And Berry Came Too

by Dornford Yates

  As we swept to the door of White Ladies, my cousin, Jonathan Mansel, appeared on the steps.

  “Daphne says you’ve got to be quick. We’ve a guest – for one night only: a Miss Theresa Weigh. She was to have stayed at the Vicarage, but one of the children’s gone sick and they can’t take her in. Glanders, I think. No, mumps. She’s mucking about, giving lectures – to such as have ears to hear. And she seems to be pretty hot stuff where pomps are concerned. We’ve got to have our cocktails upstairs.”

  There was a dreadful silence.

  Then—

  “Oh, give me strength,” said Berry. “Twice in one eight-hour day! You know, it’s rather hard.”

  “Twice?” said Jonah, frowning.

  “Twice, as I live,” said Berry. “What’s this one like?”

  “Striking,” said Jonah, simply. “She’s roughly twice life-size and—”

  Four cries broke the sentence to bits.

  “St Skunk and all devils,” screamed Berry. “Don’t say she’s got a voice like a bugle-band.”

  “Almost exactly,” said Jonah. “And now I should look alive. If anyone’s late for dinner, she’ll tell them where they get off.”

  Seated at Berry’s right hand, Miss Weigh surveyed the table with an aggressive eye. Then, with a scowl, she turned her champagne glass down.

  “Strong drink is raging,” she said.

  “Er, on occasion,” said Berry, moving his glass out of range. “A desire, which I venture to maintain is laudable, to honour the sex which you adorn is responsible for the presence of these sinister beakers or goblets, for which I could otherwise offer no shadow of excuse.”

  Miss Weigh regarded him straitly.

  “Explain yourself,” she commanded.

  Berry sat back in his chair.

  “Unable,” he said, “any longer to support the flagrant abomination of my company, despite my frantic entreaties, your beautiful vis-à-vis has determined to leave this house. In accepting this natural decision, I have conceived it to be my manifest duty on this, her last, night to do her the utmost honour I can. According, therefore, to a tradition so ancient as to compel respect, I have brought forth my rarest wine – not in a futile endeavour to make glad our hearts, which in view of her imminent departure would be impossible, but to pledge her charm and wisdom as best we may. It is, therefore, no vulgar carouse, but a seemly rite to which in all honour we mean this night to subscribe – the honest, if clumsy, homage of a man not yet sunk so low as to be unable to recognize virtue, to distinguish right from wrong, and to render to lovely woman the things that are hers.”

  Miss Weigh appeared to hesitate. Then, to her lasting credit, she once more reversed her glass.

  “Not that I’m deceived,” she announced. “Any excuse for an orgy will serve for you. But at least you’re civil about it. Why couldn’t you have been civil this afternoon?”

  “Madam,” said Berry gravely, “had you not been prevented by the instant roar of a traffic for which the streets of Warfare were never designed, you would have heard my humble endeavours to explain that my failure to accommodate you was dictated by no indecent impulse to resist your lawful desires, but by the bile or venom of the foul-mouthed carrion to whose charge the vehicle directly behind me had been unaccountably committed. The moment that I perceived that you were proposing to retire – an intention, I may say, which I had the honour to anticipate – I naturally determined to accord you such place as your manoeuvre might demand. Most unfortunately, however, the rude and incompetent boor to whom I have already referred had so placed his wain or waggon that I was utterly prevented from consulting your convenience, and, when I acquainted the reptile with my predicament, my words were received not only with the foulest contumely but with a disregard of the proprieties so shocking as to be almost impious. To advise you of a position which caused me much pain, I made bold to sound my horn, for, while I was well aware that such action might be mistaken for that of a bully or road-hog demanding way, it seemed to me still more important that you should not put in peril your elegant car – by counting upon an obedience which you had a right to expect, which I, through no fault of my own, was unable to bear. To my infinite confusion, madam, though not, I may say, to my surprise, you most naturally interpreted the somewhat peremptory note, not as the counsel of despair, which in fact it was, but as the impudent agent of an outlook which would, I submit, disgrace a blue-based baboon; and I suffered a disapproval which was most justly due, when in fact it was the toss-pot behind me – that black-throated son of Belial, whom we may shortly expect to be eaten of worms – that was, so to speak, the fountain of my dishonour.”

