The Queen's Envoy (The Barsetshire Diaries)

by Lord David Prosser

  A look of annoyance crossed her face as she climbed into the bed. I turned the light off, moved closer to her, and put one arm around her neck so that her head could nestle on my shoulder. She held the hand from that arm with both of hers. I must have started drifting off when I felt my arm move as she pulled it down towards her breasts. I turned a little as though asleep and brought my arm out above her head. To encourage her to sleep, I started to stroke her hair as I used to do when I sat with my daughter.

  There was a rather large sigh and she turned on her side. I think she fell asleep soon afterwards if she wasn't already asleep. I, however, didn't go back to sleep and just lay there making plans for when I got home.

  At seven I went for a shower making sure I locked the door. When I came back I grabbed fresh clothes and retreated to the bathroom to dress. Fully dressed I woke Prunella carefully and suggested that she went back to her room to shower and dress before breakfast.

  She suggested that I went with her to make sure she was safe, but I said I'd check her room before she went in. Everything looked fine and so she got ready and then came back to me so that we could go to breakfast.

  The meal over, I asked the desk to arrange a taxi to take us to the airport and requested the bill. I was informed that the bill had already been paid via the consulate. I think some people are remarkably helpful and friendly.

  We were taken to the airport in plenty of time for me to buy cigarettes and to get gifts for Lady J and Ysabel. I asked if Prunella needed anything and she went on a minor spree in the airport shops. She came back wreathed in smiles and took my arm.

  We had seats together on the plane and not long after takeoff we were served a coffee, after which I dozed off. It was another long flight and so when I woke, Prunella linked arms with me and engaged in chitter chatter.

  When we arrived home she was still linking my arm as we picked up a trolley for the cases and headed for customs. We passed through without a problem and out into the concourse, where I looked for Lady J and saw her standing with Sir Bertram. They walked towards us and I found it hard to unlink my arm.

  Julia said, “Hello, young lady, don't get too comfortable there”, in a very cheery voice, and then turned to me, and giving me a hug, said, “Welcome home, dear. Another adventure over is it?”

  “It is”, I agreed. “ Happy to be home”.

  Bertram had given Prunella a hug so I guessed that he knew her and was asking if she were OK. “I'm fine now Uncle Bertie”, she replied. “Thanks to David”.

  Bertie grabbed my hand and pumped away at it. “So grateful, old man”, he said. “Never forget this”.

  “A pleasure old chap. Looks like we had a good conclusion”.

  Lady J and I left to find the car as Bertie and Prunella went off to her homecoming.

  “Have you been all right, my dear?” I asked Lady J.

  “Yes David, fine thanks, Though we missed you of course”.

  “Darling, before I left things seemed a little frosty. Had I upset you or done anything wrong? You know I wouldn't fool with another woman don't you?”

  “Of course dear”, she replied. “I'm afraid I was a little cross. It's not you playing with women that worries me, it's them playing with you. You are a little naïve with women you know. They have you tied around their little fingers. I bet that little minx tried to bed you”.

  “No my dear, I'm sure she didn't. A well brought up young lady like that? Let’s go and choose something nice for Ysabel's birthday”.

  Sunday, December 1, 1991

  The Lord and Religion

  Well, that was a night I don't want to repeat too often. At 2.15 am I was woken by a 'thud, thud, thud' sound which, as I started to come round, realised was at my bedroom door. I got up to open it just as the cat was making another run at head butting it. He shot past me, the obvious brain damage not letting him realise my door was no longer a barrier. Realisation hit him at about the same time as he hit my wardrobe door, almost splintering it.

  At that time of the morning my sympathy level was not at its highest and so I wedged the bedroom door open and headed back to bed. Whilst I'd been wedging the door to prevent a repeat performance later when he needed to leave, he'd made it to the bed and settled in. He was almost squashed as I sat down. We sensed each other’s presence at the same time and he reached out a paw tentatively and swiped me. It now looks like I have a bar code on my back. If I ever fall over in the supermarket near the tills, heaven help me, I'll be bagged before I know it.

