When, twenty-four hours later, a letter arrived from Piers’ aunt, inviting us all to tea, we accepted, not because we felt inclined to go junketing, but because we did not wish to seem rude.
We were in a peevish mood. For this the loss of our forbidden fruit was indirectly responsible. The immediate cause of our ill-humour was the exasperating reflection that we were debarred from taking even those simple steps which lead to the restoration of lost luggage. We stood in the shoes of a burglar who has been robbed of his spoils. As like as not, our precious uniform-case was lying at the station, waiting to be claimed. Yet we dared not inquire, because of what our inquiries might bring forth. Of course the authorities might be totally ignorant of its contents. But then, again, they might not. It was a risk we could not take. The chance that, by identifying our property, we might be at once accusing and convicting ourselves of smuggling a very large quantity of tobacco, was too considerable. There were moments when Jonah and I, goaded to desperation, felt ready to risk penal servitude and ‘have a dart’ at the bait. But Berry would not permit us. If things went wrong, he declared, he was bound to be involved – hideously. And he’d had enough of thin ice. The wonder was, his hair wasn’t white… By the time we had swung him round, our own courage had evaporated.
As for Piers, no one of us had seen or heard from him for five whole days. Ever since his extraordinary outburst upon the verandah, the boy had made himself scarce. While we were all perplexed, Jill took his absence to heart. She mourned openly. She missed her playfellow bitterly, and said as much. And when three days had gone by and the last post had brought no word of him, she burst into tears. The next morning there were rings beneath her great grey eyes. She was far too artless to pretend that she did not care. Such a course of action never occurred to her. She had no idea, of course, that she was in love.
All the same, when upon Wednesday afternoon the cars were waiting to take us to tea with Mrs Waterbrook, my cousin leaned over the banisters with a bright red spot upon either cheek.
“I say,” she cried, “I’m not coming.”
One and all, we stared up amazedly.
“Not coming?” cried Daphne. “But, darling—”
Jill stamped her small foot.
“N-no,” she said shakily. “I’m not. And – and, if he asks after me, say I’m awfully well, but I felt I wanted a walk. I’m going to take Nobby out.”
Her skirts whirled, and she was gone.
Adèle flew after her, while the rest of us stood whispering in the hall. Five minutes later the two descended together. But while we others climbed into the cars, Jill twitched a lead from the rack and took her stand upon the steps, with Nobby leaping for joy about her sides. And when she cried “Goodbye,” there was a ring in her tone which sounded too glad to be true.
Mrs Waterbrook was perfectly charming.
As we were ushered into a really beautiful salon, she rose from a little bureau – a tall, graceful figure, with masses of pretty grey hair and warm brown eyes.
“My dear,” she said to Daphne, “what a beautiful creature you are!” She turned to Adèle. “As for you, if I were your husband, I’m afraid I should have a swelled head. Which is he? Ah, I see by the light in his eyes… Of course, I ought to have called upon you, but I’m lazy by nature, and my car won’t be here till tomorrow. And now I must thank you for being so kind to Piers. He ought to be here, of course. But where he is, I don’t know. I’ve hardly seen him since I arrived. He seems to be crazy about his uncomfortable car. Went to Bordeaux and back yesterday – three hundred miles, if you please. I feel weak when I think of it. And now please tell me about yourselves. Beyond that you’re all delightful, I’ve heard nothing from him.”
I would not have believed that one woman could entertain five strangers with such outstanding success. Within five minutes Jonah and Daphne were by her side upon the sofa, Adèle was upon the hearth at their feet, Berry was leaning against the mantelpiece, and I was sitting upon the arm of an adjacent chair, describing our meeting with Piers a fortnight ago.
“I don’t know his age,” I concluded. “I take it he’s about nineteen. But he’s got the airs and graces of Peter Pan.”
“Piers,” said Mrs Waterbrook, “is twenty-five. His mother was my sister. She married his father when she was seventeen. He was twenty years older than she, but they were awfully happy. The blood’s pure English, although the title’s Italian. The fief of the duchy goes with it. They were given to Piers’ great-grandfather – he was a diplomat – for services rendered. A recent attempt to dispossess the boy mercifully failed.” She looked round about her. “By the way, I thought there were six of you. Piers gave me the number, but neither gender nor anything else.”
“There’s a female to come,” said Berry. “But I don’t think she will today. She’s a wayward child. We’ll send her round to apologise tomorrow.”
Here coffee and chocolate were served.
