'Yes, you are.'
'I'm staying here for the rest of the summer.'
'No, you aren't.'
'And James is joining me when he has finished this deal he is working on.'
'No, he isn't. It's going to take him longer than he had expected, and he wants you to come back right away. It's all in his letter. Oh, I forgot to tell you. He's written you a long letter, and it got mixed up with mine.'
A sharp gasp escaped Lady Constance.
'You read it?'
'Most of it. I skipped some of the dull bits.'
'Well, really, Alaric!'
'How was I to know it wasn't for me?'
'From the name on the envelope, I should have thought.'
'Didn't notice it.'
'And the opening words.'
'It began "My darling". No mention of you at all. What does it matter, anyway? I've given you the gist. No need for you to read it.'
'I want my letter!'
'Then you'll have to crawl under the bed, because that's where it's fallen,' said the Duke with the smugness of a member of Parliament making a debating point. 'The breeze through the window caught it. You'll get pretty dusty, because it's somewhere right at the back.'
Lady Constance bit her lip. It hurt her a little, but it was better than biting Alaric, Duke of Dunstable.
'I will ring for Beach.'
'What's the good of that? Beach can't crawl under beds.'
'He will send the boy who cleans the knives and boots.'
'All right, let the child come. But I'm not going to tip him,' said the Duke, and on this sordid note the conversation ended.
Lady Constance left the sick room in a state of considerable agitation. It always irked her to have to alter her plans, and now it was particularly upsetting. She had been looking forward so eagerly to having her James with her at the castle, not merely because she loved him and felt that a holiday in these peaceful surroundings would do him so much good, but because his calm sensible companionship would be so beneficial to Clarence. The thought of leaving the latter in the care of a mere boy like this immature Halliday, she far away and unable to superintend his course of treatment, chilled her. Who could say what blunders the stripling might not commit? And who, an inner voice reminded her in case she had overlooked it, could say what Clarence might not be up to in her absence? Probably taking all his meals in the library and sneaking off all day and never allowing Halliday to get near him.
She reached her boudoir, rang for Beach, told him to instruct the boy who cleaned the knives and boots to proceed to the garden suite and start crawling: then for several minutes she stood looking out of the window, deep in thought, and was rewarded with an idea.
At the time when his services had been desired Sir Roderick Glossop had not been available, away no doubt on some case to which he had been pledged. But it was possible that he would now be free to spend a few days at the castle, and even a few days of such an expert might be enough. It was at any rate worth trying.
She took up the telephone, and a secretarial voice answered her.
'Sir Roderick Glossop's office.'
'Could I speak to Sir Roderick?'
'Ay am sorry, he is in America. We are turning all our cases over to Sir Abercrombie Fitch. Shall I give you his numbah?'
'No, I think not, thank you. I suppose you mean all the cases not handled by his partner?'
'Pardon?'
'His junior partner.'
'Sir Roderick has no junior partner.'
Lady Constance remained calm, at least as far as her diction was concerned. Ladies never betray emotion, Connie dear, even on the telephone.
'There seems to be some confusion. I am Lady Constance Schoonmaker, speaking from Blandings Castle in Shropshire. There is a young man at the castle named Halliday who according to my brother is Sir Roderick Glossop's junior partner. You know nothing of him? He could not be Sir Abercrombie Fitch's partner?'
'Sir Abercrombie has no partner.'
'You are sure?'
There came a sharp intake of breath at the other end of the wire. The question had given offence. You cannot go about asking secretaries if they are sure. Ice crept into this one's reply.
'Ay am quate sure.'
'Thank you,' said Lady Constance, but her tone as she offered these thanks was not warm. She replaced the receiver, breathed heavily once or twice, and went off on winged feet to see the Duke. The situation, to her mind, called for clarification, and he was the man to clarify it.
