Joy in the Morning

by Unknown

  ‘Sardine?’ he said, with a bitter intonation. ‘Sardine? Sardine? Sardine?’

  ‘You’ll feel better, when you’ve had some breakfast,’ said Nobby, pulling a quick ministering-angel-thou.

  Uncle Percy opposed this view.

  ‘I shall not. The only thing that can make me feel better is to thrash that pie-faced young wart-hog Fittleworth within an inch of his life. Bertie, get me a horsewhip.’

  I pursed the lips dubiously.

  ‘I don’t believe we have one,’ I said. ‘Are there any horsewhips on the premises, Boko?’

  ‘No, no horsewhips,’ the latter responded, now trying to get through the wall.

  Uncle Percy snorted.

  ‘What a house! Jeeves.’

  ‘M’lord?’

  ‘Go over to the Hall and bring me my horsewhip with the ivory handle.’

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’

  ‘I think it’s in my study. If not, hunt about for it.’

  ‘Very good, m’lord. No doubt her ladyship will be able to inform me of the instrument’s whereabouts.’

  He spoke so casually that it was perhaps three seconds by the stop-watch before Uncle Percy got the gist. When he did, he started, like one jabbed in the fleshy parts with a sudden bradawl.

  ‘Her . . . what?’

  ‘Her ladyship, m’lord.’

  ‘Her ladyship?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’

  Uncle Percy had crumpled like a wet sock. He sank into a chair, and clutched the marmalade jar, as if for support. His eyes popped out of his head, and waved about on their stalks.

  ‘But her ladyship—’

  ‘– returned unexpectedly late last night, m’lord.’

  CHAPTER 29

  I don’t know if the name of Lot’s wife is familiar to you, and if you were told about her rather remarkable finish. I may not have got the facts right, but the story, as I heard it, was that she was advised not to look round at something or other or she would turn into a pillar of salt, so, naturally imagining that they were simply pulling her leg, she looked round, and – bing – a pillar of salt. And the reason I mention this now is that the very same thing seemed to have happened to Uncle Percy. Crouching there with his fingers riveted to the marmalade jar, he appeared to have turned into a pillar of salt. If it hadn’t been that the ginger whiskers were quivering gently, you would have said that life had ceased to animate the rigid limbs.

  ‘It appears that Master Thomas is now out of danger, m’lord, and no longer has need of her ladyship’s ministrations.’

  The whiskers contined to quiver, and I didn’t blame them. I knew just how the old relative must be feeling, for, as I have already indicated, he had made no secret when chatting with me of his apprehensions concerning the shape of things to come, should Aunt Agatha ever learn that he had been attending fancy dress dances in her absence.

  The poignant drama of it all had not escaped Nobby, either.

  ‘Golly, Uncle Percy,’ she said, a womanly pity in her voice that became her well, ‘this is a bit awkward, is it not? You’ll have to devote a minute or two, when you see her, to explaining why you were out all night, won’t you?’

  Her words had the effect of bringing the unhappy man out of his trance or coma as if she had touched off a stick of dynamite under him. He moved, he stirred, he seemed to feel the rush of life along his keel.

  ‘Jeeves,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘M’lord?’

  ‘Jeeves.’

  ‘M’lord?’

  Uncle Percy shoved out his tongue about an inch, moistening the lips with the tip of it. It was plain that he was finding it no easy matter to get speech over the larynx.

  ‘Her ladyship, Jeeves . . . Tell me . . . Is she . . . Has she . . . Is she by any chance aware of my absence?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord. She was apprised of it by the head housemaid. I left them in conference. “You tell me his lordship’s bed has not been slept in?” her ladyship was saying. Her agitation was most pronounced.’

  I caught Uncle Percy’s eye. It had swivelled round at me with a dumb, pleading look in it, as if saying that suggestions would be welcomed.

  ‘How would it be,’ I said – well, one had to say something, ‘if you told her the truth?’

  ‘The truth?’ he repeated dazedly, and you could see he thought the idea a novel one.

  ‘That you went to the ball to confer with Clam.’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I could never convince your aunt that I had gone to a fancy dress ball from purely business motives. Women are so prone to think the worst.’

  ‘Something in that.’

