by Harriet Hahn
At dinner I told the whole story.
“A combination of luck and purposefulness,” said Lord Henry, who was feeling philosophical. “You put the reproduction in your jacket pocket and forget it there. You do remember to bring the jacket on a beautiful summer day because the weather report predicts cold, and for once the report is correct, and you put on your jacket when you go for a walk. It just so happens that the house where the original has landed is almost next door. James sees the stone piece and leads you to the exchange. Some of it is just dumb luck.”
“We’ll never finish this discussion,” said Helena, yawning. “I’m for bed.”
When our lady commands we obey, so we all went to bed.
James and I looked out the window of our room. A wind was blowing and clouds were scudding across the stars. It was growing faintly warmer.
James was purring.
“We ought to be ashamed of ourselves,” I said in what tried to be a very stern voice. “Do you realize we broke all the rules? We seduced poor Isabel, we violated her hospitality after eating her cake and drinking her coffee, and then we stole a valuable antique.”
James yowled with glee. He leapt with a flying leap all the way to the bed, where he rolled over and over making little happy noises and patting his paws together.
“Okay,” I said, laughing with him. “Not another word, ever, about breaking the rules,” and we fell happily asleep.
The next morning at early breakfast before we were to leave for London, Roger dropped a not unexpected bombshell.
“Poppy has agreed to marry me,” he said.
“Yes,” Poppy interrupted. “You see, Roger has agreed to become Roger Ham Balsom and I’ll stay Poppy Balsom. That way we’re even. He has all the money, I have the name.”
James winked at Roger. Roger winked back, and pictures of monograms in the dust floated through my mind.
“However,” Poppy went on, “I am determined to give the wedding. It’s the responsibility of the bride’s parents, and since neither Roger nor I have living parents, I’ll do it myself.”
“We plan to go to a registry office and do the legal stuff,” said Roger, taking up the tale, but not for long.
“Then we’ll have a ceremony of our own,” Poppy broke in, “because neither of us belongs to a church, and we’ll have a picnic with you all, and Shep and Ursula and Anne and Jane and a few of Roger’s friends, and then we’ll be off to Stockholm for work and a wedding trip at the same time.”
Helena clapped her hands in delight and the rest of us cheered. James was sniffing around everyone’s plate to see if there was any leftover Hollandaise sauce from the eggs Benedict we had been served for breakfast. He wore his I-knew-it-all-the-time look.
“May I offer Haverstock Hall as the venue?” asked Helena. “I will let you provide everything and do it any way you want, but I should not have to go out, and if it is a beautiful day, we’ll use the garden and if not, we can be inside.”
Poppy and Roger consulted. “Wonderful!” they exclaimed in unison.
“Next Saturday we’ll be married,” Poppy said firmly, and then looked at Roger. “Is that all right?” she asked.
He hugged her. “Next Saturday, and we’ll return to London that night and leave for Stockholm early Sunday morning.”
There was much discussion of a general sort and then Weatherby appeared, and James and I were stowed in the wagon and Poppy and Roger were stowed in her little car, and off we went to London for the week.
That very afternoon Poppy and Roger stopped in. “We need some advice,” said Roger, once they were comfortable.
“We don’t want a minister at our wedding,” said Poppy.
“We are writing our own ceremony,” said Roger.
“But we do need some sort of leader,” said Poppy.
“To sort of start and stop things,” said Roger.
“But we don’t want to single out any one friend above the others,” said Poppy. “It wouldn’t be democratic.”
“But we want someone important to us, not just anyone.”
James, who had been listening to all this, meowed. Poppy and Roger looked at him. He pointed to himself.
The principals looked at each other.
“What do you think, Mr. Balsom?” asked Poppy, and they both burst out laughing and fell into each other’s arms.
When they recovered, they agreed that James was the perfect person to be the master of ceremonies at the wedding.
Eventually we went off to the vegetarian restaurant that was Poppy and Roger’s particular enthusiasm at the moment and had dinner. James was so full of himself and his accomplishments and the prospect of becoming a practicing minister, he ate half my nut loaf before he remembered he hated nut loaf. I contributed a bottle of the best champagne, and James, who loves champagne, was blissful.
The week flew by. Poppy and Roger stopped in to rehearse a couple of times, Peter Hightower came to visit and took us off to his club for dinner. It was a special occasion. Peter was leaving almost immediately for Malta and I was due to leave shortly after the wedding for the United States.
“Want to go to Malta, James?” Peter asked at dinner. James shook his head. He does not really like riding under a blanket for long periods of time.
As we left I thanked Peter for all his help and wished him well on his travels.
Shep and Jane came by. Shep and James played noisily as usual. James has a new game. Shep sits in a straight chair with his back to the windows. James climbs on the sill and launches himself at Shep’s back in an attempt to push him over. It is a vigorous game. Occasionally chairs are overturned.
Jane, neat as usual in bright green linen, watched for a while.
“Calm down, you two,” she said at last.
James looked at her suspiciously.
“I have news, James,” she said. “First, you will not have to see yourself as the Purr-Porridge salesman any longer. It seems all cats hated it as much as you did, so it is off the market.”
