P G Wodehouse - Man Upstairs

by Man Upstairs

  "It occurred to me, sir, that by telephoning to the nearest police-station-"

  "Good heavens!" cried Mr. Ferguson.

  Two minutes later he replaced the receiver.

  It's all right," he said. "I've made them understand the trouble. They're bringing a ladder. I wonder what the time is? It must be about four in the morning."

  Master Bean produced a Waterbury watch.

  "The time, sir, is almost exactly half-past ten."

  "Half-past ten! We must have been here longer than three hours. Your watch is wrong."

  "No, sir, I am very careful to keep it exactly right. I do not wish to run any risk of being unpunctual."

  "Half-past ten!" cried Mr. Ferguson. "Why, we're in heaps of time to look in at the Savoy for supper. This is great. I'll 'phone them to keep a table."

  "Supper! I thought-"

  She stopped.

  "What's that? Thought what?"

  "Hadn't you an engagement for supper?"

  He stared at her.

  "Whatever gave you that idea? Of course not."

  "I thought you were taking Miss Templeton-"

  "Miss Temp-Oh!" His face cleared. "Oh, there isn't such a person. I invented her. I had to when you accused me of being like our friend the Miasma. Legitimate self-defence."

  "I do not wish to interrupt you, sir, when you are busy," said Master Bean, "but-"

  "Come and see me to-morrow morning," said Mr. Ferguson.

  "Bob," said the girl, as the first threatening mutters from the orchestra heralded an imminent storm of melody, "when that boy comes to-morrow, what are you going to do?"

  "Call up the police."

  "No, but you must do something. We shouldn't have been here if it hadn't been for him."

  "That's true!" He pondered. "I've got it; I'll get him a job with Raikes and Courtenay."

  "Why Raikes and Courtenay?"

  "Because I have a pull with them. But principally," said Mr. Ferguson, with a devilish grin, "because they live in Edinburgh, which, as you are doubtless aware, is a long, long way from London."

  He bent across the table.

  "Isn't this like old times?" he said. "Do you remember the first time I ever ki-"

  Just then the orchestra broke out.

  The Good Angel

  Any man under thirty years of age who tells you he is not afraid of an English butler lies. He may not show his fear. Outwardly he may be brave-aggressive even, perhaps to the extent of calling the great man "Here!" or "Hi!" But, in his heart, when he meets that cold, blue, introspective eye, he quakes.

  The effect that Keggs, the butler at the Keiths', had on Martin Rossiter was to make him feel as if he had been caught laughing in a cathedral. He fought against the feeling. He asked himself who Keggs was, anyway; and replied defiantly that Keggs was a Menial-and an overfed Menial. But all the while he knew that logic was useless.

  When the Keiths had invited him to their country home he had been delighted. They were among his oldest friends. He liked Mr. Keith. He liked Mrs. Keith. He loved Elsa Keith, and had done so from boyhood.

  But things had gone wrong. As he leaned out of his bed room window at the end of the first week, preparatory to dressing for dinner, he was more than half inclined to make some excuse and get right out of the place next day. The bland dignity of Keggs had taken all the heart out of him.

  Nor was it Keggs alone who had driven his thoughts towards flight. Keggs was merely a passive evil, like toothache or a rainy day. What had begun actively to make the place impossible was a perfectly pestilential young man of the name of Barstowe.

  The house-party at the Keiths had originally been, from Martin's view-point, almost ideal. The rest of the men were of the speechless, moustache-tugging breed. They had come to shoot, and they shot. When they were not shooting they congregated in the billiard-room and devoted their powerful intellects exclusively to snooker-pool, leaving Martin free to talk undisturbed to Elsa. He had been doing this for five days with great contentment when Aubrey Barstowe arrived. Mrs. Keith had developed of late leanings towards culture. If her town house a charge of small-shot, fired in any direction on a Thursday afternoon, could not have failed to bring down a poet, a novelist, or a painter. Aubrey Barstowe, author on The Soul's Eclipse and other poems, was a constant member of the crowd. A youth of insinuating manners, he had appealed to Mrs. Keith from the start; and unfortunately the virus had extended to Elsa. Many a pleasant, sunshiny Thursday afternoon had been poisoned for Martin by the sight of Aubrey and Elsa together on a distant settee, matching temperaments.

