And Berry Came Too

by Dornford Yates

  Reflecting that all good things must come to an end, I rose to do his bidding without a word.

  Two minutes later I had the shock of my life.

  The bramble-bush was empty. The trousers were gone.

  My report was received with hysterical consternation. The concern was genuine: the desire to laugh immoderately was irresistible: for a moment my hearers hovered between two stools. Then–

  “Gone?” screamed Berry. “Gone? Oh, don’t be obscene.”

  The stool of the sense of humour gave way beneath our weight.

  Berry was on his hind legs.

  “I demand,” he barked, “the immediate restoration of the raiment committed to your charge. If it’s lost, it’s got to be found. If it’s stolen, it’s got to be recovered. I won’t take any excuse. I let you convey it away in the full and sacred belief that it was to be handed back. That was the governing condition: I demand that it be fulfilled.”

  “I’m most frightfully sorry,” I said. “But it isn’t my fault. I can only think that—”

  “I must decline,” said Berry, “to discuss the matter. When my trousers have been restored, I will consider an appropriately worded apology for the delay. I don’t suppose I shall accept it, but that is beside the point – which is that I refuse to contemplate a contingency which cannot occur.” He regarded his watch. “Between now and a quarter past four I shall be glad to receive the apparel to which I have already referred. It has got to be produced – somehow. And that is my very last word. Within thirty-five minutes my modesty must be redeemed.”

  With that, he lay down on his back and closed his eyes.

  Something had to be done.

  After a hurried consultation, the Knave and I – with Perdita Boyte in support – set out on the hopeless quest, while Jonah took one of the Rolls, proposing to purchase some trousers in Salisbury Town. Daphne and Jill remained within Berry’s call, ready to offer consolation as soon as the latter consented to swallow his nauseous draught. Carry it off as you will, to be short of a pair of trousers is to walk with Ignominy herself.

  A quarter of an hour had gone by, and I was waist deep in bracken, savagely cursing the flies and hopelessly scanning surroundings which looked very honest and charming, but told me nothing at all, when a sudden outburst of barking came to my ears. This rose from beyond and below, and almost at once I heard Perdita calling the Knave. I, therefore, made for some bushes directly ahead, to find that, as I had thought, they were masking the head of some bluff. Lest this should be steep and sudden, I dared not thrust through: but I lay down and worked my way forward, passing beneath the bushes until I came to the brink…

  I was looking into a sandpit. At the mouth of this were two dogs, confronting the Knave. In the pit was a gypsy encampment – a weather-beaten tent and a painted van, surrounded by vessels, tarpaulins and all the battered equipment which nomads use. A tripod bestrode a fireplace, made up of loose stones, and washing was hanging on a line which ran from the roof of the van to a neighbouring fir. On the top of the van – and so out of sight of all but the fowls of the air – were lying Berry’s trousers, carefully spread to make the most of the sun.

  A girl was standing, calling the dogs to order and watching the Knave: two children had suspended their play and behind the tent an elderly woman was sitting, with a battered book in her lap. Her demeanour was brutally furtive. She could not see, and, except from the edge of the cliff, she could not have been seen; but her head was cocked to one side, the better to hear.

  Using the utmost caution, I withdrew by the way I had come, and, when I was back in the bracken, I hastened round and down to the mouth of the pit.

  With a hand on the Knave’s collar, Perdita was addressing the girl.

  “He’s very friendly: I don’t think he’d start a row. Your dogs are watchdogs, of course: they were doing their job.”

  With her eyes upon me—

  “You never know,” said the other. “I am all alone.”

  Perdita turned to me.

  “I expected you’d hear the flurry. Mercifully, her dogs are obedient and the Knave respected my voice.”

  “You spoke as one having authority.”

  “I did my best. Where were you?”

  “Down by the water,” I lied, and turned to the girl. “Will your grandmother tell our fortunes?” I took the loose change from my pocket and counted five shillings out. “At half-a-crown each…before the others come back?”

  With her eyes on my palm—

  “I am all alone,” said the girl.

  “If you say that again,” said I, “I shall go and ask her myself.”

  The girl’s eyes burned in her head. Then she turned on her heel, but before she had taken two paces, the other came forth.

  There was no mistaking her race. She was a true-bred Roman. That she wore the kerchief and earrings was nothing at all. Her pride of carriage alone proclaimed her ancestry.

  I lifted my hat.

  “Good day,” I said quietly.

  The keen, grey eyes surveyed me – with a fearless, insolent stare.

  “What do you want?”

  “What I have lost,” I said. I heard Perdita catch her breath. “And what one of your company found.”

  The gypsy stood still as death, with her eyes upon mine. Then she turned very slowly to stare at the head of the sandpit, where I had lain.

  After a long look, she addressed the girl.

  “Give him the clothes,” she said. “He knows they are there.”

  In silence the girl obeyed.

  Like any cat, she climbed a wheel of the van, and, standing upon the tyre, reached for the missing trousers and whipped them down.

  As she gave them into my hand—

  “Seeing’s believing,” said the other.

  “Tell the lady’s fortune,” said I. “I don’t have to see to believe.”

  She shook her head.

