Berry Scene

by Dornford Yates

  “I’m consumed with envy,” said Forsyth. “It’s often occurred to me that a perfect modern house could be born of one of the monsters of other days.”

  “Then, why didn’t you say so?” said Lady Plague. “I shall write to Valerie to-night. It is the perfect solution. A new Bell Hammer rising out of the old. By Isabella Plantation, facing South.”

  “Oh, very good,” said Berry. “Prejudice apart, Bell Hammer’s too big today. Pull it down and build a dower house. Talk about picking and choosing – they’ll have a showplace.”

  “I feel quite old-fashioned,” said Athalia.

  “Oh, come,” said Simon Beaulieu. “Lullaby is superb.”

  “I know. But a smaller house…”

  “You’re telling me,” said Berry. “But what can one do?”

  “The spacious days,” said Forsyth, “are over and gone. And I, for one, regret them. They were – magnificent. I know it’s the fashion to condemn them; but the men they produced in every walk of life were finer men than those we produce today. But that’s by the way. With comparatively few exceptions, the mansions of those great days are now but monuments. Some, like White Ladies, are so lovely that we can only hope that they will see out Time. But many serve no purpose, except to impoverish those who endeavour to keep them up. It would be so very much better if these were taken down and smaller, modern houses were built in their stead. As in Lady Larch’s case, much of their stuff could be used to great effect; and the park would become a recognized building estate.”

  “There’s a big chance there,” said Simon.

  “If,” said Jonah, “the work was carefully done, the country would not be spoiled and England would be enriched.”

  “Homes worth having,” said Berry. “Perhaps we shall see it yet.” He turned to Elizabeth. “When may we come and see Bay Morreys’ son?”

  “Whenever you like, of course. But don’t expect too much. I suppose you couldn’t think of a name.”

  “The Minor House,” said Berry. “No, that won’t do. And somebody’s got Clovelly. What about Renaissance?”

  “Too grand,” said Elizabeth.

  “I must think it over,” said Berry. “What’s Bay Morreys mean?”

  “We can’t find out. Years and years ago it used to be called Hare Hall.”

  “Well, there you are,” said Berry. “Leveret Lodge.”

  “Full marks,” said everyone.

  Athalia Fairfax was speaking.

  “You’re terribly lucky, Simon, to live in France.”

  “You are indeed,” said Berry. “Not that I’m mad about the French. Certain of their shortcomings are painfully short. And I wouldn’t reside in Paris for thirty thousand a year. But much of the country offers what England has lost today – the spirit and manner of an old-fashioned age. Of course they’re behind the times – but that’s what’s so valuable. Take any French market: it might be a market in England sixty years ago. And Husbandry is still Husbandry. It mayn’t be economic, but it’s devilish picturesque. Then again, look at the service you get in France.”

  “We are very lucky,” said Simon. “I realize that. And all Berry says is true. Our staff is proud of being part of our home. Our interests are theirs. If a tradesman puts a foot wrong, they’re more angry than we. They work very well and they clearly enjoy their work. In their eyes it isn’t degrading to run our home. Their one idea is to have their parents to tea and show them round. Pat, of course, always sees them before they go, and they always thank her for taking such care of their girl. It’s the old outlook, you know; and good or bad, it makes for happiness.”

  “Company?” said Forsyth.

  “We live our own lives,” said Simon. “With certain exceptions, the French upper classes don’t appeal to us. Our doctor, in fact, is a perfectly charming man: speaks perfect English, of course, and holds two English degrees. He dines with us and we go to lunch with him. But ‘his betters’ won’t have him at their table. He’s worth ten of them any day; but, because he works for his living, he is outside their pale. But lots of English people are round about, and we’re not very far from Biarritz – for what that is worth.”

  “Unemployment?” said Punch.

  Simon shook his head.

  “None that I know of,” he said.

  “Of course there’s none,” said Berry. “Because they’re behind the times. Unemployment goes with progress. Are a scythe and a yoke of oxen such false economy?”

  “Taxation?” said Lady Plague.

  “Largely indirect and half the rest evaded. How the country goes on, I do not know.”

