Turning on my heel and re-entering Seaview Cottage, I dismissed the thought as unworthy and put my mind to the question of how best to reconcile Amelia Hackwood to the worthy case of P. Beeching, barrister-at-law.
WHATEVER COURSE DINNER might be taking at Melbury Hall – and the possibilities made the head spin a bit – I felt it important to keep my own strength up for what lay ahead, so soon after eight I sallied out in search of sustenance. The Red Lion was a four-ale bar with a handful of low-browed sons of toil who looked as though they might be related to one another in ways frowned on by the Old Testament. The Hare and Hounds, a hundred yards further up the road, at least had a saloon where the traveller could feel he wasn’t dropping in on some Saxon blood feud. I was soon settled into a window seat with a pint of local ale and plateful of hot steak and kidney p. The Mystery of the Gabled House helped beguile the hour, and it was a contented B. Wooster who ambled back to Seaview Cottage inhaling the whiff of hawthorn from the hedgerows.
Night had fallen some time since and I had got as far as the discovery of the second corpse in Chapter Five when I heard the rumble of the two-seater pulling up outside. I was already at the front door by the time Jeeves had extricated himself and turned off the headlights.
‘Well, Jeeves? I’m all ears.’
‘I trust you passed a satisfactory evening, sir. I’m sorry I was unable to be of—’
‘To hell with my evening. What happened at the Hall? Were you discovered?’
‘No, sir. I am happy to say the impersonation aroused no comment.’
‘Jeeves, this is no time for reticence. I want a full report. Omit nothing, however trivial.’
‘Very well, sir, I shall endeavour to paint a coherent picture.’
After a cocktail in the drawing room, it seemed, the company had moved into a great barn of a dining room at the front of the house. Jeeves had found himself placed between Georgiana Meadowes and Eileen Venables, mother of the intended Rupert.
‘And what about Sir Henry?’ I asked.
‘He seemed keen to impress his visitors. His hospitality was marked.’
‘The wine flowed in torrents? Second helpings of foie gras?’
‘One gained the impression that this was perhaps a last throw of the dice, sir.’
‘I see. And how did the … happy couple appear?’
‘It was somewhat difficult to form a judgement, sir. The conversation was dominated to a great extent by Mr Sidney Venables, who told a number of stories of his time as Collector of Chanamasala.’
‘You surprise me not at all, Jeeves. All of them perhaps reflecting well on S. Venables?’
‘The gentleman appears to have been held in high esteem by all who encountered him.’
‘And Georgiana? How was she?’
‘A most enchanting young woman, sir. I have seldom encountered anyone with whom I have been able to discuss the work of Schopenhauer in a manner so informed yet so light of touch. Miss Meadowes mixes high seriousness with a most playful outlook. She would also appear to have a rare concern for the welfare of others. I formed a most—’
‘All right, all right, Jeeves. Don’t forget I do know the girl pretty darned well myself.’
‘I beg your pardon, sir. I had not intended to—’
‘What about young Venables?’
‘Mr Rupert Venables seemed most delighted with his situation in life, sir. I had the impression that he had inherited many of his father’s characteristics, though he was happy on this occasion to yield the floor, as it were.’
‘And what was his attitude towards Georgiana?’
Jeeves considered. One could almost hear the cogwheels of that great brain whirring as he selected the mot juste. It was a pity that, when it came, it was one with which I was unfamiliar.
‘I should say his attitude was complaisant, sir.’
‘Complacent, do you mean?’
‘I fancy either adjective might apply, sir.’
‘Hmm.’ While unsure of the difference, I was fairly certain neither was quite up to snuff.
‘Tell me, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘One thing I don’t understand is how this writer chap is going to rescue Melbury Hall. Do his books sell in such great quantities?’
‘I doubt it, sir. The literary life is famously ill-rewarded.’
‘So it’s the father’s loot, is it?’
‘No, sir. The Colonial Service pension, even for such a celebrated civil servant, would be a modest one. The family’s fortune derives from the mother’s side. Mrs Venables is a Spanier.’
