fool. But I’m all right now. I don’t know when I’ve done such a silly—”
“If you don’t sit down at once,” I said, “I’ll pick you up in my arms again.”
“But I’m all—”
I picked her up again. She was so light.
“After all,” I said encouragingly, “it’s the right place for a Bébé, isn’t it?”
“I’ll sit down,” she said with a half-laugh. Once more I lowered her to the lawn. Then the coachman appeared, soft cushions and a great rug in his arms. Also he brought water.
The rug spread, she slipped on to it and sat sideways, the cushions piled under an elbow. She drank the water gratefully.
“Better?” said I.
She nodded. Then she turned to the coachman and thanked him charmingly. Again I filled her glass. Then:
“I think you should rest,” said I. “If you are really better, I’m going to leave you alone for a little. Quite alone. If you call, I shall hear you. Otherwise I shall not come for a quarter of an hour.”
Grave eyes thanked me, and the mouth smiled.
I turned to the coachman.
“I should like to see the stabling,” I said.
When he had shown me the stables, I asked him of many things. All information he gave me readily. At the last:
“They won’t sell me with the place, sir,” he said sadly. “I only wish they would. I was born there, over the coach-house, forty-six years ago. Tye Gordon’s the only home I have. They’ll have their cars, sir, them that takes the old place. I know that. But if, likin’ the stables, they had some thought of keepin’ an old trap for luggage or errands, and if you an’ me lady didn’t happen to have a man in view…
His voice tailed off pathetically.
“If the price isn’t too high,” I said, “I think a friend of mine will buy the place. If he does, I shall advise him to take you into his service. The lady will also ask him. And I think he will do it.”
“You’re very good, sir.”
I left him and passed round to the great lawn.
My lady lay at full length, the cushions behind her head. I came and stood at her feet.
“How is she now?” said I.
“Please don’t talk about it. There’s nothing the matter now. Will you help me up?”
She stretched out a slim hand, and I pulled her to her feet. Together we strolled over the sward.
“He’s a good fellow,” I said meditatively. “The coachman, I mean. Of course, I am, too, but—”
“I think he’s a dear,” said Bébé. “The coachman, I mean. So attentive.”
I stopped still. Then:
“Shall I go and fetch him?” I said.
Bébé burst out laughing and slipped her arm through mine.
“That’s better,” said I. “And now, my dear, as to the house. Shall we have it or not? Of course the one we saw yesterday had four box-rooms, and the bicycle-shed was a dream, but the view from the servants’ bathroom—”
“Was very poor. I know. But d’you think we should get the piano into this drawing-room? The door’s very low-pitched, while the key—”
“You forget it’s only a
bébé
grand, my love. And the what-not would go on the second landing wonderfully. I measured it whilst you were stepping the housemaid’s sink. Besides, there’s a lovely stillroom here, if you want to be quiet.”
“That’s nice,” she said reflectively, stooping to regard a small foot, “and of course I like the sundial, but doesn’t it seem rather a shame to turn the old place into a private asylum?”
“I see your point,” said I. “But then we’re not certified. So no one would ever know. Besides, we might get all right again some day. However, if we don’t take Tye, I expect Peter will.”
“Peter?” – surprisedly.
“Yes, for Daffodil. You know, your best friend. Only don’t you say so. It’s to be a complete surprise – if it comes off.”
She slipped her arm out of mine and stared at me.
“What do you know of Daffodil?” she said.
“Not very much, Bébé. I know she’s the youngest of the three beautiful daughters of—”
“But how—”
I explained. I told her of my friendship with Peter and why I had come to Tye Gordon. I did not tell her that I was to be the best man.
When I had finished:
“I do hope they won’t want too much for the old place,” she said. “Dilly would love it so.”
“If I told him you said that, I don’t think Peter would worry about the price.”
“Then do.”
I pondered.
“I’m not sure I ought to,” I said. “If Dilly’s your friend, Peter’s mine, and I oughtn’t to let him be rushed, just because he’s in love.”
“But he wants to give it her, doesn’t he?”
“Exactly. If somebody told him they’d heard she wanted Covent Garden or the Bakerloo Tube, he’d try to buy them before lunch. That’s the state he’s in.”
