Free Rosy Is My Relative by Gerald Durrell

a magnificent three-quarter length coat in jade green and yellow. The whole ensemble was surmounted by a snow-white turban in which quivered four peacock feathers. These feathers had been Adrian’s idea, and for several days the smaller members of the gardening staff had spent all their spare time stalking and plucking the unfortunate birds in the grounds. Adrian, as the driver, could not of course outshine the maharaja, and so he had to content himself with a small scarlet waistcoat, embroidered in gold, baggy white trousers and a white turban. When the costumes were finally ready, they tried them on in the seclusion of his lordship’s bedroom, and Adrian had to admit that they both looked very remarkable indeed. His lordship, however, did not seem satisfied. Surveying himself in the minor he seemed disturbed; he stroked his side-whiskers pensively.
    “You know, my boy,” he said at last, “there’s something wrong. I look a little bit pale for a maharaja, don’t you think?”
    “Perhaps,” said Adrian.
    “I have it,” said his lordship with a flash of inspiration. “Burnt cork!”
    Before Adrian could protest the butler had been dispatched to the wine cellar from whence he soon reappeared carrying a variety of corks. With the aid of two footmen and a candelabra a sufficient quantity of burnt cork was manufactured, and his lordship proceeded to make himself up with great gusto.
    “There!” he said at last, turning round in triumph from the mirror. “How does that look?”
    Adrian stared at him. Lord Fenneltree’s face was now a rich coal-black, against which his enormous violet eyes and auburn side-whiskers looked, to say the least, arresting.
    “Magnificent,” said Adrian doubtfully.
    “It’s just the final touch that makes all the difference,” said his lordship. “Now let me do you.”
    He had just done half of Adrian’s face when the butler reappeared in the room.
    “Excuse me, my lord,” he said.
    “What is it, Raymond, what is it?” asked his lordship testily, pausing in his work.
    “I thought you ought to know, my lord, that her ladyship has just arrived.”
    Lord Fenneltree started violently and dropped the burnt cork.
    “Great heavens!” he ejaculated in horror. “She mustn’t find us like this. quick, quick, Raymond, go and tell her we’re just having baths or something. Don’t let her come up here . . . and above all, don’t mention that elephant.”
    “Yes, my lord,” said Raymond, and left the room.
    “I can’t think why she’s come back,” said his lordship, unwinding his turban frantically. “They shouldn’t be back till the day after to-morrow. Look here, Rookwhistle, she must not under any circumstances find out what we’re planning. She has very little sense of fun, my wife, and she’d probably put a stop to the whole thing. So, dear boy, silent as the grave, oh? Quiet as a tombstone, what?”
     

7. PEACOCKS AND PEACHES

     
    It was on meeting Lady Fenneltree and her daughter Jonquil that Adrian, for the first time, began to have serious qualms about introducing Rosy into the party.
    Lady Fenneltree was a tall, majestic woman with quantities of still-golden hair, an exquisite profile, and eyes like those of a particularly maladjusted python. When she spoke she articulated dearly, so that her wishes should not be in doubt, in the sort of voice you would use for addressing several hundred guardsmen. She used a pair of large and beautifully fashioned lorguettes to magnify the malignancy of her eyes when expressing her wishes, and her stare was such that it completely paralysed Adrian’s vocal chords. Jonquil, on the other hand, had taken after her father. She had his slender physique, to which she had added one or two curves of her own, enormous violet eyes and long auburn hair. Her beauty was so delicate and ethereal that it had much the same effect on Adrian’s vocal chords as Lady Fenneltree’s enquiring stare.
    When they had entered the withdrawing-room,