The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 4: (Jeeves & Wooster): No.4 (57 page)

‘I shall nip over to Brinkley in the car and have lunch with Uncle Tom. You at my side, I hope?’

‘Impossible, I fear, sir. I have promised to assist Mr. Butterfield in the tea tent.’

‘Then you can tell me all about it.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘If you survive.’

‘Precisely, sir.’

It was a nice easy drive to Brinkley, and I got there well in advance of the luncheon hour. Aunt Dahlia wasn’t there, having, as foreshadowed, popped up to London for the day, and Uncle Tom and I sat down alone to a repast in Anatole’s best vein. Over the
Suprême de Foie Gras au Champagne
and the
Neige aux Perles des Alpes
I placed him in possession of the facts relating to the black amber statuette thing, and his relief at learning that Pop Bassett hadn’t got a thousand-quid
objet d’art
for a fiver was so profound and the things he said about Pop B. so pleasing to the ear that by the time I started back my dark mood had become sensibly lightened and optimism had returned to its throne.

After all, I reminded myself, it wasn’t as if Gussie was going to be indefinitely under Madeline’s eye. In due season he would buzz back to London and there would be able to tuck into the beefs and muttons till his ribs squeaked, confident that not a word of his activities would reach her. The effect of this would be to refill him with sweetness and light, causing him to write her loving letters which would carry him along till she emerged from this vegetarian phase and took up stamp collecting or something. I know the other sex and their sudden enthusiasms. They get these crazes and wallow in them for awhile, but they soon become fed up and turn to other things. My Aunt Agatha once went in for politics, but it only took a few meetings at
which
she got the bird from hecklers to convince her that the cagey thing to do was to stay at home and attend to her fancy needlework, giving the whole enterprise a miss.

It was getting on for what is called the quiet evenfall when I anchored at Totleigh Towers. I did my usual sneak to my room, and I had been there a few minutes when Jeeves came in.

‘I saw you arrive, sir,’ he said, ‘and I thought you might be in need of refreshment.’

I assured him that his intuition had not led him astray, and he said he would bring me a whisky-and-s. immediately.

‘I trust you found Mr. Travers in good health, sir.’

I was able to reassure him there.

‘He was a bit low when I blew in, but on receipt of my news about the what-not blossomed like a flower. It would have done you good to have heard what he had to say about Pop Bassett. And talking of Pop Bassett, how did the school treat go off?’

‘I think the juvenile element enjoyed the festivities, sir.’

‘How about you?’

‘Sir?’

‘You were all right? They didn’t put your head in a sack and prod you with sticks?’

‘No, sir. My share in the afternoon’s events was confined to assisting in the tea tent.’

‘You speak lightly, Jeeves, but I’ve known some dark work to take place in school treat tea tents.’

‘It is odd that you should say that, sir, for it was while partaking of tea that a lad threw a hard-boiled egg at Sir Watkyn.’

‘And hit him?’

‘On the left cheek-bone, sir. It was most unfortunate.’

I could not subscribe to this.

‘I don’t know why you say “unfortunate”. Best thing that could have happened, in my opinion. The very first time I set eyes on Pop Bassett, in the picturesque environment of Bosher Street police court, I remember saying to myself that there sat a man to whom it would do all the good in the world to have hard-boiled eggs thrown at him. One of my crowd on that occasion, a lady accused of being drunk and disorderly and resisting the police, did on receipt of her sentence, throw her boot at him, but with a poor aim, succeeding only in beaning the magistrate’s clerk. What’s the boy’s name?’

‘I could not say, sir. His actions were cloaked in anonymity.’

‘A pity. I would have liked to reward him by sending camels bearing apes, ivory and peacocks to his address. Did you see anything of Gussie
in
the course of the afternoon?’

‘Yes, sir. Mr. Fink-Nottle, at Miss Bassett’s insistence, played a large part in the proceedings and was, I am sorry to say, somewhat roughly handled by the younger revellers. Among other vicissitudes that he underwent, a child entangled its all-day sucker in his hair.’

‘That must have annoyed him. He’s fussy about his hair.’

‘Yes, sir, he was visibly incensed. He detached the sweetmeat and threw it from him with a good deal of force, and by ill luck it struck Miss Byng’s dog on the nose. Affronted by what he presumably mistook for an unprovoked assault, the animal bit Mr. Fink-Nottle in the leg.’