  With a suspicious sniff, Miss Weigh appeared to consider the value of Berry’s reply, much as some god, by snuffing the rising smoke, might seek to appraise the ingredients of sacrifice done. Before she had finished, Jonah, beside her, made some polite remark, and Perdita fell upon Berry, demanding an oral itinerary – of which she had no need, which, if Berry pleased, would take some time to recite. All ears, as was only natural, Daphne, Jill and I made some pretence to converse, and to accept as normal the most embarrassing meal to which I have ever subscribed. Meanwhile the champagne was served…

  Miss Weigh was addressing Berry with all her might.

  “And what is your mission in life?”

  “I – I don’t think I’ve got one,” said Berry. “I’ve waited for years, but I’ve never had a definite call. You know, that does happen sometimes,” he added, plausibly.

  “Never,” said Miss Weigh, shortly. “Everyone has some mission, however vile they may be. Consult your conscience, sir. If that’s not dead, it will answer. If it is, I shall revive it. The revival of conscience is one of my missions in life.”

  The vision of Miss Weigh applying artificial respiration to Berry’s soul was so awe-inspiring that we sat about the table like dummies, holding our breath.

  After a frantic look round—

  “M-meditation,” said Berry, wildly. “That’s right. Meditation. I often think I ought to have been a nun – I mean a monk. But it’s too late now.”’

  “What do you mean – meditation?”

  Never were five words so crammed with indignant scorn.

  “Well, that’s my call,” said Berry, desperately. “My conscience tells me that that is my mission in life.”

  “Don’t trifle with me, sir,” said Miss Weigh.

  “Madam,” said Berry, gravely, “even if I had not the honour to be your host – a relation which automatically forbids impertinence – I am not, believe me, so – so verminous as to be unable to perceive the enormity of such an attention.” Before Miss Weigh had recovered from this majestic broadside, he continued fluently. “At the same time I would beg you not to condemn out of hand the efforts of a definitely weaker vessel to raise himself and his fellows not to the peaks of self-discipline which you command, but at least above the level of the steaming midden of inefficiency upon which the lower animals are content to sprawl.”

  Miss Weigh drank some champagne.

  “Fine words,” she said. “Meditation is bosh – and you know it as well as I.”

  “But look at the lamas,” cried Berry. “Look what they do… And all by meditation.”

  “Well, what do they do?” said Miss Weigh.

  “They perceive the meaning of things. And that’s where we fail. We take everything for granted – a hideous mistake. Take that glass of champagne, for instance.”

  “What about it?” said Miss Weigh.

  “Well, it’s more than that, really,” said Berry. “A great deal more. Only you and I can’t see it.”

  “This is beating the air,” said Miss Weigh, testily.

  “That’s just what I said,” said Berry. “My very words. And then I tried. I meditated upon some ordinary, commonplace thing. And after a while, you know, I began to see round. I saw that it wasn’t what it seemed.”

  “What did it seem?” said Miss Weigh.

  “A slop-pail,�
�� said Berry. “A common, vulgar—”

  “And what was it really?”

  “A human document,” said Berry. “I can’t put it more plainly than that. The secrets of meditation will never go into words.”

  “Yes, they will,” said Miss Weigh, violently. “‘Drivel’ and ‘Balderdash.’”

  My brother-in-law sighed.

  “I don’t blame you,” he said. Miss Weigh choked. “Before the snails – scales fell from my eyes, I felt the same. I was even more outspoken. From my criticism of the mystery I omitted no circumstance of ribaldry, and epithets I blush to remember spurted like – like grapestones from my lips. And then one day, in prison, I—”

  “In what?”

  “Prison,” said Berry. “You know. Captivity. Bondage. Well, I was sitting there in my cell, when—”

  “What were you in prison for?”

  “Felony,” said Berry. “Never mind. I was sitting there in my cell, when—”

  “Sir,” said Miss Weigh, rising, “I have been most grossly deceived. I was given to understand that this was a respectable house. Had I entertained the faintest idea—”

  My sister was on her feet.

  “It was all a mistake,” she said. “My husband—”

  “Madam,” said Miss Weigh, “I have heard that explanation before. But never before have I witnessed such a callous and brutal indifference to the stigma most people attach—”

  “But I tell you—”

  “Your husband, madam, has told me more than enough.” My sister sat down. “Kindly order my car at once – and my things to be packed.” Daphne nodded to Falcon, who left the room. “At Brooch, no doubt, I can find an honest hotel.”

