Free Rosy Is My Relative by Gerald Durrell Page A

slightly dishevelled and with traces of burnt cork still on their faces, her ladyship had raised her lorgnettes and fixed them with a glare of such ferocity that Adrian blanched.
    “My very own dear, how nice to have you back,” said Lord Fenneltree faintly.
    “One wouldn’t have thought so, from the fact that you were not down here to receive us,” said Lady Fenneltree coldly. “Who is this?”
    “Ah Yes!" said his lordship. “Let me introduce you, my love. This is Adrian Rookwhistle, the son of a dear old college friend of mine. He . . . er . . . just happened to be passing by and so I asked him to stay for the party. Adrian, this is my wife and Jonquil, my daughter.”
    “How do you do?” enquired her ladyship, in a tone of voice that implied that news of his imminent demise would leave her unmoved.
    “Well,” said his lordship, rubbing his hands, “did you have a good time in the city, eh? Buy lots of pretty pretty things, eh?”
    “Rupert,” said her ladyship, “you will kindly stop addressing us as though we were a pair of backward children. We had, in fact, a very fatiguing time in the city. What is more to the point, how have you been getting on with preparations for the party?”
    His lordship started and gulped. Adrian’s heart sank After even this brief exchange with Lady Fenneltree he was convinced that she was the last woman on earth to take kindly to having an elephant, however beautifully apparelled, inserted into her party. Still, things had gone too far now, and all he could do was to sit there and leave the explanations to Lord Fenneltree.
    “Preparations!” said Lord Fenneltree, clasping the lapels of his coat and endeavouring to look cunning. “Preparations . . . well, now, it wouldn’t do to tell you everything, my love. Let’s just say that the preparations are well in hand, very well in hand. It’s going to be a surprise, my love. But my lips are sealed. Wild horses wouldn’t drag a word from me.”
    In the circumstances, Adrian reflected, this was probably just as well.
    “H’m!" said Lady Fenneltree, compressing into that one exclamation more suspicion and foreboding than a hanging judge. “Well, if you must be childish. It’s nice to know that you have not been entirely inactive during our absence.”
    “No, no!” protested his lordship earnestly. “’Pon my soul, my love, we’ve been working like beavers, veritable beavers. The success of the party is assured, I give you my word.”
    The next two days Adrian spent in an agony of apprehension. His effort to get his lordship to tell Lady Fenneltree were unavailing. Having come up with an original idea for the first time in his life, Lord Fenneltree was not going to relinquish it, and he knew that her ladyship would certainly put a stop to the whole thing if she got wind of it. But once it had been a triumphant success even Lady Fenneltree could not complain.
    The difficulties of concealing the presence of an elephant in the stables from one as omniscient as Lady Fenneltree were enormous. The first thing she discovered was a complete dearth of fruit on the dining-table, and this was explained by Lord Fenneltree (in a wild flash of inspiration) as due to a new and virulent form of beetle, an explanation which–since Lady Fenneltree was no naturalist–satisfied her. She merely sacked the head gardener. Then she discovered that half the peacocks in the park were wandering around forlornly without tails. Lord Fenneltree’s explanation that they were moulting was treated with scorn, for even Lady Fenneltree knew when peacocks moulted. The gamekeepers were gathered together and given a Boadicea-like harangue by her ladyship, and set to prowl the perimeter of the park in search of peacock tail poachers, with orders to shoot on sight.
    During this time Adrian’s overwrought nerves were not helped by the fact that he had to get up at midnight in order to exercise Rosy up and down the drive, an occupation made hazardous by the