  “Today belongs to the past. Your friend, whose clothes those are, will want to go to the police.”

  “I’ll see he doesn’t,” said I. “You’re comfortable here?”

  “I live and let live.”

  “Do you?” said Perdita, straitly.

  The gypsy started, and I know I stared at my lady with open mouth, for her tone was the tone of accusation. So Nathan said to David, ‘Thou art the man.’

  Each woman was looking the other full in the eyes, and I saw in a flash that they had joined issue on some matter, though what this could be I had not the faintest idea.

  Perdita’s gaze was level, and her beautiful face was grave: her air was quiet and steadfast, as the air of one who knows his contention just.

  The gypsy’s demeanour was curious. She could not drive the astonishment out of her eyes, and, while she seemed to be striving to make her face like a mask, she gave me the definite impression of one who knows in his heart that some accusation is true.

  At length—

  “You are quick and wise,” she said slowly: “but you have not the gift. You use your eyes with your ears and you see the things you are shown as can very few. But you have not the gift.”

  “I don’t pretend to it.”

  “You are of American blood: but your mother’s mother was English. Think of her now.”

  “Very well.”

  The gypsy put a hand to her head.

  “She was tall,” she said, “and you have her ways and her name, but not her face. Her neck was longer than yours, and her eyes were blue. When her hair was white, it was thick as when it was gold. She wore one earring only, and she had a scar on her temple that came from the kick of a horse.”

  “You have the gift,” said Perdita.

  The other lifted her chin.

  “Think of your past.”

  “Very well.”

  There was a pause, whilst I stood as good as spellbound, because the two were moving on ground which I could not tread.

  Then the woman’s face set and hardened before my eyes.

 
“I said your past,” she said grimly. “What have you to do with these things?”

  “They trouble me,” said Perdita. “I should like to think that Thistledown’s penance was done. The house of Raby has paid…very heavily.”

  “It is nothing to you.”

  “Yes it is,” said Perdita, steadily. “It’s represented today by one little, penniless child. Home, parents and fortune – he’s lost them all.”

  “You know him?” – suspiciously.

  “I have never so much as seen him. Till today I never was here.”

  The gypsy’s eyes were like slits.

  “Yet you know,” she said.

  “Of course I know. And it troubles me. It is time that the clouds—”

  “No one can order the future. I can see, but I cannot ordain.”

  “You can bless or curse,” said Perdita. “You broke our laws today: but, because we respect you, we shall not go to the police. In return, I ask you to pity a fatherless child.”

  The other lifted her head to stare at the sky. “My man was dying,” she said. “I only asked that he might be suffered to give up the ghost in peace. But Raby laughed in my face. ‘Then take him home,’ he said. ‘The rogue’s and the vagabond’s home is the open road.” She sank her chin on her breast. “He cried with pain when we lifted him on to the horse…”

  “I am very sorry. It was a rough age. I would not have done such a thing.”

  “You are all the same,” spat the gypsy. “Every man’s hand is against us, and ours is against every man. But we are too few to resist. Do you wonder that under oppression we bare our teeth?”

  “No,” said Perdita, quietly. “I do not judge you at all. I only ask you to pity a little child.”

  “That has the same blood in his veins.”

  Perdita shrugged her shoulders.

  “That has paid…for forty years…for something he never did.” I saw the other’s brows draw into a frown. “As you hope for pity yourself—”

  “Enough,” said the gypsy in impatience. And then, as she turned away, “I wish you well.”

  “Wish the little boy well. I should like to remember you kindly – and all your race.”

  The woman stood still. Then she turned again, to stare into Perdita’s eyes.

  “And if I will not do it?” she said.

  Perdita’s voice was firm.

  “We shall both remember today. I do not pretend to wisdom, but, as you have said, I can see the things I am shown.”

  There was a long silence, while the two, I think, saw nothing except one another’s eyes.

  Then at last the gypsy sighed, and a hand went up to her head.

  “I am growing old. I would have blessed you,” she said.

  “Thank you,” said Perdita, gently. And then, “Goodbye.”

  As though she had not heard her, the other turned on her heel and moved past the girl and the children, as she had come.

  As she disappeared, I stooped and laid the silver upon the ground.

  Then Perdita turned, and I followed her – out of the pit…

  After a little, I ventured to touch her arm.

  “How did you know, Perdita?”

  “I didn’t. I took a chance – and it came right off.”

  “But—”

  “I’ve no power at all. I swear it. Oh, Boy, don’t look at me so. There’s nothing queer about me. If it comes to that – those trousers… How on earth did you know where they were?”

  “I was up above and saw them from the head of the pit. But you—”

  “No, no.” She laid a slim hand on my arm. “Don’t look like that. I can’t bear it. I – I can’t have you think I’m different to what I am.”

  Five minutes before, a Portia had demanded justice. And now a child was pleading – a child some twenty years old, with honesty leaning out of her anxious eyes and her lovely heart on her sleeve for a man to kneel to. The incarnation was so exquisite as to bring a lump to my throat.

  “You’re incomparable any way,” I said unsteadily.

