She had scarcely had chance to remove her hat before Maggie swept into the hallway. ‘Thank goodness yer back, ma’am!’ she breathed. ‘There’s a gentleman to see you, and Mrs. Waregrove nowhere to be found. I put him in the parlour, but he is gone into the garden and will not come back in.’
‘How curious. Did he give his name?’ Clarimond hung up her coat and handed her basket to Maggie, who fell to crowing over the contents and did not reply.
‘His name, Maggie?’ prompted Clarimond.
Maggie paused in her inspection of the gooseberries and looked up. ‘I don’t rightly know. He said something odd: “Greensleeves”, I thought it was.’
Clarimond frowned, for she knew nobody of that name. ‘Will you bring tea into the garden?’ she asked of Maggie. ‘And some of this morning’s shortbread biscuits, if you please.’
Maggie went away to attend to this request, while Clarimond stepped into the garden. She saw her visitor at once. He was hard to miss, for his motley patchwork coat and mulberry trousers stood out among the green shrubs and bushes. He appeared to be eating the grass, to her great astonishment, for a stem of it hung from between his lips.
‘Good morning, sir,’ she said as she approached. ‘Mr… Greensleeves, is it?’
He whirled to face her, and made her a fine bow. ‘It is!’ he announced, and took the grass from his mouth. ‘Though I beg you will not mister me. Pippin Greensleeves is my name.’
The sleeves of his colourful coat were predominantly green, she noticed, and wondered. Had he designed the garment to match his name, or was the name inspired by the coat?
‘Clarimond Honeysett,’ she introduced herself. ‘Though I imagine you must be aware of my name, sir. May I enquire as to the purpose of your visit? For I am certain we have never before met.’
‘I have walked in the gardens of Thistledown House before,’ he said with an odd smile. ‘Though it is long since I last set foot here. It is not as I remember it.’
‘I am but lately come into possession of the house,’ Clarimond replied. ‘I have not yet had time to introduce a great many changes, so I fancy the alterations you perceive are largely the work of others. Is it much different?’
Greensleeves flicked his fingers at the neat shrubbery, and the lavender grove and beehives beyond. ‘There was no room for any of that, before, for all was trees.’
Clarimond felt a flicker of foreboding. ‘What manner of trees?’
‘Varied,’ he said, and glanced towards the wizened apple trees overlooking the river bank. ‘An orchard grew here, the finest in these parts. How little now remains.’ He looked at her, swift and sharp, and uttered a question Clarimond knew not how to answer. ‘Have they ever borne fruit, madam?’
Maggie arrived with tea, saving Clarimond the immediate necessity of answering him as she ushered him to a chair. What could she say? She did not trust him, and had no wish to proffer the truth. But it went sorely against the grain to lie. ‘The trees of Berrie have been barren for generations, sir, as you must know,’ she tried, as she poured jasmine tea and arranged a plate of shortbread.
Pippin Greensleeves accepted the offerings with alacrity, though he was not to be distracted from the pursuit of his enquiry by such delights. ‘Be that as it may,’ he said after devouring two biscuits at once, ‘have your trees borne fruit, Clarimond Honeysett?’
It must be the truth, then, thought she with resignation. But even as she formed the resolution, she noticed the set of silver pipes hung upon a ribbon around his neck. Her mind returned, unbidden, to the dream she had wandered through every night since she had found the golden apple. The distant, eerie strains of pipe music wound their way through every such vision, and she looked searchingly into her guest’s face, her wariness ripening into suspicion.
She saw nothing there to justify her concern. His face was handsome enough, though in no way extraordinary. There was no shiftiness to his expression, no obvious signs of duplicity in his air. She saw only a gleam in his black eyes that looked like amusement to her, and a faint, ironic curl to his lips.
Clarimond remembered the glimpse of a violin she had seen when she entered the garden, strapped upon Pippin Greensleeves’ back. ‘Was it you, playing music in the market this morning?’
The glint in his eyes deepened, and she knew he saw through her evasion. She might as well have admitted the truth at once, and had done with it. ‘Did it please you?’ he enquired, raising his porcelain cup to his lips. He inhaled the fragrance of jasmine tea with clear appreciation, and took a sip.
