Rosy Is My Relative

  ‘Listen,’ said Ethelbert. ‘You might at least have some thought for that elephant.’

  ‘Why should I?’ said Adrian bitterly. ‘She’s never had any thought for me.’

  ‘Do you want her shot?’ enquired Ethelbert.

  ‘Shot!’ said Adrian startled. ‘They wouldn’t shoot her, would they? I mean, it wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘They will shoot her,’ said Ethelbert pressing his advantage dramatically. ‘Probably at dawn, unless you get out of here right away.’

  ‘But that’s iniquitous,’ said Adrian. ‘They can’t possibly think for one minute that she was responsible . . .’

  ‘Will you stop arguing and get out of here?’ hissed Ethelbert.

  ‘Yes,’ said Adrian.

  He rushed and opened the doors of the scenery store, then, grasping the top of Rosy’s warm ear in his hand, he urged her forward at a brisk walk.

  ‘Goodbye, my love,’ said Ethelbert waving extravagantly, ‘I’ll send your things on. Don’t worry.’

  So, leaving the wrecked theatre behind them, vibrant with the noise of pandemonium, Rosy and Adrian made their way swiftly through the deserted streets to the docks.

  17. The Approach of the Law

  By the time they reached the docks, the excitement and bustle had made the gin take a firm hold on Rosy and, uttering little squeaks of pleasure to herself, she staggered along by Adrian’s side, occasionally tripping over her own feet. Adrian was beyond caring. All he wanted was to get Rosy on board the ship, and it was with considerable relief that he saw that the Sploshport Queen had not left.

  Shackling Rosy to a bollard, he rushed on deck and was lucky enough to find the Captain almost immediately.

  ‘Aha,’ said the Captain, backing away from him. ‘Have you come to inflict another assault upon my person?’

  ‘No,’ said Adrian. ‘I just want you to take me and my elephant back to the mainland.’

  ‘You didn’t stay here very long,’ said the Captain.

  ‘No,’ said Adrian. ‘There was not really any work for us to do.’

  ‘Well, get on board,’ said the Captain. ‘We’re due to leave any minute now.’

  Adrian retrieved Rosy and led her up the wide gangway to the forrard deck where she had travelled before. Just at that moment the Chief Officer hailed him from the dockside. Telling Rosy to stand still, Adrian ran back to pay for his and Rosy’s fare. It was, it transpired, an unwise thing for him to do. Rosy had by now recovered from her panic on the revolving stage, and was feeling tired, a feeling that was aggravated by the amount of gin that she had consumed. She ambled slowly across the deck and stood looking over the rail, swaying gently, and uttering little musical squeaks to herself. Then she turned, intending to go back down the gangway in search of Adrian, but her gait was uncertain and she slipped and fell against the ship’s rail which, though of strong enough construction in its way, had not been designed to withstand the weight of several tons of elephant. It promptly gave way. Adrian, hurrying up the gangway, was just in time to see Rosy, her feet in the air, disappearing over the side of the Sploshport Queen. She hit the water with a report like a cannon and a great column of water rose some twenty feet into the air.

  Now, Adrian knew from that hideous day when they had routed the Monkspepper Hunt that Rosy liked water, but a shallow river is one thing and five fathoms of sea water something very different. He ran to the gaping hole in the rails, tearing off his coat, quite prepared to dive in and save Rosy. It was not until later that he realised what extreme difficulty he would have had rescuing Rosy if she could not swim. He peered down at the dark waters and saw that Rosy had surfaced and with her trunk aloft was making steady progress toward the open sea. This was almost worse than her drowning.

  ‘Come back!’ yelled Adrian. ‘Rosy, come back!’

  But Rosy continued to plough onwards towards the harbour entrance. There was nothing for it, thought Adrian bitterly, he would have to go to her rescue after all. So, taking a deep breath, he jumped over the side of the Sploshport Queen. The oily water was unpleasantly cold. He rose spluttering to the surface and struck out in hot pursuit of Rosy. Eventually, by putting on a turn of speed that made him feel his lungs were bursting, he swam alongside.

  ‘You fool,’ he gasped at her. ‘You’re swimming the wrong way.’