‘A Spaniard?’
‘A Spanier, sir. Of Spanier’s Sausage Casings. They are a large Wiltshire company of considerable repute. They hold a royal warrant granted by the late queen. They were recently bought by an American processed-food concern. Mrs Venables was the majority shareholder following the death of her parents. She is now a non-executive director of Hickory Hog Holdings in Cincinnati.’
I let out a whistle. ‘That should cover it.’
‘The company also owns a proprietary relish or catsup, that you may have encountered in New York, sir.’
‘By golly, Jeeves, not “Hickory Hot Boy”—’
‘The very—’
‘“It’s Smokin’ Good!”’
‘So I am assured, sir, though I have not had occasion to sample the condiment myself.’
‘And you gleaned this from the horse’s mouth as it were?’
‘Mrs Venables was generous with the details, sir. While less garrulous than her husband, she appears similarly contented with the hand that life has dealt her.’
‘I’m not surprised. Which brings us to the case of poor old Woody. Any rays of light there?’
‘I fear not, sir. Sir Henry was somewhat offhand in his manner towards Mr Beeching. And Miss Hackwood refused to pass him the salt, repeatedly affecting not to hear his request.’
‘I see. The doghouse. Poor Woody. And Venables? Did he throw him a bone?’
‘Mr Venables’s attitude could I think best be described as patronising, sir. Miss Meadowes was the only person who attempted to include Mr Beeching in the conversation.’
‘What about Lady H?’ I said. ‘Surely the hostess was at least polite?’
‘Lady Hackwood’s manner was on the chilly side.’
‘Arctic?’
‘A degree or two above, sir. Enough to attain a modicum of civility, but little more. One had the impression that were it not for the cricket match on Saturday Mr Beeching’s presence would not be tolerated.’
I was turning this information over in the mind and I didn’t much like what I saw.
‘I trust the Côte d’Azur was not mentioned?’
‘It was briefly alluded to by Mr Rupert Venables, sir.’
‘Really? You surprise me greatly.’
‘He appeared to be chaffing or teasing his fiancée, sir.’
‘Golly. That’s a bit rich. And how did she take it?’
‘She was able to make light of it, sir, though I saw her cast a warning glance towards Sir Henry, at which point the young gentleman desisted. Sir Henry’s expression was not encouraging.’
‘I should think not.’
‘Will there be anything else this evening, sir?’
‘Hang on, Jeeves. Were there any sticky moments when you thought you might be rumbled? Did Sir Henry mention Burke or Debrett?’
‘Neither, sir. The subterfuge passed off with an ease I had not foreseen. Having a long acquaintance with country houses, I was familiar with the etiquette. Mr Venables made it unnecessary for the other guests to speak to the floor, as it were, so I ran no risk of exposure there.’
‘You could just have a quiet natter either side with Georgie or Mrs V.’
‘Exactly, sir.’
‘You didn’t find yourself under cross-examination?’
‘Knowing who I was, Mr Beeching and Miss Hackwood were naturally discreet, and of course Miss Meadowes was also aware of my true identity. Lady Hackwood appeared too out of s
orts to take much interest in her guests.’
‘But surely a snob like Sir Henry would have wanted the dope on your coat of arms and all that stuff?’
‘After the ladies had retired I did find myself the subject of some questions of a genealogical nature from Sir Henry. I thought it best to steer the conversation on to a subject I knew would interest him even more.’
‘Which was?’
‘The Turf, sir. I shared with him some information I had gathered about the field in the three-thirty at Ascot tomorrow. A friend of mine at the Junior Ganymede has a brother who works at a well-known Lambourn stables.’
‘So you gave him a hot tip?’
‘I was in a position to make a number of recommendations, sir.’
‘And he was grateful?’
‘Sir Henry was already well informed, but we seemed to strike up a considerable rapport. He asked Bicknell, the butler, to bring up his last bottle of Warre’s 1885 to drink to our success with the bookmaker tomorrow.’
‘A decent glassful?’
