Herbert got on with it. “Twenty year,” he said, solemnly. “Twenty year I bin ’Arbour Master of Berrybridge. Twenty year ’Arbour Master and never Mayor, not till now. And if I ’adn’t ’ave got in this time, I’d ’ave known ’oo to blame.”
This lapse into customary vindictiveness was not well received by the electorate. There were several cries of “Come orf it, Herbert,” and “Wot you grumblin’ at now?”
“Hay?” said Herbert loudly, clapping a hand to his ear.
“You ’eard,” said a loud, rude voice, which was immediately followed by a thin, cracked one, which said, “Let ’im be, Bill, lad.”
Herbert cleared his throat. “I seen changes in Berrybridge,” he went on, with a disapproving snort. “I seen new folks come and I se
en the sort of ways they bring with them. I’m not talking about the old folk—Sir Simon and Ephraim and Sam and the like,” he added, unnecessarily. “But there’s others.” His eye fell malevolently on Bill Hawkes, then roved around until it came to rest on Bob Calloway. “Some is generous and some isn’t. Some play fair and some don’t. Some is gentlemen and some isn’t.” Here his beady stare fixed itself on Hamish. “And some ’as come and gone again, one way and another, and I say good riddance.”
Hamish put his tankard down on the counter with a thump, and turned an angry red. Herbert was certainly pulling no punches. Henry guessed that he had been looking forward to this moment for months.
“Then there’s boats,” said Herbert. “When I come here, it were all working barges and fishermen, and not more’n a couple of bloody yachts between ’ere and Woodbridge.”
“Language, Herbert,” said the Lady Mayoress loudly. Herbert paid no attention.
“Look at it now.” He gestured towards the window. “’Ole bloody river full of ’em. Lunnon men, mostly, as we all know. Well, what I say is, it takes all sorts,” he added, rather hastily. Even in his state of exaltation, he had not quite forgotten that the London men were his best clients.
“So,” he went on, with splendid inconsequence, “what I say is jolly good luck to one and all, and a vote of thanks to Bob ’ere for the blow-out what we all know is waiting upstairs.”
Thunderous applause greeted this graceful acknowledgement of the landlord’s generosity. Herbert was about to climb down from the table, when Mrs. Hole plucked fiercely at his trouser leg and hissed something at him. Herbert straightened and added, cryptically, “And Mrs. ’Ole.”
This enigmatic tribute seemed to satisfy the lady, for she simpered again, and accepted a small port from Sam Riddle. Herbert clambered unsteadily off the table and graciously allowed Alastair to buy him a large gin.
The big room on the first floor of The Berry Bush, which was the scene of every local wedding reception, christening party and funeral wake, had been laid out in style for the inauguration. Two long trestle tables, draped with spotless white cloths, were laden with dishes of cold meat, veal and ham pies, hunks of cheese and bowls of green salad. Two barrels of beer stood promisingly in the corner. At the head of one of the tables was a large armchair, covered somewhat haphazardly by an old red velvet curtain. This was the mayoral throne.
For the moment, there was no sign of Sir Simon, Herbert or Mrs. Hole, as these august personages had retired to collect the mayoral regalia, and incidentally to have a quick and privileged drink with Bob in his private sitting room. Meanwhile, the voters of Berrybridge, together with their guests from London, milled around the tables, remarking on the quality and quantity of the food as compared to last year, and expressing their satisfaction or otherwise with the result of the election.
The members of the Fleet greeted each other and sat down at the remotest end of the second table. Anne was in high spirits, and delighted by Herbert’s success. Colin, too, seemed in a thoroughly good humour, and kept darting glances at Henry. He was obviously bursting to come out with some piece of information or other, but for some reason had decided to hug his secret to himself for the time being. David also seemed excited. He laughed a lot, particularly at Anne’s witticisms: in fact, Henry thought, he seemed to regard the girl with a sort of stunned, bemused wonderment, as though unable to believe in her existence. Only with Hamish did he seem nervous and ill-at-ease, and this, Henry reflected, was hardly surprising: the more so since Hamish was in a thundering rage. He had, probably correctly, interpreted Herbert’s remark about “good riddance” as expressing satisfaction over Pete’s death, and he could not leave the subject alone.
“That bloody disgusting, dishonest old man,” he growled, knocking back yet another beer. “I’ve never liked him, but this is the last straw. By God, I’d like to swipe that filthy grin off his ugly mug.”
“I’m sure he didn’t mean it like that, Hamish,” said Rosemary soothingly.
“Of course he did, damn his eyes. He was looking straight at me when he said it.”
“You shouldn’t pay any attention to Herbert,” said Anne, a little nervously. “He’s just an old fool enjoying himself. Do forget it, Hamish.”
Henry noticed, not for the first time, that Hamish was the only member of the Fleet whom Anne did not address as “darling.” In fact, she seemed to have a certain respect for him, which was conspicuously lacking in her dealings with the others.
“Actually, of course,” said Colin, “there’d be nothing easier than to demolish Herbert, if you really want to.” Again, dark mischief bubbled in his voice.
“What do you mean?” said Hamish.
“Don’t you know?” Colin’s voice was full of mockery.
“If you mean that story of Pete’s—”
“No, no. Nothing like that. Come over here and I’ll tell you. I wouldn’t even mind doing it myself. It would be rather fun.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” said David. “We’ve had enough trouble as it is.”
“You mind your own business for a change,” said Hamish rudely. He and Colin went into a corner by the beer barrels and began talking earnestly. Henry, who guessed what Colin was saying, felt distinctly apprehensive. When they came back to the table, Hamish seemed doubtful. But Colin said, “O.K., if you don’t want to do it, I will. I feel just in the mood.”
A few minutes later, the mayor’s party arrived, to loud applause. First came Sir Simon, with Priscilla on his arm. Then Bob, carrying a dusty black garment trimmed with moth-eaten beige fur, a black cocked hat of ancient vintage and a long chain made of gilded tin. He was followed by Herbert (almost unrecognizable without his cap) and Mrs. Hole. George Riddle brought up the rear, bearing a large, rusty key on one of the metal bar trays.
This procession made its way to the head of the table with great solemnity. Then, while the rest of the company took their seats, Herbert stationed himself in front of the throne, with Mrs. Hole on his right. Bob and George stood behind the mayor’s chair, each holding his precious burden.
Sir Simon, leaving Priscilla by the chair on Herbert’s left, stepped up to the mayor-elect, cleared his throat, and said, “Herbert Henry Hole, inasmuch as you have been elected, by the free, fair and legal vote of the electors of the Borough of Berrybridge Haven to be their mayor for the term of one year, receive now the badges, insignia and privileges of your office.”
George stepped forward. Sir Simon took the key from the tray, and solemnly handed it to Herbert.
“Do you receive the key of the borough?” enquired Sir Simon rhetorically.
“I receive the key of the borough,” replied Herbert belligerently.