The Innocent Moon (39 page)

*

Two mornings later, as he was trying to write, he heard a crackling roar and looking out saw a Vauxhall Prince Henry with large open exhaust stop by the pump. A dark man in leather coat got out and walked towards his door. Going downstairs, Phillip saw him standing there, holding out a card.

“I have a proposition to put before you, Captain Maddison. May I come in?”

“Please do. I am afraid I can only offer you a cup of tea, or cocoa——”

“Wash it out. I won’t beat about the bush. Let me come straight to the point. I’m a lawyer, as you can see, and just starting up on my own in the salubrious town of Queensbridge. I’ve heard—never mind how—about your little difficulty, and I must say you have my sympathy. Now this is what I suggest. You get rid of Wigfull—and from what I hear it will be no crying matter with him! Right! Tell him you have other plans in mind, write him a letter to that effect, and then allow me to act for you. How does that appeal to you?”

“I’d like to hear more, I think, before I——”

“Rightyho. By the way, that’s a nice ’bus you’ve got here. Old James L. Norton is years and years ahead of his time, with that long-stroke engine. I’ve got a Prince Henry Vauxhall, as you may have observed. I can pass anything on the road in the West Country! But to come back to brass tacks. Mrs. Nunn’s an old busybody, who thinks her money gives her a right to dictate to all and sundry, including the vicar of the parish church, whose churchwarden, need I tell you, is our friend Wigfull! Now all cards on the table! I must ask you some questions, my lad. Firstly, have you ever been a co-respondent in a divorce case? Not that I’m against divorce, but a solicitor must know everything about his client in a case like this.”

Phillip wondered where this was leading while he replied that he hadn’t been a co-respondent.

“Good! Splendid! We’ve got her where we want her! When you are shot of Wigfull I’ll write to Mrs. Nunn and say on your behalf that I am applying for a writ for slander and defamation of character. From what I know of her she’ll pay up before allowing it to go into court, and you should get a nice lump of hard cash in the process.”

“Oh, I don’t think I would ever sue anyone in the courts.”

“You wouldn’t have to. Mrs. Nunn’s timid under her nosey-parker manner, she’ll cough up rather than risk appearing in court.’’

“May I think it over?”

“By all means. Only don’t take too long about it. We want to strike while the iron’s hot.” Then seeing the dubious expression on Phillip’s face he changed direction. “Let me tell you who I am. I started the war as a guardsman with the Bill Browns, then took a commission in the Lancashire Fusiliers—anyhow, that’s beside the point—but this is what I want to tell you. When the local war-memorial was unveiled, and before the Colonel of the Devonshire Regiment arrived with the Lord Lieutenant to do the job, Wigfull, as a staff-major with red tabs up, took it on himself to arrange the ex-officers on one side of the buglers, and the other ranks opposite them. They were all civvies by then, you understand. Well, while they were waiting for the high-ups to arrive, the local sanitary inspector strolls up and joins the row of ex-officers. Wigfull is then heard to say, in a loud whisper, ‘What is that man doing among officers and gentlemen—that fellow who cleans out our dustbins’. Need I say more? Well, I must buzz. Let me know what you decide. Meanwhile can I take it that what I have told you remains strictly in confidence between us?” Mr. Thistlethwaite gave Phillip a cunning look before adding, “If you do talk, I tell you frankly that I shall deny everything, for your sake as well as mine! By the way, I ought to tell you this before I go: apparently your friend, who stayed with you—Warbeck I think was his name?—well, in his cups Warbeck told somebody in a Queensbridge pub that you had won the D.S.O. but lost it after a civil conviction? Is there any truth in that?”

“None.”

“But you were in quod for a month? Well, that won’t look too good if old Charley Mutton, who is acting for Mrs. Nunn, gets to hear of it!” He got up and left.

Phillip determined to go no further with this somewhat irresponsible fellow; and when a brief letter arrived from Wigfull, requesting his “attendance at my office”, he went there with a feeling that he ought to end the whole thing.

“I have been talking to Dr. MacNab,” began Mr. Wigfull. “He tells me that you came down here to Devon to write, on the advice of Lord Castleton, who had previously appointed you to the editorial chair of one of his motoring journals. Is that so?”

“Yes, more or less.”