‘Poor old Gussie!’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Still, into each life some rain must fall.’

‘Precisely, sir. I will go and bring your whisky-and-soda.’

He had scarcely gone, when Gussie blew in, limping a little but otherwise showing no signs of what Jeeves had called the vicissitudes he had undergone. He seemed, indeed, above rather than below his usual form, and I remember the phrase ‘the bulldog breed’ passed through my mind. If Gussie was a sample of young England’s stamina and fortitude, it seemed to me that the country’s future was secure. It is not every nation that can produce sons capable of grinning, as he was doing, so shortly after being bitten by Aberdeen terriers.

‘Oh, there you are, Bertie,’ he said. ‘Jeeves told me you were back. I looked in to borrow some cigarettes.’

‘Go ahead.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, filling his case. ‘I’m taking Emerald Stoker for a walk.’

‘You’re
what
?’

‘Or a row on the river. Whichever she prefers.’

‘But, Gussie –’

‘Oh, before I forget. Pinker is looking for you. He says he wants to see you about something important.’

‘Never mind about Stinker. You can’t take Emerald Stoker for walks.’

‘Can’t I? Watch me.’

‘But –’

‘Sorry, no time to talk now. I don’t want to keep her waiting. So long, I must be off.’

He left me plunged in thought, and not agreeable thought either. I think I have made it clear to the meanest i. that my whole future depended on Augustus Fink-Nottle sticking to the straight and narrow
path
and not blotting his copybook, and I could not but feel that by taking Emerald Stoker for walks he was skidding off the straight and narrow path and blotting his c. in no uncertain manner. That, at least, was, I was pretty sure, how an idealistic beazel like Madeline Bassett, already rendered hot under the collar by his subversive views on sunsets and Blessed Damozels, would regard it. It is not too much to say that when Jeeves returned with the whisky-and-s., he found me all of a twitter and shaking on my stem.

I would have liked to put him abreast of this latest development, but, as I say, there are things we don’t discuss, so I merely drank deep of the flowing bowl and told him that Gussie had just been a pleasant visitor.

‘He tells me Stinker Pinker wants to see me about something.’

‘No doubt with reference to the episode of Sir Watkyn and the hard-boiled egg, sir.’

‘Don’t tell me it was Stinker who threw it.’

‘No, sir, the miscreant is believed to have been a lad in his early teens. But the young fellow’s impulsive action has led to unfortunate consequences. It has caused Sir Watkyn to entertain doubts as to the wisdom of entrusting a vicarage to a curate incapable of maintaining order at a school treat. Miss Byng, while confiding this information to me, appeared greatly distressed. She had supposed – I quote her verbatim – that the thing was in the bag, and she is naturally much disturbed.’

I drained my glass and lit a moody gasper. If Totleigh Towers wanted to turn me into a cynic, it was going the right way about it.

‘There’s a curse on this house, Jeeves. Broken blossoms and shattered hopes wherever you look. It seems to be something in the air. The sooner we’re out of here, the better. I wonder if we couldn’t –’

I had been about to add ‘make our getaway tonight’, but at this moment the door flew open and Spode came bounding in, wiping the words from my lips and causing me to raise an eyebrow or two. I resented this habit he was developing of popping up out of a trap at me every other minute like a Demon King in pantomime, and only the fact that I couldn’t think of anything restrained me from saying something pretty stinging. As it was, I wore the mask and spoke with the suavity of the perfect host.

‘Ah, Spode. Come on in and take a few chairs,’ I said, and was on the point of telling him that we Woosters kept open house, when he interrupted me with the uncouth abruptness so characteristic of these human gorillas. Roderick Spode may have had his merits, though I had never been able to spot them, but his warmest admirer couldn’t have called him couth.

‘HAVE YOU SEEN
Fink-Nottle?’ he said.

I didn’t like the way he spoke or the way he was looking. The lips, I noted, were twitching, and the eyes glittered with what I believe is called a baleful light. It seemed pretty plain to me that it was in no friendly spirit that he was seeking Gussie, so I watered down the truth a bit, as the prudent man does on these occasions.

‘I’m sorry, no. I’ve only just got back from my uncle’s place over Worcestershire way. Some urgent family business came up and I had to go and attend to it, so unfortunately missed the school treat. A great disappointment. You haven’t seen Gussie, have you, Jeeves?’

He made no reply, possibly because he wasn’t there. He generally slides discreetly off when the young master is entertaining the quality, and you never see him go. He just evaporates.