The doctor was with him when she burst into the bedroom, and she was obliged to wait fuming while he went about his bathing and bandaging, accompanying his activities with amiable observations on the weather and other subjects. At long last he said Well, we seem to be getting on quite nicely, and took his departure, and the Duke relit the cigar which he had temporarily laid aside.
'Seems a pretty competent chap, that chap,' he said. 'What would he make a year, do you think? Can't be much money in being a country doctor, though my fellow down in Wiltshire does fairly well. But then he has a number of good steady alcoholics, which always helps.'
Lady Constance was in no mood to speculate on the incomes of rural physicians. She plunged without delay into what lawyers call the res.
'Alaric, I want to know all about this man Halliday.'
The Duke puffed at his cigar for some moments as if turning this demand over in his mind.
'How do you mean all about him? I don't know anything about him except that he's Glossop's junior partner and has the ruddy audacity to want to marry my niece. But I've put a stopper on that all right. She's a ward of court and can't get spliced without my consent, and he's got about as much chance of getting that as he has of flying to the moon. If he thinks he can spend all his time bullocking people downstairs like a charging rhinoceros and expect to marry their nieces, he's very much mistaken. He was in here last night trying to suck up to me, but I sent him off with a flea in his ear.'
Lady Constance had come to the room with the intention of confining the discussion of John to his claim to be a figure in the psychiatric world, but this extraordinary statement led her to broaden the scope of her enquiries.
'What did you say?' she gasped. 'He wants to marry your niece?'
'That's what he says. In love with her, apparently.'
'But he only got here last night. How can he be in love with her if he's only known her a few hours?'
'See that?' said the Duke. 'I've blown a ring.'
Lady Constance's interest in smoke rings was on a par with that which she felt for the finances of members of the medical profession practising in the country. She repeated her question, and the Duke said Yes, that had puzzled him, too.
'But Threepwood tells me the fellow's known her for a long time. Been giving her ardent glances and bottles of scent for months, blast his impudence. Threepwood was saying something about their having quarrelled about something and the fellow jumped at the opportunity of coming here because he hoped that if he was on the spot he could square himself. He's Threepwood's godson, by the way. Just the sort of young hound who would be. Why are you looking like a dying duck?'
Lady Constance was looking like a dying duck because a sudden bright light had flashed upon her. The mists had cleared, and she saw what is generally described as all. She was in possession of the facts, and they could have only one interpretation. Like a serpent, though perhaps not altogether like a serpent, for serpents do draw the line somewhere, her brother Galahad had introduced another impostor into the castle.
Blandings Castle in recent years had been particularly rich in impostors. One or two of them had had other sponsors, but as a rule it was Gally who sneaked them in, and the realization that he had done it again filled her, as she had so often been filled before, with a passionate desire to skin him with a blunt knife.
Once, when they were children, Galahad had fallen into the deep pond in the kitchen garden, and just as he was about to sink for the third time one of th
e gardeners had come along and pulled him out. She was brooding now on the thoughtless folly of that misguided gardener. Half the trouble in the world, she was thinking, was caused by people not letting well alone.
She strode purposefully to the bell, and pressed it, a gesture that puzzled the Duke.
'What,' he asked, 'do you think you're doing?'
'I am ringing for Beach.'
'I don't want Beach.'
'I do,' said Lady Constance grimly. 'I am going to send him to tell Mr. Halliday that I would like a word with him.'
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was Gally's practice, when he favoured Blandings Castle with a visit, to repair after breakfast to the hammock on the front lawn and there to ponder in comfort on whatever seemed to him worth pondering on. It might be the Cosmos or the situation in the Far East, it might be merely the problem of whether or not to risk a couple of quid on some horse running in the 2.30 at Catterick Bridge. This morning, as was natural in a conscientious godfather, his thoughts were concentrated on the sad case of his stricken godson, and when, after he had been giving it the cream of his intellect for some ten minutes, he opened his eyes and became aware that John was standing beside him, he broached the subject without preamble.