James grinned at Jane.
“Item two,” she went on. “Remember the picture of you lying on the glass table, all stretched out with your eyes half closed and just faintly smiling?”
James nodded.
“Well,” she said triumphantly, “what do you think of this?” She held up the artwork for an advertisement for a diamond bracelet, which was cleverly superimposed on the recumbent cat.
James looked at it for a long time. He patted it. He paced the table. At last he nodded his head.
“It’s okay?” Jane asked.
James nodded.
Shep roared. “You snob, James. You hate to see your picture associated with cat food, but diamond bracelets are fine!”
James shrugged and sat on the table looking dignified.
Jane ran up to the fifth floor on her green patent-leather pumps and got Mrs. March’s signature on another contract, and then we all went out to dinner.
Early Saturday morning, Shep and Jane arrived in the van, which was full of baskets and boxes, to take us and our suitcase (as we were spending the night) off to Haverstock Hall for the wedding. The day was warm and sunny, not a cloud anywhere.
When we got to the Hall we found Poppy and Roger were already in the yard where we had played croquet. Behind the croquet court, now a simple lawn, was a flower bed with masses of roses and behind them, a group of holly trees. The Haverstock gardeners had arranged a sort of chicken-wire arch about seven feet high in front of the holly trees and roses. Poppy and Ursula, her maid of honor, were filling this arbor with greens and flowers. In the center of the arbor was a six-foot stepladder.
James ran across the lawn, climbed the ladder and sat on the top step looking out over everyone. He stood up. He fit perfectly. He nodded, pleased with the arrangement and then ran down the ladder again. A gardener appeared with a metal frame designed to hold flower pots. It was full of pots of ivy and philodendron that trailed down the frame and completely hid the stepladder.
&nbs
p; Roger and Shep began to set up folding chairs on the grass in a pattern that formed an aisle leading from the French windows in the library.
At one side of the lawn, Lord Henry, Anne, Jane and two of Roger’s friends were setting up the buffet on a series of card tables provided by Wilson and covered in green cloths.
The day was very warm.
The bower and tables were finished. The chairs were all arranged. The principals retired to change.
At one-thirty, Anne appeared with her guitar. She has a lovely voice, and as a prelude she played a variety of classical guitar pieces with skill and feeling. We all assembled. When we were all seated, she began to sing Handel’s “Where’er You Walk.” At that signal we all stood up.
James came out from the library up the aisle, walking with great dignity, his tail in the air, his head erect. He was followed by Ursula in an apricot organdy dress. She carried a bunch of yellow daisies. From behind the holly trees, Roger and his best man, Fred, appeared.
Poppy followed Ursula in a simple dress of white organdy over a very pale blue slip. Her wonderful auburn hair was piled high on her head and covered with an antique lace mantilla, which Helena had found in one of the Haverstock trunks. She was perfectly happy and perfectly beautiful.
James had disappeared behind the arbor for a fleeting moment only to appear in his niche.
The music stopped. The four participants faced the bower.
James, atop his concealed ladder, bowed to us all. We sat down. James turned to Ursula. She, in turn, faced us.
“Dear friends,” she said, “Poppy and Roger welcome you to their wedding. They have written the ceremony themselves.” Then she stepped to one side.
James turned to Fred and nodded.
Fred explained that Roger had decided to take Poppy’s name and that after the wedding he would be known as Roger Ham Balsom. This move had already been legalized and was registered at Somerset House. He added that the presence of James as the official at the services was a tribute to his skill as a matchmaker. Then Fred stepped aside.
James beamed down on Poppy and Roger and nodded.
The participants had written a very moving service for themselves in which they promised to love and respect each other and care for each other for as long as they lived. There was no mention of obedience. They exchanged rings. They kissed. Then they faced us, stood shoulder to shoulder and Poppy said, “I now greet you as Mrs. Poppy Ham Balsom.” Roger looked surprised and pleased. He had not expected this.
“I greet you as Roger Ham Balsom,” he said.
Anne played a lively dance on her guitar, and James stood on his hind legs and waved his paws in celebration and began to fall off the top of the ladder. Roger caught him and the three of them danced down the aisle back to the library.
They reappeared instantly and we all rushed off to congratulate the happy couple. Shep carried James around on his shoulder to find food. The guests then attacked the buffet tables where Poppy had provided a delicious spread. We drank chilled Chablis and tart lemonade and the day grew sultry. Poppy, in lieu of extra tables, had provided sheets, which were spread on the lawn, and the guests ate sitting on the sheets or sitting in chairs. Helena was permitted a lounge chair. The Haverstock heir was almost ready to arrive and she was somewhat unwieldy.
James left Shep and came to join Anne and me. We were sitting on a sheet. Anne had her guitar beside her. James rubbed his cheek against Anne’s.
“I had no idea you were so good at the guitar and had such a splendid voice,” I was saying when James arrived.
Anne laughed. “I’ve been a folk singer and guitarist for years,” she said. “I’ve also been working at being a dancer, but I’m short and stocky, so I never got anywhere. But I wanted to be a dancer. Cats was my last effort. Then James here”—she stroked him affectionately—“showed me how to turn this short, stocky body into an asset, and so I got a dancing part, my first and, I think, my last.”
