STIFF UPPER LIP, JEEVES

by Keep A Stiff Upper Lip Jeeves

  'Well, it worked all right. Stinker has clicked.'

  'He is to succeed Mr. Bellamy as incumbent at Hockley-cum-Meston?'

  'As soon as Bellamy calls it a day.'

  'I am very happy to hear it, sir.'

  I didn't reply for a while, being obliged to attend to a sudden touch of cramp.

  This ironed out, I said, still icy:

  'You may be happy, but I haven't been for the last quarter of an hour or so, nestling behind the sofa and expecting Plank at any moment to unmask me. It didn't occur to you to envisage what would happen if he met me?'

  'I was sure that your keen intelligence would enable you to find a means of avoiding him, sir, as indeed it did. You concealed yourself behind the sofa?'

  'On all fours.'

  'A very shrewd manoeuvre on your part, if I may say so, sir. It showed a resource and swiftness of thought which it would be difficult to overpraise.'

  My iciness melted. It is not too much to say that I was mollified. It's not often that I'm given the old oil in this fashion, most of my circle, notably my Aunt Agatha, being more prone to the slam than the rave. And it was only after I had been savouring that 'keen intelligence' gag, if savouring is the word I want, for some moments that I suddenly remembered that marriage with Madeline Bassett loomed ahead, and I gave a start so visible that he asked me if I was feeling unwell. I shook the loaf.

  'Physically, no, Jeeves. Spiritually, yes.'

  'I do not quite understand you, sir.'

  'Well, here is the news, and this is Bertram Wooster reading it. I'm going to be married.'

  'Indeed, sir?'

  'Yes, Jeeves, married. The banns are as good as up.'

  'Would it be taking a liberty if I were to ask -'

  'Who to? You don't need to ask. Gussie Fink-Nottle has eloped with Emerald Stoker, thus creating a ... what is it?'

  'Would vacuum be the word you are seeking, sir?'

  'That's right. A vacuum which I shall have to fill. Unless you can think of some way of getting me out of it.'

  'I will devote considerable thought to the matter, sir.'

  'Thank you, Jeeves,' I said, and would have spoken further, but at this moment I saw the door opening and speechlessness supervened. But it wasn't, as I had feared, Plank, it was only Stiffy.

  'Hullo, you two,' she said. 'I'm looking for Harold.'

  I could see at a g. that Jeeves had been right in describing her demeanour as despondent. The brow was clouded and the general appearance that of an overwrought soul. I was glad to be in a position to inject a little sunshine into her life. Pigeon-holing my own troubles for future reference, I said:

  'He's looking for you. He has a strange story to relate. You know about Plank?'

  'What about him?'

  Til tell you what about him. Plank to you hitherto has been merely a shadowy figure who hangs out at Hockley-cum-Meston and sells black amber statuettes to people, but he has another side to him.'

  She betrayed a certain impatience.

  'If you think I'm interested in Plank -'

  'Aren't you?'

  'No, I'm not.'

  'You will be. He has, as I was saying, another side to him. He is a landed proprietor with vicarages in his gift, and to cut a long story down to a short-short, as one always likes to do when possible, he has just given one to Stinker.'

  I had been right in supposing that the information would have a marked effect on her dark mood. I have never actually seen a corpse spring from its bier and start being the life and soul of the party, but I should imagine that its deportment would closely resemble that of this young Byng as the impact of my words came home to her. A sudden light shot into her eyes, which, as Plank had correctly said, were large and blue, and an ecstatic 'Well, Lord love a duck!' escaped her. Then doubts seemed to creep in, for the eyes clouded over again.

  'Is this true?'

  'Absolutely official.'

  'You aren't pulling my leg?'

  I drew myself up rather haughtily.

  'I wouldn't dream of pulling your leg. Do you think Bertram Wooster is the sort of chap who thinks it funny to raise people's hopes, only to ... what, Jeeves?'

  'Dash them to the ground, sir.'

  'Thank you, Jeeves.'

  'Not at all, sir.'