  For the next half hour we remained as master and pet. The master occupied the warm spot in the bed while I remained sitting on the edge, my eyes closing, and almost falling off when I fell asleep.

  Eventually he moved over and I swung my legs in, puffed up my pillows and settled down. At 3.15 am he started a route march up and down my body. But, as I was lying on my side, he was on the narrowest bit of me and he had to use crampons to remain in place. There were little pinpricks of blood along my side today.

  I was forced to turn over onto my back. There was no choice. Carefully, I did so in such a way that my turning didn't dislodge him all at once. A few walks up and down my front, a few wet noses to my nose and eyes and he finally settled down. It was like a lead weight on my chest. Somehow I managed to get back to sleep again.

  I don't know how long I was allowed to sleep, but I came up rapidly from the depths at a tugging sensation on my chin. I realised the weight was still on my chest but it certainly wasn't settled now. He'd decided my beard made a good plaything for him when bored and was swiping at it like a piece of dangling wool, claws extended. I put my hand up at the wrong moment to move the beard and gained striped fingers. I suppose the stripes made them look thinner. In utter desperation I rolled onto my side again, virtually throwing him off in the process. He got the point as he dropped to the floor but he was still able to swagger off.

  I slept.

  The next thing I knew was a wet nose in my ear. My eyes jerked open in shock and facing the clock I saw that it was ten to five. I realised that I was beaten and should just prepare for duty. I swung my legs out of bed, grabbed my dressing gown and turned to Oscar. “Is it food you want, you rascal?” I asked (actually I won't repeat what I really said), but he was already lying in my vacated bed snoring.

  In exasperation I went through to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. I was just finishing when Lady J walked in. “Your damned cat”, she said, “kept me up half the night and now he's just woken me again starving to death”. I bit my tongue rather than remind her that 'My damned cat' had been something of a fait accomplis by herself and Ysabel and nothing to do with me. I would happily take responsibility for Joey, but the cat, NO WAY!

  I made another drink and we took them through to the lounge. Lady J sat on the settee as usual and after a moment I joined her. The cat was now occupying my chair and there was a malicious smirk on his fast asleep face.

  We sat enjoying our drinks in a companionable silence. At 6.30 am I got up and made fresh ones so that Lady J could take her daily calcium tablet. Thereafter would follow four more coffees until the dryness had gone. Personally I think she's just a coffee addict but I knew when silence was golden.

  “What would you like to do today, dear?” she asked me.

  Not knowing whether this was a trick question and if something had already been decided, I replied, “Whatever you like dear”.

  “Typical man”, she said, “I give you the choice and you can't make a decision. Come on! There must be something you want to do”.

  “Well, we could always go to a carboot sale”, I chanced.

  “No, I think a trip to see Mumu and John would be best”, she rejoined.

  I acquiesced.

  She went through to shower and dress and I did the same. By 7.30 we were ready to roll. I left a quick note for Ysabel who had spent the night at a friend’s home. We didn't expect her back until early evening, but better safe than sorry.

  By 7.45 we were on our
way. The journey usually takes a couple of hours as they live out in the wilds. We passed through some beautiful countryside, through forests and past lakes. It's a lovely journey when it's not raining.

  Usually on the last stage of the journey, as we pass through a tiny village, I call Mumu to tell her to put the kettle on. They're so isolated that they don't have mains gas so they rely on the bottled variety which seems to take forever to boil a kettle. Today as we dropped down onto the last stretch of road that leads to their house, I asked Julia if she'd like a breakfast at a roadway cafe. I steeled myself for a refusal but she said “That'll be nice dear”, and pulled in.

  The interior had been made to look like railway coaches (maybe I should have realised by the name, The Coffee Express), and it was very dimly lit. On the menu were bacon and eggs etc. so I got a clean one (boom boom). In the end we decided on just toast and a coffee each. The toast was fresh and crisp and there were real butter pats to coat the slices in. Handily for me Julia likes the butter spread thin and I like it thick so

  I got her spares. The coffee was hot and welcome.