“But they’d be much more expensive, and they’re not half as nice.”
“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” I said suddenly. “I’ll have a talk with the best man. He’s another old friend. Older than Peter. We were at school together. You’ll meet him, of course. Such a good chap.”
“Blow the best man,” said Bébé. “What are you here for? Give Peter my love and say that you and I—”
“Like Tye so much that if he doesn’t take it, we shall.”
“Think it’s a priceless place and that – Oh, just make him have it. You will, won’t you?”
She laid a hand on my shoulder and looked up at me with her great eyes. I gazed back steadily. Then:
“I don’t know which I like best,” I said, “your eyes or your mouth.”
Bébé lowered the former and looked at the springing turf. “Of course,” she said slowly, “if it’s a question of commission—”
“But it isn’t,” said I. “It’s a question of taste. Besides, I don’t – er – take commissions.”
“No?”
“No, Bébé. Nor advantage either. And now I won’t tease her any more. If I can do anything, and the price isn’t wicked, Daffodil shall be mistress of Tye within the month.”
She looked up quickly, an eager smile on her parted lips.
“Thank you,” she said simply.
The fingers slipped from my shoulder. I took a deep breath. Then:
“End of the second act,” said I.
She shot me a mischievous glance.
“How many acts are there?” she said.
“Only three,” said I.
We strolled back to the house. The coachman was in the forecourt, feeding the pigeons. I tipped him and made a note of his name. He was very grateful. Then we thanked him for his services and passed into the avenue. When the house disappeared, I turned to the girl.
“The third act,” I said, “is very exciting. The scene is laid between here and the next bend. You can see the lodge from there.”
“What a pity you’ll have to play it alone!” said Bébé.
I raised my eyebrows.
“I don’t think the audience–” I began.
“Here and the next bend,” murmured Bébé.
The next minute she was running like a hare. Frowning, I strove to remember that I was to be the best man. At the bend of the drive she stopped. I followed at a leisurely walk. As I came up:
“End of the third act,” she said triumphantly.
I glanced down the avenue. The lodge was not in sight. Bébé was facing me. I took her by the shoulders and turned her round.
“Oh!” she said.
“Yes,” said I, “I made a mistake.” I pointed over her shoulder. “That’s the last bend. I’ll carry you so far. You must be tired with your run.”
She looked up out of my arms.
“You said there were only three acts,” she said reproachfully.
“So there are,” said I. “This is an epilogue.”
At the end of the reach I set her down and looked at her.
“I know which I like best now,” I said.
Thoughtfully she drew on a glove. Then:
“Which?” she said softly.
On Wednesday the twenty-eighth Peter purchased Tye Gordon.
At twelve o’clock on Thursday, complete with gardenia, I entered the room.
“Oh, he’s dressed,” said Jill.
“Yes,” said Berry, “it’s a new rule. Didn’t you know? In future all bridegrooms’ supporters must come clothed.”
“Look at our new trouserings,” said Jonah. “They’re not new,” I said indignantly. “Speak for yourself. I don’t have to buy a new outfit just because—”
“Going to take Peter to lunch, dear?” said Daphne.
I nodded.
“Just to steady him,” said I. “Well, so long.” I turned to the door. “Mind you’re not late.”
“You might meet us at the Circus,” said Berry; “we shall be coming by Tube – number four lift. Don’t leave your gloves at the ABC.”
The bride looked very beautiful, but the bridesmaid’s face was a picture, the eyes grave as ever. But the mouth… After all…
“Do you mean to tell me today’s the twenty-ninth?” said Daphne.
“To be frank,” said I, “I don’t. To begin with, it’s the thirtieth.”
My sister sat back in her chair pondering, one white hand to her lips. Then:
“So it is,” she said slowly. “How this month has gone! You know, I keep on thinking today’s Sunday.”
“Comes of changing your bath night,” said her husband, pouring himself another glass of sherry. “After having it on Sundays all these years—”
“Bound to feel it, of course,” said I. “At this time of life, I mean. I remember an old horsekeeper doing much the same thing. He used—”
Before I could catch it, the tangerine fell into Berry’s finger-bowl, which was about equidistant from its owner and myself. Daphne and Jill squeaked with delight. Then:
“After that, the deluge,” said my sister coolly.
