Black Mischief Read online

  In its isolation, life in the compound was placid and domestic. Lady Courteney devoted herself to gardening. The bags came out from London laden with bulbs and cuttings and soon there sprang up round the Legation a luxuriant English garden; lilac and lavender, privet and box, grass walks and croquet lawn, rockeries and wildernesses, herbaceous borders, bowers of rambler roses, puddles of waterlilies and an immature maze.

  William Bland, the honorary attaché, lived with the Courteneys. The rest of the staff were married. The Second Secretary had clock golf and the Consul two tennis courts. They called each other by their Christian names, pottered in and out of each others’ bungalows and knew the details of each others’ housekeeping. The Oriental Secretary, Captain Walsh, alone maintained certain reserves. He suffered from recurrent malaria and was known to ill-treat his wife. But since he was the only member of the Legation who understood Sakuyu, he was a man of importance, being in frequent demand as arbiter in disputes between the domestic servants.

  The unofficial British population of Debra Dowa was small and rather shady. There was the manager of the bank and his wife (who was popularly believed to have an infection of Indian blood); two subordinate bank clerks _; a shipper of hides who described himself as President of the Azanian Trading Association; a mechanic on the railway who was openly married to two Azanians; the Anglican Bishop of Debra Dowa and a shifting community of canons and curates, the manager of the Eastern Exchange Telegraph Company; and General Connolly. Intercourse between them and the Legation was now limited to luncheon on Christmas Day, to which all the more respectable were invited, and an annual garden party on the King’s Birthday which was attended by everyone in the town, from the Georgian Prince who managed the Perroquet Night Club to the Mormon Missionary. This aloofness from the affairs of the town was traditional to the Legation, being dictated partly by the difficulties of the road and partly by their inherent disinclination to mix with social inferiors. On Lady Courteney’s first arrival in Debra Dowa she had attempted to break down these distinctions, saying that they were absurd in so small a community. General Connolly had dined twice at the Legation and a friendship seemed to be in bud when its flowering was abruptly averted by an informal call paid on him by Lady Courteney in his own quarters. She had been lunching with the Empress and turned aside on her way home to deliver an invitation to croquet. Sentries presented arms in the courtyard, a finely uniformed servant opened the door, but this dignified passage was interrupted by a resolute little Negress in a magenta tea-gown who darted across the hall and barred her way to the drawing-room.

  ‘I am Black Bitch, ‘ she had explained simply. ‘What do you want in my house?’

  ‘I am Lady Courteney. I came to see General Connolly.’

  ‘The General is drunk today and he doesn’t want any more ladies.’

  After that Connolly was not asked even to Christmas luncheon.

  Other less dramatic incidents occurred with most of the English community until now, after six years, the Bishop was the only resident who ever came to play croquet on the Legation lawn. Even his Lordship’s visits had become less welcome lately. His strength did not enable him to accomplish both journeys in the same day, so that an invitation to luncheon involved also an invitation for the night and, usually, to luncheon next day as well. More than this, the Envoy Extraordinary found these incursions from the outside world increasingly disturbing and exhausting as his momentary interest in Azania began to subside. The Bishop would insist on talking about Problems and Policy, Welfare, Education and Finance. He knew all about native law and customs and the relative importance of the various factions at court. He had what Sir Samson considered an ostentatious habit of referring by name to members of the royal household and to provincial governors, whom Sir Samson was content to remember as ‘the old black fellow who drank so much Kummel’ or ‘that what-do-you-call-him Prudence said was like Aunt Sarah’ or ‘the one with glasses and gold teeth’.

  Besides, the Bishop’s croquet was not nearly up to Legation standards.

  As it happened, however, they found him at table when, twenty minutes late for luncheon, Prudence and William returned from their ride.

  ‘Do you know,’ said Lady Courteney, ‘I thought for once you had been massacred. It would have pleased Monsieur Ballon so much. He is always warning me of the danger of allowing you to go out alone during the crisis. He was on the telephone this morning asking what steps we had taken to fortify the Legation. Madame Ballon had made sandbags and put them all round the windows. He told me he was keeping his last cartridge for Madame Ballon.’