  “The Fountain,” said Berry, rising, “is irreproachable. If you mention my name—”

  “I hope,” said Miss Weigh, with great violence, “that I should be turned from their doors.”

  “I don’t think you would,” said Berry. “You see, if you’d let me explain—”

  “I blame myself,” said Miss Weigh. “The moment I saw you, I ought to have left the house. The impression I formed of you at Warfare was most unfavourable.”

  “Yes, I – I gathered that,” said Berry, “from what you said at the time.”

  “Don’t you dare,” said Miss Weigh, “to answer me back. My mission has brought me in touch with the vilest of the vile, but not one of them has ever before presumed to abuse my confidence.”

  “In other words,” said Berry, “they never had the pleasure of entertaining you.”

  “Such hospitality,” said Miss Weigh, “is an insult. I do not sit down with social outcasts, however rich the table which, doubtless, their acquaintance with crime has enabled them to spread.”

  “Madam,” said Berry, “you have the wrong sow by the ear. If you will permit my wife or me to explain—”

  “Silence,” said Miss Weigh.

  My brother-in-law bowed.

  “Whilst accepting your ruling,” he said, “that a certain subject is barred, I trust you will allow me to regret your decision to leave this house, thus cutting short an acquaintance which, in spite of recent indications to the contrary, I shall always believe to have been big with promise.”

  “Sir?” gasped Miss Weigh.

  “A very Canaan of the soul,” continued my brother-in-law. “I represent the dregs of one sex, you the cream of another. Caliban and Ariel hob-nobbing… What tasty and succulent fruit might not so rare a relation have brought forth? I have, of course, learned of you. The garbage of my mind has been stirred: the cess-pool of my imagination has been troubled: and had I been able to develop the truths which, to the best of an ability so meagre as to be almost imperceptible, I was attempting to expose, I believe it to be within the bounds of possibility that you in your turn would have gone not altogether empty away. Since, however, you feel unable any longer to support the demands which a presence such as mine must inevitably make upon a nature as sensitive as yours, our pretty dreams must be abandoned, our sportive gambols upon the flowery fields of reason must be forgone. Be that as it may, I beg you to believe that age will not wither the, er, mental stimulus which I have derived from our communion, so unhappily about to be dissolved, and I venture to express the hope, but without much confidence, that while you have been within my gates such creature comforts as my establishment has been able to offer have been entirely to your convenience.”

  Bristling with indignation, Miss Weigh surveyed Berry, much as a goose might survey a presumptuous toad.

  “I have yet to learn,” she declared, “that it is incumbent upon me to acknowledge entertainment which only a brazen reprobate would have allowed me to accept. I do not consort with convicts. And such of those unfortunate beings as I have addressed have never dared to approach that unbridgeable gulf which an innate sense of decency tells them is fixed between repute and degradation.”

  In the silence which followed the butler re-entered the room.

  I do not know what it was that made me look at him twice. His manner was faultless as ever, but – well, I have grown up with Falcon and I was immediately aware that he was the prey of an excitement which he could hardly suppress. I decided that, after all, this was natural enough. His master had been grossly insulted – by the stranger within his gates.

  “The car is at the door, madam.”

  Miss Weigh bowed ponderously to Daphne, ostentatiously threw up her head, and turned on her heel.

  I nodded to Berry and, as she made for the door, I fell in behind.

  Dacre was standing in the hall, with a wrap in her hand. As she set it about Miss Weigh’s shoulders, William swung open the great front door of the house.

  Miss Weigh passed impressively out.

  As I followed, I saw two cars.

  By one stood Fitch, our chauffeur. By the other were standing three men, one of whom was an inspector of police.

  As Miss Weigh was approaching her car, he stepped to her side.

  “Theresa Weigh?” he said bluntly.

  Miss Weigh looked him up and down.

  “That,” she said, “is my name.”

  “In that case I hold a warrant for your arrest. Dangerous driving and obstructing the police on the 25th of June last at Relish in the County of Wiltshire. A summons was applied for and issued which you ’ave consistently disobeyed. Consequently—”

  “Stand back,” said Miss Weigh. “I know nothing of man-made laws.”

  “I warn you that anything you say is liable to be taken down and used in evidence against you. Kindly enter that car: we’ve got your suitcase inside.”