  Rosy was delighted to see him. She uttered a small gurgling squeak of recognition and wrapped her trunk affectionately around Adrian’s neck, thus successfully plunging him beneath the water. He uncurled her trunk and rose gasping and spluttering.

  ‘You bloody elephant,’ he gasped. He seized the edge of her ear and, feeling not unlike a very small tug in charge of a gigantic ocean liner, succeeded in turning her so that she aimed in the general direction of shore.

  Some two or three minutes later they made landfall at a series of shallow steps that led up from the water to the dockside, and up these, with a certain amount of effort, they made their way. The docks had been comparatively deserted when they had arrived, but now a large crowd had assembled in the miraculous way that crowds do assemble when any accident happens. Included in the crowd was a very large and belligerent-looking policeman. As Adrian, still clinging to Rosy’s ear, staggered up to the dockside and started to wring the water out of his hair, the policeman approached him, his hands behind his back, his buttons glinting in the lamplight.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Good evening,’ said Adrian, wondering what was good about it.

  ‘Would that be your elephant, sir?’ said the constable, ‘or were you rescuing it, like, on behalf of somebody else?’

  ‘No,’ said Adrian, ‘it’s mine.’

  ‘Ah,’ said the constable.

  He extracted a notebook from his pocket and turned the leaves slowly, licking his forefinger copiously as he turned each page.

  ‘You wouldn’t, I suppose, by any chance, sir, be Mr Adrian Rookwhistle, would you?’ he enquired.

  ‘That is my name,’ said Adrian resignedly.

  ‘Ah,’ said the constable beaming at him paternally, ‘then perhaps you could spare the time, sir, just to step down to the station with me. One or two little matters that need to be sorted out. I understand that elephant of yours has been having quite an exciting career.’

  ‘Look, officer,’ said Adrian, ‘I can explain everything.’

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ barked a trenchant voice suddenly from the depths of the crowd.

  Adrian looked round startled and saw that the advice had been offered to him by a short, circular little man like a dumpling. He was wearing a faded, dusty looking cut-away coat, a top hat that looked as though it had been run over by a very heavy horse and cart, baggy trousers and an enormous pair of elastic-sided boots so ancient that the toes pointed skywards. Under his coat, spreading over his paunch, was a moleskin waistcoat. He had a great beak of a nose, as scarlet and as pitted as a strawberry, and fierce blue eyes under shaggy white snowdrifts of eyebrow. He was so short that he came within a hair’s breadth of being a dwarf and his corpulence made him appear shorter still, but he strutted up to the constable in such a belligerent manner that the minion of the law immediately took a step backwards and touched his helmet.

  ‘Not one word,’ said this little man, turning to Adrian and holding up an admonishing forefinger. So imposing was the little man’s demeanour that the crowd, which had been shuffling and laughing among itself, fell silent. The little man rearranged his top hat and sniffed prodigiously. He was obviously conscious of the fact that he had made this impact and was extracting every last exquisite moment from it.

  Having rearranged his battered headgear to his satisfaction, he then inserted his fingers carefully into an ample pocket in his moleskin waistcoat and extracted from it a large and battered pewter snuff box. Rosy, under the impression that it was something edible, stretched out her trunk tentatively and sniffed.

  ‘Desist,’ said the little man coldly, fixing her with a malevolent stare,
and to Adrian’s astonishment, Rosy curled up her trunk and looked as embarrassed as only an elephant can. It was obvious that she had fallen under the little man’s spell as well as the crowd. The little man opened the snuff box, whereupon it played a few tinkling bars of ‘God Save the Queen.’ He extracted a pinch of snuff delicately and then, holding out his left band, placed the snuff reverently on the inside of his wrist. He closed the snuff box with his right hand and returned it to his pocket, then raised his wrist to his nose and sniffed deeply. The silence was complete. Everybody, including the constable, was watching him with rapt attention. He sniffed a couple of times and then, starting at the tips of his shoes and reverberating all the way up through his whole body, he sneezed enormously and voluptuously, uttering at the same time a sort of screeching yelp that made everybody, including Rosy, retreat several paces. He then produced an enormous silk handkerchief and blew his nose into it with a trumpeting worthy of a bull elephant. He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket and straightened his top hat which had become disarranged by the force of his sneeze.