  ‘Everyone is in a great state of alarm in the town,’ said the Bishop. ‘There are so many rumours. Tell me, Sir Samson, you do not think really, seriously, there is any danger of a massacre?’

  The Envoy Extraordinary said: ‘We seem to have tinned asparagus for luncheon every day … I can’t think why … I’m so sorry — you were talking about the massacre. Well, I hardly know. I haven’t really thought about it … Yes, I suppose there might be one. I don’t see what’s to stop them, if the fellows take it into their heads. Still I dare say it’ll all blow over, you know. Doesn’t do to get worried … I should have thought we could have grown it ourselves. Much better than spending so much time on that Dutch garden. So like being on board ship, eating tinned asparagus.’

  For some minutes Lady Courteney and Sir Samson discussed the relative advantages of tulips and asparagus.

  Presently the Bishop said: ‘One of the things which brought me here this morning was to find Out if there was any News. If I could take back something certain to the town … You cannot imagine the distress everyone is in … It is the silence for so many weeks and the rumours. Up here you must at least know what is going on.’

  ‘News,’ said the Envoy Extraordinary. ‘News. Well, we’ve generally got quite a lot going on. Let’s see, when were you here last? You knew that the Anstruthers have decided to enter David for Uppingham? Very sensible of them, I think. And Percy Legge’s sister in England is going to be married — the one who was out here staying with them last year —you remember her? Betty Anstruther got run away with and had a nasty fall the other morning. I thought that pony was too strong for the child. What else is there to tell the Bishop, my dear?’

  ‘The Legges’ Frigidaire is broken and they can’t get it mended until after the war. Poor Captain Walsh has been laid up with fever again. Prudence began another novel the other day … or wasn’t I to tell about that, darling?’

  ‘You certainly were not to. And anyway it isn’t a novel. It’s a Panorama of Life. Oh, I’ve got some news for all of you. Percy scored twelve-hundred-and-eighty at bagatelle this morning.’

  ‘No, I say,’ said Sir Samson, ‘did he really?’

  ‘Oh, but that was on the chancery table,’ said William. ‘I don’t count that. We’ve all made colossal scores there. The pins are bent. I still call my eleven-hundred-and-sixty-five at the Anstruthers’ a record.’

  For some minutes they discussed the demerits of the chancery bagatelle table. Presently the Bishop said:

  ‘But is there no news about the war?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so. Can’t remember anything particularly. I leave all that to Walsh, you know, and he’s down with fever at the moment. I dare say when he comes back we shall hear something. He keeps in touch with all these local affairs … There were some cables the other day, now I come to think of it. Was there anything about the war in them, William, d’you know?’

  ‘I can’t really say, sir. The truth is we’ve lost the Cipher book again.’

  ‘Awful fellow, William, he’s always losing things. What would you say if you had a chaplain like that, Bishop? Well, as soon as it turns up, get them deciphered, will you? There might be something wanting an answer.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Oh, and William — I think you ought to get those pins put straight on the chancery bagatelle board. It’s an awful waste of time playing if it doesn’t run true
.’

  ‘Golly,’ said William to Prudence when they were alone. ‘Wasn’t the Envoy on a high horse at luncheon. Telling me off right and left. First about the cipher book and then about the bagatelle. Too humiliating.’

  ‘Poor sweet, he was only showing off to the Bishop. He’s probably frightfully ashamed of himself already.’

  ‘That’s all very well, but why should I be made to look a fool just so as he can impress the Bishop?’

  ‘Sweet, sweet William, please don’t be in a rage. It isn’t my fault if I have a martinet for a father, is it, darling? Listen, I’ve got a whole lot of new ideas for us to try.’

  The Legges and the Anstruthers came across to tea: cucumber sandwiches, gentleman’s relish, hot scones and seed-cake.

  ‘How’s Betty after her fall?’

  ‘Rather shaken, poor mite. Arthur wants her to start riding again as soon as she can. He’s afraid she may lose her nerve permanently.’