“In the neck,” said Jonah, from the other side of the table.
“Pardon me,” said Berry, wiping the water out of his eyes. “Mostly in the left eye and ear. A certain amount inasmuch as, and the rest in blank. Highly dangerous. And me on the Grand Jury tomorrow.”
“The marked decay of table manners,” said I, smearing my chest with a napkin, “is as deplorable as it is manifest. I sat down to dinner in a shirt. Thanks to a loving sister’s care, I shall arise in a compress. Death was due to heart failure, consequent upon a severe chill.”
“Have some sherry wine, brother,” said Berry sympathetically, pushing across the decanter. “If you approve, we’ll have a whole bottle at your wake. Till then, let us ignore the rude behaviour. After all, the mockers are below the salted almonds.”
“The incident then terminated,” said Jonah.
“Jill and I are going in with you tomorrow,” said Daphne. “Derry said he’d put us on the Bench for a little.”
“These High Sheriffs,” groaned her husband.
“I’m going in, anyway,” said I. “Jimmy Aylwin’s the Judge’s Marshal this time. He sent me a card asking me to roll up.”
“I will not have this Court turned into a theatre,” said Berry pompously. “The Bench isn’t a stage. When you three and Derry and the Marshal get going, people’ll think it’s a Revue. Will the Victoria Girls be there?”
“I’m afraid not,” said I, “but the Judge will. And what with the footmen—”
“To change the numbers… Exactly. Well, don’t come to me for bail if you’re committed for Contempt of Court. That’s all. You’ve never been over the gaol, have you?”
“I do hope I shall remember to say ‘Rabbits’ first tomorrow,” said Jill suddenly.
We stared at her. Then:
“I suppose you must,” said Berry. “Belgian hares wouldn’t do, would they? Or French bustards, or any little trifle like that? It must be rabbits?”
“Oh, yes, it must be rabbits,” said Jill gravely.
“Dear, dear,” said Berry.
“D’you think you could write it?” said I.
“No, Boy, you’ve got to say it, or it doesn’t count.”
“Ah, well, that settles it,” I sighed.
“Don’t take any notice of the fools,” said Daphne. “What do you mean ‘it doesn’t count,’ Jilly dear?”
“Didn’t I tell you?” said Jill. “I heard it when I was staying with the Scarlets. On the first day of the month you have to say ‘Rabbits.’ If you say it to me first, I have to give you a present, and if I say it to you first, you have to give me a present. It’s just whichever says it first.”
“I’m glad you told us,” said Berry. “Otherwise we should have been somewhat handicapped. I mean, of course, one never knows. I might have quite innocently chanced to say – er – ‘Rabbits.’ Just like that. ‘Rabbits.’ But it would have been a fluke. It would have been because I had just observed in the
Sportsman
that Kent were all out for twenty-seven, or something like that. The odds are you’d have had it all your own way.”
“Well, you know now,” said Jill. “And if I remember to say it before you do, I want another tennis-racket.”
“Right you are, sweetheart. And should it first occur to me to name the burrowing rodents, please remember that I have long desired—”
He paused to select a piece of ginger. We waited interestedly. At last:
“Go on,” said Daphne. “The suspense is awful.”
“A wherewithal,” said her husband. “A really good one.”
Jill’s grey eyes looked puzzled.
“A wherewithal?” she said slowly. “Where does one get wherewithals?”
“You might try the Stores,” said I. “But they’d probably have to get it for you. Of course, there are so many different kinds.” I turned to Berry. “For what purpose do you require the wherewithal, brother?”
“I want the wherewithal to do penance for a wicked spouse,” he said. “Things are come to a pretty pass when one has to humble one’s own body to atone for the backsliding of those we love. But there you are.” He looked across at his wife. “I suppose you know your name’s going to be a hissing,” he added.
“She’ll be able to get the sort of wherewithal you want at the Stores,” said Jonah. “In the Surgical Instruments Department.”
Berry started.