  'You may take this information as coming straight from the mouth of the stable cat. I was present when the deal went through. Behind the sofa, but present.'

  She still seemed at a loss.

  'But I don't understand. Plank has never met Harold.'

  'Jeeves brought them together.'

  'Did you, Jeeves?'

  'Yes, miss.'

  ' 'At-a-boy!'

  'Thank you, miss.'

  'And he's really given Harold a vicarage?'

  'The vicarage of Hockley-cum-Meston. He's embodying it in the form of a letter tonight. At the moment there's a vicar still vicking, but he's infirm and old and wants to turn it up as soon as they can put on an understudy. The way things look, I should imagine that we shall be able to unleash Stinker on the Hockley-cum-Meston souls in the course of the next few days.'

  My simple words and earnest manner had resolved the last of her doubts. The misgivings she may have had as to whether this was the real ginger vanished. Her eyes shone more like twin stars than anything, and she uttered animal cries and danced a few dance steps. Presently she paused, and put a question.

  'What's Plank like?'

  'How do you mean, what's he like?'

  'He hasn't a beard, has he?'

  'No, no beard.'

  'That's good, because I want to kiss him, and if he had a beard, it would give me pause.'

  'Dismiss the notion,' I urged, for Plank's psychology was an open book to me. The whole trend of that confirmed bachelor's conversation had left me with the impression that he would find it infinitely preferable to be spiked in the leg with a native dagger than to have popsies covering his upturned face with kisses. 'He'd have a fit.'

  'Well, I must kiss somebody. Shall I kiss you, Jeeves?'

  'No, thank you, miss.'

  'You, Bertie?'

  Td rather you didn't.'

  'Then I've a good mind to go and kiss Uncle Watkyn, louse of the first water though he has recently shown himself.'

  'How do you mean, recently?'

  'And having kissed him I shall tell him the news and taunt him vigorously with having let a good thing get away from him. I shall tell him that when he declined to avail himself of Harold's services he was like the Indian.'

  I did not get her drift.

  'What Indian?'

  'The base one my governesses used to make me read about, the poor simp whose hand . . . How does it go, Jeeves?'

  'Threw a pearl away richer than all his tribe, miss.'

  'That's right. And I shall tell him I hope the vicar he does get will be a weed of a man who has a chronic cold in the head and bleats. Oh, by the way, talking of Uncle Watkyn reminds me. I shan't have any use for this now.'

  And so speaking she produced the black amber eyesore from the recesses of her costume like a conjuror taking a rabbit out of a hat.

  22

  It was as if she had suddenly exhibited a snake of the lowest order. I gazed at the thing, appalled. It needed but this to put the frosting on the cake.

  'Where did you get that?' I asked in a voice that was low and trembled.

  'I pinched it.'

  'What on earth did you do that for?'

  'Perfectly simple. The idea was to go to Uncle Watkyn and tell him he wouldn't get it back unless he did the square thing by Harold. Power politics, don't they call it, Jeeves?'

  'Or blackmail, miss.'

  'Yes, or blackmail, I suppose. But you can't be too nice in your methods when you're dealing with the Uncle Watkyns of this world. But now that Plank has eased the situation and made our paths straight, of course I shan't need it, and I suppose the shrewd thing is to return it to store before its absence is noted. Go and put it in the collection r
oom, Bertie. Here's the key.'

  I recoiled as if she had offered me the dog Bartholomew. Priding myself as I do on being a preux chevalier, I like to oblige the delicately nurtured when it's feasible, but there are moments when only a nolle prosequi will serve, and I recognized this as one of them. The thought of making the perilous passage she was suggesting gave me goose pimples.

  'I'm not going near the ruddy collection room. With my luck, I'd find your Uncle Watkyn there, arm in arm with Spode, and it wouldn't be too easy to explain what I was doing there and how I'd got in. Besides, I can't go roaming about the place with Plank on the premises.'

  She laughed one of those silvery ones, a practice to which, as I have indicated, she was far too much addicted.

