Rosy Is My Relative

  ‘Ahoy!’ and Adrian leapt to his feet as though he had been shot and wheeled around wildly. Trotting towards him through the thrift, panting and waving her hands in greeting, came Black Nell.

  ‘Ahoy!’ she crowed, beaming at him. ‘Well met.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Adrian in astonishment. ‘What are you doing up here?’

  ‘A minute,’ panted Black Nell, ‘while I catch me breath.’ She sat down and fanned herself vigorously for a moment or two.

  ‘You aren’t hiding Rosy very well,’ she said accusingly. ‘My caravan’s right over there, and I could see her standing up against the sky. Thought she was a great rock until she moved.’

  ‘Well, I think I’m safe enough here,’ said Adrian glancing round anxiously.

  ‘Where are you going to?’ enquired Black Nell.

  ‘Well, I don’t really know,’ said Adrian. ‘I was going to follow the cliffs along until I came to a town, and then see if there was a circus or something that would take Rosy off me.’

  ‘Umm,’ said Black Nell, pulling her pipe out of her pocket and lighting it. ‘Do you know these parts?’

  ‘No,’ said Adrian, ‘I don’t.’

  ‘Well,’ said Black Nell, pointing with the stem of her pipe, ‘if you take my advice, you’ll go that way. That leads you to Sploshport-on-Solent. Quite a pleasant little place in its way, but from there you can catch the ferry across to the Island of Scallop.’

  ‘But what on earth do I want to go to an island for?’ said Adrian. ‘Besides, will they take Rosy on the ferry?’

  ‘Hush up and listen to me,’ said Black Nell. ‘The island’s a favourite place for holidaymakers, see. They’ve got all sorts of things there, fun fairs and the like, and if there’s any circus in the area, it’ll be there. That’s your only chance of getting shot of Rosy in this area. As for taking her on the ferry, well, how do you think the circuses get across?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adrian humbly, ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

  ‘Now,’ said Black Nell, ‘if you put on a steady turn of speed, you should be down at Sploshport in time to catch the evening ferry. Then, when you are across, go and see a friend of mine, Ethelbert Cleep.’

  ‘Ethelbert Cleep, Ethelbert Cleep?’ said Adrian incredulously.

  ‘He can’t help his name,’ said Black Nell sharply. ‘After all, Rookwhistle might seem curious to some.’

  ‘True,’ Adrian admitted. ‘Well, when I see your friend what do I do?’

  ‘Tell him your story, tell him I sent you, and act on his advice,’ said Black Nell.

  ‘It is extremely kind of you,’ said Adrian.

  ‘By the way, how did you get on at the Unicorn and Harp?’ enquired Black Nell glancing at him shrewdly.

  ‘They were wonderful to me,’ said Adrian, blushing slightly. ‘Absolutely marvellous people.’

  ‘Particularly Samantha, eh?’ said Black Nell. ‘Or did you think she was just another of those flibbertigibbet girls?’

  ‘Flibbertigibbet,’ said Adrian incensed. ‘flibbertigibbet, Samantha, why she’s, I think . . . she was . . . she is . . .’

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Black Nell comfortably puffing out a large cloud of smoke. ‘I know what you mean, but look, if you’re to make that ferry you had best get a move on.’

  She got to her feet, patted Rosy’s trunk affectionately and grinned at Adrian.

  ‘See you again some time. Give my love to Ethelbert,’ she said, and stumped back over the downs like a small indomitable black mole in a great sea of green.

  Hastily Adrian hitched Rosy up to the trap, then continued along the rough track over the downs until it dipped and swung down to join a proper road with houses on it. Soon more and more houses appeared and eventually Adrian and Rosy reached the middle of Sploshport-on-Solent. He immediately noticed one great difference between Sploshport and the city. Here, after many years of experience, the horses and the people had grown inured to strange processions of weird beasts passing through their midst. Nobody turned his head to look at Adrian and Rosy as they plodded through the streets, and the horses pulling the carts and carriages clopped past them as though they did not exist.

