Berry Scene Page 7
“If you must,” said Daphne. “This is my husband, Mr Hoby, and that’s my brother, there. We’re all called Pleydell.”
“Pleydell,” said Mr Hoby. “I know that name. Don’t you come out of the Forest?”
“That’s right. White Ladies.”
“Gaw bless my soul – I often bin by White Ladies. An’ fancy it bein’ you.” He turned to Berry. “And wot was you goin’ to say, sir?”
“From here to our village,” said Berry, “is just about forty-five miles. How long would it take you to get there?”
“Three days,” said Mr Hoby. “Is this a job?”
“It might be,” said Berry slowly. The three of us looked at him. “If it was, it’d be…rather special.”
“Special,” said Mr Hoby. “And what would you mean by that?”
“Good money,” said Berry, “long hours, collaboration and not a word to a soul.”
Mr Hoby looked into the distance.
“Col-collabberation with ’oo?”
“With us.”
“An’ ‘good money’?”
“A quid for each working hour – twenty-five hours guaranteed.”
Mr Hoby started forward, so far as the gate would allow.
“Wot, twenty-five quid? I’m on.”
“Wait a minute. What about working for twenty-four hours on end?”
“Seventy-two on end – for a quid an hour. You’d ’ave to help o’ course. I might fall asleep.”
“I think twenty-four should do it. Of course, I’m assuming you really can hear the thing.”
“’Ear it?” said Mr Hoby. “I’ve been offered five quid to stop it – by a bloke what was livin’ over a mile away. It was Daisy Bell got ’im down; but I got four toons.”
I began to see daylight. Twenty-four hours on end of Daisy Bell, rendered by a steam-organ a furlong away, would make Bluecoat untenable. As for the reactions of a house-party…
My admiration for Berry rose very high.
“Mr Hoby, I think you’re my man. But first you must know what you’re in for. Will you give me your word to keep this thing to yourself?”
“Strike me dead.”
“Then listen to me,” said Berry.
Quietly, he explained the position, naming no names.
“We saw him this morning,” he concluded, “my brother-in-law and I. And he is plainly determined to use his riches to do this unjust thing. You see what I mean. Whichever side loses before the House of Lords will have to pay the whole of the costs from first to last. And they might well amount to six or eight thousand pounds. Well, we can’t afford such a sum: but this fellow can.”
“The dirty dog,” said Mr Hoby.
“So, in fact, we’re denied the help which the Law might give. Very well. Wash out the Law. ‘Music hath charms’, they say. Let’s see what music can do.”
“That’s right,” said Mr Hoby. “When will the nobs arrive?”
“I must find that out,” said Berry. “I imagine on Saturday morning, in time for lunch.”
“Say you’re right. We start ’er on Friday evenin’ and run her right through the night. On Saturday morning ’e’ll be on ’is bended knees. ’Alf a mo. Wot about an injunction?”
“He won’t have time,” said Berry. “He might get it by Saturday night, but that’s too late.”
“Jam,” said Mr Hoby. “You’ll ’ave ’im cold.”
“He may put up a fight,” said Berry. “We shall be there, of course, but—”
“Let ’im,” said Mr Hoby. He clenched an enormous fist. “Jus’ let ’im put up a fight.”
“Well, there we are,” said Berry. “I’ll see the farmer this evening and get his permission for you to enter the Dale. I’ll also find out when the guests are due to arrive. Tomorrow morning the chauffeur will bring you a note, telling you where to meet us and at what time. By the way, you’re not alone?”
“I got two lads, but they just does what they’re told.”
Here Jonah joined us, wiping the dirt from his hands.
“My cousin, Mr Mansel – Mr Hoby.”
“’Ow do,” said Mr Hoby. “Is ’e in this?”
“He will be – up to the neck. He’s half an engineer.”
Mr Hoby beamed.
“Gawd, wot a team! I’m lookin’ forward to this. An’ if you ’adn’t broke down ’ere…”
Berry nodded.
“Fate is behind us,” he said. “No doubt about that.”
