Highland Fling (15 page)

‘It must be,’ said Albert. ‘I long to see the chieftains.’

At dinner the subject was once more discussed at some length, and it was finally decided that the whole party should go, starting punctually at half-past twelve; and Lady Prague, who to Sally’s great relief had taken upon herself all questions of housekeeping, gave the necessary orders for a picnic luncheon.

The next morning at twelve o’clock Albert had not put in an appearance, and kind Mr Buggins, knowing his customary lateness and aware that Lady Prague and General Murgatroyd wait for no man, went to his bedroom to see if he had awakened.

Albert was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing a pair of exquisite sprigged pyjamas. A gramophone blared out ‘The Ride of the Valkyries’; the whole room smelt strongly of gardenias. He stopped the gramophone and said:

‘This is a great pleasure, Mr Buggins. So early, too; your energy never ceases to amaze me. I am in a state of intense excitement. Look what I received this morning from a friend in London.’ He held out a Victorian glass paperweight.

‘Look into it carefully.’

Mr Buggins did so, and was immediately rewarded by the sight of Gladstone’s memorable features.

‘Now,’ said Albert excitedly, ‘turn it round just a little.’

Mr Buggins obeyed, and lo and behold! Mr Gladstone changed before his very eyes to Mr Disraeli. He made a suitable exclamation of gratified surprise.

‘It is unique!’ cried Albert. ‘Unique in the iconography of
Gladstone and Disraeli and also as a paperweight. I regard it as a find of the greatest significance.’

‘Very interesting. To what date do you think it belongs?’

‘Mr Buggins, I have a theory about that paperweight; but this, of course, is just my own idea, and must not be taken too seriously, as I am by no means an infallible authority on the subject, though it is one which I have studied deeply. You have guessed, of course, that I refer to Gabelsburgher.’

Mr Buggins had guessed no such thing, but he bowed courteously.

‘In other words, I believe this paperweight to be an original Gabelsburgher. It will, of course, be some time before I shall be able to proclaim this as an established fact. You ask what date it is? I reply that if, as I think, it is by the hand of the master, it would almost certainly have been made between the years 1875 and 1878. Gabelsburgher, as you know, came to England for the first time in ’75. In ’76 Elise was taken ill, in ’78 he laid her remains in the Paddington cemetery and came away a broken man. Many of his best paperweights were buried with his beloved, and from that time his work deteriorated beyond recognition. It is easy to see that this jewel belongs to his very greatest period, and I should myself be inclined to think that it was created in the March or April of ’76 while Elise was still in the heydey of her youth and beauty. But, as I said just now, I am very far from infallible.’

Mr Buggins, who knew nothing and cared less about Gabelsburgher, and who heard the cars arriving at the front door, became a little restive during this speech, repeating at the end of it:

‘Very interesting. I really came to tell you that we start in about ten minutes for the Highland games.’

‘Ah! good gracious! I had quite forgotten!’ cried Albert, leaping out of bed and seizing his black taffeta dressing-gown. ‘But have no fear, I shall not be late.’

Albert, Walter, Mr Buggins, Jane and Sally went in the first car, the Craigdalloch’s Rolls-Royce, and with them, as they had the most room, was packed the luncheon: one large picnic basket, two thermos flasks and several bottles of beer and whisky.

In the general’s Buick, which he drove himself and which was to start a few minutes later than the Rolls, were Lady Prague, the Chadlingtons and Admiral Wenceslaus. Lord Prague was in the apparently moribund condition which characterized him on non-shooting days, and stayed behind.

The Rolls-Royce drove along with a pleasantly luxurious motion. Mr Buggins pointed out many places of interest as they passed through typical Highland scenery, among others the ‘banksome brae’ where ‘Ronnie waur killed i’ the ficht,’ and the lodge gates of Castle Bane, let at present to some rich Americans who had installed (Mr Buggins shook his head sadly) a cocktail bar in the chief dungeon. Sally was much excited to hear this and wondered if it would be possible to make their acquaintance.

‘I should so
love
to see the inside of Castle Bane!’ she cried. ‘And I simply
worship dungeons
, of course!’

‘I believe the public are admitted every Thursday, but I will make inquiries,’ said Mr Buggins.

