Blanding Castle Omnibus
Page 202
He didn't seem to think much of it.
'Thank you, sir, I will remain in.'
I surveyed him narrowly.
'Is this dudgeon, Jeeves?'
'No, sir, I am obliged to remain on the premises. Mr Fink-Nottle informed me that he would be calling to see me this evening.'
'Oh, Gussie's coming, is he? Well, give him my love.'
'Very good, sir.'
'And a whisky and soda, and so forth.'
'Very good, sir.'
'Right ho, Jeeves.'
I then set off for the Drones.
At the Drones I ran into Pongo Twistleton, and he talked so much about this forthcoming merry-making of his, of which good reports had already reached me through my correspondents, that it was nearing eleven when I got home again.
And scarcely had I opened the door when I heard voices in the sitting-room, and scarcely had I entered the sitting-room when I found that these proceeded from Jeeves and what appeared at first sight to be the Devil.
A closer scrutiny informed me that it was Gussie Fink-Nottle, dressed as Mephistopheles.
Also available in Arrow
Blandings Castle
P.G. Wodehouse
A Blandings collection
The ivied walls of Blandings Castle have seldom glowed as sunnily as in these wonderful stories – but there are snakes in the rolling parkland ready to nip Clarence, the absent-minded Ninth Earl of Emsworth, when he least expects it.
For a start the Empress of Blandings, in the running for her first prize in the Fat Pigs Class at the Shropshire Agricultural Show, is off her food – and can only be coaxed back to the trough by a call in her own language. Then there is the feud with Head Gardener McAllister, aided by Clarence's sister, the terrifying Lady Constance, and the horrible prospect of the summer fête – twin problems solved by the arrival of a delightfully rebellious little girl from London. But first of all there is the vexed matter of the custody of the pumpkin.
Skipping an ocean and a continent, Wodehouse also treats us to some unputdownable stories of excess from the monstrous Golden Age of Hollywood.
Also available in Arrow
The Code of the Woosters
P.G. Wodehouse
A Jeeves and Wooster novel
When Bertie Wooster goes to Totleigh Towers to pour oil on the troubled waters of a lovers breach between Madeline Bassett and Gussie Fink-Nottle, he isn't expecting to see Aunt Dahlia there – nor to be instructed by her to steal some silver. But purloining the antique cow creamer from under the baleful nose of Sir Watkyn Bassett is the least of Bertie's tasks. He has to restore true love to both Madeline and Gussie and to the Revd Stinker Pinker and Stiffy Byng – and confound the insane ambitions of would-be Dictator Roderick Spode and his Black Shorts. It's a situation that only Jeeves can unravel . . .
Also available in Arrow
The Inimitable Jeeves
P.G. Wodehouse
A Jeeves and Wooster collection
An absolute classic collection of stories featuring some of the funniest episodes in the life of Bertie Wooster, gentleman, and Jeeves, his gentleman's gentleman – in which Aunt Agatha stalks the pages, seeking whom she may devour, Bertie's friend Bingo Little falls in love with seven different girls in succession (he marries the last, the bestselling romantic novelist Rosie M. Banks), and Bertie, with Jeeves's help, just evades the clutches of the terrifying Honoria Glossop. At its heart is one of Wodehouse's most delicious stories, 'The Great Sermon Handicap'.
Also available in Arrow
Summer Lightning
P.G. Wodehouse
A Blandings novel
The Empress of Blandings, prize-winning pig and all-consuming passion of Clarence, Ninth Earl of Emsworth, has disappeared.
Blandings Castle is in uproar and there are suspects a-plenty – from Galahad Threepwood (who is writing memoirs so scandalous they will rock the aristocracy to its foundations) to the Efficient Baxter, chilling former secretary to Lord Emsworth. Even Beach the Butler seems deeply embroiled. And what of Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe, Clarence's arch-rival, and his passion for prize-winning pigs?
With the castle full of deceptions and impostors, will Galahad's memoirs ever see the light of day? And will the Empress be returned...?
Also available in Arrow
Something Fresh
P.G. Wodehouse
A Blandings novel
This is the first Blandings novel, in which P.G. Wodehouse introduces us to the delightfully dotty Lord Emsworth, his bone-headed younger son, the Hon. Freddie Threepwood, his long-suffering secretary, the Efficient Baxter, and Beach the Blandings butler.
As Wodehouse wrote, 'without at least one impostor on the premises, Blandings Castle is never itself.' In Something Fresh there are two, each with an eye on a valuable scarab which Lord Emsworth has acquired without quite realizing how it came into his pocket. But of course things get a lot more complicated than this . . .