  Leaving there, I made my usual call to Mumu saying, “be there in ten minutes, hope loo is free as brother-in-law now needs a wee”. I may not be Rabbie Burns but I do have a poetic side. We were five minutes away from Julia's next coffee when the traffic lights changed to red. Traffic came from the left. There were four lorries carrying biblical themed displays on their platforms, followed by a number of walkers and finally a brass band.

  The lights changed to green and we were away again, for all of two hundred yards and suddenly we were at the back of the church parade moving at about four mph. We still had about five miles to go! What seemed like six months later, we were a mile further on and I was starting to hum, 'And when the saints go marching in'. I knew the tune would stay with me all day and probably as badly played as by the band ahead.

  Half a mile or so later the parade started turning left. We hurried on with our journey arriving about twenty minutes late.

  Mumu answered the door. “I thought you were only five mins away David”, she said.

  “Ah, we were, Mumu, but we caught religion on the way”.

  Julia had her coffee and I managed to get to the loo. By now it was 10.30 am. John and I would normally have departed to his study but peace seemed to reign between the girls today. We decided instead to sit in the garden awhile. Despite the month it seemed quite pleasant. We sat chatting amongst ourselves for a while when something caught my eye. I turned my head slightly and there on a bush sat a butterfly. “In December?” I thought. I excused myself quickly and dashed through the house to the front where our car was parked. In the glove compartment I keep a camera in case of accidents. I grabbed it and ran back through the house again. Yes, it was still there. I primed the camera and crept forward.

  “What is he doing?” I heard Mumu ask Julia.

  “I have no idea at all”, I heard from Julia.

  From John I just heard laughter.

  I was close enough now to take the picture. I was about to click when I realised that the butterfly wasn't real. I hesitated, unsure what to do, then carried on forward until I could part the bush, and clicked. “Damn, it's gone”, I said.

  As I walked back to the chairs John spluttered through his laughter,

  “If I'd known, har har, that you wanted to catch my fake butterfly, har har, I'd have brought it over”.

  “Butterfly?” I said, “what butterfly? I thought I saw a fox trotting across the field and tried to catch it”.

  “Sorry old man”, said John with a smirk twitching his lips. He winked at me and said, “My mistake”, earning my eternal gratitude. I knew I'd never live it down if Lady J thought I'd tried to photograph the butterfly as real.

  After lunch at a local pub, Lady J and I started home. There were no holdups on the way and being Sunday there was very little traffic about. By late afternoon we were home and within a few minutes Ysabel also arrived. I saw Julia beckon her over as I put

  the kettle on for a drink, and there was a certain hushed laughter I could just hear over the sound of the boiling water. I carried the drinks through to the lounge on a tray and we all sat down.

  Ysabel said, “Daddy, I think I'll cabbage out white here this evening. There's a programme on about a Russian admiral, not that I swallow tales like that any more.” She burst into laughter at that point unable to hold it in any more.

  Julia just looked at her and said, “Well David, now we have a new myth about a moth to tease you with”.

  Sunday, December 8, 1991

  The Birthday

  Ysabel's 14th birthday. Hm, I doubt there was any way I could have forgotten it was today as it was just 7.00 am when I first heard the refrains of 'Happy Birthday to ya' by Stevie Wonder blasting out from her room.

  Oh Ysabel, subtlety is thy middle name. It's just as well we have no close neighbour to disturb.

  I got up and made the morning coffee; I knew Lady J wouldn't sleep through it either. I took her coffee through and she said she'd join me in the lounge in a moment. When she did, we got Ysabel's gifts together ready for breakfast time, which came approximately ten minutes later when Ysabel was sure we were up and about.

  “Morning parents mine”, she said as she came through. We both greeted her, gave hugs and wished her a Happy Birthday. Though whether she heard us with the deafness her music must have caused is open to question.

