Jeeves and the Feudal Spirit (9 page)

She
paused to take in breath, and I put a question.

‘Is
Percy the whiskered bloke?’

‘That’s
the one. He’s casting a thick pall of gloom over the place. It’s like living in
a fog. Tom says if something isn’t done soon, he will take steps.’

‘But
what’s the matter with the chap?’

‘He’s
madly in love with Florence Craye.’

‘Oh, I
see. And it depresses him to think that she’s engaged to Stilton Cheesewright?’

‘Exactly.
He’s as sick as mud about it. He moons broodingly to and fro, looking like
Hamlet. I want you to come and divert him. Take him for walks, dance before
him, tell him funny stories. Anything to bring a smile to that whiskered,
tortoiseshell-rimmed face.’

I saw
her point, of course. No hostess wants a Hamlet on the premises. But what I
couldn’t understand was how a chap like that came to be polluting the pure air
of Brinkley. I knew the old relative to be quite choosey in the matter of guests.
Cabinet Ministers have sometimes failed to crash the gate. I put this to her,
and she said the explanation was perfectly simple.

‘I told
you I was in the middle of a spot of business with Trotter. I’ve got the whole
family here — Percy’s stepfather, L.G. Trotter, Percy’s mother, Mrs. Trotter,
and Percy in person. I only wanted Trotter, but Mrs. T. and Percy rang
themselves in.’

‘I see.
What they call a package deal.’ I broke off, aghast. Memory had returned to its
throne, and I knew now why that stuff about short side—whiskers had seemed to
have a familiar ring. ‘Trotter?’ I cried.

She
whooped censoriously.

‘Don’t
yell like that. You nearly broke my ear-drum.’

‘But
did you say Trotter?’

‘Of
course I said Trotter.’

‘This
Percy’s name isn’t Gorringe?’

‘That’s
what it unquestionably is. He admits it.’

‘Then
I’m frightfully sorry, old thing, but I can’t possibly come. It was only the
other day that the above Gorringe was trying to nick me for a thousand quid to
put into this play he’s made of Florence’s book, and I turned him down like a
bedspread. You can readily see, then, how fraught with embarrassment a meeting
in the flesh would be. I shouldn’t know which way to look.’

‘If
that’s all that’s worrying you, forget it. Florence tells me he has raised that
thousand elsewhere.’

‘Well,
I’m dashed. Where did he get it?’

‘She
doesn’t know. He’s secretive about it. He just said it was all right, he had
got the stuff and they could go ahead. So you needn’t be shy about meeting him.
What if he does think you the world’s premier louse? Don’t we all?’

‘Something
in that.’

‘Then
you’ll come?’

I
chewed the lower lip dubiously. I was thinking of Stilton.

‘Well,
speak up, dumb-bell,’ said the relative with asperity. ‘What’s all the silence
about?’

‘I was
musing.’

‘Then
stop musing and give me the good word. If it will help to influence your
decision, I may mention that Anatole is at the top of his form just now.’

I
started. If this was so, it would clearly be madness not to be one of the company
ranged around the festive board.

I have
touched so far only lightly on this Anatole, and I take the opportunity now of
saying that his was an output which had to be tasted to be believed, mere words
being inadequate to convey the full facts with regard to his amazing
virtuosity. After one of Anatole’s lunches has melted in the mouth, you
unbutton the waistcoat and loll back, breathing heavily and feeling that life
has no more to offer, and then, before you know where you are, along comes one
of his dinners, with even more on the ball, the whole lay-out constituting
something about as near Heaven as any reasonable man could wish.

I felt,
accordingly, that no matter how vehemently Stilton might express and fulfil
himself on discovering me… well, not perhaps exactly cheek by jowl with the
woman he loved but certainly hovering in her vicinity, the risk of rousing the
fiend within him was one that must be taken. It cannot ever, of course, be
agreeable to find yourself torn into a thousand pieces with a fourteen-stone
Othello doing a ‘Shuffle off to Buffalo’ on the scattered fragments, but if you
are full at the time of Anatole’s
Timbale de ris de veau Toulousiane,
the
discomfort unquestionably becomes modified.

