House That Berry Built

by Dornford Yates

  “Monsieur is very gracious. We shall be very glad.”

  We parted on the crest of goodwill.

  Then Berry and I returned to the sitting-room.

  “What did they want?” said Daphne.

  “I think they’d heard us talking,” said Berry. “They came to, er, offer a solution of that very engaging problem which we were in fact discussing when they arrived.”

  “What on earth d’you mean?”

  Berry looked at me.

  “Am I right?” he demanded.

  “Brilliantly right,” said I. “Green behind them, green beside them, and the eye running—”

  Jill had hold of my arm.

  “Boy, I can’t bear it. Please tell me what you mean.”

  “Sweetheart,” said I. “They’ve just sold us the meadow we love.”

  “No!”

  “They have, indeed. Grotto and trough and all. And because, with all his faults, that mountebank sitting there has eyes to see, he saw in a flash that the Waterloo balusters should run from the ledge to the grotto, in an elegant curve around the base of the bluff.”

  Jill ran to Berry and kissed him. Then she came back and laid her cheek against mine.

  “Come up and look at it, Boy. There’s still enough light.”

  Jonah and I were strolling in what had been Pernot’s field.

  It was the eighth day of June – the anniversary of Old Rowley’s death.

  “Ancient history,” said Jonah. “The warrant will stay on the file till the writing fades.”

  “Looks like it,” said I. “And Shapely is staying put. No more visits to Tass. At least, you’ve had no wire.”

  “I know,” said Jonah. “I don’t quite understand that. Falcon would surely have written, if the Home Office had decided to throw in its hand. And so we must assume that Shapely is still being watched. Which means that he hasn’t seen Tass for exactly six months.”

  “I can’t construe that,” said I. “Tass is dangerous. Dangerous to Shapely – damn it, he said as much. Well, if I were in Shapely’s shoes, I shouldn’t try to forget him.”

  “Nor I,” said Jonah. “D’you think he got him out of the country, when he came over last time?”

  “You always say the French are very hot on their ports.”

  “So they are,” said Jonah. “If I was wanted in France, I’d never try to get out.”

  “Oh, I give up,” said I. “What’s the good? If Tass was arrested tomorrow, he’d never swing. The jury wouldn’t like it. The murder’s cold.”

  Three days later we had a letter from Falcon.

  SECRET

  June 9th.

  DEAR CAPTAIN MANSEL,

  Sir Steuart Rowley

  The Home Office has thrown in its hand, and all measures we were taking have come to an end. If Tass should return, he will, of course, be arrested – for what it is worth.

  Yours very sincerely,

  RICHARD FALCON.

  14

  In Which Jill and I Find Lavarini at Home,

  and Carson Fetches Some Lime

  It took us exactly a fortnight to set the balusters up. We did the work ourselves, with Carson to help. I suppose it seems a long time, but it must be remembered that each of the six was given a base of concrete on which to stand, and that more than four days went by before we could perfect the curve which they were to take.

  The balusters must have weighed three hundredweight each, and to carry such a weight up a mountain entails the kind of effort one seeks to forget. We set them up in a curve, blocking them into position with stones and pieces of wood: and when the last one was up, we called down to Daphne and Jill who were sitting by the side of the road.

  “What does that look like?” roared Berry, wiping the sweat from his throat.

  We could not hear their reply, and Berry slid down towards them, to hear what they said.

  “Nothing on earth,” shrieked Daphne.

  “Give me strength,” said Berry. “What d’you mean – ‘Nothing on earth’?”

  “What I say. Come down and look for yourself.”

  We all went down and looked up.

  My sister had not exaggerated. Our work appeared to be that of some drunken giant. And that was how we began. As soon as we got three right, the fourth threw the rest of them out. And when we had got those right, the fourth was wrong. Then we began again. And we were not moving ninepins about a floor. We were shifting pillars of granite that took three men to hold them upon the mountainside. And all the time two charming, but merciless critics sat in the road below.

