Jill the Reckless

by P. G. Wodehouse

  CHAPTER XIII

  THE AMBASSADOR ARRIVES

  I

  In these days of rapid movement, when existence has become little morethan a series of shocks of varying intensity, astonishment is theshortest-lived of all the emotions. There was an instant in which Jilllooked at Wally and Wally at Jill with the eye of total amazement, andthen, almost simultaneously, each began--the process wassubconscious--to regard this meeting not as an isolated andinexplicable event, but as something resulting from a perfectlylogical chain of circumstances.

  "Hullo!" said Wally.

  "Hullo!" said Jill.

  It was not a very exalted note on which to pitch the conversation, butit had the merit of giving each of them a little more time to collectthemselves.

  "This is.... I wasn't expecting you!" said Wally.

  "I wasn't expecting _you_!" said Jill.

  There was another pause, in which Wally, apparently examining her lastwords and turning them over in his mind, found that they did notsquare with his preconceived theories.

  "You weren't expecting me?"

  "I certainly was not!"

  "But ... but you knew I lived here?"

  Jill shook her head. Wally reflected for an instant, and then put hisfinger, with a happy inspiration, on the very heart of the mystery.

  "Then how on earth did you get here?"

  He was glad he had asked that. The sense of unreality which had cometo him in the first startling moment of seeing her and vanished underthe influence of logic had returned as strong as ever. If she did notknow he lived in this place, how in the name of everything uncanny hadshe found her way here? A momentary wonder as to whether all this wasnot mixed up with telepathy and mental suggestion and all that sort ofthing came to him. Certainly he had been thinking of her all the timesince their parting at the Savoy Hotel that night three weeks and moreback.... No, that was absurd. There must be some sounder reason forher presence. He waited for her to give it.

  Jill for the moment felt physically incapable of giving it. She shrankfrom the interminable explanation which confronted her as a wearytraveller shrinks from a dusty, far-stretching desert. She simplycould not go into all that now. So she answered with a question.

  "When did you land in New York?"

  "This afternoon. We were supposed to dock this morning, but the boatwas late." Wally perceived that he was being pushed away from the mainpoint, and jostled his way back to it. "But what are you doing here?"

  "It's such a long story."

  Her voice was plaintive. Remorse smote Wally. It occurred to him thathe had not been sufficiently sympathetic. Not a word had he said onthe subject of her change of fortunes. He had just stood and gaped andasked questions. After all, what the devil did it matter how she cameto be here? He had anticipated a long and tedious search for herthrough the labyrinth of New York, and here Fate had brought her tohis very door, and all he could do was to ask why, instead of beingthankful. He perceived that he was not much of a fellow.

  "Never mind," he said. "You can tell me when you feel like it." Helooked at her eagerly. Time seemed to have wiped away that littlemisunderstanding under the burden of which they had parted. "It's toowonderful finding you like this!" He hesitated. "I heardabout--everything," he said awkwardly.

  "My--" Jill hesitated too. "My smash?"

  "Yes. Freddie Rooke told me. I was terribly sorry."

  "Thank you," said Jill.

  There was a pause. They were both thinking of that other disasterwhich had happened. The presence of Derek Underhill seemed to standlike an unseen phantom between them. Finally Wally spoke at random,choosing the first words that came into his head in his desire tobreak the silence.

  "Jolly place, this, isn't it?"

  Jill perceived that an opening for those tedious explanations had beengranted her.

  "Uncle Chris thinks so," she said demurely.

  Wally looked puzzled.

  "Uncle Chris? Oh, your uncle?"

  "Yes."

  "But--he has never been here."

  "Oh, yes. He's giving a dinner-party here to-night!"

  "He's ... what did you say?"

  "It's all right. I only began at the end of the story instead of thebeginning. I'll tell you the whole thing. And then ... then I supposeyou will be terribly angry and make a fuss."

  "I'm not much of a lad, as Freddie Rooke would say, for making fusses.And I can't imagine being terribly angry with you."

  "Well, I'll risk it. Though, if I wasn't a brave girl, I should leaveUncle Chris to explain for himself and simply run away."

