Louis de Bernières - The Dust That Falls From Dreams

There was a collective gasp and then a stunned hush as the partygoers took in the virtuosity and courage of this extraordinary display. In truth, most of them were quite horrified by it. But as Archie and Daniel were so gloriously pleased with themselves, it was impossible not to share in their triumph. The guests converged on them to shake their hands and pat their heads, and the Captain pressed a sovereign into each of their hands, saying, ‘Well done, boys! Well done! A train set each, I think! A train set each!’

‘Such a pair of acrobats!’ said Mrs McCosh to Mme Pitt. ‘But I declare I can’t imagine how you could have let them do it.’

‘I saw them in the garden doing things like this,’ replied Mme Pitt. ‘It was my idea, the whole thing. And the Captain, he said, “Be it on your head, chérie ,” but now it’s all très bien , and after all I have nothing on my head but this bonnet. But I think perhaps I won’t let them do it again. It is too much for the heart.’

‘And how are your other two boys? Are they still in South Africa?’

‘Still in South Africa. I have heard nothing for weeks. I pray. I pray, that’s all. Que Dieu les sauve .’

The children were having their own party in parallel to that of the adults. Daniel and Archie were the heroes of the hour, and so they affected a nonchalant swagger. ‘I think that was marvellously brave,’ said Ottilie to Archie.

But Archie was hoping that Rosie might have been impressed. He watched her carefully for any sign, but saw forlornly that she was only interested in one of the new American boys from the other side of the blue door. This boy was Ashbridge Pendennis, a year older than Rosie, and already showing signs of the stocky and powerful athlete that he was to become. His hair was very fair, and his eyes were the same shade as the Channel on a winter’s day. ‘That was mighty fine,’ he said to Daniel, who was also hoping for a little admiration from Rosie. ‘I couldn’t do that, I really don’t think.’ Ashbridge pronounced the word ‘mighdy’, and Rosie thought this very charming.

‘But you’re so strong,’ said Rosie. ‘You can even lift Bouncer.’

‘Where is Bouncer?’ asked Daniel. Daniel was slim, with shining black hair and blue eyes that were particularly disconcerting in bright sunlight. It was clear that one day he would be a tall man.

‘We shut him in,’ said Rosie. ‘He makes such a fuss when there’s bags of people.’

Rosie hoped that the others would all go away, because she wanted to be left alone with Ashbridge, but Archie and Daniel kept hovering near her, and Ottilie just hovered by Archie.

‘Why don’t you ask Mama and Papa if you can let him out for bit?’she suggested to Daniel, and shortly found her wish granted. Ashbridge put his hand into the pocket of his shorts and brought something out. ‘Here,’ he said.

‘What is it?’

He pressed it into her hand, saying, ‘Don’t let anyone see.’

She glanced down. It was small and made of brass. ‘A curtain ring!’ said Rosie.

Ashbridge blushed. ‘I’ll get you a proper one when we’re older. I’ve only got half a crown. If you keep it, it means we’re engaged.’

‘But I’m only twelve,’ she said.

‘Well, one day you sure won’t be. It’s gotta be me who gets there first. Will you keep it?’

Rosie looked into his earnest eyes, which seemed to flicker with anxiety and the fear of rejection. She saw that his courage had been very great, and was touched. Ashbridge said, ‘Since I came over … from the States … I didn’t like it too much here … at first … but you made it all fine, Rosie, you really did.’

‘I’ll keep it,’ she said.

‘Can I kiss you on the cheek?’

‘Not now.’

‘Later?’

Rosie nodded gravely. ‘Later. Only on the cheek.’

Ashbridge looked at her gratefully, and said, ‘Do you want to see me do a cartwheel? I can do five in a row without stopping.’

‘I’m engaged,’ thought Rosie to herself. ‘I’m engaged.’ How wonderful to be engaged already, at the age of ten, to Ashbridge. ‘I’ve seen you do lots of cartwheels,’ she said, adding, ‘But I don’t mind if you want to do some more.’

For the adults the party was a great success. Towards seven o’clock, as the food and drink began to run out, it was time for the blessing. To what would such an occasion amount without a blessing from the rector?

