Berry Scene

by Dornford Yates

  Finger to lip—

  “I suppose it’s hopeless,” said Daphne.

  I touched the crumbling metal, to feel it give.

  “You’d never get it down, my darling. It’ll hang as it is for a while; but the moment you try to move it, it will collapse.”

  My sister nodded and turned, to lead the way back. Then she spoke over her shoulder.

  “As we’re here, shall we look at the house?”

  “May as well,” said Berry. “You never know.”

  The house was very small, and after the August sunshine, its rooms seemed dark.

  We looked round the little kitchen, but there was nothing there. A fine old fireplace took up the whole of one wall: one door, which was just ajar, gave to a break-neck stair: another, which was wide open, gave to a second room. By this we passed, to enter the decent parlour, which gave the cottage the right to be called a house.

  My sister was pointing.

  “I’m not surprised,” she said, “that Big James wants that chair.”

  Neither was I.

  Its frame had been painted black, and the plush with which it had been covered was greasy and worn: but nothing could spoil its proportions or hide its beautiful lines. It was clearly the principal part of an old chaise-longue, that had been fashioned in France, when Louis Quatorze was king.

  Berry tilted it sideways, to feel the weight.

  “Period piece,” he said. “No doubt about that. If you could get that paint off…”

  But the chair was the only thing there.

  The tall-case clock was hideous: a dark and dirty landscape loomed from a battered frame: a small, Victorian sideboard presented some dreadful shells; a horse-hair couch was repellent; the walnut overmantel, inlaid with scraps of mirror, was indefensible.

  The three of us made the round, before we withdrew.

  As we re-entered the kitchen, a figure appeared in the doorway by which we had entered the house.

  “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Anything here you fancy?”

  “Good morning,” said Daphne. “Are you the auctioneer?”

  “No, I’m the sexton, lady. I’ve kep’ the keys. But if you don’ wan’ to attend, I can always bid for you.”

  “Thank you very much,” said Daphne. “I’d like that chair. The one in the parlour, I mean, that’s covered with plush.”

  “Certainly, ma’am. Fifteen shillings’ll buy it, if you ask me.”

  “I’ll go to two pounds ten.” My sister looked at me. “Have you the money on you?”

  “I haven’t got half a sovereign. I’ve got three pounds.”

  “Make it three pounds,” said Daphne.

  The money passed.

  “I’m to go to three pounds, then, lady?”

  “That’s right. And we’ll be over tomorrow, to see what luck you’ve had.”

  “Very good, ma’am. I lives just two doors off.”

  We left the house and garden and turned to go back to the forge.

  Daphne had us each by an arm.

  “Show no surprise,” she said, “but listen to what I say. That picture there is a Claude, and it’s worth a thousand or more.”

  “What, that canvas in the parlour?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” said Berry. “Until it’s been cleaned, no expert could—”

  “I don’t care. It’s got Claude’s touch. Golden light in the middle, fading to blue, and the foreground green and strong.”

  “But you couldn’t see it,” cried Berry.

  “Bear with me, darling,” said Daphne. “I know I’m right. Besides, I could see it – really. Classical remains in a meadow, and hills beyond.”

  “Well, what do we do?” said Berry.

  “Fitch must buy it,” said Daphne. “He can drive over early, leave the car at the crossroads and walk the rest of the way. That’s why I told the sexton to bid for that chair.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, frowning.

  “She’s got it wrong,” said Berry. “We leave the sexton at the crossroads and let Fitch bid for the car. Then we give Akers three pounds and walk the rest of the way.”

  “You really are dense,” said Daphne. “In the sexton’s eyes, we are experts – don’t forget that. That was why he was eavesdropping.”

  “Eavesdropping?”

  “Yes. I think he was on the staircase, when we came in. I heard his step in the kitchen when we were inspecting the chair. And of course he heard what we said. So I was frankness itself. I said I’d pay four times as much as he thought the chair would fetch. My innocence should disarm him. If it does, he will report that, except for the chair, there is nothing of value there. But in fact there’s a Claude – a landscape by Claude Le Lorrain.”