  'Jeeves told me about you and Plank. Very funny.'

  'I'm glad you think so. We personally were not amused.'

  Jeeves, as always, found the way.

  'If you will give the object to me, miss, I will see that it is restored to its place.'

  'Thank you, Jeeves. Well, good-bye all. I'm off to find Harold,' said Stiffy, and she withdrew, dancing on the tips of her toes.

  I shrugged a shoulder.

  'Women, Jeeves!'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'What a sex!'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Do you remember something I said to you about Stiffy on our previous visit to Totleigh Towers?'

  'Not at the moment, no, sir.'

  'It was on the occasion when she landed me with Police Constable Oates's helmet just as my room was about to be searched by Pop Bassett and his minions. Dipping into the future, I pointed out that Stiffy, who is pure padded cell from the foundations up, was planning to marry the Rev. H.P. Pinker, himself as pronounced a goop as ever preached about the Hivites and Hittites, and I speculated, if you recall, as to what their offspring, if any, would be like.'

  'Ah yes, sir, I recollect now.'

  'Would they, I asked myself, inherit the combined loopiness of two such parents?'

  'Yes, sir, you were particularly concerned, I recall, for the well-being of the nurses, governesses, private schoolmasters and public schoolmasters who would assume the charge of them.'

  'Little knowing that they were coming up against something hotter than mustard. Exactly. The thought still weighs heavy upon me. However, we haven't leisure to go into the subject now. You'd better take that ghastly object back where it belongs without delay.'

  'Yes, sir. If it were done when 'twere done, then 'twere well it were done quickly,' he said, making for the door, and I thought, as I had so often thought before, how neatly he put these things.

  It seemed to me that the time had now come to adopt the strategy which I had had in mind right at the beginning - viz. to make my getaway via the window. With Plank at large in the house and likely at any moment to come winging back to where the drinks were, safety could be obtained only by making for some distant yew alley or rhododendron walk and remaining ensconced there till he had blown over. I hastened to the window, accordingly, and picture my chagrin and dismay on finding that Bartholomew, instead of continuing his stroll, had decided to take a siesta on the grass immediately below. I had actually got one leg over the sill before he was drawn to my attention. In another half jiffy I should have dropped on him as the gentle rain from heaven upon the spot beneath.

  I had no difficulty in recognizing the situation as what the French call an impasse, and as I stood pondering what to do for the best, footsteps sounded without, and feeling that 'twere well it were done quickly I made for the sofa once more, lowering my previous record by perhaps a split second.

  I was surprised, as I lay nestling in my little nook, by the complete absence of dialogue that ensued. Hitherto, all my visitors had started chatting from the moment of their entry, and it struck me as odd that I should now be entertaining a couple of deaf mutes. Peeping cautiously out, however, I found that I had been mistaken in supposing that I had with me a brace of guests. It was Madeline alone who had blown in. She was heading for the piano, and something told me that it was her intention to sing old folk songs, a pastime to which, as I have indicated, she devoted not a little of her leisure. She was particularly given to indulgence in this nuisance when her soul had been undergoing an upheaval and required soothing, as of course it probably did at this juncture.

  My fears were realized. She sang two in rapid succession, and the thought that this sort of thing would be a permanent feature of our married life chilled me to the core. I've always been what you might call allergic to old folk songs, and the older they are, the more I dislike them.

  Fortunately, before she could start on a third she was interrupted. Clumping footsteps sounded, the door handle turned, heavy breathing made itself heard, and a voice said 'Madeline!' Spode's voice, husky with emotion.

  'Madeline,' he said, 'I've been looking for you everywhere.'

  'Oh, Roderick! How is your eye?'

  'Never mind my eye,' said Spode. 'I didn't come here to talk about eyes.'

  'They say a piece of beefsteak reduces the swelling.'

  'Nor about beefsteaks. Sir Watkyn has told me the awful news about you and Wooster. Is it true you're going to marry him?'

  'Yes, Roderick, it is true.'