Also available in Arrow
Right Ho, Jeeves
P.G. Wodehouse
A Jeeves and Wooster novel
Gussie Fink-Nottle's knowledge of the common newt is unparalleled. Drop him in a pond of newts and his behaviour will be exemplary, but introduce him to a girl and watch him turn pink, yammer, and suddenly stampede for the great open spaces. Even with Madeline Bassett, who feels that the stars are God's daisy chain, his tongue is tied in reef-knots. And his chum Tuppy Glossop isn't getting on much better with Madeline's delectable friend Angela.
With so many broken hearts lying about him, Bertie Wooster can't sit idly by. The happiness of a pal – two pals, in fact – is at stake. But somehow Bertie's best-laid plans land everyone in the soup, and so it's just as well that Jeeves is ever at hand to apply his bulging brains to the problems of young love.
Also available in Arrow
Piccadilly Jim
P.G. Wodehouse
It takes a lot of effort for Jimmy Crocker to become Piccadilly Jim – nights on the town roistering, headlines in the gossip columns, a string of broken hearts and breaches of promise. Eventually he becomes rather good at it and manages to go to pieces with his eyes open.
But no sooner has Jimmy cut a wild swathe through fashionable London than his terrifying Aunt Nesta decides he must mend his ways. He then falls in love with the girl he has hurt most of all, and after that things get complicated.
In a dizzying plot, impersonations pile on impersonations so that (for reasons that will become clear, we promise) Jimmy ends up having to pretend he's himself. Does he deserve a happy ending? Read and find out.
Also available in Arrow
Leave it to Psmith
P.G. Wodehouse
A Blandings novel
Lady Constance Keeble, sister of Lord Emsworth of Blandings Castle, has both an imperious manner and a valuable diamond necklace. This becomes the cause of dark plottings, for within the castle lurk some well-connected jewel thieves – among them the Honourable Freddie Threepwood, Lord Emsworth's younger son, who wants the reward money to set up a bookmaking business, and Psmith, the elegant socialist, who's after it for his newly married chum Mike. On patrol with the impossible task of bringing management to Blandings is the Efficient Baxter, whose strivings for order lead to a memorable encounter with the castle flowerpots.
Blandings and Psmith together – the best combination of
Wodehouse joy!
Also available in Arrow
Joy in the Morning
P.G. Wodehouse
A Jeeves and Wooster novel
Trapped in rural Steeple Bumpleigh, a man less stalwart than Bertie Wooster would probably give way at the knees.
For among those present were Florence Craye, to whom Bertie had once been engaged and her new fiancé 'Stilton' Cheesewright, who sees Bertie as a snake in the grass. And that biggest blot on the landscape, Edwin the Boy Scout, who is busy doing acts of kindness out of sheer malevolence.
All Bertie's forebodings are fully just
ified. For in his efforts to oil the wheels of commerce, promote the course of true love and avoid the consequences of a vendetta, he becomes the prey of all and sundry. In fact only Jeeves can save him...
The P G Wodehouse Society (UK)
The P G Wodehouse Society (UK) was formed in 1997 to promote the enjoyment of the writings of the twentieth century's greatest humorist. The Society publishes a quarterly magazine, Wooster Sauce, which includes articles, features, reviews, and current Society news. Occasional special papers are also published. Society events include regular meetings in central London, cricket matches and a formal biennial dinner, along with other activities. The Society actively supports the preservation of the Berkshire pig, a rare breed, in honour of
the incomparable Empress of Blandings.
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Nothing Serious
P.G. WODEHOUSE
CHAPTER I
The Shadow Passes
A CRUSTY roll, whizzing like a meteor out of the unknown, shot past the Crumpet and the elderly relative whom he was entertaining to luncheon at the Drones Club and shattered itself against the wall. Noting that his guest had risen some eighteen inches into the air, the Crumpet begged him not to give the thing another thought.
“Just someone being civil,” he explained. “Meant for me, of course. Where did it come from?”
“I think it must have been thrown by one of those two young men at the table over there.”
The Crumpet gazed in the direction indicated.
“It can’t have been the tall one with the tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles,” he said. “That’s Horace Pendlebury-Davenport, the club Darts champion. If he had aimed at me, he would have hit me, for his skill is uncanny. It was Bingo Little. More cheese?”
“No, thank you.”
“Then shall we go and have our coffee in the smoking-room?”
“It might be safer.”
“You must make allowances for Bingo,” said the Crumpet as they took their seats, observing that his companion’s expression was still austere. “Until a few days ago a dark shadow brooded over his life, threatening the stability of the home. This has now passed away, and he is consequently a bit above himself. The shadow to which I allude was his baby’s Nannie.”
“Is that young man a father?”
“Oh, rather.”
“Good heavens.”
“Bingo married Rosie M. Banks, the celebrated female novelist, and came a day when he had this baby. Well, Mrs Bingo did most of the heavy work, of course, but you know what I mean. And naturally the baby, on being added to the strength, had to have a Nannie. They fired her last week.”
“But why should the dispensing with her services give rise to such an ebullition of animal spirits?”