  "Anything is better than that. It's a miracle meeting you like this,and I don't want to be deprived of the fruits of it. Tell me anything,but don't go."

  "You'll be furious."

  "Not with you."

  "I should hope not with me. I've done nothing. I am the innocentheroine. But I'm afraid you will be very angry with Uncle Chris."

  "If he's your uncle, that passes him. Besides, he once licked thestuffing out of me with a whangee. That forms a bond. Tell me all."

  Jill considered. She had promised to begin at the beginning, but itwas difficult to know what was the beginning.

  "Have you ever heard of Captain Kidd?" she asked at length.

  "You're wandering from the point, aren't you?"

  "No, I'm not. _Have_ you heard of Captain Kidd?"

  "The pirate? Of course."

  "Well, Uncle Chris is his direct lineal descendant. That reallyexplains the whole thing."

  Wally looked at her enquiringly.

  "Could you make it a little easier?" he said.

  "I can tell you everything in half a dozen words, if you like. But itwill sound awfully abrupt."

  "Go ahead."

  "Uncle Chris has stolen your apartment."

  Wally nodded slowly.

  "I see. Stolen my apartment."

  "Of course you can't possibly understand. I shall have to tell you thewhole thing, after all."

  Wally listened with flattering attention as she began the epic ofMajor Christopher Selby's doings in New York. Whatever his emotions,he certainly was not bored.

  "So that's how it all happened," concluded Jill.

  For a moment Wally said nothing. He seemed to be digesting what he hadheard.

  "I see," he said at last. "It's a variant of those advertisements theyprint in the magazines. 'Why pay rent? Own somebody else's home!'"

  "That _does_ rather sum it up," said Jill.

  Wally burst into a roar of laughter.

  "He's a corker!"

  Jill was immensely relieved. For all her courageous bearing, she hadnot relished the task of breaking the news to Wally. She knew that hehad a sense of humour, but a man may have a sense of humour and yetnot see anything amusing in having his home stolen in his absence.

  "I'm so glad you're not angry."

  "Of course not."

  "Most men would be."

  "Most men are chumps."

  "It's so wonderful that it happened to be you. Suppose it had been anutter stranger! What could I have done?"

  "It would have been the same thing. You would have won him over in twominutes. Nobody could resist you."

  "That's very sweet of you."

  "I can't help telling the truth. Washington was just the same."

  "Then you don't mind Uncle Chris giving his dinner-party hereto-night?"

  "He has my blessing."

  "You really are an angel," said Jill gratefully. "From what he said, Ithink he looks on it as rather an important function. He has invited avery rich woman, who has been showing him a lot of hospitality--a Mrs.Peagrim...."

  "Mrs. Waddesleigh Peagrim?"

  "Yes? Why, do you know her?"

  "Quite well. She goes in a good deal for being Bohemian and knowingpeople who write and paint and act and so on. That reminds me. I gaveFreddie Rooke a letter of introduction to her."

  "Freddie Rooke!"

  "Yes. He suddenly made up his mind to come over. He came to
me foradvice about the journey. He sailed a couple of days before I did. Isuppose he's somewhere in New York by now, unless he was going on toFlorida. He didn't tell me what his plans were."

  Jill was conscious of a sudden depression. Much as she liked Freddie,he belonged to a chapter in her life which was closed and which shewas trying her hardest to forget. It was impossible to think ofFreddie without thinking of Derek, and to think of Derek was liketouching an exposed nerve. The news that Freddie was in New Yorkshocked her. New York had already shown itself a city of chanceencounters. Could she avoid meeting Freddie?

  She knew Freddie so well. There was not a dearer or a better-heartedyouth in the world, but he had not that fine sensibility which pilotsa man through the awkwardnesses of life. He was a blunderer. Instincttold her that, if she met Freddie, he would talk of Derek, and, ifthinking of Derek was touching an exposed nerve, talking of him wouldbe like pressing on that nerve with a heavy hand. She shivered.

  Wally was observant.

  "There's no need to meet him if you don't want to," he said.

  "No," said Jill doubtfully.

  "New York's a large place. By the way," he went on, "to return oncemore to the interesting subject of my lodger, does your uncle sleephere at nights, do you know?"