'Hullo, Johnny, I was just thinking about you. How did you get on with Dunstable last night? Was he chummy?'
John's voice as he replied was sombre, as was his whole appearance. He looked like a young man who had had even less sleep than that notorious night bird the ninth Earl of Emsworth.
'Not very,' he said briefly.
The words and the tone in which they were uttered were damping, but Gally refused to be damped.
'Don't let that worry you.'
'No?'
'Certainly not. You couldn't expect him to be brimming over with the milk of human kindness right away. One of the lessons life teaches us is never to look for instant bonhomie from someone we have rammed in the small of the back and bumped down two flights of stairs. That sort of thing does something to a man. I noticed when I was talking to him that the iron seemed to have entered into his soul quite a bit.'
'I got that impression, too. Apparently he thinks I did it on purpose.'
'Very unjust. Better men than you have slipped on those stairs, myself for one. Still, you might have been more careful. No doubt you wanted your cocktail, but you needn't have come rushing to get it.'
'I wasn't rushing. Do you know, Gally, I had a feeling that somebody had pushed me.'
'Absurd. People don't go pushing people downstairs even at Blandings Castle.'
'No, I suppose it was just my imagination.'
'Must have been. But never mind that. The important thing is did you soothe him?'
'No.'
'You asked after his ankle?'
'Yes.'
'And when he had stopped talking about that?'
'I said I believed he had known my father at one time.'
'Oh, my God!'
'Was that a mistake?'
'The gravest of errors. He couldn't stand your father. He once hit him with a cold turkey.'
'He hit my father?'
'No, your father hit him. It was one night when we were all having supper at Romano's, and they had disagreed about the apostolic claims of the church of Abyssinia, which was odd because it was generally about politics that Stiffy disagreed with people. The supper had been a festive one, to celebrate the victory of a horse on whom as the result of a tip from the stable we had all had our bit, and I suppose they were both somewhat flushed with wine, for this argument started. Dunstable maintained that those claims were perfectly justified, and your father said the church of Abyssinia was talking through its hat, and things got more and more heated, and finally Dunstable took up a bowl of fruit salad and was about to strike your father with it, when your father grabbed this turkey, which was on a side table with the other cold viands, and with one blow laid him out as flat as a crêpe suzette. The unfortunate thing was that it was all over so rapidly that one had no opportunity of placing a wager on the outcome. Otherwise, I would have cleaned up by putting my little all on Stiffy, whom I knew as a man never to be more feared than when with cold turkey in hand. I had once seen him stun a fellow named Percy Pound with the same blunt instrument. So Dunstable has not forgotten and forgiven after thirty years. At least I gather from your manner that the episode still rankles.'
'He certainly went up in the air when I said whose son I was.'
'It just shows what a beautiful cold turkey your father used to swing in his prime. I have always thought it a pity that there was no event of that kind in the Olympic Games. But do you know what I find the strangest aspect of the whole affair? That either of them should ever have heard of the church of Abyssinia. You wouldn't have thought they would have recognized the church of Abyssinia if it had been served up to them on a plate with watercress round it. Yes, Beach?'
Unobserved by them, Beach had approached the hammock, panting a little, for he had been instructed to make haste and he was not the slim footman he had been eighteen years ago.
'Her ladyship would be glad if she could have a word with Mr. Halliday, Mr. Galahad.'
Gally had removed his eyeglass and had been polishing it. He replaced it, but with the feeling that he might soon have to polish it again. Long experience had taught him to expect trouble when Connie wanted words with people.
'Any idea what about?'
'No, Mr. Galahad. Her ladyship did not confide in me.'
'Well, better give her five minutes, Johnny.'