  “You see what I mean. If you bring the second one forward and lift the third one up… And it might go back a trifle. The fourth one, I think is all right. But when you’ve moved the third one, I’ll let you know.”

  And nearly an hour later—

  “Yes, that’s much better. But the fourth will have to come down. I think, perhaps, if you lowered the first a little…”

  “The first?” screamed Berry. “You’re raving. Move the first, and you’re sunk. Besides, it’s the heaviest.”

  “Now don’t be silly,” purred Daphne. “You know as well as I do we want to get them right.”

  “I don’t,” said Berry mutinously. “I don’t care what the swine look like. And I wish to God we’d been beaten at Waterloo. Then there wouldn’t have been any blasted bridge.”

  And nearly an hour later—

  “That’s terribly good. The third’s still a shade too high, and the second should come back a little. I think the fourth’s all right, but if you’ll put up the fifth, we shall see in a flash. Of course, if we moved them all a shade to the left… But let’s get the fifth one up.”

  “You hear that?” said Berry. “‘Let’s’.” He laughed wildly. “Of course we’re all insane. Shoving a lot of cromlechs about a lop-sided field. And you two Pharaohs loll there and talk about ‘Let’s’. You come up and shift them a shade to the left. You come up and mix it with half a ton of granite on a gradient of one in one.”

  Daphne and Jill accepted the invitation – not to move the pillars, but to climb up to where they stood. They expressed concern, when they got there, at what they called the way we were cutting the field about.

  “Can’t you be more careful?” said Daphne. “I mean, I know they’re heavy, but look at that gash.”

  Berry gave an unearthly shriek and lay down on his back.

  “I won’t,” he mouthed. “I refuse. It was very different when I was the Gadarene Swine. I didn’t care then. I had no object in life. I admit that trough’s suggestive, and this is a very steep place. Oh, and that reminds me – we mustn’t forget that trough. We’ll do it on the way back. If we push it back six feet and then drop it two, they won’t be able to see it from Nareth. But we’ll have to take off our trousers. We mustn’t scratch that road.”

  Still, as I say, the Herculean labour was done at last, and, when it had been concluded, the balusters looked very well. I think it likely that, given the requisite labour, a landscape-gardener would have done it in half the time: but the site must have troubled him, for he could not describe a circle, because of the bluff behind.

  Whilst we were thus engaged, the plasterers were busy within the house. The carpenters worked with them, sometimes preceding them and sometimes following on. All the staff-work seemed to be very good. Lavarini had finished his tiling. The floors were done.

  The flags were being laid on the terrace and experts had arrived to put the awnings in place. The steel frames of the awnings had to be fixed to the house, and the master-mason himself cut the holes that had to be made. He was surprised, as was Joseph, to find the masonry already so very hard.

  “I would not have believed it,” said Joseph. “It is, of course, the climate. And if weather like this goes on – and Ulysse declares that it will – the plaster will dry very fast. That will advance the painting. Monsieur will sleep in his bedroom before the month of August is out.”

  “And the garage ceiling,�
� said I. “You won’t forget that?”

  “Last of all,” said Joseph. “The timber is dry, of course. But it did get wet, and since it does not press, we may as well leave it exposed until the end of this week. The crane will come down on Monday, and on that day we shall finish the parapet. The next day we begin the drive – the drive and the garage apron. And I think we should reinforce the dry stone wall which is running beside the road. Only for the length of the drive. It was built to hold back a meadow, but not a drive which petrol-waggons will use.”

  “There’s one coming up next week. Your uncle is anxious to try the central-heating, and he can’t do that without oil.”

  “That is so,” said Joseph. “I have said it must come on Monday: otherwise, it will interfere with our work on the apron and drive. Has Monsieur seen Lavarini?”

  “No,” said I. “What does he want me for?”

  “That is his secret, Monsieur. If Monsieur will excuse me, I go to find him at once.”

  Two minutes later, the tiler stood before me, twisting his cap in his hands.

  “What is it, Lavarini? I thought you’d done.”