  As soon as Berry could speak—

  “You wicked, deceitful girl. You—”

  “If you ask me,” said Daphne, “I think it was rather quick. Of course we shan’t get the chair, for Akers, who ‘has money to burn’, will know that he’s on a good thing.”

  “Fitch can buy that, too,” said I.

  “So he can,” said my sister. “Well done. I want Big James to have it. He picked it out.”

  “That’s right,” said Berry. “And let’s give the Claude to the sexton. If he didn’t suffer from corns, he’d have quite a nice face. Incidentally, the car will be stolen, while Fitch is attending the sale.”

  “I’ll go with Fitch,” said I, “and stay with the car. All the same, you’re sure it’s worth it? I mean, I’d arranged—”

  “Worth it?” cried Daphne. “Wait till it’s been restored and is hanging next to the Cuyp. And I’ve always wanted a Claude.”

  “My sweet,” said Berry, “we’re proud to humour your whim. But please don’t ride so very straight for a fall. Thanks to our parents, we all know a bit about pictures – probably more than some. But we are, none of us, experts. And no expert that ever was foaled would be so – so definite.”

  “Sorry, old fellow,” said Daphne. “I know I’m right. How much can we raise in cash?”

  Berry uncovered and gave his head to the air.

  “If nobody else desires it, you’ll get it for four and six. But if somebody else has been gifted with second sight…”

  I stopped in my tracks and put a hand to my head.

  “She has been,” I cried. “That’s the answer. She saw what we couldn’t see.”

  The others stared.

  “Egg-bound,” said Berry shortly. “It’s that damned house. Perhaps the old dame was a witch Let’s find some running water. I don’t feel too good, myself.”

  “What d’you mean, Boy?” said my sister.

  “That picture’s a landscape,” I said. “Well, what did the gypsy say? ‘Lift up your eyes, and this day you shall see the countryside.’”

  We all drove with Fitch to the crossroads: and there we waited, while he went off to the sale.

  For fear of exciting suspicion, he was not to bid for the chair, unless, of course, it was offered after the Claude had been sold. He had twenty-six pounds in cash, which was all that we had in the house: but he had a blank cheque of Berry’s, in case of accidents. He was not wearing his livery, and no one in Gamecock knew him for one of our men. If he secured the chair, he was to seek out Big James, ask him to keep his counsel and house it for us: but the Claude he was to bring to the cross roads, with all dispatch.

  When an hour and a half had gone by, we began to grow uneasy. Gamecock was less than a mile from where we were, and we found it hard to believe that the contents which we had seen would take a full hour to sell.

  “He’s got to see Big James,” said Berry. “And then. of course, they may start with the bedroom stuff.”

  Another half-hour dragged by.

  “Oh, dear,” said Daphne. “We ought to have gone ourselves. If we hadn’t been so grasping—”

  “No,” said I. “You were right. The sexton thinks we rode over to see what there was in that house, and I’ll la
y any money you like we don’t get that chair.”

  “Poor Big James,” said Daphne. “Never mind. We’ll have one made for him.”

  He damned well deserves it,” said I. “But for him, we should never have gone to the house.”

  “And what of Mrs Lewis?” said Daphne.

  “She’s been paid,” said Berry. “With all this fuss, I forgot to ring up Lyndhurst.”

  “Oh, I am glad,” said Daphne.

  Berry shook his head.

  “I must do it tonight,” he said. “Lewis must never believe that my threats are idle threats.”

  When another hour had gone by, we were much more than uneasy – we were alarmed. Indeed, we were on the point of driving to Gamecock, ourselves, when Fitch appeared in the distance, with a picture under his arm…

  As we walked down the road to meet him—

  “Well done, indeed,” cried Daphne. “How much did you have to pay?”

  “One and sixpence, madam. Mine was the only bid. But there’s been some dirty work there. That sexton’s a dealer’s nark.”

  “Go on,” said Berry. “Let’s have it.”

