Valerie French (1923) Read online

"To tell you the truth, I'd expected a royal welcome. You know. Genial host, scurrying maids, foaming tankards, venison pasty, raspberries and cream— and the rest. The place suggested it. I was never more mistaken. I got no welcome at all. The goods were there all right, but they weren't delivered. I couldn't get any attention. The host was— well, preoccupied and perspiring. The maids certainly scurried, but not for me. The tankard only foamed because I filled it myself. I actually had to force my way into the kitchen to get any food.... Anybody would have thought the devil was in the house. As a matter of fact, he was.

  "D'you remember, when Dumas' Musketeers honoured a tavern in an ill humour, how they made things hum? Well, there you are. Porthos was in the parlour and the deuce of a rage. Only one or other of that Big Four could possibly have raised such Cain— and got away with it. The house was bewitched ... terrorized. The one idea of every soul in that inn was to gratify 'his' desires the instant they were expressed— 'lest a worse thing befall.' Did 'he' want cream, there was a rush for the dairy. Did 'he' want pepper, the boots was hounded to the grocer's. Did 'he' want ale, the bar was stormed. And as 'he' was never satisfied, it was a constant Sauve qui peut. All the time Porthos was bellowing like twenty bulls. The inn was no longer an inn, but Porthos' temple. All other custom went by the board. I could have eaten and drunk as much as I liked. As a matter of fact, I did— and put five bob in the till by way of payment. If I'd taken out ten, instead, it wouldn't have mattered....

  "Well, I was so much entertained— that's an unhappy expression, but you can guess what I mean— that I almost forgot about my summons.... Some one was yelling 'Maunsel' as I came in.

  "'Here,' said I....

  "There was a full Bench— I couldn't think why. You know. The usual crowd: retired colonel, couple of grocers, lord o' the manor, a carpet-knight or two, and an earnest, throaty gent, wearing a pained expression and a black bow-tie.

  "The Clerk had just asked me whether I was guilty of exceeding the speed limit or not, and I'd just said 'No,' when there was what sounded like a first-class row outside the Court, and the next moment Porthos appeared— in the flesh.

  "Sir Andrew Plague, K.C.! I knew him at once. Brought down specially to do some motor-car case ... a point of law, of course. If those seven magistrates had known him by anything but name— well, the Bench wouldn't have been full.

  "Of course, everything stopped dead. And old Plague just flounced his way to the table like a great sea-lion. Some wretched fellow's hat was on the chair he chose— a bowler hat. When Plague got up cursing, it looked more like a game. Plague just snorted and pitched it over his shoulder... As for the Bench— well, Porthos had just changed temples. That was all.

  "They got back to me at last.

  "As if I was going to 'plead' to sixty-five! I told you I knew the police had bungled the thing.

  "Well, I got up at once and asked that the witnesses might be out of Court. The Bench stared. My presumption amazed them: clearly they thought it bad form. They began to consider whether it would be decent to accede to my odious request.

  "'Put 'em out,' says Plague. 'You heard what he said. Put 'em out.'

  "Those magistrates just collapsed. They sat like seven stuck pigs, while a solitary constable elbowed his way to the door.

  "By way of attempting to save the situation—

  "'You ought to have been out of Court,' blustered the chairman.

  "'No, he oughtn't,' snaps Plague. 'Read your Manual.'

  "Well, the case against me went bust.

  "The first policeman described my car; the second, some other fellow's. They gave different times. They lost their places in their notes. The Bench did their best to help them, but, when they saw it was hopeless, they lost their temper and tore the idiots up. I wasn't called upon.

  "I could have gone, but I didn't. I had a stall for a show you can't pay to see.... It was worth waiting for.

  "Some chap had left his car standing in the street, and had been summoned for obstruction. The A.A. had taken it up and briefed old Plague to go down and fight the case.

  "My word, that man's a marvel. He never looked at a paper or made a note. When he was sitting down, his eyes were closed. But— when he got up... It's difficult to explain, but there were certain answers he wanted— meant to have. It was perfectly obvious. You could see them coming. The witnesses could, too. They didn't want to give them, but they just had to. With it all, he was as quiet as a lamb— except once. The solicitor for the police interrupted.

