Gerald Durrell - Rosy Is My Relative

Presently the ride led them to a large field in the middle of the wood, and in the field were the somewhat bedraggled remains of a last year’s haystack. But it was warm and dry, and Adrian decided that this would be the perfect place to sleep. He unhitched the cart and, with Rosy’s help, pushed it deep into the undergrowth where it would be well hidden. Then he unpacked the food and the blankets and made his way to the haystack. Rosy followed him in a preoccupied manner, but presently returned to the trap and reappeared carrying the firkin of ale carefully in her trunk. So, wrapped up warmly in blankets, on a bed of sweet-smelling hay, Adrian lay and ate his supper while Rosy stood guard beside him, swaying gently from side to side. The moon slid up into the sky and peered down at them, turning the meadow to silver, and deep in the forest the owls hooted tremulously at each other.

Adrian was woken at dawn by a vast chorus of bird-song that made the wood echo and ring. The meadow was white with dew and the morning air was chilly. They made a hasty meal and rounded it off with a pint of ale each, Adrian reflecting that he was falling into Mr. Pucklehammer’s evil ways of drinking ale for breakfast. Then, the cart hitched up once more, they continued on their way in the sparkling morning light, Rosy leaving great circular footprints in the dewy grass. They had crossed three fields, seeing nothing more alarming than a cock pheasant glittering in the sun, when they came to a gap in the hedge that led them on to the road once more.

They were just about to regain the road when Adrian heard the sound of horses’ hooves. Hastily shushing Rosy (who was making considerably less noise than he was) he peered cautiously round the hedge, expecting to see a whole host of mounted policemen galloping in pursuit of them. But instead he saw a very elegant black landau with gold wheels and impressive crests on the doors, being pulled at a spanking pace by a pair of magnificent greys. Reclining in the back of the landau was a man clad in a pale lavender coat and white breeches, with a top hat as shiny as a beetle tipped over his face.

Adrian was so busy watching the approach of the landau that he had stupidly let go of Rosy’s ear and she, acting on the assumption that the highroad was free to all travellers (including elephants), shambled out on to the road, pulling the trap behind her. By now the effect that Rosy had on horses had ceased to surprise Adrian. The two greys skidded to a halt, reared up on their hind legs and made desperate endeavours to climb through the hedge, carrying the landau with them, while the coachman, white-faced, did his best to control them.

“What are you trying to do, Jenkiris?” enquired the man in the lavender coat languidly.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” said the coachman, “but it’s this here animal!”

The man in the lavender coat tilted his shiny top hat back, revealing elegant side-whiskers and curly hair of the brightest auburn shade. He had a long, pale and rather delicate-looking face lit with enormous eyes of the most vivid violet. He seemed quite unperturbed by the fact that the landau was in imminent danger of turning over. He felt thoughtfully in his waistcoat pocket, produced a monocle and proceeded to arrange it carefully in his right eye. By now the horses had succeeded in getting their heads through the hedge, and the landau was rocking and bouncing like a ship in a heavy sea.

“By Jove!” said the man in the lavender coat, surveying Rosy, “an elephant . . . a veritable elephant. ’Pon my soul, what an extraordinary thing.”

Adrian was pushing at Rosy’s head in a desperate endeavour to get her to go into reverse, but she was being singularly stubborn.

“You there,” said the man in the lavender coat, “is that your elephant?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so . . . in a sort of a way,” said Adrian, still pushing at Rosy.

“What an extraordinary thing,” said the man musingly. “I suppose you aren’t by any chance the person who upset the Monkspepper Hunt? I suppose you must be . . . there can’t be more than one elephant in the district, surely?”

“I’m afraid so,” said Adrian, “but it was all a horrible mistake, really. We didn’t mean any harm, but you can see the effect the has on horses.”

“Yes,” agreed the man, “she does appear to have a detrimental effect on them, I will admit Would it be asking too much, my dear fellow, for you to move her a trifle so that we can get past?”

“Certainly,” said Adrian. “I’ll do the best I can.”

But Rosy, having gained the road, saw no valid reason for returning to the field. The struggle lasted some time and then Adrian bad an idea. He ran round to the back of the trap and filled Rosy’s tankard with beer. Using this as a bribe he managed to entice her back behind the hedge. Now she was out of view the coachman could get the greys under some sort of control. The man in the lavender coat had watched the whole performance with rapt attention, and when Adrian reappeared he screwed his monocle more firmly into his eye and leant forward.

“Tell me, my dear chap,” he enquired, “does she drink the beer or just bathe in it?”

“She drinks it,” said Adrian bitterly.

“Quite remarkable,” said the man, “a beer-drinking elephant.”

“I’m terribly sorry we upset your horses,” said Adrian. “Rosy doesn’t mean any harm, really.”

“Not at all, my dear fellow,” said the man, waving a slender hand. “Don’t mention it, pray. Most diverting experience. Tell me, does the drink anything else besides beer?”

“Yes,” said Adrian succinctly, “everything.”

“Fascinating!” said the man, and then added with a gleam of humour in his violet eyes, “If that’s the effect she has on my greys, I’d love to have seen what she did to the hunt.”

“I must say it was quite spectacular,” Adrian admitted, grinning. “I’ve never seen so many huntsmen fall off at once.”

The man in the landau gave a crow of laughter, and then, taking off his top hat, he held out a slender hand. “I’m Lord Fenneltree, by the by, and I’m delighted to meet you.”

“Thank you, sir,” stammered Adrian. “My name’s Rookwhistie, Adrian Rookwhistle, and that’s Rosy.”

“Charming names,” said his lordship vaguely, and then fell into a reverie, staring into space. Adrian, never having met a lord before, was uncertain what to do. He was not at all sure that he had not been dismissed. He was just about to raise his hat and say good-bye, when his lordship woke up with a start, screwed his monocle more firmly in his eye and glared at him.

“I’ve been thinking,” said Lord Fenneltree proudly, with the air of one describing a rare phenomenon. “Are you, by any chance, free at the moment?”

“Well . . . yes,” said Adrian. “I’m just making my way down to the coast.”

“Capital! Capital!” said his lordship enthusiastically, “it couldn’t have been a more fortunate meeting.”

“Really!” said Adrian. “Why?”

“The party,” said his lordship in surprise, “The party, my dear fellow, that’s been occupying my waking and sleeping thoughts for the last month.”

“Oh, I see,” said Adrian, who did not see at all but wanted to be polite.

“Don’t you think, Jenkins,” said his lordship to the coachman, “that the elephant would be admirable for the party?”

“Yes, my lord,” said Jenkins woodenly. “If you say so.”

“It is so nice to be agreed with,” said Lord Fenneltree, beaming at Adrian.

“Forgive me,” said Adrian, “but what is it you want me to do exactly?”

“We cannot discuss it here,” said his lordship firmly, “it’s too fatiguing to hold an intellectual conversation in the back of a landau. If you continue down this road a mile or so you’ll see my house lying on the left-hand side. Do come there, my dear fellow, and bring your elephant. Then we’ll discuss the matter further over some lunch, eh?”