  Jill looked at him gratefully. He was no blunderer. Her desire toavoid Freddie Rooke was, he gave her tacitly to understand, herbusiness, and he did not propose to intrude on it. She liked him fordismissing the subject so easily.

  "No, I think he told me he doesn't."

  "Well, that's something, isn't it! I call that darned nice of him! Iwonder if I could drop back here somewhere about eleven o'clock. Arethe festivities likely to be over by then? If I know Mrs. Peagrim, shewill insist on going off to one of the hotels to dance directly afterdinner. She's a confirmed trotter."

  "I don't know how to apologize," began Jill remorsefully.

  "Please don't. It's absolutely all right." His eye wandered to themantelpiece, as it had done once or twice during the conversation. Inher hurry Jill had replaced the snapshot with its back to the room,and Wally had the fidgety air of a man whose most cherished possessionis maltreated. He got up now and, walking across, turned thephotograph round. He stood for a moment, looking at it. Jill hadforgotten the snapshot. Curiosity returned to her.

  "Where _did_ you get that?" she asked.

  Wally turned.

  "Oh, did you see this?"

  "I was looking at it just before you nearly frightened me to death byappearing so unexpectedly."

  "Freddie Rooke sold it to me fourteen years ago."

  "Fourteen years ago?"

  "Next July," added Wally. "I gave him five shillings for it."

  "Five shillings! The little brute!" cried Jill indignantly. "It musthave been all the money you had in the world!"

  "A trifle more, as a matter of fact. All the money I had in the worldwas three-and-six. But by a merciful dispensation of Providence thecurate had called that morning and left a money-box for subscriptionsto the village organ-fund.... It's wonderful what you can do with aturn for crime and the small blade of a pocket-knife! I don't think Ihave ever made money quicker!" He looked at the photograph again. "Notthat it seemed quick at the moment. I died at least a dozen agonizingdeaths in the few minutes I was operating. Have you ever noticed howslowly time goes when you are coaxing a shilling and a sixpence out ofsomebody's money-box? Centuries! But I was forgetting. Of courseyou've had no experience."

  "You poor thing!"

  "It was worth it."

  "And you've had it ever since!"

  "I wouldn't part with it for all Mrs. Waddesleigh Peagrim's millions,"said Wally with sudden and startling vehemence, "if she offered methem." He paused. "She hasn't, as a matter of fact."

  There was a silence. Jill looked at Wally furtively as he returned tohis seat. She was seeing him with new eyes. It was as if this triflingincident had removed some sort of a veil. He had suddenly become morealive. For an instant she had seen right into him, to the hidden deepsof his soul. She felt shy and embarrassed.

  "Pat died," she said at length. She felt the necessity of sayingsomething.

  "I liked Pat."

  "He picked up some poison, poor darling.... How long ago those daysseem, don't they?"

  "They are always pretty vivid to me. I wonder who has that old houseof yours now."

  "I heard the other day," said Jill more easily. The odd sensation ofembarrassment was passing. "Some people called ... what was thename?... Debenham, I think."

  Silence fell again. It was broken by the front-door bell, like analarm-clock that shatters a dream.

  Wally got up.

  "Your uncle," he said.

  "You aren't going to open the door?"

  "That was the scheme."

  "But he'll get such a shock when he sees you."

  "He must look on it in the light of rent. I don't see why I shouldn'thave a little passing amusement from this business."

  He left the room. Jill heard the front door open. She waitedbreathlessly. Pity for Uncle Chris struggled with the sterner feelingthat it served him right.

  "Hullo!" she heard Wally say.

  "Hullo-ullo-ullo!" replied an exuberant voice. "Wondered if I'd findyou in, and all that sort of thing. I say, what a deuce of a way up itis here. Sort of get a chappie into training for going to heaven,what? I mean, what?"

  Jill looked about her like a trapped animal. It was absurd, she felt,but every nerve in her body cried out against the prospect of meetingFreddie. His very voice had opened old wounds and set them throbbing.

  She listened in the doorway. Out of sight down the passage, Freddieseemed by the sounds to be removing his overcoat. She stole out anddarted like a shadow down the corridor that led to Wally's bedroom.The window of the bedroom opened on to the wide roof which Uncle Chrishad eulogized. She slipped noiselessly out, closing the window behindher.