Presently the Rolls-Royce arrived at the Corbie’s Egg, a large yellowish mountain commanding an interminable prospect of other mountains, valleys, streams and pine woods. They all got out of the car and were induced by Mr Buggins, an ardent picnicker, to drag the hamper, rugs, and bottles halfway up a sort of precipice, the idea being that they would thus enjoy a slightly better view. What, however, they gained in that respect they lost in comfort, as they were perched on a decided slope and had some difficulty in preventing basket and bottles from slipping down it.

Having unpacked the luncheon they waited politely for the
others; but when a quarter of an hour passed by with no signs of the Buick, Sally suggested that they should begin. ‘I’m pretty peckish,’ she said, ‘eating for two now, you see.’

Albert remarked that the Murgatroyds certainly would not have waited for them, and they all fell upon the food, munching away in a happy silence.

It was only when they had quite finished and were drinking their coffee with the delicious feeling, so rare at picnics, that even if there were any more food it would be difficult to eat it, that Sally noticed, to her extreme horror, that there was absolutely nothing left for the others.

She announced this fact in a voice shaking with hysteria. There was a ghastly silence.

Mr Buggins said: ‘Surely they are bringing their own,’ without much conviction.

‘No,’ wailed Sally, ‘this was for everybody.’

Another silence. Walter tried to speak, but no words came. Mr Buggins gulped down some neat whisky and said:

‘Wait a minute. We’ll see what’s left. Hum – yes, one leg of grouse. Three tongue sandwiches. Look! What’s this? A packet of something! Oh, dear! Petit-Beurre biscuits, rather cold comfort. Fourteen apples (curious how the cook here seems to think we are all fruitarians). No beer at all. Half a bottle of whisky. A thermos of hot milk. Yes, this is very awkward indeed.’

Another dreadful silence descended upon them. Sally wrung her hands in despair.

‘Oh, goodness, goodness me! What
are
we to do?’

Albert poured the remains of the whisky down his throat. Suddenly he shouted:

‘I know, of course! The only thing we can do is to hide the picnic basket and pretend it fell out of the car. Quick! quick! before they come!’

With shaking hands and furtive glances down the road they
packed the debris of their lunch into the picnic basket, which they proceeded to hide between two large boulders. They then seized the rugs and scrambled down a precipitous slope to the motor-car, explaining matters rather breathlessly to the bewildered chauffeur, who, when he grasped what they were driving at, was only too pleased to aid and abet their little plan as he had a private grudge against the general.

Hardly were all these preparations completed when the Buick bore down upon them and drew up just behind the Rolls-Royce.

General Murgatroyd was the first to get out and walked briskly up to where the guilty ones were waiting by the roadside. He looked hot and cross, his hands were covered with oil.

‘How’s this?’ he said in a loud angry voice. ‘We thought at least you’d have the lunch all ready for us by now. We’ve had a beastly time with a slipping clutch. Got it put right now but it’s been the hell of a journey, I can tell you, and, personally, I’m ready for my food. Come on, let’s get it out.’

There was a gloomy silence. At last Walter, prodded from behind by Sally, cleared his throat and said:

‘I’m afraid, sir, that a rather – er – disappointing thing has happened to the lunch. Albert found that there wasn’t quite enough room for his legs with the basket on the floor of the car, so we stopped and put it on to the carrier. When we arrived here we found to our dismay that it had disappeared – it must have dropped off as we drove along. We hoped that you might perhaps have come across it and picked it up. No such luck, I suppose?’

‘This is damned annoying,’ said the general violently. ‘Who strapped it on to the carrier?’

‘Albert and I did, sir.’

‘Then you must have done it damned inefficiently, that’s all I can say.’

He glared at Albert.

The admiral here came forward and said, not unkindly:

‘Well, it can’t be helped now. Let’s have a drink while we’re waiting.’

‘Unfortunately, sir, the bottles seem to have been forgotten. I thought when I woke up this morning that Friday the 13th is seldom a lucky day.’

‘It happens to be Friday the 12th today, though,’ said Lady Prague.

The admiral at first appeared stunned by this piece of news, but, suddenly galvanized into life, he cried:

‘Forgotten! What do you mean? I saw them into the car myself. I always see to the drinks.’

‘Yes, he does: I can vouch for that.’ The general looked again at Albert as he spoke.

Nobody answered.