  After stopping to enquire the way several times, Adrian and Rosy finally found themselves down at the docks and saw the Sploshport Queen wallowing at her moorings like a gigantic beetle, the spades of her paddle-wheels slapping the water as she rolled slowly and majestically in the evening sun. A great plume of black smoke from her gold and green funnel implied that she was in imminent danger of departure and people were hurrying to and fro up the gangplank and milling about on the decks. Adrian shackled Rosy to a lamp post and made his way through the crowd until he came upon what he assumed to be a sailor who was sitting on a bollard chewing tobacco with the vacant-eyed, dispirited enthusiasm of a very ancient cow.

  ‘Can you help me?’ asked Adrian. ‘I want to go across on the ferry and I have got an elephant and trap. Who do I see about going?’

  The sailor’s jaws stopped revolving and he thought about the question for a long time.

  ‘Not me,’ he said at length.

  ‘No,’ said Adrian, ‘I didn’t think it would be you. I thought you might know whom I had to see.’

  The sailor chewed on for a short time and then stopped once more.

  ‘Elephants,’ he explained hoarsely, ‘is cargo.’

  ‘Yes?’ said Adrian.

  ‘Cargo is the Captain or Chief Officer,’ said the sailor, and apparently overcome by this brief communication with the outside world fell into another chewing trance.

  Adrian fought his way up the gangplank and on to the deck of the Sploshport Queen. Pushed and buffeted by enormous families of excited children, each of whom appeared to be armed with extremely sharp buckets and spades, he eventually found a ladder leading up to the bridge. He ran up this quickly and as he got to the top collided with another figure on its way down. It was perhaps unfortunate that when he had apologised and helped the figure to its feet, it turned out to be the Captain of the Sploshport Queen. He was a tiny, egg-shaped little man, so covered with gold braid that his uniform could be only dimly discerned beneath it. He had a spade-shaped grey beard and vibrated energy like a hive of particularly malevolent bees. He brushed himself down and surveyed Adrian from head to foot slowly and with what appeared to be cannibalistic interest.

  ‘If this is attempted mutiny,’ he said in a soft reasonable voice, ‘then I suppose you have some slight excuse, but I would like to point out to you, young man, that to be knocked down and trampled under foot is hardly the sort of action that forms a firm basis for warm and prolonged friendship.’

  ‘I am terribly sorry,’ said Adrian, ‘but I thought you were just leaving and I was in a hurry. You see, I’ve got an elephant and trap that I want to carry on ship, if I may.’

  The Captain flicked a tiny scrap of dust from his uniform and surveyed Adrian again.

  ‘I suppose,’ he said with a small sigh, ‘that I should be thankful you did not send the elephant up to see me. Where is the animal?’

  ‘It’s down there on the dock,’ said Adrian.

  ‘It will cost five guineas,’ said the Captain.

  ‘That’s all right,’ said Adrian. ‘As long as we can go.’

  14. Landfall

  Adrian, to his surprise, thoroughly enjoyed their short voyage on the Sploshport Queen. He had Rosy securely shackled to a massive steel bollard and felt reasonably sure that she could not get into trouble. He went below to the dining-saloon and bought them each a pint of ale, some buns for Rosy, and some sandwiches for himself and then, while they were sharing this meal, he leant on the rail and admired the sunset and the way its light seemed to smooth out the surface of the waves so that they looked like great bales of silk, unrolled across a draper’s counter.

  Rosy took to this new experience with her normal equanimity. She at first evinced a great interest in the sea; presumably, Adrian thought, because the sight of so much liquid forced her to
the conclusion that it was drinkable and possibly intoxicating. However, finding it unobtainable from the deck, she soon gave that up and settled down to her normal rhythmic swaying from side to side, with her eyes half closed.

  It was quite dark by the time they reached the Island of Scallop and, having disembarked, Rosy and Adrian made their way along the narrow cobbled streets of the town, pausing now and then to ask directions from strangers.

  Eventually the road led them out of the town, over some sand-dunes, and there in the middle of the dunes like an extraordinary piece of flotsam was a small cottage constructed entirely from weather-beaten planks and bits of wood that must, at one time or another, have been cast up by the sea. Lights peered out of the windows and above the sigh of the sea Adrian could hear wafted to him the mournful sounds of a tuba in inexperienced hands, picking its way through what he, with difficulty, recognised as ‘My Love is Like a Red, Red Rose.’ The sand-dunes stretched away in every direction without a sign of any other habitation, and Adrian decided that this must be the house of Ethelbert Cleep. He and Rosy scrunched their way across the dunes and knocked on the door. The tuba uttered a discordant bellow like a bull and fell silent. After a moment, they could hear footsteps approaching the door.

