Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (28 page)

‘Has
L.G. Trotter signed the papers?’ I asked.

‘He’s
going to, the moment he gets his eyeballs back. How right you were about his
eyeballs. When last seen, they were ricochetting from wall to wall, with him in
hot pursuit. Bertie,’ said the old ancestor, speaking in an awed voice, ‘what
does Jeeves put into those mixtures of his?’

I shook
my head.

‘Only
he and his God know that,’ I said gravely.

‘They
seem powerful stuff. I remember reading somewhere once about a dog that
swallowed a bottle of chilli sauce. It was described as putting up quite a
performance. Trotter reacted in a somewhat similar manner. I should imagine
dynamite was one of the ingredients.’

‘Very
possibly,’ I said. ‘But let us not talk of dogs and chilli sauce. Let us rather
discuss these happy endings of ours.’

‘Endings?
In the plural? I’ve had a happy ending, all right, but you —‘

‘Me,
too. Florence —‘

‘You
don’t mean it’s off?’

‘She’s
going to marry Percy.’

‘Bertie,
my beamish boy!’

‘Didn’t
I tell you I had faith in my star? The moral of the whole thing, as I see it,
is that you can’t keep a good man down, or’ — I bowed slightly in her direction
— ‘a good woman. What a lesson this should be to us, old flesh and blood, never
to give up, never to despair. However dark the outlook…’

I was
about to add ‘and however black the clouds’ and go on to speak of the sun
sooner or later smiling through, but at this moment Jeeves shimmered in.

‘Excuse
me, madam. Would it be convenient for you to join Mr. Trotter in the library,
madam? He is waiting for you there.’

Aunt
Dahlia really needs a horse to help her get up speed, but though afoot she made
excellent time to the door.

‘How is
he?’ she asked, turning on the threshold.

‘Completely
restored to health, madam, I am happy to say. He speaks of venturing on a
sandwich and a glass of milk at the conclusion of your conference.’

She
gave him a long, reverent look.

‘Jeeves,’
she said, ‘you stand alone. I knew you would save the day.’

‘Thank
you very much, madam.’

‘Have
you ever tried those mixtures of yours on a corpse?’

‘Not
yet, madam.’

‘You
should,’ said the old relative, and curvetted out like one of those mettlesome
steeds which, though I have never heard one do it myself, say ‘Ha!’ among the
trumpets.

A
silence followed her departure, for I was plunged in thought. I was debating
within myself whether to take a step of major importance or whether, on the
other hand, not to, and at such times one does not talk, one weighs the pros
and cons. I was, in short, standing at a man’s cross—roads.

That
moustache of mine …

Pro:
I loved the little thing. I fancied myself in it. I
had hoped to nurse it through the years with top dressing till it became the
talk of the town.

Con:
But was it, I asked myself,
safe?
Recalling
the effect of its impact on Florence Craye, I saw clearly that it had made me
too fascinating. There peril lurked. When you become too fascinating, all sorts
of things are liable to occur which you don’t want to occur, if you follow me.

A
strange calm descended on me, I had made my decision.

‘Jeeves,’
I said, and if I felt a passing pang, why not? One is but human. ‘Jeeves,’ I
said, ‘I’m going to shave my moustache.’

His
left eyebrow flickered, showing how deeply the words had moved him.

‘Indeed,
sir?’

‘Yes,
you have earned this sacrifice. When I have eaten my fill … Good sausages,
these.’

‘Yes,
sir.’

‘Made,
no doubt, from contented pigs. Did you have some for your breakfast?’

‘Yes,
sir.’

‘Well,
as I was saying, when I have eaten my fill, I shall proceed upstairs to my
room, I shall lather the upper lip, I shall take razor in hand … and
voilà!’

‘Thank
you very much, sir,’ he said.