  II

  "I say, Mason, old top," said Freddie, entering the sitting-room, "Ihope you don't mind my barging in like this, but the fact is thingsare a bit thick. I'm dashed worried, and I didn't know another soul Icould talk it over with. As a matter of fact, I wasn't sure you werein New York at all, but I remembered hearing you say in London thatyou were popping back almost at once, so I looked you up in thetelephone book and took a chance. I'm dashed glad you _are_ back. Whendid you arrive?"

  "This afternoon."

  "I've been here two or three days. Well, it's a bit of luck catchingyou. You see, what I want to ask your advice about...."

  Wally looked at his watch. He was not surprised to find that Jill hadtaken to flight. He understood her feelings perfectly, and was anxiousto get rid of the inopportune Freddie as soon as possible.

  "You'll have to talk quick, I'm afraid," he said. "I've lent thisplace to a man for the evening, and he's having some people to dinner.What's the trouble?"

  "It's about Jill."

  "Jill?"

  "Jill Mariner, you know. You remember Jill? You haven't forgotten mytelling you all that? About her losing her money and coming over toAmerica?"

  "No. I remember you telling me that."

  Freddie seemed to miss something in his companion's manner, some noteof excitement and perturbation.

  "Of course," he said, as if endeavouring to explain this to himself,"you hardly knew her, I suppose. Only met once since you were kids andall that sort of thing. But I'm a pal of hers and I'm dashed upset bythe whole business, I can tell you. It worries me, I mean to say. Poorgirl, you know, landed on her uppers in a strange country. Well, Imean, it worries me. So the first thing I did when I got here was totry to find her. That's why I came over, really, to try to find her.Apart from anything else, you see, poor old Derek is dashed worriedabout her."

  "Need we bring Underhill in?"

  "Oh, I know you don't like him and think he behaved rather rummily andso forth, but that's all right now."

  "It is, is it?" said Wally drily.

  "Oh, absolutely. It's a
ll on again."

  "What's all on again?"

  "Why, I mean he wants to marry Jill. I came over to find her and tellher so."

  Wally's eyes glowed.

  "If you have come over as an ambassador...."

  "That's right. Jolly old ambassador. Very word I used myself."

  "I say, if you have come over as an ambassador with the idea ofreopening negotiations with Jill on behalf of that infernal swine...."

  "Old man!" protested Freddie, pained. "Pal of mine, you know."

  "If he is, after what's happened, your mental processes are beyondme."

  "My what, old son?"

  "Your mental processes."

  "Oh, ah!" said Freddie, learning for the first time that he had any.

  Wally looked at him intently. There was a curious expression on hisrough-hewn face.

  "I can't understand you, Freddie. If ever there was a fellow who mighthave been expected to take the only possible view of Underhill'sbehaviour in this business, I should have said it was you. You're apublic-school man. You've mixed all the time with decent people. Youwouldn't do anything that wasn't straight yourself to save your life.Yet it seems to have made absolutely no difference in your opinion ofthis man Underhill that he behaved like an utter cad to a girl whowas one of your best friends. You seem to worship him just as much asever. And you have travelled three thousand miles to bring a messagefrom him to Jill--Good God! _Jill_!--to the effect, as far as I canunderstand it, that he has thought it over and come to the conclusionthat after all she may possibly be good enough for him!"

  Freddie recovered the eye-glass which the raising of his eyebrows hadcaused to fall, and polished it in a crushed sort of way. Rummy, hereflected, how chappies stayed the same all their lives as they werewhen they were kids. Nasty, tough sort of chap Wally Mason had been asa boy, and here he was, apparently, not altered a bit. At least theonly improvement he could detect was that, whereas in the old daysWally, when in an ugly mood like this, would undoubtedly have kickedhim, he now seemed content with mere words. All the same, he was beingdashed unpleasant. And he was all wrong about poor Derek. This lastfact he endeavoured to make clear.

  "You don't understand," he said. "You don't realize. You've never metLady Underhill, have you?"

  "What has she got to do with it?"