  "'Silence!' says Plague, in a voice of thunder.

  "The Bench just quivered, and the wretched solicitor crumpled like a wisp of foil on a red-hot plate....

  "Presently he— Plague— got up to speak.

  "I'd always heard that he hated a country Bench, but ... talk about Contempt of Court.... I could hardly believe my ears. As for those magistrates', they must be burning now.

  "'There's a Court up in London,' he said, 'called the Divisional Court. It's a pillory, where they set Country Justice by the ears. 'S often as not, I'm the hangman. I dare say you've been there before. You can go there now, if you like— and be hanged. I don't care. Or you can save your bacon. Understand this. You can convict— if you like: you can impose a fine— if you like: you can all sign the record, like so many sheep— if you like. But the conviction will be quashed: the fine will never be paid: the record will have to be corrected— by so many sheep as signed it. I know what I'm talking about. You can't touch this man because the law's against you— good, sound law, laid down by men who are dead, the more's the pity. For what it's worth, I'll try to make plain what it says...'

  "He gave them those cases with a spoon, as you feed a baby. I understood every word. You couldn't miss it.

  "When he'd finished, he chucked the last book down.

  "'And now,' he said, 'sit still, and continue to sit. Or go to the Court— and be hanged.'

  "Yes, the summons was dismissed.

  "Well, you might think that was enough for one afternoon. But not at all. The show was to come.

  "You know the sort of upheaval that takes place in Court at the end of some cause célèbre? Well, that was in full blast. Everybody was either trying to get out, or passing somebody else, or changing his place: four of the justices were on their feet: a superintendent was leaning across the table talking to the Clerk: I was half-way to the door: Plague was demanding his hat, and a constable was yelling 'Silence!' In the middle of it all, a door was flung open, and some prisoner or other was hustled into the dock. As he stepped up, he looked round, and the moment I saw him I was certain I'd seen him before. Tall, good-looking chap: a bit on the thin side, and roughly dressed: obviously unfamiliar with docks and rather worried. Now, the dock was directly between me and where counsel had been sitting, and, as I was staring at his back, wondering what he was there for and where the deuce I'd seen the fellow before, I suddenly realized that I wasn't alone in my interest. From the solicitors' table old Plague was gazing at that chap as if he'd seen an apparition. His mouth was open, and he looked like a great red fish....

  "I heard the Clerk's voice—

  "'...loitering upon enclosed premises, with intent to commit a felony. Are you guilty, or— — '

  "'I appear for the defence,' says Plague thickly. 'And I plead "Not guilty."' Then he turned to his solicitor and jerked his head at the dock. 'Take his instructions,' he said.

  "The hush that fell upon that Court was supernatural.

  "'Sensation' 's no use. I want a bigger word.

  "Look at the ingredients of this amazing stew. First, Plague's terrific personality. Hang it, the man's only got to ask somebody to pass the salt, to create a sensation. Then the neurotic condition the Court was in— thanks to Plague's conduct of the last case: ready to scream if a cow lowed. Thirdly, the appearance in the dock of an obvious gentleman. Fourthly, Plague's sudden announcement that he proposed to defend a case of whose existence— much less details— until that moment he had manifestly never dream
ed.... Plague.... Plague himself.... Sir Andrew Plague....

  "So soon as I'd recovered my wits, I just slid back to my old seat and sat down tight. It's as well I was quick about it, for every one else in the building was seized with the same idea. The news must have spread like wildfire. Within one minute I'll swear you couldn't 've got an umbrella inside that room.

  "Well, Bench, police and Clerk were obviously swept off their feet. They weren't expecting this, and you can't blame them. The first thing they realized was that they must have time. They told one another so in hoarse, excited whispers— especially the superintendent. If perspiration's anything to go by, I fancy the wretched fellow felt that his hour was come. All the time the solicitor was coolly taking the prisoner's instructions, and Plague was sitting in his seat with his eyes closed.

  "Presently the chairman leaned over and, wreathing his face into a winning smile, inquired if Plague wouldn't like an adjournment as he had 'only been so recently instructed.'

