Uncle Fred in the Springtime (27 page)

‘Well,
there you are,’ said Lord Ickenham, at length. ‘That is how matters stand, and
all you have to do is sit tight and reap the strategic advantages. I’m glad I
told him to send you chocolates. I don’t suppose a rugged he-man like that
would ever dream of giving a girl chocolates in the ordinary course of things.
He struck me as a fellow lacking in the softer social graces.’

‘But
why wouldn’t you let him see me?’

‘My
dear child, it would have undone all the good work I had accomplished. You
would have flung yourself into his arms, and he would have gone on thinking he
was the boss. As it is, you have got that young man just where you want him.
You will accept his chocolates with a cool reserve which will commit you to nothing,
and eventually, after he has been running round in circles for some weeks,
dashing into his tailors’ from time to time for a new suit of sackcloth and
ashes and losing pounds in weight through mental anguish, you will forgive him
— on the strict understanding that this sort of thing must never occur again.
It doesn’t do to let that dominant male type of chap think things are too easy.’

Polly
frowned. In a world scented with flowers and full of soft music, these sentiments
jarred upon her.

‘I don’t
see why it’s got to be a sort of fight.’

‘Well,
it has. Marriage is a battlefield, not a bed of roses. Who said that? It sounds
too good to be my own. Not that I don’t think of some extraordinarily good
things, generally in my bath.’

‘I love
Ricky.’

‘And very
nice, too. But the only way of ensuring a happy married life is to get it
thoroughly clear at the outset who is going to skipper the team. My own dear
wife settled the point during the honeymoon, and ours has been an ideal union.’

Polly
halted abruptly.

‘It’s
all nonsense. I’m going to see him.’

‘My
dear, don’t.’

‘Yes.’

‘You’ll
regret it.’

‘I won’t.’

‘Think
of all the trouble I’ve taken.’

‘I do,
and I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Uncle Fred. You’ve been wonderful. You’ve
picked me up out of the mud and changed the whole world for me. But I can’t
treat Ricky like that. I’d hate myself. I don’t care if he does go on thinking
he’s the boss. So he is, and I like it!’

Lord
Ickenham sighed.

‘Very
well, if that’s the way you feel. “His fair large front and eye sublime
declared Absolute rule.” If that’s the sort of thing you want, I suppose it’s
no use arguing. If you are resolved to chuck away a heaven-sent opportunity of
putting this young man in his place, go ahead, my dear, and God bless you. But
you can’t see him now. He has gone to catch his train. You must wait till
tomorrow.’

‘But it’s
such ages. Couldn’t I send him a telegram?’

‘No,’
said Lord Ickenham firmly. ‘There are limits. At least preserve a semblance of
womanly dignity. Why not get Horace to drive you to London tonight in his car?’

‘Would
he, do you think? He’s had one long drive already today.’

‘It is
his dearest wish to have another, provided you are at his side. Pongo and I can
come on in the morning by that eight-twenty-five train of which everybody
speaks so highly.’

‘But
are you leaving, too?’

‘We
are. Get Horace to tell you all about it. You will find him in my bedroom. If
you don’t see him, look in the cupboard. I, meanwhile, must be getting in touch
with Pongo and communicating the arrangements to him. The news that we are
flitting should please him. For some reason, Pongo has not been happy at
Blandings Castle. By the way, did you meet him?’

‘Yes.
As I was coming back after seeing Ricky.’

‘Good.
I was only wondering if you had got that money all right.’

‘He did
offer me some money, but I gave it back to him.’

‘Gave
it back?’

‘Yes. I
didn’t want it.’

‘But,
my good child, it was the purchase price of the onion soup bar. Your wedding
portion!’

‘I
know. He told me.’ Polly laughed amusedly. ‘But I had just had that frightful
row with Ricky, and we had parted for ever, and I was thinking of drowning
myself, so I didn’t want a wedding portion. Will you tell him I should like it,
after all.’

Lord
Ickenham groaned softly.

‘You
would not speak in that airy, casual way, if you knew the circumstances.
Informing Pongo that you would like it, after all, is not going to be the
pleasant task you seem to think it. I dare say that with the aid of anaesthetic
and forceps I shall eventually be able to extract the money from the unhappy
young blighter, but there will be a nasty, hacking sound as he coughs up.
Still, you may rely on me to protect your interests, no matter what the cost. I
will bring the stuff round to the Pott home tomorrow afternoon. And now run
along and find Horace. I know he would appreciate an early start.’

‘All
right. Uncle Fred, you’re an angel.’

‘Thank
you, my dear.’

‘If it
hadn’t been for you —’

Once
more Lord Ickenham found his arms full and behaved with a warmth far greater
than one of his nephew’s austere views would have considered either necessary
or suitable. Then he was alone, and Polly a voice in the darkness, singing
happily as she went on her way.

It was
some ten minutes later that Lord Ickenham, sauntering along the high road in
the direction of Market Blandings, heard another voice, also singing happily.
He recognized it with a pang. It was not often that Pongo Twistleton cast off
his natural gloom in order to carol like a lark, and the thought that it was
for him to wipe this unaccustomed melody from the lips of a young man of whom
he was very fond was not an agreeable one.

‘Pongo?’

‘Hullo,
Uncle Fred. I say, what a lovely evening!’

‘Very.’

‘The
air! The stars! The scent of growing things!’

‘Quite.
Er — Pongo, my boy, about that money.’

‘The
money you gave me to give to Miss Pott? Oh, yes — I was going to tell you about
that. I offered it to her, but she would have none of it.’

‘Yes —
But —’

‘She
told me that owing to her having parted brass rags with Ricky, she had no need
of it.’