‘I did not stay to listen, sir,’ she admitted. ‘I had duties at home.’
‘A pity.’ He finished the contents of his cup and plate in a series of quick gulps and bites, and returned both to her tea-table. Clarimond had barely touched her own portion, and saw no need to when Greensleeves bounded to his feet and bowed to her. ‘Next time, I hope you will do me the honour of attending to the music,’ he said with a flicker of a smile. ‘I thank you for your hospitality, Mistress Honeysett.’
He paused by the remains of the orchard on his way to depart, and touched the tip of his finger to one fluttering leaf. ‘It is a shame about the trees,’ he said, and left with a parting tip of his hat.
Clarimond was left to ponder over his words as she finished her tea, staring thoughtfully at the swaying boughs of the ancient apple trees. So absorbed was she, it took her some moments to notice that they were not nearly so barren as they had been before. She jumped to her feet and hastened to examine them, her heart beating quick.
An apple hung low at the back of the withered orchard, almost hidden amongst the leaves. This one lacked the bright gold of the first; its skin was the pale green of jade and dappled with blue, though fully as large and as ripe as the other. A second hung not far away, larger still and the colour of violets and heather. A swift quest of the orchard produced yet a third: smaller than the rest, its skin pale yellow flecked with gold.
Clarimond looked wildly around, but Greensleeves was long gone. She ran for the house, hoping to find that he yet lingered, but to no avail.
Gone! And what a mess he had left in her garden! For she could have little doubt it was some interference of his that had produced so sudden, and so unlikely, a harvest. What manner of stranger was he, to coax apples from withered trees with no more than a touch? And what could he mean by it?
Clarimond returned to the garden and plucked the three magical fruits, secreting them in her basket. She set off at a brisk walk for The Moss and Mist, hoping to catch sight of Pippin Greensleeves somewhere along the way. But not a glimpse of him did she find, and though she inquired with those she passed upon the streets, no one had seen his motley coat and mulberry trousers pass by either.
Tobias greeted her news with disquiet. He locked the rainbow of apples away with the peach, his mouth set in a hard line. Clarimond was obliged to turn away as the lid closed over her harvest, overcome with dismay as the beautiful colours vanished from sight.
‘Tis but the beginning,’ said Tobias.
Clarimond nodded her agreement, unsure whether the flutter in her heart was foreboding or excitement. ‘Who is that man, Greensleeves?’ she said. ‘You were unsurprised. You have seen him before.’
‘He came here a few nights ago, singing of fruit. He has the whole town singing of it by now.’
‘He played at the market this morning,’ said Clarimond. ‘In Berrie South.’
Tobias’s eyes narrowed. ‘I think,’ said he in his calm, deep voice, ‘I am like to need a bigger strongbox.’
Chapter Four
It was soon widely known across Berrie North that Bridget Pettigrew was refusing her food.
Her love of fine fare was common knowledge on both sides of the town, and at first it was held that she must be sickening for something. But when Tobias saw her passing The Moss and Mist late in the afternoon, brisk in step and ruddy of cheek, he was moved to doubt it.
‘Mistress Pettigrew,’ he called, darting out of the door
in pursuit of her.
‘Why, Mr. Dwerryhouse!’ she said with her merry smile, and stopped at once. ‘I would have come in to bid you good day, only I was lost in my thoughts.’
He bowed, and waved this aside. ‘I only wished to enquire after your health,’ he explained.
Bridget rolled her bright blue eyes and gave a tiny sigh. ‘Tis most kind of you, but unnecessary, for I am quite well.’
Tobias was unsurprised to hear of this. ‘Forgive me if I seem inquisitive,’ he replied, ‘or if the question seems odd to you. Have you perchance… encountered anything strange hereabouts? Perhaps in the last day or two?’
Bridget looked up and down the largely empty street, and leaned nearer to Tobias. ‘I have not made it widely known but I do not mind telling you, Mr. Dwerryhouse. There is a fine old damson tree in my mother’s garden. Beautiful, but near upon dead, poor thing! Only it has borne a fruit! I discovered it yesterday morning. It is as true as that I stand here. ‘Twas an odd colour, for I never heard of damsons being amber before. But it tasted very fine! And I have never felt better in my life.’