  "'No,' says Plague, 'I wouldn't. Proceed with the case.'

  "'Then,' says the chairman, 'we'll hear evidence of arrest.'

  "'You'll hear the case,' says Plague.

  "Evidence of arrest was given.

  "By the time Plague had done with him, I'll bet that policeman cursed the hour he was born. The way he perspired was frightful.

  "Then the superintendent got up, fairly streaming with sweat, and asked for a remand.

  "'Why?' says Plague.

  "'To make inquiries.'

  "'What inquiries?'

  "The superintendent boggled and said it was usual.

  "Plague fairly let fly.

  "'Usual?' he blazed. 'By gad, it's as well I'm here. Usual to clap a gentleman in gaol for seven days while you rake over your dunghills to scratch up some lies against him?' He threw up his head and looked the Bench up and down. 'I demand,' he barked, 'to be told if that is the Prosecution's case. If it isn't, let them go on. If they can't, then it's closed.'

  "The superintendent tried, stammering, to stick to his rotten guns. The Bench, who had always looked upon him as a sort of Rock of Ages, shivered and writhed....

  "'Enough,' says Plague. 'He presses for a remand. I say it's an iniquitous request. I'll address you on this point now.

  "'Loitering, per se, is no offence. We're all of us loitering here, the more fools we. It only becomes an offence when it is proved that he who is loitering is loitering with a definite, wicked object— that of stealing, or murdering, or committing some other felony. The police must satisfy you that the defendant was loitering in the flesh, with felony in his heart. They've not done the one, and they can't do the other. I'm assuming you're reasonable men with reasonable minds. I'm bound to. Now listen to me....

  "'Loitering in the flesh. The ball some children are using falls into a yard. They cry. The defendant climbs into the yard and restores them their ball. He goes on his way. Half an hour later he finds he has lost some money. He thinks it fell out of his pocket when he was scaling the wall. He returns to look for it. While he is looking, he's found— by the vigilant police. They ask and are told his business. He is not believed. I asked that ornament why. What did he say? Because the defendant could not produce the money which he said he had lost, for which he was looking.

  "'There goes one half of the charge. Now for the other.

  "'With felony in his heart. No evidence forthcoming: but if you will imprison the defendant for seven days, some might be procured.... I've every right to stamp this board-school argument underfoot, but I'm not going to. I'm going to pretend it needs a proper reply, and I'm going to blow it into atoms about as small as the greasy brains that conceived it....

  "'Which looks most like a felon— the accused or the fool who accused him? Or that ass of a superintendent, for the matter of that? Don't be afraid. I'm not going to go any further. But, if you're hard up for sense, for Heaven's sake use your eyes. D'you think those finger-tips there are recorded at Scotland Yard? 'But,' whine the police, 'he gives no account of himself.' Why should he? He's not even trespassing. I'm half a lawyer— I take it you won't dispute that. And I say he's not even trespassing. Why should he give an account? Yet give an account he did— which is more than I would have done. He gave his name and he said he had no address. He told them where he was going and whence he had come. He said he was looking for work, and asked if they could tell him where hands were wanted.... But that pelting Jack-in-office won't be beat. He's out to find a worm— an evil worm. The more evil worms he finds, the better for him. He's looking so hard for worms that he never sees that the very soil he's sifting is fuller's earth. Probably he doesn't recognize the fuller's earth of honesty. But he knows a worm in a minute— an evil worm. Discretion doesn't count with him. Worms count. And evil worms count two. But you're not police, and that's where you come in....

  "'If, in the face of these facts, you like to grant a remand, do so. But, so sure as you do, I'll post up to London, have a Judge out of his bed and a Writ of Habeas Corpus to-night. Please yourselves. I was at school with his father, the famous surgeon, and I'm not going to have my godson...'

  "He let the sentence go and flung himself down in his seat.

  "I thought those wretched Justices were going to faint. For a moment there was absolute silence. Then the earnest, throaty gent gave a gurgle of dismay.... With a superhuman effort, the chairman pulled himself together.

  "'Of co-course,' he stammered, with a frightful grin, 'I ne-need hardly say, Sir Andrew, that we had n-no idea— — '

  "'Not the faintest,' whimpers another Justice.