  “Well, the moment I got there, sir, I saw there was something afoot. The auctioneer an’ two others was whispering in the garden, as thick as thieves. One was the sexton, all right – I recognized him, an’ the other turned out to be Akers, who keeps the inn. Well, they didn’t start till just on twenty past two, and then they began with the bedrooms, which nobody seemed to expect. There was very little stuff there, and anyone could ’ave sold it in half an hour. But that auctioneer – an’ then I realized that the fellow was going slow…

  “That made me think. So I slipped down into the garden. Sure enough, the sexton was out in the road. An’ then I knew they were holding things up for someone…

  “Well, he took the kitchen next – as slow as he dared. Akers was in it, too – an’ got landed two or three times, by tryin’ to run things up. An’ then he came to the parlour. By the grace o’ God, he sold the picture first. He looked pretty ’ard at me when I said one and six, but he couldn’t do nothing about it, an’ there wasn’t another bid. So I laid the money down and put it under my arm. But he wouldn’t put up that chair…

  “Slower an’ slower he goes, always with his chin on his shoulder, watching Akers who’s standing still in the kitchen watching the garden gate…

  “An’ then a trap drives up: and a moment later a little Jew fellow, all hot, comes into the room. And Akers and the sexton, behind.

  “He gives the chair the once over. Then he takes out a penknife an’ slits the cushion open, calm as you please. Inside it was kid – white kid, like a lady’s gloves. An’ then he nods, an’ leans back against the wall.

  “An’ then, as bold as brass, the auctioneer puts up the chair…

  “The sexton bids, as you told him, up to three pounds. You ought to ’ave seen people’s faces. They couldn’t ’ardly believe it.The biggest price made so far was one pound ten. An’ that old chair…

  “‘Guineas,’ says the dealer.

  “When I said ‘Three poun’s ten’, his head come round with a jerk.

  “‘Fifteen,’ he says, defiant…

  “Well, I took him up to six guineas, like what you said. And he got it for six fifteen, but I think he’d have given more.

  “Well, that was that, an’ I was walking out of the house, when, all of a sudden, I felt a tap on my arm.

  “It was the dealer all right.

  “‘Let me look at that picture,’ he says.

  “I held it out, an’ he stands back an’ shades his eyes. Then he outs with a glass an’ goes all over it careful.

  “‘No,’ he says, ‘it’s a copy. All the same, I’ll give you a fiver.’

  “‘Make it fifty,’ I said, ’an’ then you’re wrong.’

  “He looked at me very hard.

  “Then—

  “‘What about a hundred?’ he says, ‘a hundred golden sovereigns.’

  “‘Don’ be silly,’ I said. ‘It’s not for sale,’

  “I walked off, but he followed me down the road… Wouldn’t take no for an answer – you know the sort.

  “At last—

  “This is a do,’ he says. ‘You don’t know nothin’ of pictures.’

  “‘Yes, you’re a good one,’ says I, ‘to talk about does. Who had the sale held up – ’cause he wouldn’t risk three quid on the sexton’s tip? Serves you right,’ I said, ‘for usin’ a man like that.’

  “He stood quite still for a minute, staring straight at me and biting his thumb.

  “Then—

  “‘Holy snakes,’ says he. ‘If those two have double-crossed me…’

  “Then he set off back to the village as hard as he could.”

  “Splendid,” said Berry. “You’ve lighted the flare of suspicion. There’ll be such a row at The Stag as never was heard. And now let’s get back – with our bargain.”

  Daphne looked up from the canvas.

  “Now we want a Turner,” she said, “to hang on the other side.”

  “You should have told Fitch,” said Berry. “Then he could have asked the dealer if he knew of any Turners that were going for half a crown.”

  We drove home by the hamlet of Blackstone, to visit our nurse; and I must confess, that when I stood in her garden, listening to the speech of the water and watching the flash of the mill-wheel between the leaves, the charm of the place was compelling and I could understand how Margery felt.

  The old, familiar hand came to rest on my arm.