Tobias heard this with sinking heart, and though he congratulated Mistress Pettigrew upon her blooming good health, he could not help ending his remarks with another enquiry. ‘Ah… it is said you are not disposed to eat. I hope this is not true?’
‘Such fussing!’ she chided. ‘Of course I eat. Why, I have eaten an entire bowl of broth today already.’
Tobias spared a glance for the late afternoon sun, and forbore to make any reply. He merely wished Mistress Pettigrew a pleasant day and withdrew, reflecting with mild regret that her ample curves were unlikely to survive the effects of the amber-coloured damson.
The next report to reach Tobias’s ears concerned Dorothea Winthrope, elderly and lame these many years past. Her faults of temper were generally overlooked, for the pain in her withered left leg must be her excuse. Until she was seen to walk, and unaided, her battered oaken sticks nowhere in sight! This sudden recovery improved her spirits, too, for she occasionally smiled at those she met as she rambled through the streets, and was even known to produce sweets from her pockets for the town’s children.
This seemed an instance of unalloyed good to Tobias, at least at first. But abstemious Dame Winthrope arrived at The Moss and Mist that same evening and called for wine, which she continued to drink until she could hold no more. She made a merry drunk, Tobias could only admit, as she laughed and sang the evening away under his hospitality. But when she returned the next night, and the next and the next, he began to revise his opinion. She made as enthusiastic a drunk as Mistress Pettigrew made an ascetic, and more than made up for the continued absence of Barnaby Longstaff.
Tobias could well guess the source of Dame Winthrope’s curious behaviour, but he put himself to the trouble of enquiry nonetheless. Dorothea beckoned him closer and said in an exaggerated whisper, much slurred: ‘I have heard it said that naught can equal the benefits of a good greengage, and upon my word, ‘tis the truth! A dear, dear tree gifted me with such a specimen, and I ate it at once. Have you ever eaten greengages, Tobias? I should imagine not!’ She grew thoughtful and added, ‘Though I do not know why they are called greengages, as it comes about. I did not expect them to be blue.’
Tobias thought of the contents of his strongbox, so uselessly locked away, and braced himself for further such reports.
And rapidly they came. Garrulous Nell Quartermane ceased to speak, at least during the sunlit hours. All her verbosity returned at night, though at the expense of her hearing. A beautiful snow-white plum was the source of her misery — and her delight, for after many barren years she was at last with child.
Marmeduke Pauncevolt, a polished man of refined habits, became suddenly foul-mouthed. But since the fine jessamy pomegranate responsible also carried off his gout, Tobias was left to imagine that vulgarism was no excessive price to pay.
Hattie Strangewayes found a crimson pearmain on her way to market, and ate it up. Her spectacles she promptly threw away, her eyesight being no longer in need of such aid. But with her short-sightedness went her frugality, for she was heard to have stepped at once to Verity Wilkin’s shop and ordered no fewer than seven new pairs of boots.
When sensible, proud Fabian Mallory ate a viridian apricot, he slept a whole night through for the first time in twenty years. He celebrated the cessation of his insomnia by swimming naked in Russet Lake, and wandered back through Northtown in a similar state of undress, to the scandal of all he saw.
Tobias began to feel that something must be done, and took it upon himself to patrol the neighbourhood for further miraculous fruits. He was aided in this endeavour by Theo Penderglass, and the two covered much ground between them. They confiscated a pair of apples from the Lynwood, an apricot and a pear from the old churchyard, and several plums, cherries and peaches from the scattered trees along winding Ashling Lane. These they locked away with the apples and Clarimond’s peach, but to no particular avail. The next day, Ebenezer Witherspoon’s persistent cough was cured by a periwinkle pear, at the expense of his mild-mannered ways; and Malachi Amberdrake devoured a coquelicot peach, which dispelled the black moods which had long darkened and troubled his days, but took every strand of his luscious tawny hair away besides.
Tobias made it known that the fruit should be avoided, and did his best to remonstrate with those as yet unaffected. But the glittering fruits continued to appear, and the citizens of Northtown continued to indulge.