  As though in understanding, her precious fingers tightened upon my arm…

  After a minute or two—

  “She’ll do as you asked?” I ventured.

  Perdita nodded thoughtfully.

  “I think so. She’s almost sure I’ve no power, but I don’t think she’ll run the risk of calling my bluff. You see, I’d got my facts straight and I laid the charge where it belonged. For what it’s worth, I think she’ll take off the curse. And, Boy, will you do something for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t ever tell the others. I’m glad you know, and if you hadn’t been with me, I couldn’t have done as I did. I leaned on you, all the time. But I’d rather they didn’t know… If the little boy’s luck should turn, you’ll be sure to hear: and then you can write and tell me, and when you write and I read, we’ll both remember today and how we stood together in the presence of something unearthly – a human being in touch with another world.”

  I dared not look at her, but, as I lifted my arm, her fingers left my sleeve and rose to my lips.

  Our entrance might have been timed. As we were approaching the trees beneath which we had lunched, a car, which was not Jonah’s, drew up behind the Rolls in the cloistered lane. Aroused by the pulse of its engine, Berry sat up, while Daphne and Jill, who were seated a little apart, suspended their conversation to see what the matter might be. No one of the three observed us, until the Knave put his nose to the nape of Jill’s neck. And by that time the stage was held by somebody else.

  A burst of indignation came floating out of the lane. Then a thick-set man in plus-fours flung out of the new-come car and lumbered on to the sward.

  “What the hell does this mean?” he demanded.

  Coolly Berry surveyed him.

  “If you must know,” he said, “it means that you can’t go on. Your passage is obstructed, like Balaam’s. If you had been riding an ass, I think it more than likely that—”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Berry. “Not that I haven’t suffered enough to derange a sage. I suppose you haven’t seen a pair of—”

  “Get to hell out of this,” raved the other, jerking his head.

  My brother-in-law frowned.

  “To converse,” he observed, “it is unnecessary to be offensive. ‘Please go away,’ would be shorter, much better English, and, what is more, more polite.”

  With a manifest effort, the other controlled his voice.

  “I’d have you know this is private property.”

  “So I believe,” said Berry. “In fact, that is why I came. I find the country crowded in weather like this.”

  As soon as he could speak—

  “Take your car and get out,” roared the stranger. “Find some other place to rehearse your circus tricks. And think yourself damned lucky I don’t have you jugged. Dressed up like a—”

  “If we’re to be personal,” said Berry, “I may as well confess how much I dislike your suit. In fact, if I were you, I should change your upholsterer.”

  The red of the other’s face began to change to violet before my eyes.

  “Will you get out?” he raged.

  “By what right,” said Berry, slowly, “by what right do you order me off?”

  “By what right d’you think? I own it.” An arm was savagely waved. “This is my land.”

  Berry fingered his chin.

  “Is it indeed?” he said softly. “I’d no idea… Might I have your name?”

  “Yes, sir. My name is Puncheon. And now perhaps you’ll do as I say.”

  Berry raised his eyebrows.

  “I don’t think I shall,” he said. “You see—”

  “Don’t think you will?” howled the other. He lugged out a watch and dabbed at the shining dial. “I’ll give you two minutes to get that car out of my way.”

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Berry, and picked up a cigarette.

  �
�Absurd?” screeched Puncheon.

  “That was the word I used.”

  The fellow stamped to and fro, like a man possessed, while Berry, with studied nonchalance, reached for matches and lighted his cigarette.

  The girls and the Knave and I might have been pure statuary. The thing was too good to be true. Puncheon had called the game and had dealt the cards, and Berry, who held a ‘knock-out,’ was going to raise the fellow into the stratosphere.

  The latter was speaking thickly.

  “D’you want to be summoned?” he said.

  “Not particularly,” said Berry. “Why?”

  “Because you will be summoned, if you don’t do as I say.”

  “What’ll you bet me?” said Berry.

  “Bet you?”

  “Bet me. You see, you’re foretelling the future and I believe that you’re wrong. I don’t think I shall be summoned. And I’m ready to back my opinion with fifty pounds.”

  “We’ll see about that.” Mr Puncheon produced a pencil. “I demand your name and address.”

  “Your demand is refused,” said Berry, expelling a cloud of smoke.

  “What?”

  “You know,” said Berry, reprovingly, “I can’t help thinking you heard.”

  “D’you mean you refuse to give them?”

  “That,” said Berry, “is the construction to be placed upon my remark. If you found it obscure, I’m sorry. I always try to make myself plain.”

  The other mopped a plum-coloured face.

  “I don’t want to use force,” he said darkly.

  “That I can well believe.”

  Mr Puncheon swallowed.

  “Will you move your car, or shall I?”

  My brother-in-law closed his eyes.

  “The answer,” he said, “to the first part of the question is in the negative. With regard to the second, if you are capable of moving a car which weighs rather more than two tons, you are at liberty to do so. I shouldn’t try to drive it, for that would be waste of time. You see, the switch is locked and I have the key.”

  Mr Puncheon was shaking his fist.

  “You defy me, do you, you insolent—”

  “I don’t know about defiance. I’ve told you you have my permission to try your strength. Don’t forget to take the brake off.”