  “You can’t see him now, my dear, but when the leaves are gone, I can sit by the hour at my window and watch his bravery. The pictures I see in the papers of all these new machines – ’tis really wonderful: but no one can say they’re pretty, and it can’t be good for the men – shut up within bricks and mortar from morning to night. But the miller’s duty is natural. The wheel belongs to the water, and when it’s running it seems so pleased with life.”

  I stooped to kiss her cheek.

  “If you go on like this, I shall come to live with you.”

  Margery laughed.

  “You’re not old enough yet, Master Boy. It’s when you’re tiny or when you’re getting on that the simplest things taste sweetest and fill your life.”

  For all that, we got her to promise that she would go out in the car – to White Ladies and back, before September was old.

  It was half-past six that evening before we were able, all three, to examine our prize. This we did on the terrace, by the light of the sinking sun.

  That it was in truth from the brush of Claude Le Lorrain, we now had no shadow of doubt, though, how it had come to Gamecock, we could not tell. It needed restoring badly; and its frame, which had once been handsome, was only fit to be scrapped. We could not see the back of the canvas, for a sheet of brown paper had been pasted across the back of the frame; but, as we turned it about, the wedges which had slipped went sliding from side to side.

  “Let’s take off the paper,” said Berry, opening his knife, “There may be a label or something…”

  There was no label. But there was a small sheet of paper, folded to the shape of a note. This had been rudely sealed, as was the fashion before envelopes came into use.

  Berry unfolded it gently…

  The faded, spidery writing was not very hard to read.

  Paris.

  June, 1793.

  You are a faithful servant, Birchup, and the thought of the little cottage in Hampshire is like a golden dream. With my chair, my favourite picture and you to care for me, what more should I want? You see, I am not without hope. An old man and the last of my line, I am not dangerous: beside my estates and my fortune, what is my life to them? So, my friend, I am not without hope that one day – perhaps very soon – you will have a pensioner. Be careful to keep the Claude from the summer sun.

  Your affectionate master,

  Montaugiron.

  And the little gate, too, which Milad
i loved so well. I shall – feel quite at home. A bientot, my good Birchup.

  And underneath was written in a less educated hand:–

  Put to death that month.

  J B

  “Poor old fellow,” said Daphne. “Birchup must have been his valet. And Mulberry Corner was to have been his home. But those beasts wouldn’t let him go. His chair, too. But for that rotten sexton, we’d have had that.”

  Berry nodded.

  “At least, we’ll care for his picture. I’ll take it to Town myself.”

  And so he did – the next day.

  He took it straight to the ‘liners’ who cared for what pictures we had – an old and honourable firm, well-known to Trafalgar Square. And, with their help, he chose a frame that was worthy of Claude’s best work.

  While he was gone, my sister and I drove to Gamecock – with Fitch at the wheel.

  We did not leave the car, but the sexton came out of his cottage as soon as he saw my face.

  I marked with pleasure that one of his eyes was black.

  “Good morning, sir. I’m afraid we lost the chair. I did me best, but one of them dealers turned up an’ took it out o’ me mouth. As nasty a thievin’ blackguard as ever I saw.”

  I put out my hand.

  “Three pounds, wasn’t it?”

  The sexton counted two sovereigns and then a pound in silver into my palm.

  As I put the money away—

  “We didn’ say nothin’ o’ my commission, sir.”

  “I pay no commission,” I said, “in a case like this. If the chair was here, you would have had a sovereign for what you’d done.”

  The man looked ready to burst.

  “Well, it ain’t my fault,” he blustered.

  Fitch uncovered and turned and looked at him.

  The sexton clapped a hand to his mouth. Then he ran into his cottage and shut the door.

  We drove on, to stop at the forge…

  “Well, we lost the chair, Big James.”

  The blacksmith nodded.

  “Ay, sir,” he said. “You shouldn’t have been so outspoken. That sexton goes to Akers, and Akers gets a dealer from Dovetail, to wipe your eye. But it seems he missed an old master – an’ was he wild? A firs’-class row, they had, because o’ the money they’d dropped, each suspectin’ the other of schemin’ to do him down. That’s the way o’ the wicked, you know. An’ then the sexton turns rusty, an’ Akers blacks his eye.”