  ‘And it’s no good trying to make them see reason, because they talk so damn’ quick. No,’ said Uncle Percy, ‘this is the end. I can only set my teeth and take my medicine like an English gentleman.’

  ‘Unless, of course, Jeeves has something to suggest.’

  This perked him up for an instant. Then the drawn, haggard look came back into his face, and he shook the lemon again, slowly and despondently.

  ‘Impossible. The situation is beyond Jeeves.’

  ‘No situation is beyond Jeeves,’ I said, with quiet rebuke. ‘In fact,’ I went on, scrutinizing the man closely, ‘I believe something is fermenting now inside that spacious bean. Am I wrong, Jeeves, in supposing that I can see the light of inspiration in your eye?’

  ‘No, sir. You are quite correct. I think that I may perhaps be able to offer a satisfactory solution of his lordship’s difficulty.’

  Uncle Percy inhaled sharply. An awed look came into the unoccupied areas of his face. I heard him murmur something under his breath about fish.

  ‘You mean that, Jeeves?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord.’

  ‘Then let us have it,’ I said, feeling rather like some impresario of performing fleas who watches the star member of his troupe advance to the footlights. ‘What is this solution of which you speak?’

  ‘Well, sir, it occurred to me that as his lordship has, as I understand, given his consent to the union of Mr Fittleworth and Miss Hopwood—’

  Uncle Percy uttered an animal cry.

  ‘I haven’t! Or, if I did, I’ve withdrawn it.’

  ‘Very good, m’lord. In that case, I have nothing to suggest.’

  There was a silence. One could sense the struggle proceeding in Uncle Percy’s bosom. I saw him look at Boko, and quiver. Then a strong shudder passed through the frame, and I knew he was recalling what Jeeves had said about Aunt Agatha’s agitation being most pronounced. When Aunt Agatha’s agitation is pronounced, she has a way of drawing her eyebrows together and making her nose look like an eagle’s beak. Strong men have quailed at the spectacle, repeatedly.

  ‘May as well hear what you’ve got to say, I suppose,’ he said, at length.

  ‘Quite,’ I agreed. ‘No harm in having a – what, Jeeves?’

  Academic discussion, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Jeeves.’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  ‘Carry on, then.’

  ‘Very good, sir. It merely occurred to me that, had his lordship consented to the union, nothing would have been more natural than that he should have visited Mr Fittleworth at his house for the purpose of talking the matter over and making arrangements for the wedding. Immersed in this absorbing subject, his lordship would quite understandably have lost count of time—’

  I yipped intelligently. I had got the set-up.

  And when he looked at his watch and found how late it was—’

  ‘Precisely, sir. When his lordship looked at his watch and found how late it was, Mr Fittleworth hospitably suggested that he should pass the remainder of the night beneath his roof. His lordship agreed that this would be the most convenient course, and so it was arranged.’

  I looked at Uncle Percy, confidently expecting the salvo of applause, and was amazed to find him shaking the bean once more.

  ‘It wouldn’t work,’ he said.

  ‘Why on earth not? It’s
a pip.’

  He kept on oscillating the lozenge.

  ‘No, Bertie, the scheme is not practical. Your aunt, my dear boy, is a suspicious woman. She probes beneath the surface and asks questions. And the first one she would ask on this occasion would be, Why, merely in order to discuss wedding arrangements with my ward’s future husband, did I dress up as Sindbad the Sailor? You can see for yourself how awkward that question would be, and how difficult to answer.’

  The point was well taken.

  ‘A snag, Jeeves. Can you get round it?’

  ‘Quite easily, sir. Before returning to the Hall, his lordship could borrow a suit of clothes from you, sir.’

  ‘Of course he could. Clad in the herring-bone tweed which is in the cupboard in my bedroom, Uncle Percy, you could look Aunt Agatha in the eye without a tremor.’

  I dare say you have frequently, when strolling in your garden, seen a parched flower beneath a refreshing downpour. It was of such a flower that Uncle Percy now irresistibly reminded me. He seemed to swell and burgeon, as it were, and the strained eyes lost that resemblance to the under side of a dead fish which had been so noticeable since the beginning of this sequence.