  'But you can't love a half-baked, half-witted ass like Wooster,' said Spode, and I thought the remark extremely offensive. Pick your words more carefully, Spode, I might have said, rising and confronting him. However, for one reason and another I didn't, but continued to nestle and I heard Madeline sigh, unless it was the draught under the sofa.

  'No, Roderick, I do not love him. He does not appeal to the essential me. But I feel it is my duty to make him happy.'

  'Tchah!' said Spode, or something that sounded like that. 'Why on earth do you want to go about making worms like Wooster happy?'

  'He loves me, Roderick. You must have seen that dumb, worshipping look in his eyes as he gazes at me.'

  'I've something better to do than peer into Wooster's eyes. Though I can well imagine they look dumb. We've got to have this thing out, Madeline.'

  'I don't understand you, Roderick.'

  'You will.'

  'Ouch!'

  I think on the cue 'You will' he must have grabbed her by the wrist, for the word 'Ouch!' had come through strong and clear, and this suspicion was confirmed when she said he was hurting her.

  'I'm sorry, sorry,' said Spode. 'But I refuse to allow you to ruin your life. You can't marry this man Wooster. I'm the one you're going to marry.'

  I was with him heart and soul, as the expression is. Nothing would ever make me really fond of Roderick Spode, but I liked the way he was talking. A little more of this, I felt, and Bertram would be released from his honourable obligations. I wished he had thought of taking this firm line earlier.

  'I've loved you since you were so high.'

  Not being able to see him, I couldn't ascertain how high that was, but I presumed he must have been holding his hand not far from the floor. A couple of feet, would you say? About that, I suppose.

  Madeline was plainly moved. I heard her gurgle.

  'I know, Roderick, I know.'

  'You guessed my secret?'

  'Yes, Roderick. How sad life is!'

  Spode declined to string along with her in this view.

  'Not a bit of it. Life's fine. At least, it will be if you give this blighter Wooster the push and marry me.'

  'I have always been devoted to you, Roderick.'

  'Well, then?'

  'Give me time to think.'

  'Carry on. Take all the time you need.'

  'I don't want to break Bertie's heart.'

  'Why not? Do him good.'

  'He loves me so dearly.'

  'Nonsense. I don't suppose he has ever loved anything in his life except a dry martini.'

  'How can you say that? Did he not come here because he found it impossible to stay away from me?'

  'No, he jolly well didn't. Don't let him fool you on that point. He came he
re to pinch that black amber statuette of your father's.'

  'What!'

  'That's what. In addition to being half-witted, he's a low thief.'

  'It can't be true!'

  'Of course it's true. His uncle wants the thing for his collection. I heard him plotting with his aunt on the telephone not half an hour ago. "It's going to be pretty hard to get away with it," he was saying, "but I'll do my best. I know how much Uncle Tom covets that statuette." He's always stealing things. The very first time I met him, in an antique shop in the Brompton Road, he as near as a toucher got away with your father's umbrella.'

  A monstrous charge, and one which I can readily refute. He and Pop Bassett and I were, I concede, in the antique shop in the Brompton Road to which he had alluded, but the umbrella sequence was purely one of those laughable misunderstandings. Pop Bassett had left the blunt instrument propped against a seventeenth-century chair, and what caused me to take it up was the primeval instinct which makes a man without an umbrella, as I happened to be that morning, reach out unconsciously for the nearest one in sight, like a flower turning to the sun. The whole thing could have been explained in two words, but they hadn't let me say even one, and the slur had been allowed to rest on me.

  'You shock me, Roderick!' said Madeline.

  'Yes, I thought it would make you sit up.'

  'If this is really so, if Bertie is really a thief -'

  'Well?'

  'Naturally I will have nothing more to do with him. But I can't believe it.'

  Til go and fetch Sir Watkyn,' said Spode. 'Perhaps you'll believe him.'

  For several minutes after he had clumped out, Madeline must have stood in a reverie, for I didn't hear a sound out of her. Then the door opened, and the next thing that came across was a cough which I had no difficulty in recognizing.