  ‘Inspector,’ he said, raising his shaggy eyebrows and looking up at the constable, ‘you have just been privileged to witness a sight which many people would give ten years of their lives to have seen.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable. ‘I am a constable, actually.’

  ‘It matters not,’ observed the little man, ‘how menial you are, it is a matter of appreciating great acts of heroism when you see them.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable woodenly.

  ‘It is the Bible,’ said the little man, waving his arms oratorically, ‘that teaches us we have dominion over the fowls of the air and the beasts of the field.’

  ‘If you say so, sir,’ said the constable.

  ‘I do say so,’ said the little man. ‘And that includes elephants.’ He threw his left arm round Adrian’s dripping shoulders and spread out his right hand with a gesture of one about to field a tennis ball.

  ‘Friends,’ he said trenchantly, ‘this brave young man, prompted by the sacred words of the Bible, unhesitatingly and without a thought for his own safety, cast himself into the roaring tumult of the waves to save a beast of the field.’

  The fact that the harbour was oily calm in no way detracted from this dramatic statement.

  ‘Is there a man among you,’ continued the little man, addressing the crowd which consisted largely of women, ‘is there a man among you who would have performed such a deed of valour?’

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ said the constable, ‘I know that what this young man did was very brave, but you see, him and his elephant is wanted.’

  The little man swirled like a pouter pigeon and his eyes became as blue and as sharp as two periwinkles under ice.

  ‘I,’ he said, adjusting his top hat with care, ‘I am Sir Magnus Ramping Fumitory. You may, no doubt, during your long association with the courts, have come across my name.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said the constable dismally, touching his helmet once more, ‘I have heard about you.’

  ‘Well, I demand to know,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘whether you intend to arrest this young man, this hero of the deeps?’

  ‘Well, yes, sir,’ said the constable, ‘in a sort of way. I just want him and his elephant to come down to the station and help us with a bit of information. It’s pursuant to a complaint.’

  Sir Magnus smiled a grim smile.

  ‘What a masterly massacre of the tongue that Shakespeare spoke,’ he said. ‘Still, Chief Constable, I realise you have your duty to do, however erroneous it may be, so I will allow you to apprehend this heroic young man and I will indeed, endeavour to protect you from the wrath of the crowd. For it is patently obvious to me where their sympathies lie.’

  The crowd, captivated but like most crowds not knowing what the whole thing was about, growled encouragingly. Sir Magnus beamed at them like a conductor beaming at an orchestra at the end of a particularly difficult passage of music, and then turned to Adrian.

  ‘My boy,’ he said, ‘I shall personally accompany you to the police station, and if they arrest you and charge you, if indeed they are so inhuman and so callous as to arrest you and charge you, I, Sir Magnus Ramping Fumitory, will defend you.’

  ‘You are very kind,’ said Adrian, who was now so bewildered that he was not sure whether he was under arrest or not.

  ‘Well, if you will just come along with me,’ said the constable. ‘If nothing else, we will be able to give you a hot cup of tea at the station.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Adrian, who was frozen to the marrow and felt that it was even worth being arrested in order to have a hot drink.

  ‘Don’t say a word,’ said Sir Magnus, ‘until we get to the station and find out what their paltry charges are.’

  So Adrian seized Rosy’s ear once more, and with Sir Magnus strutting pigeon-toed on one side, and the constable lumbering on the other, and the crowd shuffling and whispering following behind, they made their way to the police station. When they arrived they induced Rosy, with a certain amount of difficulty and with the aid of a bribe of several loaves of bread, to stand in the station yard. Inside the dour red-brick police station, the station sergeant, with a rich, peony-coloured face and an impressive moustache, peered at Adrian like a good-natured walrus.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said. ‘Your name is Adrian Rookwhistle?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Adrian.

  ‘And I wouldn’t admit anything more than your name,’ hissed Sir Magnus.

  ‘Well, sir,’ said the sergeant, ‘we’ve several charges against you, so I must warn you that anything you say may be taken down and used in evidence at your trial.’ He paused and stared at Adrian portentously. ‘The charges are as follows. That you did on 20th April in the County of Brockelberry cause a public nuisance in the meadows alongside the Monkspepper Road there situate by releasing a large wild animal, and furthermore that you allowed it to commit grievous bodily harm to Hubert Darcey, Master of the Monkspepper Hunt and that on the night of 5th June you did commit a public nuisance by allowing a large wild animal loose in a public place, to wit the Alhambra Theatre and allowed it to commit grievous bodily harm to Mr Emanuel S. Clattercup, the theatre manager.’ The sergeant paused, looked down at his notes and then looked up at Adrian and beamed affably.