  "Everything, old bean, everything. If it hadn't been for her, therewouldn't have been any trouble of any description, sort, or order. Butshe barged in and savaged poor old Derek till she absolutely made himbreak off the engagement."

  "If you call him 'poor old Derek' again, Freddie," said Wallyviciously, "I'll drop you out of the window and throw your hat afteryou! If he's such a gelatine-backboned worm that his mother can...."

  "You don't know her, old thing! She's _the_ original hellhound!"

  "I don't care what...."

  "Must be seen to be believed," mumbled Freddie.

  "I don't care what she's like! Any man who could...."

  "Once seen, never forgotten!"

  "Damn you! Don't interrupt every time I try to get a word in!"

  "Sorry, old man! Shan't occur again!"

  Wally moved to the window, and stood looking out. He had had much moreto say on the subject of Derek Underhill, but Freddie's interruptionshad put it out of his head, and he felt irritated and baffled.

  "Well, all I can say is," he remarked savagely, "that, if you havecome over here as an ambassador to try and effect a reconciliationbetween Jill and Underhill, I hope to God you'll never find her."

  Freddie emitted a weak cough, like a very far-off asthmatic old sheep.He was finding Wally more overpowering every moment. He had ratherforgotten the dear old days of his childhood, but this conversationwas beginning to refresh his memory: and he was realizing more vividlywith every moment that passed how very Wallyish Wally was--howextraordinarily like the Wally who had dominated his growing intellectwhen they were both in Eton suits. Freddie in those days had been allfor peace, and he was all for peace now. He made his next observationdiffidently.

  "I _have_ found her!"

  Wally spun round.

  "What!"

  "When I say that, I don't absolutely mean I've seen her. I mean I knowwhere she is. That's what I came round to see you about. Felt I musttalk it over, you know. The situation seems to me dashed rotten andnot a little thick. The fact is, old man, she's gone on the stage. Inthe chorus, you know. And, I mean to say, well, if you follow what I'mdriving at, what, what?"

  "In the chorus?"

  "In the chorus!"

  "How do you know?"

  Freddie groped for his eyeglass, which had fallen again. He regardedit a trifle sternly. He was fond of the little chap, but it was alwaysdoing that sort of thing. The whole trouble was that, if you wanted tokeep it in its place, you simply couldn't register any sort of emotionwith the good old features: and, when you were chatting with a fellowlike Wally Mason, you had to be registering something all the time.

  "Well, that was a bit of luck, as a matter of fact. When I first gothere, you know, it seemed to me the only thing to do was to round up amerry old detective and put the matter in his hands, like they do instories. _You_ know. Ring at the bell. 'And this, if I mistake not,Watson, is my client now.' And then in breezes client and spills theplot. I found a sleuth in the classified telephone directory, andtoddled round. Rummy chaps, detectives! Ever met any? I always thoughtthey were lean, hatchet-faced Johnnies with inscrutable smiles. Thisone looked just like my old Uncle Ted, the one who died of apoplexy.Jovial, puffy-faced bird, who kept bobbing up behind a fat cigar. Haveyou ever noticed what whacking big cigars these fellows over heresmoke? Rummy country, America. You ought to have seen the way thisblighter could shift his cigar right across his face with moving hisjaw-muscles. Like a flash! Most remarkable thing you ever saw, I giveyou my honest word! He...."

  "Couldn't you keep your Impressions of America for the book you'regoing to write, and come to the point?" said Wally rudely.

  "Sorry, old chap," said Freddie meekly. "Glad you reminded me.Well.... Oh, yes. We had got as far as the jovial old humanbloodhound, hadn't we? Well, I put the matter before this chappie.Told him I wanted to find a girl, showed him a photograph, and soforth. I say," said Freddie, wandering off once more into speculation,"why is it that coves like that always talk of a girl as 'the littlelady'? This chap kept saying 'We'll find the little lady for you!' Oh,well, that's rather off the rails, isn't it? It just floated across mymind and I thought I'd mention it. Well, this blighter presumablynosed about and made enquiries for a couple of days, but didn't effectanything that you might call substantial. I'm not blaming him, mindyou. I shouldn't care to have a job like that myself. I mean to say,when you come to think of what a frightful number of girls there arein this place, to have to ... well, as I say, he did his best butdidn't click; and then this evening, just before I came here, I met agirl I had known in England--she was in a show over there--a girlcalled Nelly Bryant...."