Left alone, Gally returned to his meditations. It was a lovely morning of blue skies and summer scents. Birds twittered, bees buzzed, insects droned, and from the stable yard came the soft sound of chauffeur Voules playing his harmonica. The cat which helped Lord Emsworth upset tables sauntered along and jumped on Gally's stomach. He tickled it behind the ear with his customary courtesy, but he tickled with a heavy heart. He was musing on John, and he was uneasy. He had said that they must not be defeatist, but it was extremely difficult to avoid being so. With Connie wanting words with John, he could not regard the position of affairs as good.
As he lay there, frowning thoughtfully, he was made aware that he had another visitor. Linda was standing by the hammock. She was wearing the unmistakeable air of a ward of court who has recently learned that an injunction of restraint is about to be made against the other intending party, and he saw that she would need a good deal of cheering up if the roses were to be brought back to her cheeks. As buoyantly as he could he said:
'Hullo, my dear. I was just chatting with this cat. Have you seen Johnny?'
'No.'
'He was here a moment ago. He went in to talk to my sister Connie. I don't know how long she'll keep him, but after they're through he ought to look in on your foul uncle again.'
'Has he seen Uncle Alaric?'
'Last night. In the flesh.'
'What happened?'
'Nothing very good to report so far, but it was a start. The thing for him to do now is to keep popping in on the old bounder and omitting no word or act which may help to conciliate him. If he plays his cards right, I don't see why a beautiful friendship should not result.'
'Very unlikely.'
Gally adjusted the cat on his stomach, and frowned disapprovingly.
'You mustn't talk like that.'
'Well, I do.'
'It's not the right spirit. You ought to be saying to yourself "Who can resist Johnny?"'
'And the answer would be "Uncle Alaric can".'
There was a silence, except of course for the birds, the bees, the insects and Voules the chauffeur's harmonica. Linda broke it with a question. It was one that had been constantly in her thoughts.
'Do you think you really do go to prison if you marry a ward of court when they've told you not to?'
Gally would have given much to be able to reply in the negative, instancing the cases of fellows at the Pelican who had done it dozens of times with impunity,
but facts had to be faced.
'I'm afraid so. Johnny says you do, and he ought to know.'
'Suppose I told them he's the only man in the world I can be happy with and I'll just pine away to a shadow if I can't get him. Mightn't they skip the red tape?'
'I doubt it. These chaps who make the laws of England are pretty hardboiled blokes. No sentiment.'
'Johnny says he's quite willing to take a chance.'
'Don't let him. Don't dream of letting him.'
'Of course I won't. Do you think I'm going to have that precious lamb sewing mail bags in an underground dungeon where he'll be gnawed to the bone by rats? It's so unfair,' cried Linda passionately. 'Just because I'm female, I mean. Both my brothers married girls Uncle Alaric couldn't stand at any price, but he couldn't make them wards of his beastly court because they were men. He huffed and puffed, but there wasn't a thing he could do about it. But just because I'm a—'
She broke off abruptly. Jno Robinson's station taxi had drawn up at the front door, and from the front door Beach emerged bearing a suitcase. He was followed by John. He placed the suitcase in the cab, and John climbed in after it. Jno Robinson set his Arab steed in motion and with a clang and a clatter it vanished down the drive, just as Linda with another passionate cry made for the house.
There was a pensive look on Gally's face as he removed the cat and extricated himself from the hammock. He did not need to be told what lay behind these peculiar happenings. How it had come about he could not say, but plainly his best-laid plans had gone agley, just as the poet Burns had warned him they might. He reached automatically for his eyeglass and was polishing it meditatively when Linda returned.
'He's gone!' she said in a hollow voice.
'Yes, I saw.'
'Lady Constance has thrown him out.'
'I gathered that.'
'I don't understand,' said Linda, who seemed dazed. 'Beach says it's because she has found out he's not a psychoanalyst. Why should he be a psychoanalyst? Lots of people aren't. It doesn't make sense.'
Gally shook his head sadly. To him it made sense.
'I think I can explain,' he said, 'but later, when we have more leisure. It's a long story. How does Beach know all this?'
A Pelican at Blandings Page 16