  “You tin-pot tyrant,” said Miss Weigh, “you—”

  “Now don’t take on,” said the other. His two companions closed in. “It’ll only make matters worse. If the Bench sits tomorrow, you’ll only ’ave one night in jail. An’ it isn’t our fault, you know. If you ’adn’t ignored—”

  Miss Weigh struck him full in the face…

  And there I turned my back on a scene which was bound to be sordid, which I shall always believe that Justice herself had set.

  As may be believed, my news was received with a delirious enthusiasm which swiftly developed into an exuberant ecstasy of jubilation.

  For two minutes we let ourselves go.

  Perdita, Jill and Berry were performing a pas de trois which is not in the books: halfway between laughter and tears, my sister was hanging upon me, imploring me to repeat the deathless epilogue: and Jonah and I, bent double, were recalling the shortcomings of Relish to whose court he had gone as a witness six months before.

  We fled to resume our seats, as the servants re-entered the room.

  “The lady gone, Falcon?” said Berry.

  “Yes, sir,” said Falcon.

  “And her – her escort.”

  He hesitated.

  “I said I hadn’t witnessed any – any fracas, but they wouldn’t take ‘no’ from Fitch: and William had to help the inspector, so if they should call upon him, I’m afraid he ca
n’t hardly refuse.”

  “Help him?”

  “Only afterwards, sir. He – he’d injured his nose, I believe. Not seriously, sir. And William brought him a sponge.”

  “I see. And the lady’s car?”

  “That has gone, sir. One of the, er, executive took it – so I believe.”

  “Sunk without trace,” said Berry. “What a very beautiful thought.” He pointed to the place at his side. “Er, remove those baubles, will you? And then let’s have some champagne.”

  From that time on, the meal was a festival, and when the cloth had been drawn, my cousin, Jonathan Mansel, got to his feet.

  “I give you Berry,” he said, and lifted his glass. “God knows he has his faults, but I’m very sure you’ll agree that his performance this evening was more than masterly. The music he faced was frightful: yet he never made one mistake, and for me he has added a really brilliant chapter to ‘the way of a man with a maid.’”

  When the acclamation had died, my brother-in-law rose to reply.

  “We shall,” he said, “remember today. It began with the disclosure of the repulsive fact that between us we are the poorer by fourteen hundred pounds – due partly to a generosity which I shall always consider to have been uncalled for, and partly to the unconscionable avarice of the fly-blown lepers in whom I had put my trust. It went on to the, er, rise and fall of that most remarkable woman, Theresa Weigh. As you know, she swam into my sphere this afternoon: and, though our communion at Warfare was not only one-sided but brief, I had barely recovered from the, er, energy of her attentions when I learned that a still higher honour was to be thrust upon me. As you saw, she is difficult to please. Indeed, I am prepared to submit that fellowship, as we understand the word, with a lady of her outlook and, er, design, to whom reason is the foulest intolerance and courtesy a bestial affront, could only be effectively achieved by a man of the capacity of Attila: but I am equally ready to believe that, if she was still alive at the end of twenty-four hours, their lively appreciation of each other’s attributes would result in an entente of almost passionate cordiality.” Here Jonah, playing butler, recharged his glass. “But that is, of course, by the way, for if she bade fair to disorder an existence which had done her no harm, we may comfort ourselves with the reflection that for the next few hours her own vile being will be itself disordered to an incredible extent. Indeed, if we may believe Falcon, one of the officers of justice had been suffering from epistaxis or bleeding of the nose, and, while no one knows better than I that that organ delights to select the most inconvenient moments for its relief, in the present case I am frankly disposed to attribute its activity to the striking physique of the lady whom the officer in question had been commanded to arrest. If I am right, I fear that such battery will find but little favour in the eyes of the justiciaries before whom she must inevitably appear, and, should she adopt to them the somewhat critical attitude of which, from time to time, I was vouchsafed a glimpse, I think it more than likely that she will be compelled, owing to circumstances over which she has no control, to cancel her more immediate engagements. One might have been forgiven for thinking that these things had been sufficient unto this day, but I cannot forget that Perdita’s place will be empty at this hour tomorrow night. It is appropriate that I should commend her, for by reason of my bitter portion I am particularly qualified to appraise her virtue.”