Epilogue

…And so I wrote to Sir Edward, as you always said to do. He came down on the Wednesday, and Fitch and I said how we felt. He’s very understanding, Sir Edward. I told him that Fitch and I didn’t care what work we did and neither had Mr Falcon – he was cleaning the gallery casements the day he caught his chill: but we had to have men and maids as would do as we said. After all, we know White Ladies. But the young won’t take it from us, because Fitch and I are servants. It’s not like it used to be. Sir Edward saw at once, and he said he thought the best thing would be to have an ex-officer and him to hold a position like the Secretary of a Club. He knows a very nice gentleman that used to have his own place down Tewkesbury way. He used to be in the Scots Guards and he’s lost a leg. And he’d staff the house with ex-soldiers who’d do as he said. And then Fitch and I could retire as arranged, he said. He said that he’d write to you and see the other Trustees; but as he was sure you’d approve, he’d get in touch with the Colonel without delay. And now he’s coming tomorrow, to talk to me and Fitch and have a look round.

I seem to feel, Madam, that this will go through. And I hope and pray it will, for, no matter what we do, Fitch and I can’t keep White Ladies alone. We did the Royal Chamber this morning – it hadn’t been touched for days. I tell you, Madam, you’re better off with no one. And if it does go through, then our place is with you. We both of us feel that way, and if you would care to have us, we’ll come wherever you are. I can keep house and maid you and keep your things in order – you know I can. And I always did like sewing. And Fitch, as you know, can turn to anything. And if we can’t be at White Ladies, we’d rather go right away. After all, we’ve had the best, and things aren’t the same.

Hoping to have your decision very soon,

 

Yours very respectfully,

Bridget Ightham.

 

PS. I kept this open to tell you about the Colonel. I’m sure you’d like him, Madam, and he does know. Mr Falcon would have liked to hear him on how to keep the floors. And if the arrangement is made, he’ll come to be with us a fortnight and learn what we know. Not that we can teach him, but we do know White Ladies and all Mr Falcon did. Fitch took him to see the panel to Mr Falcon over the White Ladies pew.

 

Daphne’s reply went pelting.

1946.

My very dear Bridget,

Of course you must both come to us as soon as ever you can. Major Pleydell is making all arrangements and is writing to you himself. As I told you, we can’t go back to our home in France just yet. And so we are moving about – not an existence we like, but there you are. We have the house we are in for the next nine months. There is plenty of room, and I think you and Fitch will like it. It’s old-fashioned and very quiet, twenty miles from the town. Of course it’s inconvenient in many ways, but we are lucky to have it, and that’s the truth. All our stuff is in France, and we can’t get it out: but a friend has lent us some silver, and we have bought some rugs. There’s a pleasant room, which opens on to a courtyard, where you and my lady and I can sit and work – and talk about other days. Captain Pleydell is writing again, and Major Pleydell is building a dry stone-wall. He learned how to do it in France – they can’t do it here so well. He has a man to help him and lift the stones. The man can’t talk any English, and the Major can’t talk Portuguese; and to hear them conversing together would make you die.

Colonel Mansel and Carson are due next week. I hope they will bring a car, for ours is on its last legs. Major Pleydell usually drives it, for Captain Pleydell’s knee still gives him a lot of trouble – I fear it always will. But we are very happy in this quiet life. We’ve so much to be thankful for, Bridget. They’ve good English films in Lisbon, and sometimes we go a bust and drive into Town for the night. And we dine at a restaurant and my lady wears her pearls. But mostly we live very quietly day after day. So long as we can be quiet – you know what I mean. All that has happened – the changes – has driven us into ourselves. We can’t do anything about it, and so we have just retired. But it will be heaven to have you and Fitch again. How very nice of you both to want to be with us once more. And I know you’re right about White Ladies. Ever since your last letter, we had been worried to death. With a man like Colonel Scarlett, it should have a new lease of life. It mayn’t be a very long lease, for things that are old aren’t granted long leases today: but we have all done our best, and now we can’t do any more. We have, all of us, played our parts as well as we could. And now our play is over, for ‘period’ actors can’t do the modern stuff. It’s a new technique, Bridget, that you and I’ve never learned. So come and ‘pretend’ with us – like children playing ‘houses’… It doesn’t hurt anyone else, and it’s rather fun. I sometimes feel that we ought to do more than that. I’ve tried, and so have the others – more than once. But we’re out of our depth, Bridget, in this new world. So come and share what we have. It’ll be like old times to have you and Fitch about us…

 

Jill leaned over my shoulder, to set her cheek against mine.

“It’s half-past twelve, darling, and you promised to stop at twelve. Come out and get Berry in.”

An obedient husband, I rose and looked round for my stick.

“Take my arm,” said Jill.

We passed downstairs and into the shady courtyard, hung on our heel by the fountain of old, grey stone, and turned to climb the path that led to the pocket meadow where Berry was building his wall.