“No more dancing?” I asked.
“No,” she said. “James helped me become content with myself. I’m going back to singing and playing, where tall, thin, short, fat doesn’t matter.”
We heard Shep shout and got up to go watch Roger and Poppy cut the wedding cake. We toasted the bride and groom in champagne. The happy couple went inside to change and came out, got into Poppy’s car and drove off amid a shower of rice.
Not too long after that, the rest of the guests left. Wilson and his staff removed the remains of the wedding feast, and Helena, Lord Henry, James and I lay on the lawn in the soggy heat.
“It certainly is a weather breeder,” said Wilson as he carried the last of the chairs into the house.
Helena was panting. It was very still, hot and humid.
“Only a week to go,” said Helena, patting her middle. “It’s really eager to see the world.”
A long way away there was a faint roll of thunder.
By nine o’clock we were all in bed after a simple supper of leftovers.
James and I lay in bed in the dusky light that is the late evening in England in the summer. Some clouds had appeared but it was still very hot and we were too elated to sleep.
“Just imagine,” I said. “Hesketh gets home, looks at his beloved collection and sees that the eleventh-century stone madonna is a reproduction. He’ll be wild.”
James lay on his back and waved his paws.
“There will be nothing he can do, either,” I gloated. “He can never admit he has the piece. The museum has announced the return of its stolen property and Wentworth is in jail.”
There was a faint flash of lightning. A small swirl of wind moved the curtains at the open window. Then it was still again.
“What a heartwarming wedding,” I mused. “I think that bride and groom will live happy ever after, unlike Ellen and Harry Kinyata. He’ll live happily but she won’t. See what happens when you break the rules?” I sounded off.
James sat on my chest and gave me a fierce glare.
“All right,” I laughed and rolled him off my chest as I got up to look out the window. There was something in the air. I couldn’t settle down to sleep—the mutterings of faraway thunder and occasional gusts of wind were disturbing. I picked up a book and started to read. James lay on the bed with his head under the sheet.
It was suddenly dark outside and the lightning was brighter. The wind was picking up. It swirled around, twisting the tops of the trees. Thunder rolled frequently. James was uneasy. He stayed on the bed and tried to burrow under a pillow.
It had started to rain. I closed the window. The wind increased. This was no ordinary summer storm. Lightning crackled intermittently and the thunder followed almost immediately. The wind was howling by now. James was cowering and I was feeling very uneasy myself.
There was a great flash of lightning and a crash of thunder, and the bedside light went out. There followed the sound of a tree falling in the howling wind and rain.
There was a momentary lull. I heard a knock at the door. It was Johnson, one of the footmen, with a flashlight. With the light from the torch I found some matches and lighted the candles on the mantelpiece.
“I think there is another flashlight in the cupboard here,” said Johnson.
We looked and found a big lantern whose batteries were in good shape. It gave a powerful light.
“I must see that things are safe in the rest of the house,” he said.
“James,” I called, “I’m going to help Johnson.”
I need not have bothered. James was right beside me.
We went out into the hall.
We found Lord Henry at the end of the hall carrying a candle.
Thunder crashed. In the next lull Lord Henry said, “I’m very worried about Helena. I think she is going to deliver.”
Wilson appeared in the hall, fully dressed and carrying a flashlight.
“I think Lady Haverstock is going to have her baby,” said Lord Henry. “Thank God for all the hours we spent training for this
. Let’s prepare the kitchen. It has a big, serviceable table and can be kept clean. There is no way we are going anywhere in this storm.”
“You are right about that,” said Wilson firmly. “Weatherby just came in to report that a tree is down right across the main garage door, and there is no way to get any of the cars out.”
While Lord Henry and Wilson conferred and went downstairs, James and I went to see Helena, who was sitting up in bed. Her room was filled with candlelight.
“Here,” she said, giving me Lord Henry’s watch. “Time the contractions.”
James sat on the end of the bed looking frightened.
The contractions were coming about three minutes apart.
The house was creaking in the gale, thunder was crashing around, and inside, flashlights made patterns as footmen and maids ran to and fro.
James kept looking at Helena almost in a panic.
“James,” she said between contractions, “don’t worry. This is a perfectly natural process. I feel excited and ready to have this baby. After all, I have been preparing for it all these months. Women have been dropping babies since the beginning of people.”
Lord Henry appeared. I gave him the results of my timing.
“Come along, Helena,” he said. “We have things fixed up in the kitchen. I have the doctor on the phone. We trained for this, now we’ll see it through together.”
We helped Helena to the kitchen while James followed along behind.
A mattress had been placed on the big kitchen table. The room was full of candles. A pile of sheets and towels lay at hand. Cook was standing by. We helped Helena up on the table, and Lord Henry examined her and then spoke on the phone to the doctor. The storm raged around us.
Helena looked around from where she was half sitting, propped up with pillows on the mattress. “You have done wonders,” she said, and then panted and grimaced as another contraction more intense than the rest took her.
We waited and talked. Cook had prepared coffee in one of the pantries, which was lighted with more candles.