That evening, behind closed doors, we put the farmer wise. Ightham was not given to laughter, but, when Berry gave him the details, he shook with mirth. And Saturday, he said, was the day. The Germans were due to arrive by the midday train,
“And Old Chalk’s funeral,” said Berry. “Can you fix that?”
“I can fix that,” said Ightham. “They’ll listen to me. Oh, an’ by the way, Mas’r Berry, I was thinking of tarring that fence.”
“Between the Dale and Bluecoat? How long will it take?”
“About four hours – a good coat.”
“Superb,” said Berry. “Do it on Friday morning. His lordship may take a little, so mind you lay it on thick.” He got to his feet. “Five o’clock, then, on Friday. And Mrs Pleydell may spend the night at the farm?”
“Proud to have her, sir. An’ the kitchen’ll be at your service all night long.”
A note went to Hoby next morning at nine o’clock.
At a quarter-past six on Friday, Hoby’s Steam Round-Abouts came to rest in the Dale.
It was a lovely evening, and Bluecoat, a furlong away, was looking its best. On the terrace and in the gardens, men were at work, installing fairy lights.
No one, I think, would have recognized Jonah or me. No one, I know, would ever have recognized Berry. As a filthy, slouching mechanic, my cousin would have passed in something much less than a crowd: as a broken-down ring-master, even Mrs Ightham took me for what I seemed. And Berry was a clown, off duty. Above the most awful suit I have ever seen, beneath a dilapidated bowler, his daubed face and crimson nose peered like some sordid nightmare, to shock the world.
Disguise was, of course, essential, if we were to be on the spot: and we had to be on the spot, if we were to win the game.
So far as I saw, we did not attract much attention till the round-about was set up, and the lads had left with the horses for Ightham’s farm. Indeed, it was half-past eight, and Berry and I were hanging from the canopy the strips of tin upon which the legend appeared, when I saw a commotion on the terrace and then a servant hastening over the turf.
Disliking the look of the tar, he stopped short of the fence.
Then he put his hands to his mouth and shouted.
Engaged in adjusting the saddle of an enormous duck, Hoby looked round.
“No show till tomorrer,” he bawled. “Only re’earsal tonight. Open tomorrer midday. ’Oby’s Steam Round-Abouts.”
“You’ll have to move,” yelled the footman.
“’Ave to wot?” bawled Hoby.
“Move,” howled the other. “Move.”
“You buzz off,” roared Hoby, “and ’and the srimps. I’ve work to do, I ’ave. Be up all night.”
With that, he returned to the duck, and after a moment’s hesitation, the man hastened back to the house.
“There’s Withyham,” said Berry. “See him waving his arms? And the footman’s trying to tell him about the tar.”
After a violent consultation, the butler descended the steps.
Then the peer glanced at his watch and called him back.
“Dinner first,” said Berry.
I think he was right, for the servants re-entered the house, and, after perhaps two minutes, Withyham followed them in.
“Let him have his soup,” said Berry, “and we’ll come in with the fish.”
The light was failing now, and the precious silence which sundown had ushered in had spread her ancient mantle over the countryside. Jonah had been lighting the lanterns, and when, under Hoby’s direction
, Berry and I had fitted them into their proper slots, Hoby withdrew to the engine and started her up. He let her run for five minutes. Then he engaged the gear…
There is a noise which is made by a gramophone. It may be heard, when the power, which has failed, is restored, if the tune is not yet done and the needle is still on the disc. It is not an agreeable noise. But conceive it magnified beyond all comprehension, and you will have some idea of the introductory movement to Daisy Bell. So for some five or six seconds… Then the organ was under way, and the well-known melody ranged, like a beast enlarged, the sleeping neighbourhood.
Daisy, Daisy,
Give me your answer – do…
I despair of describing the uproar. Daphne said it was frightening, and she was a mile away. The veil of silence was not so much rent as savaged – when Hoby’s Steam Round-Abouts laid their simple oblation upon the altar of fun.
What was the effect upon Withyham, I cannot pretend to say, but the windows of the terrace were lighted, and we could see the flicker of figures against the gleams.
Hoby’s mouth was close to my ear.
“Good enough, mister?” he blared.
“‘The half was not told me,’” I yelled.