  ‘That seems to be all for the moment, sir,’ he said.

  ‘Ridiculous trumped-up charges,’ said Sir Magnus, taking off his top hat and banging it on the sergeant’s desk. ‘Don’t worry, my dear chap, I will soon have you free of this noxious web which these bovine illiterates are endeavouring to weave around you and that noble creature of yours.’

  ‘I am afraid, sir,’ said the sergeant, unmoved by Sir Magnus’s oratory, ‘that I shall have to detain you in custody so that you can appear before the magistrates tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Well, that’s all very well,’ protested Adrian, ‘but what about Rosy?’

  ‘Your elephant, sir?’ enquired the sergeant. ‘Umm, that does present a bit of a problem. You see our cells are somewhat on the small side.’

  ‘Well, she’d be all right out in the yard,’ said Adrian, ‘if she was given something to eat.’

  ‘I will attend to that, sir,’ said the sergeant. He picked up a clean piece of paper, licked his pencil and looked at Adrian interrogatively.

  ‘Now, what does she eat, sir?’

  ‘Well,’ said Adrian, ‘if you get half a sack of mangolds or turnips (but she prefers mangolds), a bale of hay, half a sack of apples half a sack of carrots, half a sack of bread . . .’

  The station sergeant’s face grew grim.

  ‘You wouldn’t by any chance be gammoning me?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Adrian earnestly. ‘Really, she’s got a colossal appetite.’

  ‘Well,’ said the sergeant, ‘I’ll see what I can do, sir. Now, I’d be glad if you would just turn out your pockets, sir, and check the contents with me. They’ll all be returned to you in due course
.’

  Adrian emptied his pockets and the station sergeant put all his possessions in a large brown envelope and locked it away in a cabinet.

  ‘Now, sir,’ he said, sounding exactly like the hall porter at a sumptuous hotel, ‘if you’ll just come this way, I’ll show you your accommodation.’

  Sir Magnus stretched out his hand to Adrian.

  ‘Don’t worry, my boy,’ he said. ‘I shall be here first thing in the morning to make sure that you get fair play. Just look upon this as an unpleasant – but rapidly passing – dream.’

  ‘It’s beginning to feel like it,’ said Adrian gloomily.

  He followed the sergeant down a brick-lined passage way until they came to the doorways of several tiny cells, most of which, judging by the noises and the all-pervading smell of alcohol, contained people whom Rosy would have been honoured to number among her friends. The sergeant unlocked one of the cell doors and ushered Adrian into a tiny whitewashed room with a wooden bunk, a small chest of drawers and, perched on top of it, rather incongruously, a large china bowl and ewer decorated in pink and blue flowers.

  ‘Here we are, sir,’ said the sergeant. ‘Now you get a good night’s rest and we’ll see you in the morning.’

  He closed the door and the bolt clicked into place. Slowly Adrian peeled off his sodden clothes, climbed into the hard, narrow bed and lay there staring at the ceiling. He was convinced that he was going to get at least a year’s penal servitude for his crimes, but strangely enough this didn’t worry him. What did worry him was what was going to happen to Rosy, coupled with the fact that if he was imprisoned for a year it would be a year before he would see Samantha again. By which time, of course, she might have moved and he would not be able to trace her, or, worse still, might have married some uncouth ruffian who would not appreciate her finer points.

  Alone in his little cell, Adrian could visualise it all so clearly that he broke out in a cold sweat. Rosy being condemned to death by the magistrates, the clatter of boots as the army platoon detailed to carry out the sentence marched into the prison yard, the crackle of guns, the great thud as Rosy’s body hit the cobbles, bleeding from a dozen wounds, and meanwhile Samantha irretrievably married to a great, coarse, hairy plough-boy who would beat her regularly every Saturday night so that, if and when Adrian ever discovered her again, she would be a gaunt shadow of her former self, and even the gold flecks in her eyes would have ceased to glitter. With Adrian’s fertile imagination at work, it was not altogether surprising that he got little sleep that night.