  “There are odds and ends, Monsieur. And plasterers make a mess. I shall stay here for two or three days, to see that all is all right.” He hesitated. “Mesdames and Messieurs have been very good to me, and I have made them a present. Nothing much: I have done it in my spare time. It is a fountain. Perhaps it could stand on the terrace that is to become a lawn.”

  “But, Lavarini, that’s very kind of you.”

  “No, no. It is nothing. It is now at my cottage, two or three miles from Pau. But I would like Monsieur to see it, before it comes up. And if it is not to his liking, then I shall make another.”

  “I never heard of such a thing. Of course we shall like it – and be very proud to have it. All the same we shall be very happy to visit your home. When will that be convenient?”

  “Whenever Monsieur can honour me, I shall be there.”

  “What about Sunday evening? Say half-past six.”

  “With very great pleasure, Monsieur. I live in La Vallée Heureuse.”

  “I know that well.”

  “My cottage stands by itself, on the left-hand side of the road – perhaps two hundred paces beyond the private drive of the château that stands to the right.”

  “We shall find it, Lavarini, and thank you so very much.”

  Jill and I found it on Sunday at a quarter past six.

  It was a perfect evening.

  The valley lay in the foot-hills, and the sun was slanting over the swell of the woods, to fill the meadows with splendour and print long, clear-cut shadows of poplars upon the green. All was most still, and the only sounds we heard were a great way off – the low of a cow, I remember, and the regular stroke of an axe.

  We were before our time, and the cottage was locked: and so we left the car and leaned on a meadow’s gate, regarding such an order of haycocks as Nursery Rhymes were made of – in other and better days. At its farther end, the meadow ran up to the trees which were thick with leaves; and as we were looking, a man trotted out of the wood, with a child upon either side. The children, a boy and a girl, were running and laughing beside him, and each had hold of one hand, and their mother came running behind them, as though she were driving the team. Dancing in and out of the haycocks, they made the prettiest picture of simple happiness, and, though they were poor, as we call it, they were richer than many I know.

  Jill and I slid out of sight, before they knew we were there, and when the four reached the gate, we were sitting on the step of the car.

  It was, of course, Lavarini…

  “Miladi and Monsieur have been waiting! Oh, I am more than sorry. We thought to amuse the children by taking them into the woods.”

  “We’re early, Lavarini. It isn’t yet half-past six.”

  “All the same, I should have been here.”

  He presented his wife, a glowing girl of not more than twenty-six, with very English features and gentle eyes. The children, aged five and six, had very charming manners: they came and shook hands gravely, and then returned to stand by their mother’s side. Then we all passed through the cottage and into the little garden that lay behind.

  The fountain was far more handsome than we had any right to expect. Its basin appeared to be held by the weathered boughs of an oak and might, indeed, have been fashioned of oak itself. In fact, the whole thing had been made of ferro-concrete, most beautifully made and modelled from Nature herself. Within, the basin was tiled – a miniature crazy pavement of blue and gold. ‘Bits and pieces of Monsieur’s tiles, for which I could find no use.’ (The gold was not ours – we had not risen so high.) No pipes were visible – they were concealed in the boughs: the inlet rose through one and the overflow sank through another, without any fuss. The whole thing stood four feet high and the basin was three feet across.

  Jill and I were quite overcome. Had such a thing been ordered in Paris, it would have cost forty pounds – and been inferior. But this was given to us out of sheer goodwill.

  Lavarini’s humility shook us.

  “If Miladi and Monsieur like it, Monsieur Joseph has said that a lorry shall carry it up. But if they think it unworthy—”

  “But, Lavarini,” cried Jill, “it’s superb. It is the most lovely present I ever saw. We shall be most awfully proud to set it in the midst of our lawn. And the birds will come and drink there. They’ll know no fear, for it looks so natural.” She turned to his wife. “Your husband is a true artist – as well as a very nice man. And now take me back to the children. I want to make their acquaintance. I had two babies once.”