Unobserved by the operatives, we stood beneath a mimosa, watching the busy scene.

“You son of Belial,” said Berry. “You bull-nosed—”

A roar of delight cut short the apostrophe.

“Sim, sim, senhor.” Annibal’s eyes were upon a very round stone. “A nossa bola.”

“I’m glad you concur,” said Berry. “But I see no occasion for mirth. For mortification, perhaps.”

“Gangrena?”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Berry. “Mock the sage and meet the wart-hog, you know. And now remove that vile body and put in its place that very beautiful rock. Yes, that one. Esse, you blue-based serpent. What d’you think I’ve fashioned it for? Inutilizar be damned. It’s a work of art.”

“Muita bem.”

“I should hope so.”

In silence one stone was discarded, and another was laid in its place. Berry adjusted this, grunting. Then he stood back.

“You see?” be said. “Fits like a blasted glove.”

“Sim, sim, senhor. Muito elegante.”

“You’ve said it, brother,” said Berry. “The great Benvenuto himself—”

“Sim, sim. Bem venusto.”

“You shut your head,” said Berry. “I was talking about a fellow craftsman. A most entertaining wallah, rather before my time. Oh, you know that word, do you? Wonderful how the b-brain’ll work for the b-belly, isn’t it? All right. Get to your flesh-pots, Annibal. Artistico ressumpcao a tres horas. And bring some crags when you come. We’re running short.”

“Sim, sim, senhor.” Annibal turned, to see us a little way off. “Boas tardes, senhor, senhora.”

We gave him good day.

“Well, there we are,” said Berry. “Gorge-like, the wall is rising, a sober monument. I glean a queer satisfaction from shaping and piling these stones. They’re big with sermons, you know, as Shakespeare says. And they need a wall of sorts here, and the one I’m building will last. It isn’t very lovely to look at, but—”

“I find it lovely,” said Jill. “And the lizards will, too. Years after our time, the lizards will make their homes there and sun themselves on its top.”

Berry nodded.

“History repeats itself. ‘They say the Lion and the Lizard keep the Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep.’ Come, my sweet coz. Let us complete the prophecy. A glass and a half of sherry will suit me down to the socks.”

As we turned to go back to the quinta—

“I’ll say you’ve earned it,” said I.

But Berry shook his head.

“Such increment,” he said, “is unearned. There have been times, in the past, when I have pulled my weight. But this here wall is a vanity.”

“So is my work,” said I, “for the matter of that.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jill.

“Let me put it like this,” said Berry. “Some animals, when aggrieved, put forth an offensive odour. Others, such as the skunk, are still more downright. Reluctant to employ methods so crude, your husband and I turn to labour – in self-defence. Such work is vanity, for it is inspired not by the lust for achievement, but by the urge to avoid vexation of spirit.”

“I don’t agree,” said Jill, taking his arm. “Good work’s never vanity. Just now you rejected the stone that Annibal chose. I thought it looked all right; but it wouldn’t do for you, because it was not the best. And Boy’s the same. He’ll spend half an hour on one sentence – until he’s satisfied. Well, that’s not vanity.”

“That’s amour propre,” said Berry. “Once you’re afflicted with that, you can’t shake it off. It used to be common enough. but I’m told the percentage of sufferers is very much lower today. Wonderful thing, progress.”

“I don’t care,” said Jill. “And amour propre and vanity don’t agree. We can’t compete today – I’ll give you that. And so we’re marking time. If we were standing easy, that would be vanity.”

Berry took her small hand and put it up to his lips. “You win – as always,” he said. “Omnia vincit amor – and always will.”

And there was my sister by the fountain, with a basket of grain on her arm and pigeons strutting and fretting about her feet.

When she heard us, she looked up, smiling.

Then she addressed her husband.

“You’re looking tired, darling. You ought to have stopped before.”

“You’re not – you’re looking lovely. But that’s your way.”

Daphne’s lips framed a kiss.

“Will you promise to rest till three?”

“Till five minutes to. The master must keep the disciple up to the bit.”

Daphne scattered the last of the grain. Then she took Berry’s arm and turned to the house. And Jill and I followed after.

“What were you discussing?” said my sister. “I thought I heard Latin used.”

“We were being very highbrow,” said Berry. “I furnished the feast of reason, and Jill the flow of soul. And then I repeated an adage, the truth of which you two darlings have never failed to shew forth.”

“Spare me the Latin,” said Daphne, “but what was that?”

“Women and children first. Ovid puts it better, but—”

“You wicked liar,” shrieked Jill. “Boy, what was it he quoted?”

“Virgil,” I said, laughing. “A very pretty saying.”

“I forbid you,” said Berry, “to repeat it. I will not wear my heart on my seat – sleeve.” Daphne winked at me over his shoulder. “Yes, I saw you, you witch. And while I’m washing my hands—”

“—we shall do our best,” said Daphne.

Her husband protruded his tongue.