‘I found it a most helpful digestive, sir.’
‘Talking of which, Jeeves, I don’t suppose you packed any emergency supplies for a nightcap, did you?’
‘I shall prepare it at once, sir.’
Ten minutes later, agreeably capped, I went up to the bedroom to find that Jeeves had laid out my heliotrope pyjamas with the old gold stripe. It had been a long day and I felt ready for a full ration of the deep and dreamless.
I don’t know how it is with other chaps, but I tend to feel pretty bobbish first thing in the morning. The tea and newspaper bring a smile to the features; between the ablutions and the breakfast table there is generally a show tune or two to receive its premiere from the Wooster lips.
This June morning was no exception. Jeeves had made up for lost time at the local shops. The eggs had a pleasing orange glow and the bacon came from a beast far removed from the baleful husbandry of any Jude, obscure or otherwise. Yet despite the cloudless blue sky over Kingston St Giles, the day’s task was a serious one, and I felt it would tax my resources to the last drop. Little did I know, as I set fire to an after-breakfast gasper in the cottage garden, what the lead-filled sock of fate had in store for me.
It started well enough, as I moved swiftly on to Chapter Seven of The Mystery of the Gabled House, in which a third body was found, this one behind the potting shed. I was contemplating a spin down to the seaside to sniff out a bit of fish for luncheon, when Jeeves came out on to the lawn to announce that he had had some news.
‘I have received intelligence from the Hall, sir, that a further house guest is expected this afternoon.’
‘Right ho. Who is he?’
‘She, sir. Dame Judith Puxley.’
Even on such a sunny morning I felt a shudder run through the lower vertebrae. ‘What on earth brings that preying cannibal to Dorsetshire?’
‘It appears she is an old school friend of Lady Hackwood, sir.’
I found the mind boggling a bit. ‘It’s hard to imagine that particular schoolroom, isn’t it, Jeeves?’
‘It does lie, sir, at the extremity of one’s power to conjecture.’
‘Had old Isaac Newton done his stuff by then do you suppose?’
‘One supposes that the physical sciences were in a markedly less advanced state of knowledge, sir.’
I was about to be a little more humorous at Dame Judith’s expense when a sobering thought struck me. ‘If Dame Judith was at school with Lady Hackwood, then it follows that Lady H must also have been at school with …’
‘I believe so, sir.’
‘…Aunt Agatha.’
‘The three ladies appear to have been contemporaries at the academy.’
‘Which means that Lady H must also be a friend of Aunt Agatha.’
‘Inevitably, sir.’
‘This ups the stakes a bit, doesn’t it?’
‘I see no immediate danger, sir, though it would be as well to remain on the qui vive.’
Dame Judith Puxley, I should explain, had featured in a painful episode in my younger life. She was a house guest at a Victorian pile in Shropshire where, following a crossed wire over the bolting of a second-floor hatch, I was discovered on the main roof late one night dressed as Julius Caesar, and had to be brought down by the local fire brigade. Dame Judith was the relict of the late Sir Mortimer Puxley, a big cheese in the world of chemistry, and was herself a leading authority on – I think I’ve got this right – Sumerian tablets and the cuneiform script.
‘One thing bothers me in particular, Jeeves. If something comes can something else be far behind?’
‘Perhaps you have in mind the poet Shelley, sir. “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”’
‘That’s the boy. I mean, must we expect Aunt Agatha at any moment?’
‘I think we may be fairly sure that Lady Worplesdon is detained in London.’
‘I bally well hope so, Jeeves. We left plenty of provisions and a spare key for the juvenile delinquent?’
‘Her ladyship was well provided for, sir.’
‘Jolly good. And in any event I shan’t be going within a mile of Melbury Hall. I’m off to Swanage to get some sea air. When I return, I shall have a solution to the Woody and Amelia problem.’
‘Indeed, sir? And what about the question of Miss Meadowes, Mr Venables and the future of Melbury Hall?’
‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘I think my success with Burke and Debrett has nettled you. I detect a hint of green.’