  "Nelly Bryant? I know her."

  "Yes? Fancy that! She was in a thing called 'Follow the Girl' inLondon. Did you see it by any chance? Topping show! There was onescene where the...."

  "Get on! Get on! I wrote it."

  "You wrote it?" Freddie beamed simple-hearted admiration. "My dear oldchap, I congratulate you! One of the ripest and most all-wool musicalcomedies I've ever seen. I went twenty-four times. Rummy I don'tremember spotting that you wrote it. I suppose one never looks at thenames on the programme. Yes, I went twenty-four times The first time Iwent was with a couple of chappies from...."

  "Listen, Freddie!" said Wally feverishly. "On some other occasion Ishould dearly love to hear the story of your life, but just now...."

  "Absolutely, old man. You're perfectly right. Well, to cut a longstory short, Nelly Bryant told me that she and Jill were rehearsingwith a piece called 'The Rose of America.'"

  "'The Rose of America!'"

  "I think that was the name of it."

  "That's Ike Goble's show. He called me up
on the phone about it halfan hour ago. I promised to go and see a rehearsal of it to-morrow orthe day after. And Jill's in that?"

  "Yes. How about it? I mean, I don't know much about this sort ofthing, but do you think it's the sort of thing Jill ought to bedoing?"

  Wally was moving restlessly about the room. Freddie's news haddisquieted him. Mr. Goble had a reputation.

  "I know a lot about it," he replied, "and it certainly isn't." Hescowled at the carpet. "Oh, damn everybody!"

  Freddie paused to allow him to proceed, if such should be his wish,but Wally had apparently said his say. Freddie went on to point out anaspect of the matter which was troubling him greatly.

  "I'm sure poor old Derek wouldn't like her being in the chorus!"

  Wally started so violently that for a moment Freddie was uneasy.

  "I mean Underhill," he corrected himself hastily.

  "Freddie," said Wally, "you're an awfully good chap, but I wish youwould exit rapidly now! Thanks for coming and telling me, very good ofyou. This way out!"

  "But, old man...!"

  "Now what?"

  "I thought we were going to discuss this binge and decide what to doand all that sort of thing."

  "Some other time. I want to think about it."

  "Oh, you will think about it?"

  "Yes, I'll think about it."

  "Topping! You see, you're a brainy sort of fellow, and you'll probablyhit something."

  "I probably shall, if you don't go."

  "Eh? Oh, ah, yes!" Freddie struggled into his coat. More than ever didthe adult Wally remind him of the dangerous stripling of years goneby. "Well, cheerio!"

  "Same to you!"

  "You'll let me know if you scare up some devilish fruity wheeze, won'tyou? I'm at the Biltmore."

  "Very good place to be. Go there now."

  "Right ho! Well, toodle-oo!"

  "The elevator is at the foot of the stairs," said Wally. "You pressthe bell and up it comes. You hop in and down you go! It's a greatinvention! Good night!"

  "Oh, I say. One moment...."

  "Good _night_!" said Wally.

  He closed the door, and ran down the passage.

  "Jill!" he called. He opened the bedroom window and stepped out."Jill!"

  There was no reply.

  "Jill!" called Wally once again, but again there was no answer.

  Wally walked to the parapet, and looked over. Below him the vastnessof the city stretched itself in a great triangle, its apex theharbour, its sides the dull silver of the East and Hudson Rivers.Directly before him, crowned with its white lantern, the MetropolitanTower reared its graceful height to the stars. And all around, in thewindows of the tall buildings that looked from this bastion on whichhe stood almost squat, a million lights stared up at him, theunsleeping eyes of New York. It was a scene of which Wally, alwayssensitive to beauty, never tired: but to-night it had lost its appeal.A pleasant breeze from the Jersey shore greeted him with a quickeningwhisper of springtime and romance, but it did not lift the heavinessof his heart. He felt depressed and apprehensive.