“I must apologise,” said Mrs Waterbrook, “for giving you no tea. But there you are.” She sighed. “What tea you can get in France reminds me of grocer’s port. I won’t touch it myself, and I haven’t the face to offer it to my guests. I usually bring some from England; but I – I didn’t this time.” She passed a hand across her eyes, as though to brush away a memory. “After all, you needn’t come again, need you?”
“But we do the same,” said Daphne. “We’ve given up tea. Up to last week, I clung to a cup before breakfast. But now I’ve stopped it.”
“Yes,” said Berry. “It was affecting her brain. Ten minutes after she’d swallowed it, she used to begin to wonder why she married me.”
“I believe you,” said Mrs Waterbrook. “You can’t drink French tea and be resigned. Now, a cup of well-made chocolate affords relief.”
Before Berry could reply, she had pointed to an old china box and said that it contained cigarettes.
If she had said that it was full of black pearls, she could not have created more excitement. Besides, there was a confidence in her tone that set my nerves tingling. It was, I felt sure, no “grocer’s port” that she was commending. And I – we, with the exception of Berry, had not smoked a good cigarette for nearly six weeks…
As Jonah handed the box to Daphne, I strove to look unconcerned.
“And if anybody likes cigars,” added Mrs Waterbrook, “there are some in that silver box by Major Pleydell.”
Berry started, said, “Oh – er – thanks very much,” and opened the box. Then he took out a cigar, idly enough.
I became conscious that Daphne’s and Adèle’s eyes were upon me as Jonah brought me the cigarettes. I took one without looking, and stared back. Instantly their eyes shifted to the cigarette in my hand. I followed their gaze, to behold one of the brand which I had smoked invariably for seven years.
Dazedly I looked across at Berry, to see him regarding his cigar with bulging eyes…
As in a dream, I heard Jonah’s voice.
“You must forgive my cousins. They’re not being rude. To tell you the truth, we’ve recently had a bereavement. A particularly cherished friend, who was to furnish us all with tobacco for several months, disappeared in sickening circumstances only two days ago. The cigar and the cigarette have revived some painful memories.”
Our hostess opened and closed her mouth before replying.
Then —
“What,” she said faintly, “what was your – er – cherished friend like?”
Berry started to his feet.
“Both hinges gone,” he shouted, “tied up with rope – reeking of pepper—”
Mrs Waterbrook interrupted him with a shriek. “He’s outside my bedroom,” she wailed. “By the side of the tall-boy. I suppose it’s too much to hope that you’ve got my tea.”
“Tea?” we screamed.
“Tea,” piped our hostess. “Beautiful China tea. Thirty-five pounds of it. Under the camisoles.”
Berry raised his eyes to heaven.
“Modesty forbade us,” he said, “to go further than the b-b-b-bust b-b-b-bodices.”
It was in the midst of our rejoicing that Piers set foot on the verandah. For a moment he stood staring, pardonably bewildered, at the two smugglers, who were saluting one another respectively with a profound curtsey and the most elaborate of bows. Then he pulled open the great window and stepped hesitatingly into the room.
As he did so, the door was flung open, and a man-servant appeared.
“Mees Mansel,” he announced.
Nobby entered anyhow, pleasedly lugging Jill into the room.
“Why, Jill!” cried Daphne. “My dear… Mrs Waterbrook, let me introduce—”
“
But that’s not Miss Mansel!
”
It was Piers’ voice.
With one accord we turned, staring…
With arm outstretched, the boy was pointing at Jill.
For a moment nobody moved.
Then Piers sprang forward and caught Jill’s hands in his.
“Jill!” he panted. “Jill, you’re not Miss Mansel?”
“Yes, I am,” said Jill steadily.
“But I thought you were married to Boy. I thought – I thought Adèle was Miss Mansel.”
“Oh, Piers,” said Jill reproachfully. “And she’s got a wedding-ring on.”
Piers stared at Jill’s hand.
“I – I never thought of that,” he said slowly. “I am silly.” A wonderful smile came tearing to light his face. “But oh, Jill,” he faltered, “I – am – so – awfully – glad!”
Never, I fancy, was love so simply declared. For a moment Jill looked at him. Then her eyes fell, and an exquisite blush came stealing into her cheeks.
For an instant Piers hesitated. Then he let fall her fingers and turned about, flushing furiously…
Before he had found his tongue, my cousin advanced to her hostess and put out her hand.
“I’m afraid I’m awfully late,” she said quietly.
Mrs Waterbrook stooped and kissed her.