South of the river, the story was the same. Clarimond put herself to the trouble of walking into Heatherberry Spinney twice a day, and all the way to the market. She divested various trees of innumerable apples, peaches and pears, all dappled in bejewelled colours and redolent with aromas delicious beyond compare. She warned all that she saw to avoid the beautiful fruits, but no one listened — or perhaps they could not resist the compulsion to eat.
Betony Summerfield, cruel and vain, became a boon to the poor, and dotingly fond of children; though the perfect features of her face were much marred by a series of pockmarks, appearing as she indulged in a burnished aurulent plum. A claret-coloured pear carried off the pains in Nathaniel Roseberry’s back, though his night-time rambles came to a sudden end, for he became perishingly frightened of the dark. Ambrose Dale’s arthritic fingers were much improved by a silver-spangled apple, but his beloved, overpriced flowers became a source of great torment to him, for he could not approach so much as a single blossom without suffering a violent fit of sneezing. Elvy and Aldwyn Aelfwine ate a pair of velvety cerulean peaches, and were cured of a crippling shyness; but the fruits took the sight from Elvy’s left eye, and the hearing from Aldwyn’s right ear.
Even Maggie Muggwort succumbed, to Clarimond’s great dismay. She plucked the apples from her own trees at Thistledown full three times a day, and each new crop was more abundant than the last. But Maggie could not withstand the allure of the fruit, despite Clarimond’s warnings. A fine lilac specimen relieved her of fatigue, and she grew positively frenzied with energy. But this brought with it an apparent compulsion to speak her mind, which took Clarimond aback.
‘These are much nicer than yesterday’s, since I am sick of the scent of lavender,’ she said one morning, as she brought in tea and pastries for Tobias. ‘And I wish you would not bid me clean the scullery again today, for it makes my hands red, and I’ve a wish to catch Rufus Elwood’s eye.’
When Clarimond and Tobias blinked at her in silent astonishment, she took careful measure of the latter’s black shirt and pronounced it “gloomy”. ‘You look far nicer in green,’ she informed him. ‘So the mistress thinks, if she were not too lily-livered to say so.’
With which brutal truths she withdrew, leaving Tobias to stare after her in amusement and Clarimond to blush with dismay.
‘Do I look better in green?’ Tobias asked at last, a smile curving his lips at the sight of Clarimond’s pinkened cheeks.
‘I must own that I have previously express
ed such a thought,’ Clarimond admitted. ‘Though it is rather too much to so malign today’s shirt, for it is not at all gloomy!’
Tobias plucked at one of his full sleeves, rolled up above the elbow. ‘I suppose it was too much to hope that Maggie might not succumb,’ he reflected.
‘What with my obliging trees producing flurries of apples every few hours? I cannot keep up with them, though I do try.’
‘I think you must abandon the attempt,’ said Tobias. ‘As must I, for it is far too late to curtail the extent of this peculiar plague.’
‘There is no sign of Pippin Greensleeves, I suppose?’ Clarimond made the enquiry without much hope, for naught had been seen or heard of the wandering musician in some days — not since he had paid his visit to Thistledown House.
Tobias shook his head. ‘He seems vanished entirely, and no wonder, for he must know that he would find himself unpopular.’ He sighed and rubbed at his forehead. ‘I do not know what is to be done, Clarimond.’
‘Shall he be reproached?’ asked Clarimond. ‘It must be said, I have heard few complaints about the fruit.’
‘Because all about us are disordered in their minds, and have no real notion what they have lost.’
‘Save, perhaps, Betony Summerfield. Though she seems cured of her vanity, and cares nothing for the state of her face.’
Tobias merely looked thoughtful, and made no reply.
‘I wonder where it shall end,’ said Clarimond.
‘I wonder what it is for,’ said Tobias. ‘For if Greensleeves is behind it, you may be sure there is a purpose intended.’
Clarimond did not much fear a worsening of what Tobias called the plague, for it seemed to her that the fruit had already done its worst. Almost everyone in Berrie Wynweald, Northtown and Southtown together, had partaken of some manner of apple or pear or peach, and many had been consequently changed; what more could it do?
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