  “Paradise,” said Berry. “But…in a foreign field.”

  “There’s the rub,” said Jonah.

  “I quite agree,” said Simon. “Many a time we’ve thought of coming back. But when we go into the matter… I mean, it isn’t one thing: it’s one thing after another.” He touched his cuff. “This shirt is five years old. Linen lasts in France, because it is properly washed.”

  “Exactly,” said Berry. “By hand. ‘As it was in the beginning.’ What’s France compared with us? As copper is to gold. But we have refined our gold. ‘Gold is good: but if the gold have lost his virtue…’ But the copper’s not lost its virtue, for France is behind the times.”

  “And now cheer us up,” said Athalia. “You promised once to tell me a fairy-tale.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Berry. “I’m sure I must have been tight.”

  “Off you go,” said Punch, refilling his glass.

  “There was once,” said Berry, “a king, who was full of beans. Everything possible was done about it, without result: and at last his physicians declared that magic alone could relieve his unfortunate state. So a Council was held.

  “‘Well, what about it?’ said the King. ‘I mean, these blasted beans are getting me down.’

  “There was an awkward silence.

  “Then the Comptroller swallowed.

  “‘I told you not to,’ he said. ‘I remember it perfectly.’

  “‘Of course,’ said the King, ‘there’s something coming to you. I didn’t summon you to remember my shortcomings. What I want is a reliable witch.’

  “‘Exactly,’ said the Comptroller. ‘And eighteen months ago you fired all the witches out. Twenty-four hours to leave the kingdom.’

  “‘If you ask me,’ said the Chancellor, ‘that’s why you’re full of beans.’

  “The King frowned.

  “‘We all make mistakes,’ he said. ‘Besides, I had every right. What about that invisible cloak? That I got for the servants’ ball? Invisible, my foot. I never felt such a fool in all my life.’

  “‘I know of one,’ said the Master of the Horse. ‘As a matter of fact, she’s my aunt. She isn’t really a witch, but she does a bit of sorcery on the side.’

  “‘Is she any good?’ said the King.

  “‘On her day,’ said the Master of the Horse, ‘she’s not too bad. I’ve seen her change my uncle into a jug of milk.’

  “‘Have you, indeed?’ said the King, wiping his face. ‘Is the marriage still a success?’

  “‘Dissolved,’ said the Master of the Horse. ‘She forgot to tell the maids, and they gave him to the cat.’

  “The King looked round uneasily.

  “‘We don’t want any mistakes,’ he said. ‘All I want her to do is to spill my beans. Supposing you sounded her?’

  “‘OK,’ said the Master of the Horse; and so it was left.

  “The next day, at another Council, the King received his report.

  “‘My aunt will do it,’ he said, ‘but she wants a very long price.’

  “‘That’s absurd,’ said the King. ‘As one of my subjects – . Besides, I shall, er, recognize her services in the usual way. After all, I’m the fountain of honour.’

  “‘And a widower,’ said the other. ‘She wants to be Queen.’

  “As soon as he could speak—

  “‘Are you being funny?’ said the King.

  “
The Master of the Horse shook his head.

  “‘That’s treason,’ said the Comptroller, who didn’t like the idea.

  “‘That’s right,’ said the King. ‘High Treason. You’d better make out a warrant and serve it yourself.’

  “‘That,’ said the Comptroller, ‘is the Chancellor’s job.’

  “The Chancellor swallowed.

  “‘We don’t want to be precipitate,’ he said.

  “‘I do,’ said the King. ‘Very precipitate.’

  “‘And what price your beans?’ said the Chancellor. ‘Besides, she’s well preserved.’

  “‘Well preserved!’ said a voice.

  “The King looked round.

  “‘Was that an echo?’ he said.

  “‘I don’t think so,’ said the Master of the Horse. ‘I mean…’

  “The King’s eyes followed his gaze. Where the Chancellor had been sitting, was standing a jug of milk.

  “The King thought very fast.