‘On the contrary, sir, I wish you every—’
‘I see something of the dog and plenty of the manger.’
‘As you wish, sir. Will you be back in time for tea?’
It took me rather longer than I had expected to motor down past Wareham and on towards Corfe Castle, though I must say it was an invigorating drive, with the Purbeck Hills rising gently to starboard. The trouble with these picturesque outings is that the chap at the wheel never gets a decent look at the scenery. I kept thinking how much better it would be if I had a co-driver. And before you could say ‘Brooklands’ this co-driver had, in my mind, taken the shape of a tallish female in a cotton print dress, long of limb and with eyes the colour of melting chocolate.
I had to remind myself pretty firmly that this vision was betrothed to another and that this ruled her strictly hors de combat. I rushed neither the crab salad, the half-bot, nor the soothing coffee and cigarette that followed. Instead, I gazed out to sea a fair bit, and I cannot deny that it was a pensive Bertram who climbed aboard and restarted the engine.
By the time I got back to Kingston St Giles, I had put all such thoughts to one side. We Woosters do not stew in our own juice. My mind had become once more a precision instrument tuned to a single end: the reuniting of P. Beeching with his heart’s desire.
‘Jeeves,’ I called out as I crossed the hall, ‘I’ve got a plan and it’s an absolute pippin.’
There was a short pause while the faithful manservant could be heard conducting some business with pot and cups. He emerged from the kitchen with a look one could describe as distrait.
‘Everything all right, Jeeves? I think I’ll have the tea indoors today.’
I took a chair by the inglenook. After a bit of straining and pouring, Jeeves drew himself up to his full height.
‘Sir?’
‘Yes, Jeeves?’
‘There’s been a development.’
‘What?’ There was something in his manner that froze the cup halfway to the lip.
‘You will recall that I mentioned Sir Henry’s interest in horses, sir, and our animated conversation on the matter.’
‘Of course. How did your tips do? Any winners?’
‘Three of the horses were successful, sir, and the fourth was beaten by a short head.’
‘And had Sir Henry piled into them?’
‘As much as he was able to in his somewhat illiquid circumstances, I believe.’
‘So he must be happy as a sandboy.’
‘He called in half an hour ago to bring the news and—’
‘Golly. Close escape.’
‘His mood was decidedly improved. He was most generous in giving me credit for the reversal in his fortunes.’
‘I should jolly well think so. So why the long face, Jeeves?’
‘Sir Henry appears convinced that I can be relied on to effect similar results from the rest of the meeting.’
‘And can you?’
‘I think it highly unlikely, sir.’
‘And you told him so?’
‘I did, but he was undeterred. He said that even if he lost on every race he would still be “ahead of the game”, and what’s more he would have had the pleasure of getting to know a fellow aficionado of the sport of kings.’
‘He what?’
‘Sir Henry has invited me to stay at Melbury Hall, sir.’
I lowered the cup with a clatter. ‘You declined, of course.’ Even as I uttered the words, I felt they had a familiar ring – as did the reply.
‘I regret, sir, that in the circumstances I deemed it best to accept.’
I let off a gasp like a locomotive on a steep incline.
‘This requires some careful thought, Jeeves.’
‘Indeed, sir.’
I stood up and paced about the room, catching my head a glancing blow on a beam as I did so.
‘Couldn’t you just have said no?’
‘Sir Henry was most persuasive, sir. He described our present accommodation as a “squalid little arrangement” and said he would be delighted for an excuse to move Mr Beeching out of the corner room, which enjoys particularly fine views of—’
‘But this leaves me in the soup, doesn’t it? How am I supposed to play Cupid when there’s no one to press my evening shirt?’
‘Talking of shirts, sir, I have spent some time in planning the sort of wardrobe that might be necessary for Lord Etringham until Sunday evening. The appropriate dress would be—’
‘Damn it, Jeeves, there are times when the question of the appropriate dress is simply not on the agenda.’
‘I have yet to encounter one, sir.’
Jeeves and the Wedding Bells Page 5