“Here he comes,” roared Berry, pointing.
A lantern was jerking its way towards the fence.
Hoby had lighted two flares, one upon either side of the rickety mounting-stair. Between them, he took his stand, while we withdrew to the shadows, to watch what befell.
The tar did not stop Withyham – all things considered, I doubt if it would have stopped me. Be that as it may, the peer arrived, panting, with tar all over his hands and, I am ready to swear, all over his clothes.
“Stop this blasted row,” he yelled.
“Wot row?” said Hoby.
“This row,” howled Withyham. “This fiendish tune.”
“Change in a minute,” said Hoby. With his words, Daisy Bell gave way to The Washington Post. “There you are. Wot did I tell you?”
“Stop the machine,” screamed Withyham.
“Can’t do that,” said Hoby. “Can’t disappoint the public.”
“Damn the public,” roared Withyham. “I’ve people staying with me in that house over there – decent, god-fearing people, and they’re half out of their minds.”
“Can’t ’elp that,” said Hoby. “I got to open tomorrer at twelve o’clock. An’ I got to adjus’ the orgin. It ain’t no pleasure to me to work all night.”
“All night?” screeched Withyham. “You can’t. It’s against the law.”
“No, it ain’t. Not if I’m not takin’ money. Tomorrer’s different – can’t go on after midnight.”
Forgetful of the tar, Withyham clapped his hands to his face…
For a moment he stamped to and fro, cursing Ightham with a fury that warmed my heart. Then he returned to the charge.
“I give you five minutes,” he mouthed. “Five minutes to stop the swine. If it’s still going by the time I’m back at the house, I send a man for the police and give you in charge.”
“Wot for?” said Hoby.
“Everything,” screamed the other. “You’re committing every known crime. What about incitement to murder?”
“That’s all right,” said Hoby, clapping him on the back. “You go an’ ’ave a lay-down.”
“Lay-down be–” yelled Withyham. “For the last time I require you—”
“Now look ’ere,” said Hoby. “I got my public, I ’ave – ’oby’s Steam Round-Abouts. An’ I’m proud o’ my reputation. I tell you she’s not runnin’ true: an’ I got to open tomorrer at twelve o’clock. Well, I got to get ’er right. Once she’s right, I’m stoppin’: but not before. An’ then you’ll be able to ’ear ’er.”
Withyham’s eyes bulged from his head.
“You mean it’s going to be louder.”
“This ain’t nothin’,” said Hoby. “A – whisper to wot she ort to do. I tell you, at noon tomorrer…”
Before this revelation, Withyham looked ready to drop. Then be stared wildly round. It was, I am sure, the organ’s sudden reversion to Daisy Bell that pricked him to one more attempt.
“Stop it yourself,” he raved, “or have it stopped. When I tell the police, they’ll impound the blasted thing.”
“I’d like to see ’em,” said Hoby.
“And I’ll get an injunction – that’s what the Courts are for.”
“Don’ talk silly,” said Hoby. “I shan’t be ’ere that long. Finish on Toosday. Got to get ready for Brooch.”
“You finish now,” screamed Withyham. “If you don’t, I’ll send my men to break the thing up. I’ve people staying with me – and others coming tomorrow, for peace and quiet. How d’you think they can sleep – with this poisonous row? Sleep? They can’t even think. And you talk about Tuesday! You must be out of your mind. If you think we’re going to stand this… No one on earth could stand it – not even a maniac. It isn’t human, man.”
“Wot isn’t ‘uman?” said Berry.
Withyham looked round, saw Berry’s appalling visage three inches from his, made a noise like a cat and jumped nearly out of his skin.
“Oh, my God,” he said weakly, fingers to lip.
I pulled my signal-cord, and the music slowed down and stopped.
“Gawd ’elp,” said Hoby, and leapt for the stairs.
Withyham had Berry by the arm.
“What’s wrong?” he said.
“’Ands orf,” said Berry. “I don’t ’old wiv bloodsuckers.”
“Don’t be a fool,” said Withyham. “Why has the damned thing stopped?”
“Slipped out o’ gear. She does it once an’ again. There’s a lug falls out. ’E’s gone to shove it back.”