  "Plague waved them away.

  "'Dismiss the charge,' he says. 'Dismiss the charge.'

  "'Of course,' says the chairman, watching the superintendent being helped out of Court. 'The charge is dismissed, and— er—'

  "'Should never have been brought,' howls another Beak.

  "'Oh, shameful!' wails Throaty, raising his eyes to heaven.

  "'I trust, Sir Andrew,' mouths the chairman, 'I sincerely hope—'

  "'Where's my hat?' says Plague, and follows the late defendant out of Court....

  "Well, there you are.

  "I found out the fellow's name— same as my own, curiously enough. 'Jonathan.' Surname, 'Wood.' And, after a lot of thinking, I remembered who he was like— that fellow Valerie French took such a toss over. But it obviously wasn't him. His name was 'Lyveden,' wasn't it? Besides, they found his body.... Yes, I remember."

  The sweet o' the day had come in, and the village of Ruby Green was looking its best.

  At noon the place had been superb— a beautiful, clear-cut study in black and brilliant white— a thing for strangers to photograph. Now that the sun was sinking, the clear-cut study was gone. The shadows were there still, but they were grey and blurred: the brilliancy had faded to a glow: the white had become rosy. The place was alive with tones no camera could ever catch. Always the village was lovely— a perfect sheet out of the folio of Time: but while at midday it had worn the lasting beauty of a rare old print, now at even it was a piece of exquisite tapestry— delicate, memorable. There was a peace, too, which had displaced its noon-tide sleepiness— a mellow, dulcet atmosphere of labour done. Sounds that had gone unnoticed during the business of the day stole into earshot: the steady rush of water over a sluice, the lisp of the wind in elm-tops, the distant drone of a thresher....

  Seated upon a bench outside The Yew Tree, Jonathan cared for these things with a full heart.

  Sir Andrew Plague had given him three commands. The first was to find the man upon whose hat he had sat, and to pay him two pounds. The second, to go to the inn and get a square meal. The third, to await instructions.

  The first two orders had been obeyed, and now he was waiting at ease till Porthos should have finished his tea. A dozen paces away, Hamlet, who had had enough of prison yards, was making horseplay with a retriever.

  If Jonathan felt thankful, he also was greatly moved. This is not to be wondered at. He was upon the ed
ge of great matters. The interview, the summons to which he was awaiting, must be momentous. Thereat, for better or for worse, he would learn his identity and his past. His future, too, would in some sort be settled in that same small room where Plague— his godfather— was having tea ... his godfather....

  Not that he cared about his future. His past was the thing. 'His father, the famous surgeon....'

  Jonathan began to wonder what he had done.

  He had an uneasy feeling that he had done wrong. There was some mystery about him. If Sir Andrew had known him in Court, he had known him equally well that day by the side of the road. Yet he had never declared himself— would not have done so now, but to save his (Jonathan's) skin. That was as clear as daylight. Oh, indubitably he had erred— in some way. So much the nicer of Plague to have befriended him. But for his intervention...

  He wondered what Plague would say to his loss of memory. A thousand to one he’d call him 'a lying hound.' Still, he’d believe what he said.

  Here his thoughts flew back— as far as they could. He remembered that terrible night when he had walked with Death. He thought of that morning, a short four days ago, when he had first discovered the virtue of his misfortune— perceived the excellence of his lot in all its glory....

  With a shock Jonathan realized that that very freedom from care, which he had found so precious, was about to be withdrawn. The thought of such subversive dispossession daunted him. For a second of time, indeed, he was minded to rise up and go. His state was blessed. Why, then, should he surrender it? He had no real desire to know the past. If such knowledge was to cost him his freedom from care...

  Jonathan started to his feet.

  Then he sat down again and shook his head.

  "No," he said, frowning. "No, I can't run away. I'm sorry it's come so soon, but I can't run away. Besides..."

  Here the spruce little chauffeur appeared in the inn's doorway....

  Jonathan called Hamlet and put him under his arm.

  A moment later he was ushered into the presence.

  Stretched luxuriously upon two easy-chairs, Sir Andrew, cigar in hand, regarded the pair.