  ‘Good Lord!’ he exclaimed. You’re quite right. So I could. Jeeves,’ he went on, emotionally, ‘you must have that brain of yours pickled and presented to some national museum.’

  ‘Very good, m’lord.’

  ‘When you’ve done with it, of course. Come on, Bertie, action, action! Ho for the herring-bone tweed!’

  ‘This way, Uncle Percy,’ I said, and we started for the door, to find our path barred by Boko. He was looking a bit green about the gills, but firm and resolute.

  ‘Just a minute,’ said Boko. ‘Not so jolly fast, if you don’t mind. How about that guardian’s blessing? Do I cop?’

  ‘Of course you do, old bird,’ I said soothingly. ‘That’s all budgeted for in the estimates, Uncle Percy?’

  ‘Eh? What?’

  ‘The guardian’s b. You’re dishing that out?’

  Once more there was that silent struggle. Then he nodded sombrely.

  ‘It seems unavoidable.’

  ‘It is unavoidable.’

  ‘Then I won’t try to avoid it.’

  ‘Okay, Boko, you’re all set.’

  ‘Good,’ said Boko. ‘I’ll just have that in writing, if you don’t mind, my dear Worplesdon. I don’t want to carp or criticize, but there’s been a lot of in-and-out running about this business to present date, and one would welcome a few words in black and white. You will find pen and ink on the table in the corner. Sing out, my dear Worplesdon, if the nib doesn’t suit you, and I will provide you with another.’

  Uncle Percy went to the table in the corner, and took pen in hand. It would be too much to say that his demeanour, as he did so, was rollicking. I fancy that up to this moment he had been entertaining a faint hope that, if his luck held, he might somehow derive the benefits from Jeeves’s scheme without having to sit in on its drawbacks. However, as I say, he took pen in hand and, having scribbled for a minute or so, handed the result to Boko, who read it through and handed it to Nobby, who read it through and tucked it away with a satisfied ‘Okay-doke’ in some safe deposit in the recesses of her costume.

  She had scarcely done so, when heavy, official footsteps sounded without, and Stilton came clumping in.

  You will scarcely believe me, but it is a fact that I had been so tensely gripped by the drama of the last quarter of an hour that the Stilton angle had been completely expunged from my mind, and it was only now, as I watched him heave to, that the thought of the Wooster personal peril came back to me. The first thing he did on entering the room was to give me one of those looks of his, and it chilled my insides like a quart of ice cream.

  I had a shot at an airy ‘Ah, there you are, Stilton,’ but my heart was not in it, and it elicited no response except a short ‘Ho!’ Having got off this ‘Ho!’ which, as I have explained, was in the nature of a sort of signature tune, he addressed himself to Boko.

  ‘You were right about that warrant,’ he said. ‘The sergeant says I’ve got to have one. I’ve brought it along. It has to be signed by a Justice of the Peace.’ Here, for the first time, he appeared to become aware of Uncle Percy’s identity, which, of course, had been shrouded from him by the whiskers. ‘Why, hullo, Lord Worplesdon,’ he said, ‘you’re just the man I was looking for. If you will shove your name on the dotted line, we can go ahead. So you went to that fancy dress ball last night?’ he said, giving him the eye.

  I think he had merely intended to be chatty and to show a kindly interest, as it were, in the relative’s affairs, but he had said the wrong thing. Uncle Percy stiffened haughtily.

  ‘What do you mean, I went to the fancy dress ball last night? I did nothing of the kind, and I shall be glad if you will refrain from making loose statements of that description. Went to the fancy dress ball, indeed! What fancy dress ball? Where? It is news to me that there has been a fancy dress ball.’

  His generous indignation seemed to take Stilton aback.

  ‘Oh, sorry,’ he said. ‘I just thought . . . The costume, I mean.’

  ‘And what about the costume? If my ward and her future husband are planning an evening of amateur theatricals and asked me as a personal favour to put on the costume of Sindbad the Sailor, to see if I was the type for the part, is it so singular that I should good-humouredly have acceded to their wishes? And is it any business of yours? Does it entitle you to jump to idiotic conclusions about fancy dress balls? Have I got to explain every simple little action of mine to every flatfooted copper who comes along and can’t keep his infernal nose out of my business?’