‘I’ll
come,’ I said.

‘Good
boy. With you taking Percy off my neck, I shall be free to concentrate on
Trotter. And every ounce of concentration will be needed, if I’m to put this
deal through.’

‘What
is the deal? You never told me. Who is this Trotter, if any?’

‘I met
him at Agatha’s. He’s a friend of hers. He owns a lot of papers up in Liverpool
and wants to establish a beach-head in London. So I’m trying to get him to buy
the
Boudoir.’

I was
amazed. Absolutely the last thing I would have expected. I had always supposed
Milady’s
Boudoir
to be her ewe lamb. To learn that she contemplated selling it
stunned me. It was like hearing that Rodgers had decided to sell Hammerstein.

‘But
why on earth? I thought you loved it like a son.’

‘I do,
but the strain of having to keep going to Tom and trying to get money out of
him for its support has got me down. Every time I start pleading with him for
another cheque, he says “But isn’t it paying its way yet?” and I say “No,
darling, it is not paying its way yet”, and he says “H’m!”, adding that if this
sort of thing goes on, we shall all be on the dole by next Christmas. It’s
become too much for me. It makes me feel like one of those women who lug babies
around in the streets and want you to buy white heather. So when I met Trotter
at Agatha’s, I decided that he was the man who was going to take over, if human
ingenuity could work it. What did you say?’

‘I said
“Oh, ah”. I was about to add that it was a pity.’

‘Yes,
quite a pity, but unavoidable. Tom gets more difficult to touch daily. He says
he loves me dearly, but enough is sufficient. Well, I’ll expect you tomorrow,
then. Don’t forget the necklace.’

‘I’ll
send Jeeves over for it in the morning.’

‘Right.’

I think
she would have spoken further, but at this moment a female voice off-stage said
‘Three-ee-ee minutes’, and she hung up with the sharp cry of a woman who fears
she is going to be soaked for another couple of bob or whatever it is.

Jeeves
came trickling in.

‘Oh,
Jeeves,’ I said, ‘we shall be heading for Brinkley tomorrow.’

‘Very
good, sir.’

‘Aunt
Dahlia wants me there to infuse a bit of the party spirit into our old pal
Percy Gorringe, who is at the moment infesting the joint.’

‘Indeed,
sir? I wonder, sir, if it would be possible for you to allow me to return to
London next week for the afternoon?’

‘Certainly,
Jeeves, certainly. You have some beano in prospect?’

‘It is
the monthly luncheon of the Junior Ganymede Club, sir. I have been asked to
take the chair.’

‘Take
it by all means, Jeeves. A well-deserved honour.’

‘Thank
you, sir. I shall of course return the same day.’

‘You’ll
make a speech, no doubt?’

‘Yes,
sir. A speech from the chair is of the essence.’

‘I’ll
bet you have them rolling in the aisles. Oh, Jeeves, I was nearly forgetting.
Aunt Dahlia wants me to bring her necklace. It’s at Aspinall’s in Bond Street.
Will you toddle over and get it in the morning?’

‘Certainly,
sir.’

‘And
another thing I almost forgot to mention. Percy has raised that thousand quid.’

‘Indeed,
sir?’

‘He
must have approached someone with a more biteable ear than mine. One wonders
who the mug was.’

‘Yes,
sir.’

‘Some
half-wit, one presumes.’

‘No
doubt, sir.’

‘Still,
there it is. It just bears out what the late Barnum used to say about there
being one born every minute.’

‘Precisely,
sir. Would that be all, sir?’

‘Yes,
that’s all. Good night, Jeeves.’

‘Good
night, sir. I will attend to the packing in the morning.’