‘This is all most peculiar and extremely annoying,’ said Lady Prague. ‘What makes it worse is that the picnic-basket with fittings was Prague’s silver-wedding present from the tenants – with his first wife, of course. We shall certainly have to inform the police of this loss. Meanwhile, what shall we do for luncheon?’

‘If I might make a suggestion, Lady Prague,’ ventured Mr Buggins timidly, ‘perhaps you had better go to the Auld Lang Syne at Invertochie and have your luncheon there?’

‘And what about all of you? Aren’t you hungry?’

‘Yes, indeed, we are starving – starving. I meant, of course, for all of us to go, but thought that if only a few can get in, owing to the large crowd which is always attracted there by the games, that you should in justice come before us, as it was partly owing to our carelessness that the basket was lost.’

‘Oh, I see; yes. Well, there’s no point in waiting here, we might as well push on to the Auld Lang Syne. Most inconvenient and tiresome.’

They all climbed back into the cars and when they were once more under way Albert said:

‘Really, Walter, you are a sneak. Why did you say it was my legs that hadn’t enough room: surely you could have chosen someone else. I’m in such disfavour with the general and I feel now that he will never look on me kindly again.’

‘I’m sorry; I couldn’t think of anyone else.’

‘Well, there was yourself.’

‘I never think of myself.’

‘I suppose you all realize,’ said Jane, who was tightly holding Albert’s hand under the rug, ‘that we are fated to eat another enormous lunch. Personally, I couldn’t face a small biscuit at the moment.’

They gazed at each other in horror at this prospect, but Mr Buggins assured them that there was no need for anxiety as the hotel was certain to be full on that particular day.

‘I am even rather perturbed,’ he added, ‘as to whether those poor hungry things will get a bite or sup.’

‘I’m quite sure that Lady Prague will get a bite, and don’t doubt that the admiral will somehow find a sup,’ said Albert; ‘but think how awful it would be if there did happen to be enough for all of us. Hadn’t we better pretend to have a breakdown and let the others go on?’

‘You forget it’s the general behind us, who obviously knows all about cranking plugs and things: he’d see in a moment that nothing was wrong. No, we shall have to risk it.’

When they arrived at the Auld Lang Syne it presented, to their dismay, a singularly empty and welcoming appearance.

‘Lunch for ten? Certainly. This way, please.’

The waiter led them through a stuffy little hall bedecked with stags’ heads, up some brown linoleum stairs to the dining-room which, though empty, smelt strongly of humanity.

‘No, sir; no crowd now. There has been, sir; oh, yes, but they’re all to the games. Will you start with fish or soup, sir?’

At this moment the rest of the party appeared, headed by Lady Prague, who said:

‘As we are in such a hurry I will order for everybody,’ and took the menu card from the waiter.

‘Tomato soup, roast mutton, two vegetables, rice pudding and prunes, Cheddar cheese, celery and biscuits. That will do nicely. I shall drink ginger beer. What about everybody else?’

‘Whisky,’ said the admiral, quickly. ‘I wish I could understand what happened to those bottles.’

He looked suspiciously at Albert.

Very soon the tomato soup arrived. It tasted strongly and unnaturally of tomatoes, was hot, thick and particularly filling. Lady Prague fell upon it with relish and crumbled bread into it.

Albert, Jane, Walter, Sally and Mr Buggins never forgot that lunch. Seated in a row, their eyes fixed upon a print of the Battle of Khandi Pass (underneath which hung a key so that members of the British aristocracy portrayed there should easily be recognizable), they miserably waded through the bill of fare ordered by Lady Prague.

They suffered.

First the soup, followed by enormous helpings of congealing mutton with boiled vegetables; then – except for Albert – mountains of tepid rice pudding floating about in brown prune juice and studded with the prunes. Albert firmly refused this, saying:

‘It is my peculiar misfortune that from a child I have been unable to digest rice. Prunes I find so disintegrating that I seldom touch them.’

‘Traitor!’ whispered Jane, kicking him under the table.

‘No biscuits, thank you,’ said Mr Buggins; adding in a jocular voice, ‘I have always been told that one should rise from a meal ready to eat a penny bun.’

‘And are you ready to now?’ asked Albert doubtfully.

At last the nauseating meal drew to a close, and Walter (who
luckily had some money with him) was obliged to put down twenty-eight shillings for his own, Sally’s, Jane’s and Albert’s share of the bill. This was felt by some to be the saddest moment of the day.