  Lavarini and I discussed the virtues of the fountain over a cigarette. After ten minutes we made our way through the cottage and back to the Rolls. Madame Lavarini was sitting behind. Jill sat in front with a child upon either side. The boy, of course, was ‘driving’. Every now and again he sounded the horn…

  As we said goodbye—

  “We are simple folk, Miladi. This has been a great day for us all.”

  “It’s been a great day for me. And you’re all coming up next week to see the beautiful work which your husband has done. And François and Helène are going to visit my grotto.”

  To our great distress, Madame Lavarini began to cry.

  Jill was out of the car in a flash, and the two went into the cottage and out of sight.

  Lavarini was by my side.

  “Monsieur must forgive her,” he said. “She is overwrought. Miladi’s kindness has been too much for her. We are not accustomed to this. To be perfectly frank, I am very near tears myself.”

  Ten minutes later, we said goodbye again, and the Rolls stole down the valley, much as a punt steals down the reach of a river after the sun has set.

  We were nearing home, when I remembered something.

  “The garage ceiling,” I said. “It never was done. We all forgot it. Damn it, I knew we should. It doesn’t matter, of course. They can send a plasterer up.”

  I was at the site the next morning at half-past nine.

  “Ah,” said Joseph. “Monsieur need not say it. I remembered it yesterday evening. And now I am paying for my forgetfulness.”

  I opened my eyes.

  “Paying? But what do you mean? There’s no hurry about the garage; and the ceiling can be done in a day.”

  “Monsieur is right,” said Joseph. “But I have always found that errors breed errors. Make a mistake yourself, and others will catch the infection. That is why I try so hard not to make a mistake.”

  “So far as I know, it’s the first thing that you have forgotten; and, as I say, it is of no consequence.”

  “Of little,” said Joseph. “That I freely admit. But now see what has happened. I forget the garage ceiling and let the plasterers go – two on Friday evening and the rest on Saturday. On Sunday I remember. So early this morning I leave a note at the office to send a plasterer up. He will be here any minute: he has come by the eight o’cl
ock bus. I saw it across the valley, five minutes ago. ‘Very well,’ I say, ‘we will have things ready for him.’ So I tell Pepito to take the slats to the garage as well as other things including a bag of lime. I take these precautions, Monsieur at half past seven o’clock. At five and twenty to eight Pepito comes running to say that there is no lime. That I decline to believe and I hasten to the guard-room myself. The thing is true. Cement, yes. Forty or fifty bags. But not one bag of lime. I send Pepito post-haste to the telephone. But when he gets on to the office, the plasterer has left for the bus. ‘Then send a lorry,’ says Pepito, exactly as I had told him, ‘to bring us three bags of lime. If he leaves in half an hour, he will be here before the bus has arrived.’ Well, that is all right: the plasterer’s bus-fare has been wasted, but that is all.” He raised his eyes to heaven. “This is my bad day, Monsieur. You see, it was not all. The lorry arrived, sure enough, but twenty minutes ago. And it brought three bags of cement. No lime, at all. Cement. Of which we have already some fifty bags. I tell you, Monsieur, I could have struck the man. The clerk in the office is good: I have never known him make a mistake. And this son of a dog admits that ‘he may have said lime.’ But when I say, ‘Go back. You will pay for the petrol, yourself; but you will go back at once and fetch me the lime I require’ – when I say that, he says he is sick of his stomach and cannot drive.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I think it is true. He is lying behind the garage: and Pepito has gone to the chemist’s to get him a dose. And of the other three lorries, one is being repaired and both the others are out. And the one that brought us this morning by now is nearing Bayonne.”

  “Let Carson get it,” said I. “Here’s Captain Mansel coming. I’m sure he’ll agree.”

  Joseph’s face lighted up.

  “Oh, if Monsieur Carson will do it, I shall be deeply obliged. And while he is gone, the plasterer can put up his slats. Monsieur must not think that I make a fuss about nothing. This plasterer is in the midst of another job. At my request, Monsieur Henri has let me have him just for today. I cannot have him tomorrow, and he is a very good man.”