‘Was it something important you wanted to see him about?’

‘I want to break his neck.’

My eyebrows, which had returned to normal, rose again. I also, if I remember rightly, pursed my lips.

‘Well, really, Spode! Is this not becoming a bit thick? It’s not so long ago that you were turning over in your mind the idea of breaking mine. I think you should watch yourself in this matter of neck-breaking and check the urge before it gets too strong a grip on you. No doubt you say to yourself that you can take it or leave it alone, but isn’t there the danger of the thing becoming habit-forming? Why do you want to break Gussie’s neck?’

He ground his teeth, at least that’s what I think he did to them, and was silent for a space. Then, though there wasn’t anyone within earshot but me, he lowered his voice.

‘I can speak frankly to you, Wooster, because you, too, love her.’

‘Eh? Who?’ I said. It should have been ‘whom’, I suppose, but that didn’t occur to me at the time.

‘Madeline, of course.’

‘Oh, Madeline?’

‘As I told you, I have always loved her, and her happiness is very
dear
to me. It is everything to me. To give her a moment’s pleasure I would cut myself in pieces.’

I couldn’t follow him there, but before I could go into the question of whether girls enjoy seeing people cut themselves in pieces he had resumed.

‘It was a great shock to me when she became engaged to this man Fink-Nottle, but I accepted the situation because I thought that that was where her happiness lay. Though stunned, I kept silent.’

‘Very white.’

‘I said nothing that would give her a suspicion of how I felt.’

‘Very pukka.’

‘It was enough for me that she should be happy. Nothing else mattered. But when Fink-Nottle turns out to be a libertine –’

‘Who, Gussie?’ I said, surprised. ‘The last chap I’d have attached such a label to. Pure as the driven s., I’d have thought, if not purer. What makes you think Gussie’s a libertine?’

‘The fact that less than ten minutes ago I saw him kissing the cook,’ said Spode through the teeth which I’m pretty sure he was grinding, and he dived out of the door and was gone.

How long I remained motionless, like a ventriloquist’s dummy whose ventriloquist has gone off to the local and left it sitting, I cannot say. Probably not so very long, for when life returned to the rigid limbs and I legged it for the open spaces to try to find Gussie and warn him of this V-shaped depression which was coming his way, Spode was still in sight. He was disappearing in a nor’-nor’-easterly direction, so, not wanting to hobnob with him again while he was in this what you might call difficult mood, I pushed off sou’-sou’-west, and found that I couldn’t have set my course more shrewdly. There was a sort of yew alley or rhododendron walk or some such thing confronting me, and as I entered it I saw Gussie. He was standing in a kind of trance, and his fatheadedness in standing when he ought to have been running like a rabbit smote me like a blow and lent an extra emphasis to the ‘Hoy!’ with which I accosted him.

He turned, and as I approached him I noted that he seemed even more braced than when last seen. The eyes behind the horn-rimmed spectacles gleamed with a brighter light, and a smile wreathed his lips. He looked like a fish that’s just learned that its rich uncle in Australia has pegged out and left it a packet.

‘Ah, Bertie,’ he said, ‘we decided to go for a walk, not a row. We thought it might be a little chilly on the water. What a beautiful evening, Bertie, is it not?’

I couldn’t see eye to eye with him there.

‘It strikes you as that, does it? It doesn’t me.’

He seemed surprised.

‘In what respect do you find it not up to sample?’

‘I’ll tell you in what respect I find it not up to sample. What’s all this I hear about you and Emerald Stoker? Did you kiss her?’

The Soul’s Awakening expression on his face became intensified. Before my revolted eyes Augustus Fink-Nottle definitely smirked.

‘Yes, Bertie, I did, and I’ll do it again if it’s the last thing I do. What a girl, Bertie! So kind, so sympathetic. She’s my idea of a thoroughly womanly woman, and you don’t see many of them around these days. I hadn’t time when I was in your room to tell you about what happened at the school treat.’

‘Jeeves told me. He said Bartholomew bit you.’

‘And how right he was. The bounder bit me to the bone. And do you know what Emerald Stoker did? Not only did she coo over me like a mother comforting a favourite child, but she bathed and bandaged my lacerated leg. She was a ministering angel, the nearest thing to Florence Nightingale you could hope to find. It was shortly after she had done the swabbing and bandaging that I kissed her.’