“My darling,” she said softly, “it was worth waiting for.”
How Daphne Lost Her Bedfellow, and
the Line of Least Resistance Proved Irresistible
Order, so to speak, having been restored, and the path of love made straight beyond all manner of doubt, we decided festively to make an excursion to Spain. The fact that Piers could speak Spanish suggested that all the arrangements should be left in his hands. We embraced the suggestion cordially. Then, at the eleventh hour, a courteously imperative wire from his solicitors had deprived us of our courier…
The Duke of Padua had left Pau that evening, and all six of us had gone to the station to speed him to Paris and Rome. My cousin’s farewell to her future husband had been ridiculously affecting. Polonius’ advice to his son was above rubies, but Jill’s charge came pelting out of an eager heart.
“Oh, and Piers darling, you will take care, won’t you? And do wear warm things. I’m sure it’s still most awfully cold up there, and – and I don’t know what men wear extra, but couldn’t you put on a bodybelt?”
“Binder, dear, binder,” corrected Berry.
“Well, binder, then. I remember Jonah saying—”
“Never,” said her brother.
“Yes, you did. You said the great thing was to keep warm round the – er – round the hips.”
Berry looked round.
“All women and children,” he said, “will leave the Court.”
“Piers, you will, won’t you? For my sake. Oh, and don’t forget you’ve got to get some sock-suspenders, because your left one comes down. And be very careful crossing the streets. Wait till there’s a gap – always. And don’t drink the water, will you? Don’t even use it for your teeth. Daphne won’t.”
“That’s right,” said Berry. “Do as she does. Combine business with pleasure and clean them in a small Worthington.”
“Oh, and lock your door at night. Just in case. And, Piers darling, I love you very much, and – and God bless you, dear, and I shall just wait and wait for you to come back again.”
Hat in hand, Piers put her fingers to his lips.
“Goodbye, Madonna.”
They kissed one another passionately.
The next moment the train was moving, and the Duke swung himself on to the step of the
wagon lit
.
Jill began to trot by his side…
When she could run no faster, my cousin gave up the attempt and stood waving her tiny handkerchief and then staring after the train.
As we came up, she turned to us bravely.
“I hope,” she said shakily, “I hope he’ll get on all right. He’s such a child,” she added, knitting her pretty brow. “I wish to goodness we were married. Then I could have gone with him.” She stumbled, and I caught her. She looked up at me with her grey eyes swimming. “I’ve often seen you off, Boy, but I wasn’t silly like this.”
“It’s a question of interest, darling. Piers is your very own pigeon.”
Jill wiped her eyes thoughtfully.
“I suppose that’s it,” she said slowly. “My very own… Boy, will you take me to a tailor’s? I want to get a binder.”
Ere we sat down to dinner that night, two stout bodybelts had been dispatched to Paris by registered post.
“Satisfactorily,” said Berry, restoring his napkin to his knees, “to consume oxtail, one should be stripped to the waist.”
“That’ll do,” said Daphne.
“As a rule,” said her husband, “it will. Of course, for a really careless feeder, still further divestment may be desirable. Afterwards he can be hosed. And now about Spain. Of course, without Piers to talk for us, we shall be mocked, misled, and generally stung to glory. But there you are. If you’re landed with half a kingdom, I guess it’s up to you to take possession.”
“As at present arranged,” said Jonah, “we start the day after tomorrow, spend one night at Pampeluna, two at San Sebastian, and get back on Saturday.”
“One clear day,” murmured Daphne. “I suppose that’ll give us time.”
“What’s there to do,” said Adèle, “besides packing?”
“Not much,” said Jonah. “The passports have been visa-ed, and that’s the main thing. We must get some money at the bank – Spanish money, I mean – book rooms, run over the cars… I can’t think of anything else.”
“We’d better take some insecticide,” said Berry. “Spain’s very conservative.”
“Nonsense,” said Daphne.
“All right,” said her husband. “Only, on the command ‘Ter-rot,’ don’t wake me to inspect the bodyguard. Have we any castanets? And what about some sombreros? I mean, I want to do the thing properly.”
“Thanks,” said his wife. “But if you’re going in fancy dress, I’d rather remain at Pau. I haven’t forgotten our second Sunday here.”
“I shall always maintain,” was the reply, “that I was suitably dressed. On the previous Sunday I had carefully studied the fashions upon the Boulevard, and I flatter myself that, had I been permitted to appear in public, my attire would have found immediate favour.”