‘Precisely.
But since then —’

‘So I
trousered it, and toddled along to Market Blandings, and breezed into the post
office, and shoved two hundred quid into an envelope addressed to George Budd
and fifty into an envelope addressed to Oofy Prosser and sent them off,
registered. So all is now well. The relief,’ said Pongo, ‘is stupendous.’

It was not immediately
that Lord Ickenham spoke. For some moments he stood fingering his moustache
and gazing at his nephew thoughtfully. He was conscious of a faint resentment
against a Providence which was unquestionably making things difficult for a
good man.

‘This,’
he said, ‘is a little awkward.’

‘Awkward?’

‘Yes.’

‘How do
you mean? It seems to me….

Pongo’s
voice trailed away. A hideous thought had come to him.

‘Oh, my
aunt! Don’t tell me she’s changed her mind and wants the stuff, after all?’

‘I fear
so.’

‘You
mean she’s made it up with Ricky?’

‘Yes.’

‘And
needs this money to get married on?’.

‘Exactly.’

‘Oh, my
sainted bally aunt!’

‘Yes,’
said Lord Ickenham, ‘it is awkward. No getting away from that. I told Ricky the
money was actually in her possession, and he went off to catch his train with
golden visions of soup-swilling multitudes dancing before his eyes. I told
Polly I would bring her the stuff tomorrow, and she went off singing. It is not
going to be pleasant to have to reveal the facts. Disappointment will be
inevitable.’

‘Would
it be any good to ring up Budd and Oofy and ask them to give the money back?’

‘No.’

‘No. I
suppose not. Then what?’

Lord
Ickenham’s face brightened. He had seen that all was not lost. That busy brain
was seldom baffled for long.

‘I have
it! Mustard!’

‘Eh?’

‘Mustard
Pott. He must handle this for us. Obviously, what we must do is unleash Mustard
once more. I think he may be a little annoyed when he learns that his former
donation, instead of ensuring the happiness of a loved daughter, has gone to
ease the financial difficulties of a comparative stranger like yourself, but I
have no doubt that a few minutes of my eloquence will persuade him to forget
his natural chagrin and have another pop.’

‘At
Bosham?’

‘Not at
Bosham. People who play Persian Monarchs with Mustard in the afternoon are
seldom in a frame of mind to play again in the evening. Emsworth is the man.’

‘Old
Emsworth? Oh, I say, dash it!’

Lord
Ickenham nodded.

‘I know
what you mean. You feel that one ought to draw the line at nicking a kindly
host, with whose bread and meat we are bursting, and considering the thing as a
broad general proposition I agree with you. It will undoubtedly tarnish the
Ickenham escutcheon, and I wish it hadn’t got to be done. But in a crisis like
this one must sink one’s finer feelings. I don’t believe I told you, did I,
that your sister Valerie is expected here shortly?’

‘What!’

‘So
Horace informs me, and you may look on him as a reliable source. This means
that we have got to get out of here by tomorrow’s eight-twenty-five train
without fail, so you will see that we cannot loiter and dally, if we are to
secure funds for Polly. It is not a question of asking ourselves “Is it right
to take it off Emsworth?” and “Are we ethically justified in skinning this good
old man?” but rather “Has he got it?” And he has. Emsworth, therefore, shall
give us of his plenty, and I will be going along now and putting the thing in
train. I will look in at your room later and report.’

18

It was a sombre,
preoccupied Pongo Twistleton who dressed for dinner that night in the small
apartment which had been allotted to him on the second floor. As a rule, the
process of transforming himself from the chrysalis of daytime to the shimmering
butterfly of night was one that gave him pleasure. He liked the soothing shave,
the revivifying bath, the soft crackle of the snowy shirt-front and the general
feeling that in a few minutes he would be giving the populace an eyeful. But
tonight he was moody and distrait. His lips were tight, and his eyes brooded.
Even when he tied his tie, he did it without any real animation.

The
news that his sister was on her way to join the little circle at Blandings
Castle had shaken him a good deal. It had intensified in him the sensation,
which he had been experiencing ever since his arrival, of being beset by perils
and menaced by bad citizens. A cat in a strange alley, with an eye out for
small boys with bricks, would have understood how he felt. And this nervous
apprehension would alone have been enough to take his mind off his toilet.

But far
more powerful than apprehension as an agent for wrecking his mental peace was
remorse. Ever since he had fallen in love at first sight with Polly Pott, he
had been dreaming that an occasion might arise which would enable him to make
some great sacrifice for her sake. He had pictured himself patting her little
hand, as she thanked him brokenly for that astounding act of nobility. He had
seen himself gazing down into her eyes with one of those whimsical, twisted,
Ronald Colman smiles. He had even gone so far as to knock together a bit of
dialogue for the scene — just in case — starting ‘There, there, little girl, it
was nothing. All I want is your happiness’ and getting even more effective as
it went on.

And
what had actually happened was that, unless her Persian-Monarchs-playing father
intervened and saved the situation at the eleventh hour, he had ruined her
life. It takes an unusually well-tied tie to relieve a mind tottering under a
reflection like that, and his, he found, looking in the mirror, was only so-so.
Indeed, it seemed to him to fall so far short of the ideal that he was just
about to scrap it and start another, when the door opened and Lord Ickenham
came in.

‘Well?’
cried Pongo eagerly.

Then
his heart sank far beyond what a few moments before he had supposed to have
been an all-time low. One glance at his uncle’s face was enough to tell him
that this was no exultant bearer of glad tidings who stood before him.

Lord
Ickenham shook his head. There was a gravity in his manner that struck a
nameless chill.

‘The
United States Marines have failed us, my boy. The garrison has not been
relieved, the water supply is giving out, and the savages are still howling on
the outskirts. In other words, Mustard has let us down.’