  ‘No artistry,’ shouted a voice from behind the door. ‘Bloody Philistines, banging and crashing when I’m in the middle of practice. Who is it? Who is it?’

  Adrian cleared his throat.

  ‘I’m Adrian Rookwhistle,’ he shouted.

  ‘Adrian, did you say?’ enquired a voice from behind the door. A boy?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adrian, for want of a better reply.

  The door was flung open and there stood a little man as tiny and as fragile as a sparrow. Adrian surveyed him incredulously. He was dressed in a long, thick, mustard-coloured cardigan which stretched almost to his knees and was done up with a series of enormous, bright gold, heavily embossed buttons; pearly grey velveteen trousers and a pair of black and white boots of weird design completed his ensemble. He had a mass of straw-coloured hair arranged in a style that made it look like an exceptionally wind-blown haystack, and he was wearing a pair of the most enormous pearl earrings that Adrian had ever seen. His thin, pale face was dominated by his eyes which were dark and shrewd and as restless as butterflies. This apparition leant provocatively against the door and surveyed Adrian.

  ‘Darling boy,’ it said at last, ‘what did you say your name was?’

  ‘Adrian, Adrian Rookwhistle. I was told to come and see you by Black Nell.’

  ‘Darling Black Nell,’ said the apparition. A woman who really understands a man’s needs. How thoughtful of her.’

  ‘You are Ethelbert Cleep, aren’t you?’ said Adrian.

  ‘Yes,’ said Cleep archly. ‘My friends call me Ethel. Don’t let me keep you standing here, chilling yourself to the bone. Come in, come in.’

  ‘Well, there’s Rosy,’ said Adrian.

  ‘Rosy?’ said Cleep. ‘Surely you don’t mean to say you have had the bad taste to bring a woman with you?’

  ‘No,’ said Adrian gesturing at the sands outside, ‘this is Rosy.’

  Ethelbert Cleep peered out of the door and at that moment Rosy, whose manners were always impeccable, lifted up her trunk and uttered one of her falsetto trumpetings. Simultaneously Ethelbert Cleep uttered a squeak of surprise which was almost identical in timbre, and retreated into the passageway.

  ‘What,’ he enquired in a hushed whisper of Adrian, ‘is that?’

  ‘It’s Rosy,’ said Adrian. ‘She’s my elephant.’

  Ethelbert Cleep was holding a fragile heavily beringed hand to his chest as though in danger of suffering a heart attack.

  ‘Is it for me, darling boy?’ he asked. ‘If so, although I am overwhelmed by your generosity, I really feel I must refuse such a lavish present.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Adrian. ‘If you’ll just let me come in a moment, I can explain everything to you.’

  He tied Rosy up and made his way into the Cleep establishment.

  The whole cottage was one big room. At one end a staircase led up to a half-loft where, behind discreetly drawn chintz curtains, were Ethelbert’s sleeping quarters. The whole room was full of chairs covered with antimacassars, tiny tables on which were precariously balanced glass domes full of decaying-looking stuffed birds and similar trinkets presumably dear to Ethelbert Cleep’s heart, so that it made it almost impossible to move without knocking something over. Over the years, apparently, Ethelbert Cleep had developed a sort of bat-like system for avoiding damage to his objets d’art, and he flitted through the room with the greatest of ease, seated himself on a sofa and patted the cushion by his side.

  ‘Come and sit down, darling boy, and tell me everything,’ he said.

  Adrian picked his way carefully through the forest of bric-à-brac and lowered himself on to a chair at a convenient distance from Ethelbert Cleep.

  ‘Well,’ he began, ‘it’s like this . . .’

  ‘’Er, wait’ said Cleep holding up a long forefinger. ‘A little refreshment.’

  He fluttered across the room and disappeared behind a Japanese screen covered with enormous dragons that looked as though they were in the last stages of thyroid deficiency. He reappeared carrying a decanter and two glasses, poured out a drink for Adrian, pressed it into his hand, and patted his cheek.

  ‘Now then,’ he said as he seated himself on the sofa. Adrian sniffed the wine and it seemed innocuous.