  First she opened a game which I'd bought for her computer. Sonic the Hedgehog it was called and it delighted her enough to throw her arms round me.

  Next she opened clothes, an assortment of jeans, skirts and tops that I knew Julia had chosen under the strict instructions of Ysabel herself who needed to wear the same fashions as her friends to be thought 'cool'.

  John and Mumu had sent a gift token which was great as there were always books, records or games she wanted. After opening all her gifts and cards, Ysabel disappeared back upstairs to try on the new things. She came down a little later to show us and to ask if we could eat out. We agreed and set off for Barchester and a little Greek taverna where you were allowed to break plates.

  We stepped our way carefully between all the pottery shards to an unoccupied table, and as it was a special occasion, ordered a carafe of wine. While we were waiting we each threw a plate to get into the spirit of things. It looked like an explosion in Staffordshire pottery but was really great fun. That is, it was until 'clunk', something hard, white and ceramic caught the back of my head and I fell forward dazed. The manager rushed over full of apologies. “Zees dinner is onna da house My Lord”, he said.

  Another apology came from the parents of the child who had launched the missile. “So terribly sorry”, I heard. “Another bottle of wine, least we can do”, they said.

  Slightly less dazed now, I replied, “Don't worry, a plate to the pate won't damage me too badly, but I'd get your son a trial with the county cricket team as a bowler as soon as possible”.

  I ordered a meal each for the girls but I no longer felt like eating. I nibbled on a breadstick and tried to ignore the terrible headache that was forming, attempting to get my eyes to focus as I could see two of everything. Luckily I wouldn't be seeing two of the bill. The girls managed to finish their extremely large puddings and we wandered back to the car, one of them on each side of me.

  I think I must have dozed off in the car, as the next thing I remember there were bright lights in my eyes and a doctor (or two) standing over me telling me to wake up. I think I heard mention of concussion. That woke me up. Julia and Ysabel were there telling me I'd passed out in the car and only the seat belt had stopped me cracking my head again on the dashboard.

  After a couple of hours I was allowed home and I thanked the doctors on one side of me whilst apologising to Ysabel on the other side for spoiling her birthday.

  “Please don't apologise Daddy”, she told me. “It wasn't your fault. But I don't want to hear you telling all my friends when they come
round that you were caught by a flying saucer”.

  I can see that she has so much of her mother in her.

  Wednesday, December 25, 1991

  Christmas Day

  Christmas Day. I love all the traditions associated with Christmas.

  I went to bed early last night at about 11.30 pm. I knew I'd be up this morning at about 5.00 am to do my Santa duty and take stockings in to the foot of the beds of Julia and Ysabel. Then I'd put the main presents in the lounge ready for after breakfast.

  Tradition in my family has always been that you have to eat some breakfast before being allowed into the lounge to open presents. I'm guessing it was to stop the children of every generation from eating too many sweet things in the run up to Christmas dinner, which in our house has always been served at noon.

  So, at 5.00 am I awoke and took the stockings carefully through to the girls rooms - without tripping over the cat - and then put the main gifts as always in the lounge, each bundle of gifts on the chair of the person who usually sat there. The exception was a gift for Ysabel, which just might have dropped off the chair if left alone. I put a little gift on each seat for the cat as he always seemed to think that they were all his.

  I'd just finished doing that and gone through to the kitchen to put the kettle on when I heard a bell ringing. It struck me that I'd heard about a tradition peculiar to our village when we'd first moved here.

  Every year at about 6.00 am an unknown Santa would start in Upper Greenfield and work his way down to Greenfield Bottom ringing his bell to let the children know it was OK to wake up, Christmas was here. A well loved tradition by all the children of the village if not by the parents, half of whom dashed to get their shotguns loaded with birdshot, swearing they'd get the beggar this year for sure. For the children it kept the spirit of Christmas and their beliefs in Santa alive.