“If,” said I, “I remember aright, it consisted of a white bowler, a morning-coat, golf-breeches, blue silk stockings and cloth-topped boots.”
“That’s right,” said Berry. “And an alpenstock. I ought really to have had my cuffs trimmed with skunk,” he added wistfully, “but I thought of it too late.”
“I tell you what,” said Adèle. “We must take some films.”
“That’s right,” said Jill. “I promised Piers we’d send him some snapshots.”
Jonah groaned.
“Surely,” he said, “our passport photographs are bad enough.”
“The camera,” said Berry, “can never lie. Besides, I’m very fond of your passport portrait. I admit I hadn’t previously noticed that your right ear was so much the larger of the two, but the cast in your left eye is very beautifully insisted upon. Mine, I must confess, is less successful. Had I been told that it was a study of the Honorary Treasurer of the Splodgeworth Goose Club on bail, I should have held it an excellent likeness. Daphne’s is very good. She’s wearing that particularly sweet expression of hers. You can almost hear her saying, ‘Mine’s a large port.’ Apart, they’re bad enough, but with both of them on the same document – well, why we weren’t turned back at Boulogne I shall never know. Boy’s, again, is lifelike.”
“Shame,” said Adèle. “He looks all bloated.”
“I know he does, sweetheart. But that’s his own fault. What’s put in the mouth comes out in the flesh. The camera can never lie. And now don’t choke. It’s unmaidenly. And I cannot think of you as a matron. Let’s see. Oh, yes. Films. Anything else?”
“Soap,” said Daphne.
“Fountain-pen,” said Jill.
“Cards,” said Adèle.
“Tea,” said Daphne.
“Beer-opener,” said I.
“Plate and linen,” said Berry. “That’s nine. Let’s go by train.”
“Anybody,” said Jonah, “would think that we were going into the bush. If you must have a camera – well, take one. But as for soap and tea and beer-openers and fountain-pens – oh, you make me tired.”
“And me,” said Berry unctuously. “A plain man of few words, all this vulgar mouth-wash about creature comforts—”
It was hardly to be expected that he would get any further…
It was when the storm of indignation was at its height that the electric light failed.
Four of us breathed the same expletive simultaneously.
Then —
“Lost,” said Berry’s voice. “Two cheese-straws and a blob of French mustard. Finder will be–” The crash of glass interrupted him. “Don’t move, Falcon, or you’ll wreck the room. Besides, it’ll soon be dawn. The nights are getting shorter every day.”
“Very good, sir,” replied the butler.
“They’ll bring some candles in a minute,” said Daphne. “What we really want,” said my brother-in-law, “is a prismatic compass.”
“What for?” said Jill.
“To take a bearing with. Then we should know where the port was, and I could peel you a banana. Or would you rather suck it?”
“Brute!” said Jill, shuddering. “Oh, why is the dark so horrid?”
“The situation,” said I, “calls for philosophy.”
“True,” said Berry. “Now, similarly placed, what would Epicurus have done?”
“I think,” said Adèle, “he’d have continued his discourse, as if nothing had happened.”
“Good girl,” said Jonah. “Any more queries about Pampeluna?”
“Yes,” said my sister. “How exactly do we go?
“We go,” said I, “to St Jean-Pied-de-Port. There we get a permit to take the cars into Spain. Then we go over the mountains by Roncevaux. It’s a wonderful drive, they say, but the very deuce of a climb. Pampeluna’s about fifty kilometres from the top of the pass. If we get off well, we ought to be there in time for tea.”
“Easily,” said Jonah. “It’s only a hundred and twenty miles.”
I shrugged my shoulders and resumed a surreptitious search for the chocolates.
“I expect we shall strike some snow,” I said.
“Snow?” cried Jill.
“Rather,” said Berry. “And avalanches. The cars will be roped together. Then, if one falls, it’ll take the other with it. Will somebody pass me the grape-tongs? I’ve found a walnut.”
“Why on earth,” said Daphne, “don’t they bring some candles? Falcon!”
“Yes, madam?”
“Try to find the door, and go and see what they’re doing.”
“Very good, madam.”
With infinite care the butler emerged from the room. As the door closed —
“And now,” said Adèle, “I can’t bear it any longer. Where
are
the chocolates?”
“My dear,” said my sister, “I’ve been feeling for the wretched things ever since the light went out. Hasn’t anybody got a match?”
Nobody had a match.
At length —
“They can’t have been put on the table,” said Jill. “I’ve—”
“Here they are,” said Berry.