“No, no,” he said hurriedly. “In the Drapery. I was thinking of a hair shirt. So – er – appropriate.”
The next morning I awoke to hear a servant drawing the blinds.
“What time is it, William?” said I.
“A quarter past seven, sir,” said the man, coming to the side of my bed. “And Mr Pleydell’s compliments, sir, and ‘Rabbits.’”
“My compliments to Mr Pleydell, and there’s nothing doing, because he must say it himself.”
“Very good, sir.”
Whilst I was shaving an idea occurred to me. I opened my door and walked quickly to the bathroom Daphne and Jill use. There I stood listening. The lazy lap of water against the side of the bath told me that it was occupied. With a crafty smile I cleared my throat. Then:
“Jilly,” I said anxiously.
“What’s the matter, Boy?” cried my victim, falling into the trap.
“Er – only—”
“Rabbits,” whispered Daphne over my shoulder, slipping a warm arm round my neck. “And it just serves you right, old chap, for trying to do Jilly down. Kiss me.”
I obeyed in some dudgeon.
“You shall give me one of those old little Japanese cedars,” she went on. “A nice gnarled one in a blue-and-white pot.”
I groaned.
“They’re awfully expensive,” I began. “Surely there’s some limit—”
Suddenly, “O-o-oh!” came from the bathroom. Followed the sound of troubled waters and the padding of bare feet on the floor. The next moment Jill was beating upon the door and crying:
“Rabbits, Boy, rabbits. I said it first.”
My sister began to laugh softly. I took a deep breath. Then:
“What sort of a racket d’you want, dear?” said I. “Tell me the worst.”
After all, a racket couldn’t cost much more than thirty shillings.
“Oh, Berry’s going to give me the racket,” cried Jill, audibly dancing with excitement. “I thought perhaps you’d give me a panorama camera.”
“Don’t hang back,” said I. “Quite sure you wouldn’t sooner have a gold-fitted dressing case?”
“I’ll have that next month.”
“Off Berry or Jonah, then” said I. “This ‘Rabbits’ stunt’s a bit too thick for me. In future I shall clear out at the end of every month and–” Suddenly I thought of Berry and Jonah. My face cleared. “Anyway,” I added, “I’ll fix the others all right. If I touch each of them for a fiver – that’s fair enough – I’ll get out about square.”
The wariness with which, half an hour later, I entered the dining-room was worthy of a scoutmaster. But only the girls were there. I was in good time. All the same, I took the precaution of looking under the table. There was Jonah, reading the paper. We said the plural together. After some argument we agreed that it should be counted a dead heat. Berry remained. Not for long. Of course, I suppose I might have suspected something when William came and told me that the garage wanted me on the telephone… Or, at any rate, when, after an idle question about the cars, the chauffeur asked me to hold the line. My sole consolation is that I was just able to eat all the mushrooms before Berry got back to the house.
An hour later we were all in the car, slipping along the curling ways to Brooch. It was a glorious day, this first of July. There had been rain in the night, but now the sky was cloudless, and the great sun blazed out of it, bleaching the wet brown roads, setting the stout hedgerows a-glitter, and lending to the countryside an air of health and gaiety and
joie de vivre
that got into the blood and made the heart light and merry.
We stopped a moment at Fell to drop Jonah, who was going fishing, and could not be persuaded to lose his pleasure by the promise of grave revelry at the Castle. Another twenty minutes, and we swept round the corner of Loose Thicket, to see Brooch lying, all warm and smiling, in the valley below.
Brooch is a place of memories, a cathedral city and a fair market town. Standards have floated from its castle’s tower; blood has run in its gutters. Kings’ standards, men’s blood. Great-hearted gentlemen have lain in its gaol, demoniac Roundheads have mouthed blasphemy in its cathedral, till the gaping clowns licked up the lust of havoc, splintered the precious panes they had been taught to wonder at, and battered down the glorious statuary Piety had set up. Savage days. Later a trembling mayor has mumbled the Riot Act in the market-place, the mob roaring before him, while two score of troopers sit steadily in the background, waiting grimly, rather contemptuously, but waiting…
And now – Brooch is different now. Very peaceful, almost sleepy. Of course, it has its police sports once a year, and the city football team – colours, black and green – won two out of the three home matches last season; but, on the whole, Brooch has become sleepy. Still, there remain its ways, its buildings, its memories. Memories of high things. The place has made history.