  ‘But not on Majesty.’

  ‘No, we hope Percy will lend her Jumbo for a bit. She can’t really manage Majesty yet, you know.’

  ‘More tea, Bishop? How is everyone at the Mission?’

  ‘Oh dear, how bare the garden is looking. It really is heart-breaking. This is just the time it should be at its best. But all the antirrhinums are in the bag, heaven knows where.’

  ‘This war is too exasperating. I’ve been expecting the wool for baby’s jacket for six weeks. I can’t get on with it at all and there are only the sleeves to finish. Do you think it would look too absurd if I put in the sleeves in another colour?’

  ‘It might look rather sweet.’

  ‘More tea, Bishop? I want to hear all about the infant school some time.’

  ‘I’ve found the cipher book, sir.’

  ‘Good boy, where was it?’

  ‘In my collar drawer. I’d been decoding some telegrams in bed last week.’

  ‘Splendid. It doesn’t matter as long as it’s safe, but you know how particular the F.O. are about things like that.’

  ‘Poor Monsieur Ballon. He’s been trying to get an aeroplane from Algiers.’

  ‘Mrs Schonbaum told me that the reason we’re all so short of supplies is that the French Legation have been buying up everything and storing it in their cellars.’

  ‘I wonder if they’d like to buy my marmalade. It’s been rather a failure this year. ‘.

  ‘More tea, Bishop? I want to talk to you some time about David’s confirmation. He’s getting such an independent mind, I’m sometimes quite frightened what he’ll say next.’

  ‘I wonder if you know anything about this cable. I can’t make head or tail of it. It isn’t in any of the usual codes. Kt to QR3 CH.’

  ‘Yes, they’re all right. It’s a move in the chess game Percy’s playing with Babbit at the F.O. He was wondering what had become of it.’

  ‘Poor Mrs Walsh. Looking quite done up. I’m sure the altitude isn’t good for her.’

  ‘I’m sure Uppingham is just the place for David.’

  ‘More tea, Bishop? I’m sure you must be tired after your ride.’

  Sixty miles southward in the Ukaka pass bloody bands of Sakuyu warriors played hide-and-seek among the rocks, chivvying the last fugitives of the army of Seyid, while behind them down the gorge, from cave villages of incalcuable antiquity, the women crept out to rob the dead.

  After tea the Consul looked in and invited Prudence and William over to play tennis.

  ‘I’m afraid the balls are pretty well worn out. We’ve had some on order for two months. Confound this war.’

  When it was too dark to play, they dropped in on the Legges for cocktails, overstayed their time and ran back to the Legation to change for dinner. They tossed for first bath. Prudence won but William took it. He finished her bath salts and they were both very late for dinner. The Bishop, as had been feared, stayed the night. After dinner a log fire was lit in the hall; the evenings were cold in the hills. Sir Samson settled down to his knitting. Anstruther and Legge came in to make up the bridge table with Lady Courteney and the Bishop.

  Legation bridge was played in a friendly way.

  ‘I’ll go one small heart.’

  ‘One no-trump, and I hope you remember what that means, partner.’

  ‘How you two do cheat.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I say, can’t you do better than that?’

  ‘What did you call?’

  ‘A heart.’

  ‘Oh, well, I’ll go two hearts.’

  ‘That’s better.’

  ‘Damn, I’ve forgotten what a no-trump call means. I shall have to pass.’

  ‘No. I’m thinking of riding Vizier with a gag. He’s getting heavy in the mouth.’

  ‘No. Then it’s you to play, Bishop. It’s hopeless using a steel bit out here.’

  ‘I say, what a rotten dummy; is that the best you can do, partner?’

  ‘Well, you wanted me to put you up. If you can make the syces water the bit before bridling it’s all right.’

  Prudence played the gramophone to William, who lay on his back in front of the hearth smoking one of the very few remaining cigars. ‘Oh dear,’ he said, ‘when will the new records come?’

  ‘I say, Prudence, do come and look at the jumper. I’m starting on the sleeves.’

  ‘Envoy, you are clever.’