“Where?”
“Here. Give me your pretty white hand.”
“This isn’t them,” said Jill. “They’re in – Oh, you brute! You’ve done it on purpose.”
“I’m awfully sorry,” said Berry. “I quite thought—”
“You liar!” said Jill heatedly. “You did it on purpose. You know you did. Daphne, he’s gone and put my hand in the ginger.”
“It’ll wear off, dear,” said Berry. “It’ll wear off. By the time Piers is back, you’ll hardly know…”
The apologetic entry of Falcon with two inches of candle upon a plate cut short the prophecy.
As he solemnly set the brand in the centre of the table, the light returned with a flash…
It was when the butler had placed the wine before Berry and was about to withdraw, that Daphne asked for the chocolates.
Falcon peered at the table.
“They were there, madam,” he said.
Berry looked round uneasily.
“I think, perhaps,” he began stooping to feel under his chair, “I think – I mean, fearing lest in the confusion…”
He broke off, to stare at a small silver bowl which was as bare as his hand.
Daphne took a deep breath.
“And that was full,” she said witheringly. “And you sat there and let us feel all over the table, and pretended you were looking, and put Jill’s hand in the ginger, and all the time—”
“I never ate one,” said Berry. “I never…” He stopped short and looked round the room. “Nobby!”
The Sealyham emerged from beneath the table, wide-eyed, expectant.
Sternly my brother-in-law held out the bowl.
Never was guilt more plainly betrayed.
The pricked ears fell flat: the bright brown eyes sank to the floor: the pert white tail was lowered incontinently. Nobby had hauled down his flag.
“Oh, Nobby!”
The terrier squirmed, laid his head upon the ground, and then rolled over upon his back…
“You can’t blame the dog,” said I. “Besides, he’ll pay for it. Quarter of a pound of chocolates’ll fairly—”
“I’ve just remembered,” said Daphne, “that they weren’t chocolates at all. They were
marrons glacés
– the last of the bunch. They won’t make any more this year.”
Berry wiped his forehead.
“Are you saying this,” he demanded, “to torment me? Or is it true?”
“It’s a CB fact.”
“But what about tea?” screamed her husband. “Tea without a
marron glacé
will be like – like Hell without the Prince of Darkness.”
“I can’t help it. France has a close season for them.”
Berry hid his face in his hands.
“Under my chair!” he wailed. “The last of the bunch (sic). And I never ate one!”
“Come, come,” said I. “Similarly placed, what would Epicurus have done?”
“I know,” said Adèle.
“What?” said Berry.
My wife smiled.
“He’d ’ve made tracks for Spain,” she said.
The French sergeant saluted, Daphne nodded, Berry said, “Down with everything,” I touched my hat, and we rolled slowly over the little bridge out of one country into another.
Our reception was very serious.
So far as our papers were concerned, the Spanish NCO knew his job and did it with a soldierly, if somewhat trying, precision. Pong was diligently compared with the tale of his
triptyque
. Our faces were respectively compared with the unflattering vignettes pasted upon our passports. The visas were deliberately inspected. Our certificates were unfolded and scrutinised. Our travelling pass was digested. To our great relief, however, he let the luggage go. We had no contraband, but we were two hours late, and to displace and replace securely a trunk and a dressing-case upon the back of a coupé takes several minutes and necessitates considerable exertion of a very unpleasant kind. Finally, having purchased a local permit for five pesetas, we were suffered to proceed.
We were now at the mouth of a gorge and the pass was before us. Had the gorge been a rift in the range, a road had been cut by the side of the torrent, and our way, if tortuous, had been as flat as your hand. But the gorge was a cul de sac – a beautiful blind alley, with mountains’ flanks for walls. So the road had been made to scale one side of the alley – to make its winding way as best it could, turning and twisting and doubling upon itself, up to a windy saddle which we could hardly see.
I gave the car its head, and we went at a wicked hill as a bull at a gate.
Almost immediately the scenery became superb.
With every yard the walls of the gorge were drawing further apart, slowly revealing themselves in all their glory. Forests and waterfalls, precipices and greenswards, grey lichened crags and sun-bathed terraces, up, above all, an exquisite vesture of snow, flawless and dazzling – these stood for beauty. All the wonder of height, the towering proportions of the place, the bewildering pitch of the sky – these stood for grandeur. An infinite serenity, an imperturbable peace, a silence which the faint gush of springs served to enrich – these stood for majesty. Nature has throne-rooms about the world, and this was one of them.