“Had you told me that you were in effect a
protégé
of Lord Castleton, it would have ameliorated the impression I received from Messrs. Mutton. Now this is what I advise. We will send a letter to them saying that it is a case of mistaken identity. We will suggest that their client has—” he began to write—“yes, mmm-m’yes—has possibly relied on reports that are untrustworthy—mmm’m, that our client denies he has shaken mats outside any gate in—mmmmm—sleeping attire——” He wrote rapidly. “We will explain that our client was a
protégé
of the late Lord Castleton who advised him—yes—mmm-m—yes—advised him to go into the country to develop his talent for literature. Yes, that the—er—statements made—your client—caused considerable pain to our client—that our client requests an apology—and that yes’mmmm and yes I think mmmm’yes—a donation be given ’mmm—to the Queensbridge and District Infirmary. And I think they will agree. I will write to you. Good morning.”

A couple of days later he met Mrs. Carder. “I’m glad that you’re standing up for yourself and getting an apology, it will clear the air. Come and see us soon, won’t you?”

He wondered how she had known he was getting an apology before he had got it.

The next morning he sat again beside Mr. Wigfull’s roll-top desk.

“Mr. Mutton brought this in yesterday.” He read out “‘Our client wishes us to say on her behalf that she is prepared to accept the statements made by you on behalf of your client, and she willingly expresses regret for any pain caused thereby to your client. She cannot, however, see her way to make a donation to the Queensbridge and District Infirmary’.”

“Well, here is your apology, as you can see for yourself. I advise you to accept it, to avoid investigation into and possible revelation concerning your past life before you came to live in
Devon. Do I make myself clear?” He looked accusingly at Phillip.

“Extremely clear, Mr. Wigfull.”

“Very well. Mr. Charles Mutton brought this to me yesterday, and tossed it on my desk saying, ‘The old girl’s got plenty of money so we have agreed to pay your costs, as we don’t see why otherwise you should have to work for nothing.’ So the other side will pay costs.”

“I wish to meet my own obligations, and so if you will tell me the charge for your services, I will write you a cheque now.”

“You don’t understand! Costs are usually paid in a case like this by the other side. Here is your apology, which is what you wanted. Their client will pay my costs. That concludes the matter.”

“I prefer to pay my own costs, thank you.”

Mr. Wigfull’s expression changed a little. “Oh, certainly, as you wish, of course. Er—it will be two guineas. Pay it to my clerk, will you?”

He got up to open the door and this time he bowed to his client. Phillip wrote the cheque in the clerk’s office, took a receipt with the typewritten apology, stuffed them into his poacher pocket and walked away. As he turned the corner he saw a Prince Henry Vauxhall draw up outside the adjoining offices of Messrs. Mutton. Peering round the coign of the public house he saw a man jump out of his car and enter the Mutton archway. It was Thistlethwaite.

“Well, I’m damned!” he exclaimed. Then Wigfull, broad-brimmed Stetson hat on head, left his office and went into Messrs. Mutton.

He laughed sardonically to himself, realizing that he had been conned, as they said in the Scrubs.

The letter was left at the surgery. Two days later Dr. MacNab called at Phillip’s cottage.

“You may be amused to hear that when I showed several members that letter of apology you left at my surgery, the reply was, ‘Oh, that’s nothing! We were in the office when that was composed’. The Vicar’s wife said to me later, ‘If that man stays in the Club, I regret to say that we won’t be able to play there in the coming season’.” He looked at Phillip quizzically. “That means, old chap, that I shan’t be able to get my daily exercise this summer, it will mean that half the membership will have left.”

“But you must have your tennis, of course! It isn’t right that one person should spoil the pleasure of eight or nine people, so I won’t appear any more. I don’t feel I should resign. My subscription will lapse.”

“I’ll tell them, old chap. I think it’s awfully decent of you. Well, I must go—keep your pecker up!”

The doctor out of kindness, he thought, was keeping back the bad news of the sputum test. Ah well, everyone had to die some time. Goodbye to all hope; and Annabelle. Now he must work, for time was short.

The following week Dr. MacNab motored in his worn Singer to see another patient in Malandine, and again called at Valerian Cottage. “I thought I’d amuse you by letting you know the latest about the Tennis Club
imbroglio
. I told the Committee what you said about not wanting to spoil the tennis of the majority, and that you wouldn’t appear again, and the reply was, ‘Oh, so he can’t keep up his bluff any longer!’”