  “Then—

  “‘Serve him right,’ he said. ‘Talking like that about a beautiful girl. Why, if I were twenty years younger…’

  “‘Are you sure you’re not?’ said the voice. ‘I mean, I’ve heard it said that a man is as young as he feels.’

  “The King clapped his hands to his stomach.

  “Then a seraphic smile illumined his face.

  “‘She’s done it,’ he cried. ‘She’s spilled them. My beans are gone.’

  “‘Not gone,’ said the voice. ‘They’re in that chest over there. You’ve only to say the word, and I’ll put them back.’

  “There was a pregnant silence.

  “Then the King walked to the chest and lifted its lid…

  “His physicians said it was cardiac failure. In any event, his funeral was very grand. The Master of the Horse was not present. He was sharing a very small hutch with two other toads. You see, he had exceeded his instructions. His aunt had told him to put a quart of beans in the chest. As she reminded him ad nauseam, she had said nothing about giant marrows.”

  The deserved applause subsided.

  “And the moral?” said Lady Plague.

  “I wouldn’t know,” said Berry. “But the title is obvious.”

  “Not to me,” said Forsyth.

  “Psychology Reinforced.”

  10

  In Which Berry Dispenses Justice,

  and I Attend Fallow Hill Fair

  Only ten days had gone by, when out of a drunken frolic arose ‘The Vision Case’. Millions of readers devoured the full reports: a certain firm of solicitors must have done very well: but for Berry, as Chairman of the Justices before whom Vision appeared, the episode was most trying from first to last.

  For some years now, Berry had, so to speak, carried the Riding Hood Bench. He was scrupulous, level-headed, kindly and very shrewd. No doubt he made mistakes. The fact remains that his colleagues depended upon him and looked to him for guidance more than they should have done. Be sure they backed him. But the weight of the business was always upon his shoulders, and ‘The Vision Case’ was a burden he would have been glad to share. The Clerk was a sound lawyer, but that was all: he looked to Berry, just as the others did.

  It had been a full day, for we had been to Bay Morreys and had visited Leveret Lodge. We had enjoyed every minute; but such inspections are tiring, say what you will. The girls had retired, and Berry and I were about to follow them up at a quarter to twelve, when, as I got to my feet, the telephone went.

  Berry picked up the receiver – calls were put through to the rooms, when the servants had gone to bed.

  “Yes… Oh, that you, Superintendent? Good evening. No, I was just going up… Yes, Curlew Corner. I know where you mean… Yes… Yes… I see. No, no alternative, clearly… That’s up to you, Superintendent… Well, we shall see… At two o’clock tomorrow… No, that’s all right. Good night.”

  Berry replaced the receiver, sat back and closed his eyes.

  “And here’s trouble,” he said. “One of the Bluecoat school.”

  The phrase must not be misinterpreted. It had nothing to do with Horsham or with that most honourable foundation which enriched the City of London till 1902. The pleasant manor of Bluecoat had changed hands more than once since Withyham’s day; and now it was owned by a man whose wife was not young, but immensely rich, whose record was not too good. The parties they threw were said to be very fierce: though the bright, young things that stayed there probably meant no harm, they certainly did no good: the place had become a byword for careless revelry.

  Berry continued slowly.

  “A smash at Curlew Corner. I’m not surprised. In a way, it’s a dangerous place. Constable George was very nearly killed. In fact, there’s nobody hurt, but the driver, a lad called Vision, was palpably tight. Dr Fawcett was going that way and arrived on the scene. Vision was very violent and has been charged. His host is expected to come and bail him out.”

  “Vision?” I said.

  “That’s right. The Honourable Edward Vision. White’s wouldn’t have him about six months ago.”

  “What a rotten show.”

  Berry shrugged his shoulders.

  “Let’s hope he pleads. But I have an uneasy feeling that one of that crowd will fight.”

  “‘Double, double toil and trouble.’”

  “Precisely. He’s money to burn, and the Press will eat it up. Of course he mayn’t have been tight. I mustn’t prejudge the case. But Fawcett says he was, and Fawcett’s no fool.”