We set down Berry at the Castle that he might join his Fellows of the Grand Inquest, after which we slipped silently down to the old Close. We were for the Judge’s lodgings. We left the car outside the old archway and strolled a while under the shadow of the great church. There was no one about, and, when the gorgeous coach lumbered into the Close and drew up before the low red building which houses His Majesty’s Judges in Brooch, Time might have stepped back over a hundred years. Jill and Daphne watched as if fascinated. Even the appearance of Derry Bagot in blue and silver, with white silk stockings, did not shatter the illusion. The Sheriffs and the Chaplain entered the lodgings, while the footmen stalked to and fro in the sunshine, very pompous. The wigged coachman sat his hammercloth very solemnly. Presently the doors were opened again and a little procession came out. As before, the Sheriffs and the Chaplain, then the Judge in his scarlet, his Marshal following behind. Uncovered, the latter watched them into the coach. The door was shut, the footmen clambered stiffly to their perch, and the equipage rumbled away. My Lord was gone to be churched.
For a moment the Marshal stood watching the swaying vehicle. Then he pushed his hat to the back of his head, took out a cigarette-case and lighted a cigarette.
Sic transit.
I introduced Jimmy, and we took him up to the Castle in the car.
The subsequent appearance of Daphne and Jill upon the Bench caused quite a sensation – at any rate, amongst the junior members of the Bar. They certainly looked lovely, and Derry and the Marshal were most attentive. They proposed to stay about half an hour; but by the time I had heard two men plead guilty, one to the larceny of a garden-fork and the other to obtaining one shilling and eightpence of the moneys of somebody else by false pretences, I felt that I had got the hang of the thing, and retired to the cool of the corridor and the stone stairs.
It was rather dark in the corridor.
“I say, are you the Marshal?” said a voice.
“Well, not exactly,” said I. “But I expect I’d do. Some people like me better.”
A girl’s laughter. Then:
“I rather want to see you,” she said. “D’you think—”
“And I simply must see you,” I said. “Let us assemble by the casement, shall not we? There’s one just round the corner, commanding an extensive view, and, incidentally, admitting such light as a blank wall three paces away allows of. You will observe from my diction that the dusty atmosphere of Legal Proceedings has already – Oh, I forgot. Excuse me, but ‘Rabbits.’”
My lady struggled with her merriment. Then:
“What do you know of ‘Rabbits’?” she said.
“Well, thanks to them, so far I’m anything from ten to fifteen pounds down on the day. That’s not counting this one.”
“And do you think I’m going to give a present to a man I’ve never seen?”
“I base my claim on custom,” said I. “Besides, if you’ll only come to the aforesaid casement—”
We made our way to the window and surveyed one another amusedly.
Wonderfully long lashes she had, and a proud, strong face that I seemed to have seen before somewhere. Recently, too. Warm brown eyes looked at me, while a quiet smile played on the small soft mouth. I marked the short upper lip and the promise of a broad forehead under the dark hair.
“And now,” said she, “for the Marshal.”
“He’s engaged just now,” said I. “He is, really. On the Bench. I’ve just left him.”
A pause. Then:
“D’you want him very much? “said I. “Because if—”
She laughed.
“I’ve never seen him in my life,” she said. “I don’t want him. I only want to know what time they’ll rise for lunch.”
“I can find out that for you,” said I. “Will you wait here?”
She nodded.
I slipped back on to the Bench. Jimmy was sitting with Jill and Daphne, obviously whispering information about the antique procedure. I came up behind them.
“What time does he lunch, Jimmy?” This in the awful tone of one interested in the habits and customs of the mighty.
“Half-past one, as near as possible.”
“Gentlemen of the Grand Jury,” said an announcing voice.
Counsel, who was on his feet, stopped short in his recital of wickedness – larceny of two live fowls – the Judge laid down the depositions, and all eyes were turned upon the Grand Jury Box.