  ‘My own, dearest heart,’ said Ethelbert Cleep, ‘I make it every year out of elderberries from the headland. Incredibly nourishing. Now, tell me your story. I’m sure I shall find it absolutely riveting.’

  So Adrian told him his adventures, and Ethelbert Cleep proved an exemplary audience. He sat with his eyes growing rounder and rounder, the glass forgotten in his hand, occasionally giving a little nervous giggle of laughter like a schoolgirl.

  ‘Dear boy,’ he said when Adrian had finished, ‘an absolutely fascinating story.’

  ‘Well, it may sound like one, but it isn’t when you live through it,’ said Adrian bitterly. ‘Anyway, Black Nell said I was to tell you all about it, and then to rely on your advice.’

  ‘My advice in everything, I hope,’ said Cleep archly, ‘but let me think, let me think.’

  He finished his wine, then produced from the interior of his repulsive cardigan a heavily embroidered smoking cap with a long silk tassel, wedged it firmly on his mop of hair, closed his eyes and leaned back.

  ‘You see . . .’ began Adrian.

  ‘Hush,’ said Cleep without opening his eyes.

  For some five minutes or so Adrian sat there finishing his wine and watching Cleep who appeared to have gone into a trance. Adrian was beginning seriously to wonder whether Black Nell had been right in sending him to this extraordinary little man. It looked as though he was more liable to get himself into further trouble than anything else.

  ‘Got it!’ said Cleep suddenly, removing his cap and putting it back in his cardigan. ‘Down in the town, darling boy, they have a theatre. It is, in actual fact, quite posh. You see, this place is becoming more and more of a resort.’

  He shuddered faintly at this thought and poured himself another glass of wine. ‘I assure you, darling boy,’ he continued, ‘that the droves and droves of hideous, purple-faced families that come flocking here are something that have to be seen to be believed.’

  ‘Yes, but what about the theatre?’ said Adrian.

  ‘Well,’ said Cleep, ‘it has only recently been built by one Emanuel S. Clattercup, a bovine and repulsive individual who, having spent the greater part of his life swindling the masses, has now decided that it is time to inflict some culture on those same unfortunate beings. Needless to say, culture at a profit.’

  He sipped his wine and beamed at Adrian.

  ‘But, what has this got to do with me?’ asked Adrian.

  ‘Wait,’ said Cleep. ‘You might have thought that dear Clattercup, having gone
to all the trouble of building a theatre in order to disseminate culture, would choose, as his first offering, something that a professional Thespian like myself could really get his teeth into. Othello, for example. My Desdemona is exquisite.’

  ‘That,’ said Adrian, ‘I can well imagine.’

  ‘Or,’ said Cleep, ‘Romeo and Juliet. They always said my Juliet was one of my best things, and also it used to save the company a lot of money because – not being exactly a heavy man – they didn’t have to reinforce the balcony. However, this Clattercup Philistine has seen fit to start the season with, of all things, Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves.’

  ‘I should have thought,’ said Adrian, ‘that for a holiday resort that would have been an ideal thing to start with. After all, it would be sort of gay and bright.’

  ‘Dearest and sweetest Adrian,’ said Cleep closing his eyes in pain, ‘I may call you Adrian mayn’t I? There’s a great difference between culture and gaiety. The two things are not synonymous at all.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I don’t know very much about these things,’ said Adrian. ‘I just thought that probably the children would enjoy it. But I still don’t see what it’s got to do with me.’

  ‘Listen,’ said Cleep, ‘this cretinous Clattercup is about as altruistic as a brace of vultures. Now, if you could get him to include Rosy in the show and she was a success, and you then offered him the five hundred pounds – or what is left of it – I’m sure he would take her off your hands.’

  ‘I say,’ said Adrian enthusiastically, ‘what an excellent idea.’

  ‘I’m always having them, darling,’ said Cleep. ‘Now, what I suggest you do is to spend the night here and then tomorrow I will take you down to see Clattercup.’

  ‘Wonderful,’ said Adrian. ‘Thank you very much indeed.’

  ‘I myself,’ said Ethelbert reddening slightly, ‘am playing a minor part in the show. Not that I approve of it, you understand, but, dearest heart, one must live.’