“What I like about this country, from the little I’ve seen of it,” said Phillip, with calm bitterness, “Is the total absence of any magnanimity. My publisher tells me that in the book trade the salesman’s ‘territory’ west of Taunton and Exeter is known as ‘The Graveyard’.”

“Now you mustn’t let yourself be depressed over a silly little misunderstanding! You’ll laugh at all this one day, when you are an established author. How are you keeping? You look very fit, it’s the healthy life you lead, I wish I had the time to walk about as you do.”

The long-dreaded moment had come. “Oh, doctor—I wonder if you could tell me—about that sputum test?”

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’m so sorry. You must have been worrying yourself. You’re all right now. The results arrived at the surgery weeks ago, showing negative. No, take my advice, get away from yourself, and have a rest from your work!”

*

“Hullo, nice to see you, Drummer. Where you bin all this time, you bad boy?”

“Oh, mouching about, enjoying myself in a quiet way, Jackie. ‘Drummer’ sounds like a Yankee commercial traveller.”

“Your old bike, midear!” She said it in the Devon way, running the two words
my
and
dear
together. ‘Us yerrs ’ee miles away, bumblin’ and bangin’ like ’tes part of an ould jazz band
rattlin’ away down the li’l ole lanes. Goodness knows what maids you be after, you old oyl, you!”

“When’s the opening meet, Jackie?”

“Next Thursday. At the Master’s place, Tunnhayes. Eleven o’clock. I’ll ask Mother to give you a lift in our motor, if you like. What about a hoss? You can hire from Smardon’s, cost you thirty bob. Shall I bespeak one for ’ee, midear?”

“I’ll come, thanks. Next Thursday? Right. Well—good-bye.”

“Where you off to, Drummer? Us be just goin’ vor ’ave tay. Dammit, you can’t go without saying howdo to Ma! Can’t you give they li’l maids a rest now and agen? Come on in, Drummer, and don’t pretend you’re shy. And don’t take any notice of my rough exterior. Anyway, we’re all as rude as hell in our house.” She took his arm, and led him in.

On the following Thursday he went with the Carders to the meet, and as a non-subscriber was capped 2/6
d
. before the pack moved off. His anxieties about being too soft to ride were soon lost. There was not much of a run, too many foxes were about, dodging in and out of the combe-side woods which grew down to rushy bottoms which meant heavy going through boggy ground and over rotting tree trunks and branches. The rest of the field avoided such treacherous places, and crossed the stream by culverts which led from field to field. When he saw Jacky again, his hunter’s legs were yellow with clay well above the hocks.

At the next meet, Jacky said, “Very sporting of you, Drummer, to take your own line, but ’ware bogs in these bottoms, midear!” He learned other things from Jacky. How not to fly a bank, as though it were a ‘fence’. This after he had tried to jump a stone-and-earth bank, at which his horse had remained on one side while he went headfirst over the bank and arrived among rushes on the other side, falling on a shoulder and fortunately rolling over to break the fall, to get up with clay on the brim of his bowler and sleeve of tweed jacket.

“Us ban’t in the Shires, y’knaw, midear!” remarked Jackie. “Us ban’t top-sawyers and bullfinch crashers, noomye! Us catts banks down yurr, y’knaw!” She reverted to her ordinary clear, cool voice. “Come with me, Drummer, and I’ll show you.”

It was during a break, while hounds were drawing a new covert. Riders were standing, talking to one another in low voices, or listening to the huntsman’s voice in the wood as he took
hounds through, and the occasional rating voice of the whipper-in to a hound rioting, probably after rabbit.

Phillip followed her to the far end of the field. There she put her horse at a bank. “Watch me, Drummer!” At a hand canter she approached the bank; sprang atop it; allowed her hunter to change feet; then to jump off, to the other side. All done smoothly, as in one motion.

“Don’t follow me!” came her voice. “I’m coming back.” Over she came. “Now you try it. Roman Nose has been trained to cat, but has a tendency to go slow, from having to carry side-saddle some old baggage who probably pulled him too much. Goo on, try it, midear!”

He walked the horse twenty yards away, turned its head and put it at the bank, approaching at a hand-canter. Two yards from the hollow under the bank Roman Nose slowed down, looked at the top of the bank, and suddenly sprang, almost unseating its rider.