“Listen. I want that lug. It’s worth a fiver to me. If you—”
“I don’ want bloodsuckers’ money.”
“I’m not a bloodsucker, you idiot.”
“Yes, you are. They tole me up at the inn. I come from these parts, I do. An’ wot price Romany Lane?”
“Blast Romany Lane. I’ll give you ten pounds for that lug.”
Berry stared upon Withyham, poking his head.
“Did you say ten quid?”
“That’s right. Ten golden sovereigns.”
Berry appeared to reflect.
Then he shook his head.
“I don’t take bloodsuckers’ money.”
As Withyham stamped with impatience, I pulled the signal-cord…
As, when the organ had stopped, the utter silence seemed precious as never before, so, after the blessed respite, the brutal onslaught of Uproar seemed harder than ever to bear.
“Oh, my God,” screeched Withyham, clasping his head. Then he turned upon Berry. “Be down at the fence,” he blared, “in ten minutes’ time.”
And then he was gone – to where the lantern was waiting, some twenty-five paces away…
“Anythin’ doin’?” said Hoby.
“We’re off all right,” said Berry, and told him what had occurred.
“We’re ’alf-way ’ome,” said Hoby, watching the lantern move.
“He’s hooked,” said I; “but we’ve got to land him yet.”
“Hoby’s right,” said Berry. “We’re half-way home. Picture the depression at Bluecoat. When the damned thing stopped, they assumed he’d done the trick. And while they were praising God, it starts again. Talk about disappointment… His guests’ll be ripe for murder, when he gets back.”
“Shall we try a noo toon?” said Hoby.
“No,” said Berry. “Even The Washington Post affords a faint relief. But Daisy Bell recurring would break a rhinoceros down. And now let’s rehearse the interview.”
We kept Withyham waiting five minutes. Then Hoby picked up a lantern and made his way down to the fence, and I moved down behind him, to hear what befell.
Hoby threw his light downwards, until he was only three paces from where the man stood. Then he turned it upon his own face.
Then—
“Oh, er, it’s – it’s you, is it?” stammered Withyham.
Turning his light upon the speaker—
“What’s all this,” said Hoby, “about my lug?”
Withyham looked ready to burst.
Hoby continued deliberately.
“You’re a good one, you are, to talk about breakin’ the law. Wot price bribery an’ corruption? Offerin’ Joey a tenner, to do a poor bloke down… Bears out wot ’e says about you.”
There was an ugly silence – except, of course, for the blare of Daisy Bell.
“Couldn’ come ter me, could yer?” Withyham started forward, new hope in his eyes. “An’ that’s where you slipped up. Joey’s my partner, ’e is – ’e’s got a share in the show.”
Withyham swallowed excitedly.
“I’ll – I’ll make it twenty,” he said hoarsely. “Ten pounds apiece.”
“Wot, twenty thick ’uns?” said Hoby.
“Twenty, er, thick ’uns,” said Withyham. “I’ve got ’em here.”
Hoby fingered his chin.
“That’s a tidy sum,” he said slowly. “But wot about my public? I’m undertook to open – tomorrer at noon.”
“That’s all right,” said Withyham. “They’ll, er, understand. Say the thing’s not working. It won’t be able to work if you give me that lug.”
“Gurn,” said Hoby. “Think I ’aven’t got any spares?”
“Well, say it’s broken,” cried Withyham. “Damn it, man, you won’t take twenty pounds here.”
“P’raps I won’t: but I never disappointed my public.”
“Then move,” yelped Withyham. “Move to another pitch.”
“Too late now,” said Hoby. “I sent the ’orses away.”
“Well, get them back, man,” cried Withyham, waving his arms.
Hoby shook his head.
“I don’ want to kill ’em all at once. They’ve ’ad three ’ard days’ work, an’ they got to rest.”
Withyham stamped to and fro.
Then—
“Say it’s postponed,” he mouthed. “And open on Monday night.”
“Can’ do that,” said Hoby. “I got to get on to Brooch. Doo to open at Brooch on–” With a howl of frustration, Withyham clasped his head in his hands. “An’ wot’s the matter now? Face-ache?”