FORBIDDEN FRUIT--A DIGRESSION
Lady Adela stood in the hall, engaged in her favourite pursuit of
guest-dragooning.
"Mr. Mainwaring is not coming," she announced. "Dick, Hilda, Constance,
Sylvia, and Mr. Crick will go in the motor. Mr. Carmyle, will you give
me your company in the victoria?"
I smiled wanly and thanked her. Perhaps the punishment fitted the
crime, but it was none the less a heavy one. Still, one should not seek
out forbidden fruit, or tamper with First Reserves.
Briefly, the facts of the case were these.
After breakfast on the day of Laxley Races--a blazing August
morning--Miss Constance Damer invited me to accompany her to the orchard
to pick green apples.
"I have a clean white frock on," she explained, "or I would not trouble
you."
I assured her that it was no trouble.
We duly reached the orchard, where Miss Damer ate three green apples and
presented me with a fourth, which, fearing a fifth, I consumed as slowly
as possible, hoping for the sake of our first parents that Eve's
historic indiscretion took place in late September and not early August.
Presently we came to a red-brick wall with a south aspect, upon which
the noonday sun beat warmly. High up upon its face grew plums, fat,
ripe, and yellow.
Miss Damer threw away the core of an apple and turned to me.
"I should like a plum," she said, with a seraphic smile.
The wall was fifteen feet high, and the plums grew near the top.
"I will find a ladder," I replied obediently.
"That would be bothering you too much," said the considerate Miss Damer.
"Can't you put your foot in that root and pull yourself up by the
branches?"
The branches, be it said, were gnarled and fragile, and lay flat against
the wall.
"I think the ladder would be better," I repeated. "My weight might pull
the whole thing away from the wall, and then we should have a few
observations from Lady Adela."
"You are right; that would never do," replied my right-minded companion
gravely. "But I don't know where they keep the ladder, and in any case
it would probably be locked up. What a pity I have this white skirt
on!"
She turned away. A low tremulous sigh escaped her.
Next moment, feeling utterly and despicably weak-minded, I found myself
ascending the wall, much as a blue-bottle ascends a window-pane. Miss
Damer stood below with clasped hands.
"Do be careful, Mr. Carmyle," she besought me. "You might hurt yourself
very seriously if you fell. I will have that big one, please, just
above your head."
I secured the object indicated and threw it down to her. She caught it
deftly.
"There is another one on your left," continued Eve. "Can you reach it?"
I could, and did.
"I will keep this one for you, Mr. Carmyle," said my thoughtful
companion as she caught it. "I think I will have one more. There is a
perfectly lovely one there, out to your right. You can just get it if
you stretch. Throw it down."
The plum in question was a monster, and looked ripe to the moment. I
straddled myself athwart the plum tree, much in the attitude of a man
who is about to receive five hundred lashes, and reached far out to the
right.
"Another two inches will do it," called out Miss Damer encouragingly.
She was right. I strained two inches further, and my fingers closed
upon the fruit. Simultaneously the greater part of the plum tree
abandoned its adherence to the wall, and in due course,--about
four-fifths of a second, I should say,--I found myself lying on my back
in a gooseberry-bush, clasping to my bosom the greater part of a
valuable fruit tree, dimly conscious, from glimpses through the
interstices of my leafy bower, of the presence of a towering and
majestic figure upon the gravel walk beside Miss Damer.
It was Lady Adela Mainwaring, my hostess, armed _cap-a-pie_ in
gauntlets, green baize apron, and garden hat, for a murderous morning
among the slugs.
I struggled to a sitting position, slightly dazed, and not a little
apprehensive lest I should be mistaken for a slug.
Neither Miss Damer nor my hostess uttered a word, Lady Adela because her
high breeding and immense self-control restrained her; Miss Damer, I
shrewdly suspect, because she was engaged in bolting the last evidence
of her complicity. But both ladies were regarding me with an expression
of pained reproach.
I shook myself free from my arboreal surroundings, and smiled weakly.
"Have you hurt yourself, Mr. Carmyle?" enquired Lady Adela.
"No, thank you," I replied, wondering if I would have received a lighter
sentence if I had said yes.
"If you should desire to eat fruit at any time," continued Lady Adela in
a gentle voice, much as one might address an imbecile subject to sudden
attacks of eccentric mania, "one of the gardeners will always be glad to
get it for you. You had better go in now and dress, as we start for the
races in half an hour. Constance, dearest, run and find Puttick, and
ask him if anything can be done for this tree."
Miss Damer tripped obediently away in search of the head-gardener, and
Lady Adela led me kindly but firmly past the gooseberry-bushes and other
sources of temptation to the house.
I did not see Miss Damer again until I met her with the others in the
hall half an hour later.
She projected a sad smile upon me through her motor-veil, and shook her
head.
"I hope you did n't hurt yourself," she said softly.
"I hope the last plumstone did n't choke you!" I replied sternly.
At this moment Lady Adela joined the party, and pronounced sentence as
recorded at the beginning of this chapter. The other five accordingly
descended the steps and began to pack themselves into the motor.
"May I drive, Dicky?" enquired Miss Damer.
No one ever thought of refusing Miss Damer anything. Her request was
evidently the merest matter of form, for she was at the wheel almost as
soon as she made it. Even Lady Adela merely smiled indulgently.
"Constance, _dear child_!" she murmured.
Dicky carefully packed his _fiancee_ into the back seat, where his
sister had already taken her place.
"You had better sit between us, I think," said Miss Beverley.
"I am going to sit in front," said Dicky, "in case Connie does anything
specially crack-brained with the car. Crick, old friend, just separate
these two fair ladies, will you?"
Mr. Crick obeyed with alacrity. The Freak, heedless of a tiny cloud
upon Miss Beverley's usually serene brow, stepped up beside Miss Damer.
That lady released her clutch-pedal, and the car, spurting up gravel
with its back wheels, shot convulsively forward and then began to crawl
heavily on its way.
"We'll put something on for you if you aren't in time for the first
race, Bill," called The Freak to me. "What do you want to back?"
I inflated my lungs, and replied _fortissimo_:--
"Plumstone!"
Miss Damer's small foot came heavily down upon the accelerator, and the
car whizzed down the drive.