“Because she had once been Bingo’s Nannie, too, That is the point to keep the mind fixed on. Mrs Bingo, like so many female ink-slingers, is dripping with sentiment, and this ingrowing sentiment of hers led her to feel how sweet it would be if the same old geezer who had steered Bingo through the diaper and early sailor suit phases could also direct the private life of the younger generation. So when a photograph in a woman’s paper of Miss Rosie M. Banks, author of our new serial (Mrs Richard Little), brought Sarah Byles round on the run to ascertain whether this was the Richard Little she had groomed, it was not long before she was persuaded to emerge from her retirement and once more set her hand to the plough.”
“And your friend disliked the arrangement?”
“You bet he disliked the arrangement.”
The news, broken to Bingo on his return from the office—he is ye ed. of a weekly organ called Wee Tots (P. P. Purkiss, proprietor) devoted to the interests of our better-class babes and sucklings—got (said the Crumpet) right in amongst him. Sarah Byles had always lived in his memory as a stalwart figure about eight feet high and the same across, with many of the less engaging personal attributes of the bucko mate of an old-time hell-ship, and he feared for the well-being of his son and heir. He felt that the latter would be giving away too much weight.
“Golly, queen of my soul,” he ejaculated, “that’s a bit tough on the issue, isn’t it? When I served under Nannie Byles, she was a human fiend at the mention of whose name strong children shook like aspens.”
“Oh, no, sweetie-pie,” protested Mrs Bingo. “She’s an old dear. So kind and gentle.”
“Well, I’ll take your word for it,” said Bingo dubiously. “Of course, age may have softened her.”
But before dressing for dinner he looked in on young Algernon Aubrey, shook him sympathetically by the hand and gave him a bar of nut chocolate. He felt like a kind-hearted manager of prize-fighters who is sending a novice up against the champion.
Conceive his relief, therefore, when he found that Mrs Bingo had not been astray in her judgment of form. Arriving on the morrow, La Byles proved, as stated, to be an old dear. In the interval since they had last met she had shrunk to about four feet ten, the steely glitter which he had always associated with her eyes had disappeared, and she had lost the rather unpleasant suggestion she had conveyed in his formative years of being on the point of enforcing discipline with a belaying pin. Her aspect was mild and her manner cooing, and when she flung her arms about him and kissed him and asked him how his stomach was, he flung his arms about her and kissed her and said his stomach was fine. The scene was one of cordial good will.
The new régime set in smoothly, conditions appearing to be hunky-dory. Mrs Bingo and Nannie Byles hit it off together like a couple of members of a barber-shop quartette. Bingo himself felt distantly benevolent towards the old dug-out. And as Algernon Aubrey took to her and seemed at his ease in her society, it would not be too much to say that for a day or two everything in the home was gas and gaiters.
For a day or two, I repeat. It was on the evening of the third day, as Bingo and Mrs Bingo sat in the drawing-room after dinner all happy and peaceful, Bingo reading a mystery thriller and Mrs Bingo playing solitaire in the offing, that the former heard the latter emit a sudden giggle, and always being in the market for a good laugh inquired the reason for her mirth.
“I was only thinking,” said Mrs Bingo, now guffawing heartily, “of the story Nannie told me when we were bathing Algy.”
“Of a nature you are able to repeat?” asked Bingo, for he knew that red hot stuff is sometimes pulled when the girls get together.
“It was about you pinning the golliwog to your Uncle Wilberforce’s coat tails when he was going to the reception at the French Embassy.”
Bingo winced a little. He recalled the episode and in particular its sequel, which had involved an association between himself, his uncle and the flat side of a slipper. The old wound had ceased to trouble him physically, but there was still a certain mental pain, and he was of the opinion that it would have been in better taste for Nannie Byles to let the dead past bury its dead.
“Ha, ha,” he said, though dully. “Fancy her remembering that.”
“Oh, her memory’s wonderful,” said Mrs Bingo.
&nb
sp; Bingo returned to his mystery thriller, and Mrs Bingo put the black ten on the red jack, and that, you would have said, was that. But Bingo, as he re-joined Inspector Keene and resumed with him the search for the murderer of Sir Rollo Murgatroyd, who had been bumped off in his library with a blunt instrument, experienced a difficulty in concentrating on the clues.
Until this moment the signing on the dotted line of his former bottlewasher had occasioned in him, as we have seen, merely a concern for his wee tot. It had not occurred to him that he himself was in peril. But now he found himself filled with a growing uneasiness. He did not like the look of things. His had been a rather notably checkered childhood, full of incidents which it had taken him years to live down, and he trusted that it was not Nannie Byles’s intention to form an I-Knew-Him-When club and read occasional papers.
He feared the worst, and next day he was given proof that his apprehensions had been well founded. He was starting to help himself to a second go of jam omelette at the dinner-table, when his hand was stayed by a quick intake of the breath on the part of Mrs Bingo.