  The rest is too painful. It was a rout. The poet did not shoot, so that when Martin returned of an evening his rival was about five hours of soul-to-soul talk up and only two to play. And those two, the after-dinner hours, which had once been the hours for which Martin had lived, were pure torture.

  So engrossed was he with his thoughts that the first intimation he had that he was not alone in the room was a genteel cough. Behind him, holding a small can, was Keggs.

  "Your 'ot water, sir," said the butler, austerely but not unkindly.

  Keggs was a man-one must use that word, though it seems grossly inadequate-of medium height, pigeon-toed at the base, bulgy half-way up, and bald at the apex. His manner was restrained and dignified, his voice soft and grave.

  But it was his eye that quelled Martin. That cold, blue, dukes-have-treated-me-as-an-elder-brother-eye.

  He fixed it upon him now, as he added, placing the can on the floor. 'It is Frederick's duty, but to-night I hundertook it."

  Martin had no answer. He was dazed. Keggs had spoken with the proud humility of an emperor compelled by misfortune to shine shoes.

  Might I have a word with you, sir?"

  "Ye-e-ss, yes," stammered Martin. "Won't you take a-I mean, yes, certainly."

  "It is perhaps a liberty," began Keggs. He paused, and raked Martin with the eye that had rested on dining dukes.

  "Not at all," said Martin, hurriedly.

  "I should like," went on Keggs, bowing, "to speak to you on a somewhat intimate subject-Miss Elsa."

  Martin's eyes and mouth opened slowly.

  "You are going the wrong way to work, if you will allow me to say so, sir."

  Martin's jaw dropped another inch.

  "Wha-a-"

  "Women, sir," proceeded Keggs, "young ladies-are peculiar. I have had, if I may say so, certain hopportunities of observing their ways. Miss Elsa reminds me in some respects of Lady Angelica Fendall, whom I had the honour of knowing when I was butler to her father, Lord Stockleigh. Her lady-ship was hinclined to be romantic. She was fond of poetry, like Miss Elsa. She would sit by the hour, sir, listening to young Mr. Knox reading Tennyson, which was no part of his duties, he being employed by his lordship to teach Lord Bertie Latin and Greek and what not. You may have noticed, sir, that young ladies is often took by Tennyson, hespecially in the summer-time. Mr. Barstowe was reading Tennyson to Miss Elsa in the 'all when I passed through just now. The Princess, if I am not mistaken."

  "I don't know what the thing was," groaned Martin. "She seemed to be enjoying it."

  "Lady Angelica was greatly addicted to The Princess. Young Mr. Knox was reading portions of that poem to her when his lordship come upon them. Most rashly his lordship made a public hexposé and packed Mr. Knox off next day. It was not my place to volunteer advice, but I could have told him what would happen. Two days later her lady-ship slips away to London early in the morning, and they're married at a registry-office. That is why I say that you are going the wrong way to work with Miss Elsa, sir. With certain types of 'igh-spirited young lady hopposition is useless. Now, when Mr. Barstowe was reading to Miss Elsa on the occasion to which I 'ave alluded, you was sitting by, trying to engage her attention. It's not the way, sir. You should leave them alone together. Let her see so much of him, and nobody else but him, that she will grow tired of him. Fondness for poetry, sir, is very much like the whisky 'abit. You can't cure a man what has got that by
hopposition. Now, if you will permit me to offer a word of advice, sir, I say, let Miss Elsa 'ave all the poetry she wants."

  Martin was conscious of but one coherent feeling at the conclusion of this address, and that was one of amazed gratitude. A lesser man who had entered his room and begun to discuss his private affairs would have had reason to retire with some speed; but that Keggs should descend from his pedestal and interest himself in such lowly matters was a different thing altogether.

  "I'm very much obliged-" he was stammering, when the butler raised a deprecatory hand.