  At noon the next day we had a visitor. A Mr Baal arrived and sent in his card. This did not say that he was the junior partner of Messrs. Mosaic and Baal, Solicitors, of Furbelow Court, EC. He desired to see Major Pleydell – urgently.

  “Act One, Scene Two,” said Berry. “All right. Show him in.”

  Baal came in softly, after the way of a cat – a tall, sallow-faced fellow, with an eternal smile.

  “Could I see you alone, Major Pleydell?”

  “This is my cousin,” said Berry. “I have no secrets from him.”

  Baal bowed and took his seat.

  “I think I’m addressing the Chairman of the Riding Hood Bench.”

  “Yes,” said Berry, “you are.”

  “I have reason to believe that you’ll shortly make the acquaintance of a young friend of mine.”

  “And who may that be?” said Berry.

  “The Honourable Edward Vision.”

  Berry raised his eyebrows.

  “You say he is your young friend. Does he happen to be your client?”

  “I have that honour, Major Pleydell.”

  “I see. Now tell me this, Mr Baal. Had the accident which happened last night occurred in the Strand, would you have approached the Bow Street Magistrate at his private house?”

  Baal’s smile looked a little forced.

  “I – might have.”

  “Allow me to correct you,” said Berry. “You would have done no such thing. I’ll tell you why, Mr Baal. Because you wouldn’t have dared.” As I touched the bell, the solicitor rose to his feet. “The court you will presently enter is little known. But its justices are not to be corrupted, or bluffed, or diverted in any way from the duty they seek to do. You will make what observations you please in open court. But please remember this – that to the Riding Hood Bench, there are no back-stairs.”

  There Falcon opened the door, and Baal passed out.

  With his eyes on the ceiling, Berry fingered his chin.

  “There’s a poisonous blackguard,” he said. “And after that interview, I am expected to approach this blasted case with an open mind. I’d better speak to Evesham. Baal’s quite capable of trying to get at Gorse.”

  One minute later, perhaps, the connection was made.

  “Oh, is that you, Superintendent? Major Pleydell here. The Vision case. Mr Baal, of Mosaic and Baal, is appearing for the accused. I think he may try to see Gorse, but I don’t think he should… Did he, indeed? Well, just see he doesn’t, will
you? And you might ring up the doctor. You never know.”

  Berry replaced the receiver and looked at me.

  “He’s tried already,” he said: “but Gorse was out.”

  Scene Three was the little court I had come to know so well.

  When I entered it, just before two, there was next to no room; but I found a place at the back, from which I could watch the proceedings unobserved.

  Baal, with a clerk in attendance, was plainly pleased with life. For the moment he was the lion of ‘the Bluecoat school’. This was well represented – by Mr de Rasen, host, and seven guests. Four of the latter were girls. Had they been asked, they would have declared that they ‘took their fun where they found it’. And now they were ready and waiting and hoping to find it here. All eight were hanging upon the solicitor’s lips. But Riding Hood was his dunghill. Encountering him in Mayfair, they would cut him dead. Their conversation was sprightly and meant to be audible. A reporter, clearly excited, was alternately looking about him and taking notes. Superintendent Evesham was whispering with the Clerk, and Constable Bush was standing beside the door.

  Old Gammon appeared on the Bench and leaned down to speak to the Clerk.

  The latter lifted his voice and spoke to Baal.

  “Are you ready, Mr Baal?”

  “Ready for anything,” said Baal.

  A burst of Bluecoat laughter acclaimed the riposte. Then Baal took his seat at the table between the Clerk and the dock, the door to the Bench was opened, and Berry appeared.

  “Silence in Court,” cried Bush, and most of us rose.

  “D’you mean we’ve got to stand up?” said a high-pitched voice.

  “Silence,” snapped Bush, as John Lefevre and Colonel Lawson of Merry Down took their seats.

  Shepherded by the jailer, the prisoner entered the court.

  As he stepped into the dock, the Bluecoat contingent applauded violently.

  When order had been restored, Berry looked round.

  “One more demonstration like that, and the Court will be cleared.”

  There was no mistaking his tone, and a pregnant silence succeeded the simple words.