9

It was getting on for the
quiet evenfall on the morrow when after a pleasant drive through the smiling
countryside I steered the two-seater in at the gates of Brinkley Court and ankled
along to inform my hostess that I had come aboard. I found her in her snuggery
or den, taking it easy with a cup of tea and an Agatha Christie. As I presented
myself, she gave the moustache a swift glance, but apart from starting like a
nymph surprised while bathing and muttering something about ‘Was this the face
that stopped a thousand clocks?’ made no comment. One received the impression
that she was saving it up.

‘Hullo,
reptile,’ she said. ‘You’re here, are you?’

‘Here I
am,’ I responded, ‘with my hair in a braid and ready to the last button. A very
merry pip-pip to you, aged relative.’

‘The
same to you, fathead. I suppose you forgot to bring that necklace?’

‘Far
from it. Here it is. It’s the one Uncle Tom gave you at Christmas, isn’t it?’

‘That’s
right. He likes to see me wearing it at dinner.’

‘As who
wouldn’t?’ I said courteously. I handed it over and helped myself to a slice of
buttered toast. ‘Well, nice to be in the old home once more. I’m in my usual
room, I take it? And how is everything in and around Brinkley Court? Anatole
all right?’

‘Never
better.’

‘You
look pretty roguish.’

‘Oh,
I’m fine.’

‘And
Uncle Tom?’

A cloud
passed over her shining evening face.

‘Tom’s
still a bit low, poor old buster.’

‘Owing
to Percy, you mean?’

‘That’s
right.’

‘There
has been no change then in this Gorringe’s gloom?’

‘Naturally
not. He’s been worse than ever since Florence got here. Tom winces every time
he sees him, especially at meals. He says that having to watch Percy push away
untasted food cooked by Anatole gives him a rush of blood to the head, and that
gives him indigestion. You know how sensitive his stomach is’

I
patted her hand.

‘Be of
good cheer,’ I said. ‘I’ll buck Perce up. Freddie Widgeon was showing me a
trick with two corks and a bit of string the other night which cannot fail to
bring a smile to the most tortured face. It had the lads at the Drones in
stitches. You will doubtless be able to provide a couple of corks?’

‘Twenty,
if you wish.’

‘Good.’
I took a cake with pink icing on it. ‘So much for Percy. What of the rest of the
personnel? Anybody here besides the Trotter gang and Florence?’

‘Not
yet. Tom said something about somebody named Lord Sidcup looking in for dinner
tomorrow on his way to the brine baths at Droitwich. Do you know him?’

‘Never
heard of him. He’s a sealed book to me.’

‘He’s
some man Tom met in London. Apparently he’s a bit of a nib on old silver, and
Tom wants to show him his collection.’

I
nodded. I knew this uncle to be greatly addicted to the collecting of old
silver. His apartments both at Brinkley Court and at his house in Charles
Street are full of things I wouldn’t be seen dead in a ditch with.

‘What
they call a virtuoso this Lord Sidcup would be, I presume?’

‘Something
on those lines.’

‘Ah
well, it takes all sorts to make a world, does it not?’

‘We
shall also have with us tomorrow the boy friend Cheesewright, and the day after
that Daphne Dolores Morehead. She’s the novelist.’

‘I
know. Florence was telling me about her. You’ve bought a serial from her, I
understand.’

‘Yes. I
thought it would be a shrewd move to salt the mine.’

I
didn’t get this. She seemed to me an aunt who was talking in riddles.

‘How do
you mean, salt the mine? What mine? This is the first I’ve heard of any mines.’

I think
that if her mouth had not been full of buttered toast, she would have clicked
her tongue, for as soon as she had cleared the gangway with a quick swallow she
spoke impatiently, as if my slowness in the uptake had exasperated her.

‘You
really are an abysmal ass, young Bertie. Haven’t you ever heard of salting
mines? It’s a recognized business precaution. When you’ve got a dud mine you
want to sell to a mug, you sprinkle an ounce or two of gold over it and summon
the mug to come along and inspect the property. He rolls up, sees the gold,
feels that this is what the doctor ordered and reaches for his cheque book. I
worked on the same principle.’