  "My interest in the matter," he said, smoothly, "is not entirely haltruistic. For some years back, in fact, since Miss Elsa came out, we have had a matrimonial sweepstake in the servants' hall at each house- party. The names of the gentlemen in the party are placed in a hat and drawn in due course. Should Miss Elsa become engaged to any member of the party, the pool goes to the drawer of his name. Should no engagement occur, the money remains in my charge until the following year, when it is added to the new pool. Hitherto I have 'ad the misfortune to draw nothing but married gentlemen, but on this occasion I have secured you, sir. And I may tell you, sir," he added, with stately courtesy, "that, in the opinion of the servants' hall, your chances are 'ighly fancied-very 'ighly. The pool has now reached considerable proportions, and, 'aving had certain losses on the Turf very recent, I am extremely anxious to win it. So I thought, if I might take the liberty, sir, I would place my knowledge of the sex at your disposal. You will find it sound in every respect. That is all. Thank you, sir."

  Martin's feelings had undergone a complete revulsion. In the last few minutes the butler had shed his wings and grown horns, cloven feet, and a forked tail. His rage deprived him of words. He could only gurgle.

  "Don't thank me, sir," said the butler, indulgently. "I ask no thanks. We are working together for a common hobject, and any little 'elp I can provide is given freely."

  "You old scoundrel!" shouted Martin, his wrath prevailing even against that blue eye. "You have the insolence to come to me and-"

  He stopped. The thought of these hounds, these demons, coolly gossiping and speculating below stairs about Elsa, making her the subject of little sporting flutters to relieve the monotony of country life, choked him.

  "I shall tell Mr. Keith," he said.

  The butler shook his bald head gravely.

  "I shouldn't, sir. It is a 'ighly fantastic story, and I don't think he would believe it."

  "Then I'll-Oh, get out!"

  Keggs bowed deferentially.

  "If you wish it, sir," he said, "I will withdraw. If I may make the suggestion, sir, I think you should commence to dress. Dinner will be served in a few minutes. Thank you, sir."

  He passed softly out of the room.

  It was more as a demonstration of defiance against Keggs than because he really hoped that anything would come of it that Martin approached Elsa next morning after breakfast. Elsa was strolling on the terrace in front of the house with the bard, but Martin broke in on the conference with the dogged determination of a steam-drill.

  "Coming out with the guns to-day, Elsa?" he said.

  She raised her eyes. There was an absent look in them.

  "The guns?" she said. "Oh, no; I hate watching men shoot."

  "You used to like it."

  "I used to like dolls," she said, impatiently.

  Mr. Barstowe gave tongue. He was a slim, tall, sickeningly beautiful young man, with large, dark eyes, full of expression.

  "We develop," he said. "The years go by, and we develop. Our souls expand-timidly at first, like little, half-fledged birds stealing out from the-"

  "I don't know that I'm so set on shooting to-day, myself," said Martin. "Will you come round the links?"

  "I am going out in the motor with Mr. Barstowe," said Elsa.

  "The motor!" cried Mr. Barstowe. "Ah, Rossiter, that is the very poetry of motion. I never ride in a motor- car without those words of Shakespeare's ringing in my mind: 'I'll put a girdle round about the earth in forty minutes.' "

  "I shouldn't give way to that sort of thing if I were you," said Martin. "The police are pretty down on road- hogging in these parts."

  "Mr. Barstowe was speaking figuratively," said Elsa, with disdain.

  "Was he?" grunted Martin, whose sorrows were tending to make him every day more like a sulky schoolboy. "I'm afraid I haven't a poetic soul."

  "I'm afraid you haven't," said Elsa.

  There was a brief silence. A bird made itself heard in a neighbouring tree.

  " 'The moan of doves in immemorial elms,' " quoted Mr. Barstowe, softly.

  "Only it happens to be a crow in a beech," said Martin, as the bird flew out.

  Elsa's chin tilted itself in scorn. Martin turned on his heel and walked away.

  "It's the wrong way, sir; it's the wrong way," said a voice. "I was hobserving you from a window, sir. It's Lady Angelica over again. Hopposition is useless, believe me, sir."

  Martin faced round, flushed and wrathful. The butler went on, unmoved: "Miss Elsa is going for a ride in the car to-day, sir."

  "I know that."

  "Uncommonly tricky things, these motor-cars. I was saying so to Robert, the chauffeur, just as soon as I 'eard Miss Elsa was going out with Mr. Barstowe. I said, 'Roberts, these cars is tricky; break down when you're twenty miles from hanywhere as soon as look at you. Roberts,' I said, slipping him a sovereign, ''ow awful it would be if the car should break down twenty miles from hanywhere to-day!' "

  Martin stared.