Mr McCosh went to release this clergyman from amid the gaggle of spinsters and widows that always surrounded him, and led him up the steps to the door of the conservatory so that he might overlook the lawns. He smiled with all the modesty of a man who feels himself lavishly and rightfully endowed with humility, spiritual grace and local celebrity. He raised his right hand in the classic gesture of blessing and recited:

‘O Lord our heavenly Father, high and mighty, King of kings, Lord of lords, the only Ruler of princes, who dost from Thy throne behold all the dwellers upon earth. Most heartily we beseech thee with thy favour to behold our most gracious Sovereign Lord, King Edward, and so replenish him with with all the grace of Thy Holy Spirit, that he may always incline to Thy will, and walk in Thy way. Endue him plenteously with heavenly gifts; grant him in health and wealth long to live; strengthen him that he may vanquish and overcome all his enemies; and finally, after this life, he may attain everlasting joy and felicity; through Jesus Christ our Lord.’

No sooner had the collective ‘Amen’ been reverently murmured, than havoc broke loose.

Daniel had sneaked indoors and located Bouncer from the whines and barks coming from behind the dining-room door. No sooner had he opened it than the dog had hurtled out and bolted for the party that was going on in the garden.

Bouncer was a large, heavily built brown dog, approximately the size of a Labrador. He was one and a half years old, shiny and muscled, and very aptly named. Out on the lawn he bounced, it seemed, vertically, wagging his backside furiously as he attempted to lick anyone whose face he could reach. In vain did Mr McCosh pursue him and attempt to pin him down. The ladies shrieked as his paws raked their breasts and their delicate white dresses, and the gentlemen vainly headed him off with their canes as he hurtled from one beloved human to another.

Mrs McCosh rolled her parasol and whacked him sharply across the nose, exclaiming, ‘Down, boy!’ but it had no effect whatsoever. Finally, Captain Pitt managed to seize the dog, and one of the servants was despatched to fetch a lead from the hall. Bouncer was dragged, bouncing and singing tirelessly all the while, back into the house.

It was a good note to end on, and the guests, faces reddened from a glorious afternoon in the sunshine, began to make their farewells. There was much to talk about and to remember. Archie, Daniel and Ash and the dog had made it a memorable day.

In the palace the King put his feet up and smoked a cigar. It had all gone terribly well, apart from the poor old Archbishop having to retire to St Edward’s Chapel, and then being unable to get to his feet after pledging allegiance. The King began to think of who the first truly Edwardian Archbishop might be.

He felt downcast. He had lived a charmed life as Prince of Wales, a long round of house parties, shooting expeditions, theatres, horse races, actresses, mistresses. Now it was all over, and the responsibility lowered on him like thunderclouds at the end of August. He had been privately convinced for some time that the monarchy was doomed, but he knew his duty; he would keep his melancholy to himself.

TWELVE YEARS PASSED, years that would forever be remembered as golden by those who had taken part in Mr and Mrs McCosh’s coronation garden party. One summer succeeded another, each, it seemed, hotter and more glorious than the one before. The roses thrived in the clay of the beds, the apples grew juicy and generous, and wasp traps made of jam and beer were set up in the boughs. In Court Road each summer evening could be heard the thud of tennis balls and the hollow clonking of croquet mallets. Out in the street the ragamuffin children of the poor came up from Mottingham and played games of hide-and-seek, knuckle bones, grandmother’s footsteps and kick the can. Sometimes they knocked on the doors of kitchens and asked for drinks of water, soon learning which maids were generous with sherbet and gingerbread men. Gardeners went out armed with buckets, and fetched in the horse droppings for the roses. Gypsy women stopped ladies in the street and offered lucky white heather, with the clear implication that bad luck would ensue from refusal. Almost every day there came by the muffin man, the costermonger, the rag-and-bone man, the milkman, the cats’ meat man, the fish carts drawn by enormous rangy dogs. Each tradesman had his own cry. Policemen strolled in pairs on their predictable circuits, armed only with whistles and coshes. In winter the smoke from the fires, the factories and the bonfires of leaves created yellow fog that choked the asthmatic and rolled inexorably down the street like vast waves. Once enveloped, one could see no further than the end of one’s hand. People groped their way to the nearest door, knocked, and were given refuge. At eventide and dawn the gaslighter came, and when it snowed the gaslight on the pavements sparkled and danced.