  ‘Well, it’s very exciting …

  ‘Pretty tune that. I say, is it my turn?’

  ‘Percy, do attend to the game.’

  ‘Sorry, anyway I’ve taken the trick.’.

  ‘It was ours already.’

  ‘No, I say, was it? Put on the other side, Prudence — the one about Sex Appeal Sarah.’

  ‘Percy, it’s you to play again. Now trump it this time.’

  ‘Sorry, no trumps left. Good that about “start off with cocktails and end up with Eno’s”)

  A few miles away at the French Legation the minister and the first secretary were discussing the report of the British movements which was brought to them every evening by Sir Samson’s butler.

  ‘Bishop Goodchild is there again.’

  ‘Clericalism.’

  ‘That is how they keep in touch with the town. He is an old fox, Sir Courteney.’

  ‘It is quite true that they have made no attempt to fortify the Legation. I have confirmed it.’

  ‘No doubt they have made their preparations in another quarter. Sir Courteney has been financing Seth.’

  ‘Without doubt.’

  ‘I think he is behind the fluctuations of the currency.’

  ‘They are using a new code. Here is a copy of today’s telegram. It means nothing to me. Yesterday there was one the same.’

  ‘Kt to QR3 CH. No, that is not one of the ordinary codes. You must work on that all night. Pierre will help.’

  ‘I should not be surprised if Sir Samson were in the pay of the Italians.’

  ‘It is more than likely. The guard has been set?’

  ‘They have orders to shoot at sight.’.

  ‘Have the alarms been tested?’

  ‘All are in order.’

  ‘Excellent. Then I will wish you good night.’

  M. Ballon ascended the stairs to bed. In his room he first tested the steel shutters, then the lock of the door. Then he went across to the bed where his wife was already asleep and examined the mosquito curtains. He squirted a little Flit round the windows and door, sprayed his throat with antiseptic and rapidly divested himself of all except his woollen cummerbund. He shipped on his pyjamas, examined the magazine of his revolver and laid it on the chair at his bedside; next to it he placed his watch, electric torch and a bottle of Vittel. He slipped another revolver under his pillow. He tiptoed to the window and called down softly:

  ‘Sergeant.’

  There was a click of heels in the darkness. ‘Excellence.’

  ‘Is all well?’

  ‘All well, Excellence.’

  M. Ballon moved softly across to the electric swi
tches, and before extinguishing the main lamp switched on a small electric night-light which shed a faint blue radiance throughout the room. Then he cautiously lifted the mosquito curtain, flashed his torch round to make sure that there were no insects there, and finally, with a little grunt, hay down to sleep. Before losing consciousness his hand felt, found and grasped a small carved nut which he kept under his bolster in the belief that it would bring him good luck.

  Next morning by eleven o’clock the Bishop had been seen off the premises and the British Legation had settled down to its normal routine. Lady Courteney was in the potting-shed; Sir Samson was in the bath; William, Legge and Anstruther were throwing poker dice in the chancery; Prudence was at work on the third chapter of the Panorama of Life. Sex, she wrote in round, irregular characters, is the crying out of the Soul for Completion. Presently she crossed out ‘Soul’ and substituted ‘Spirit’; then she inserted ‘of man’, changed it to ‘manhood’ and substituted ‘humanity’. Then she took a new sheet of paper and copied out the whole sentence. Then she wrote a letter. Sweet William. You looked so lovely at breakfast you know all half awake and I wanted to pinch you only didn’t. Why did you go away at once? Saying ‘decode’. You know you hadn’t got to. I suppose is was the Bishop. Darling, he’s gone now so come back and I will show you something lovely. The Panorama of Life is rather a trial to-day. Very literary and abstruse but it won’t get any LONGER. Oh dear. Prudence. XXXX. She folded this letter very carefully into a three-cornered hat, addressed it The Honble William Bland, Attaché Honoraire, près La Legation de Grande Bretagne, and sent it down to the chancery, with instructions to the boy to wait for an answer. William scribbled, So sorry darling desperately busy today see you at luncheon. Longing to read Panorama. W., and threw four kings in two.