  "You bribed Roberts to-"

  "Sir! I gave Roberts the sovereign because I am sorry for him. He is a poor man, and has a wife and family to support."

  "Very well," said Martin, sternly; "I shall go and warn Miss Keith."

  "Warn her, sir!"

  "I shall tell her that you have bribed Roberts to make the car break down so that-"

  Keggs shook his head.

  "I fear she would hardly credit the statement, sir. She might even think that you was trying to keep her from going for your own pussonal ends."

  "I believe you're the devil," said Martin.

  "I 'ope you will come to look on me, sir," said Keggs, unctuously, "as your good hangel."

  Martin shot abominably that day, and, coming home in the evening gloomy and savage, went straight to his room, and did not reappear till dinner-time. Elsa had been taken in by one of the moustache- tuggers. Martin found himself seated on her other side. It was so pleasant to be near her, and to feel that the bard was away at the other end of the table, that for the moment his spirits revived.

  "Well, how did you like the ride?" he asked, with a smile. "Did you put that girdle round the world?"

  She looked at him-once. The next moment he had an uninterrupted view of her shoulder, and heard the sound of her voice as she prattled gaily to the man on her other side.

  His heart gave a sudden bound. He understood now. The demon butler had had his wicked way. Good heavens! She had thought he was taunting her! He must explain at once. He-

  "Hock or sherry, sir?"

  He looked up into Keggs's expressionless eyes. The butler was wearing his on-duty mask. There was no sign of triumph in his face.

  "Oh, sherry. I mean hock. No, sherry. Neither."

  This was awful. He must put this right.

  "Elsa," he said.

  She was engrossed in her conversation with her neighbour.

  From down the table in a sudden lull in the talk came the voice of Mr. Barstowe. He seemed to be in the middle of a narrative.

  "Fortunately," he was saying, "I had with me a volume of Shelley, and one of my own little efforts. I had read Miss Keith the whole of the latter and much of the former before the chauffeur announced that it was once more possible-"

  "Elsa," said the wretched man, "I had no idea-you don't think-"

  She turned to him.

  "I beg your pardon?" she said, very sweetly.

  "I swear I didn't know-I mean, I'd
forgotten-I mean-"

  She wrinkled her forehead.

  "I'm really afraid I don't understand."

  "I mean, about the car breaking down."

  "The car? Oh, yes. Yes, it broke down. We were delayed quite a little while. Mr. Barstowe read me some of his poems. It was perfectly lovely. I was quite sorry when Roberts told us we could go on again. But do you really mean to tell me' Mr. Lambert, that you-"

  And once more the world became all shoulder.

  When the men trailed into the presence of the ladies for that brief séance on which etiquette insisted before permitting the stampede to the billiard-room Elsa was not to be seen.

  "Elsa?" said Mrs. Keith in answer to Martin's question. "She has gone to bed. The poor child has a headache. I am afraid she had a tiring day."

  There was an early start for the guns next morning, and as Elsa did not appear at breakfast Martin had to leave without seeing her. His shooting was even worse than it had been on the previous day.

  It was not till late in the evening that the party returned to the house. Martin, on the way to his room, met Mrs. Keith on the stairs. She appeared somewhat agitated.

  "Oh, Martin," she said, "I'm so glad you're back. Have you seen anything of Elsa?"

  "Elsa?"

  "Wasn't she with the guns?"

  "With the guns?" said Martin, puzzled. "No."

  "I have seen nothing of her all day. I'm getting worried. I can't think what can have happened to her. Are you sure she wasn't with the guns?"

  "Absolutely certain. Didn't she come in to lunch?"

  "No, Tom," she said, as Mr. Keith came up, "I'm so worried about Elsa. I haven't seen her all day. I thought she must be out with the guns."

  Mr. Keith was a man who had built up a large fortune mainly by consistently refusing to allow anything to agitate him. He carried this policy into private life.

  "Wasn't she in at lunch?" he asked, placidly.

  "I tell you I haven't seen her all day. She breakfasted in her room-"

  "Late?"

  "Yes. She was tired, poor girl."

  "If she breakfasted late," said Mr. Keith, "she wouldn't need any lunch. She's gone for a stroll somewhere."

  "Would you put back dinner, do you think?" inquired Mrs. Keith, anxiously.