  These were not easy questions to answer, and the best Stilton could do was to shuffle his feet and say ‘Oh, ah.’

  ‘Well, anyway,’ he said, after a rather painful pause, changing the subject and getting back to the res, ‘would you mind signing this warrant?’

  ‘Warrant? What warrant? What’s it all about? What’s all this nonsense about warrants?’

  There was a sound in the background like a distant sheep coughing gently on a mountainside. Jeeves sailing into action.

  ‘If I might explain, your lordship. It appears that in the course of yesterday afternoon the officer’s uniform was purloined as he bathed in the river. He accuses Mr Wooster of the crime.’

  ‘Mr Wooster? Bertie? My nephew?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord. To me, a most bizarre theory. One seeks in vain for a motive which could plausibly have led Mr Wooster to perpetrate such an outrage. The constable, I understand, alleges that Mr Wooster desired the uniform in order to be able to attend the fancy dress ball.’

  This seemed to interest Uncle Percy.

  ‘There really was a fancy dress ball, was there?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord. At the neighbouring town of East Wibley.’

  ‘Odd. I never heard about it.’

  ‘A very minor affair, m’lord, I gather. Not at all the sort of entertainment in which a gentleman of Mr Wooster’s position would condescend to participate.’

  ‘Of course not. I wouldn’t have gone to it myself. Just one of those potty little country affairs, eh?’

  ‘Precisely, m’lord. Nobody, knowing Mr Wooster, would suppose for a moment that he would waste his sweetness on such desert air.’

  ‘Eh?’

  A quotation, m’lord. The poet Gray.’

  Ah. But you say the officer sticks to it that he did?’

  ‘Yes, m’lord. It is fortunate, therefore, that your lordship passed the night in this house, and so is able to testify that Mr Wooster never left the premises.’

  ‘Dashed fortunate. Settles the whole thing.’

  I never know, when I am telling a story where a couple of fellows are talking and a third fellow is trying to shove his oar in, whether to interpolate the last named’s gulps and gurgles in the run of the dialogue or to wait till it’s all over and then chalk up these gulps and gurgles to their utterer’s sco
re. I think it works out smoother the second way, and that is why, in recording the above exchanges, I have left out Stilton’s attempts to chip in. All through this Jeeves-Worplesdon exchange of ideas he had been trying to catch the Speaker’s eye, only to be ‘Tchah’-ed and ‘Be quiet, officer’-ed by Uncle Percy. A lull in the conversation having occurred at the word ‘thing’, he was now able to speak his piece.

  ‘I tell you the accused Wooster did pinch my uniform!’ he cried, his eyes bulging more than ever and his cheeks a pretty scarlet.

  ‘It was seen on his bed by the witness Edwin.’

  Things were going so well that I felt equal to raising the eyebrows and coming through with a light, amused laugh.

  ‘Edwin, Uncle Percy! One smiles, does one not?’

  The relative backed me up nobly.

  ‘Smiles? Certainly one smiles. Like the dickens. Are you trying to tell me,’ he said, letting Stilton have the eye in no uncertain measure, ‘that this preposterous accusation of yours is based on the unsupported word of my son Edwin? I can scarcely credit it. Can you, Jeeves?’

  ‘Most extraordinary, m’lord. But possibly the officer is not aware that Mr Wooster inflicted a personal assault upon Master Edwin yesterday, and so does not realize how biased any statement on the part of the young gentleman regarding Mr Wooster must inevitably be.’

  ‘Don’t make excuses for him. The man’s a fool. And I should like to say,’ said Uncle Percy, swelling like a balloon and starting to give Stilton the strong remarks from the bench, ‘that we have had in my opinion far too much of late of these wild and irresponsible accusations on the part of the police. A deplorable spirit is creeping into the Force, and as long as I remain a Justice of the Peace I shall omit no word or act to express my strongest disapproval of it. I shall stamp it out, root and branch, and see to it that the liberty of the subject is not placed in jeopardy by officers of the Law who so far forget their – yes, dash it, their sacred obligations as to bring trumped-up charges right and left in a selfish desire to secure promotion. I have nothing further to add except to express my profound regret that you should have been subjected to this monstrous persecution, Bertie.’