Heavy Weather

by P. G. Wodehouse

  There was a pause. Monty had not wrought in vain. An electric thrill seemed to pass through Sue's small body. Her heart was thumping.

  'I beg your pardon,' she said breathlessly. 'Are you Lady Julia Fish?' 'I am.'

  'My name's Sue Brown,' said Sue, wishing that she could have achieved a vocal delivery a little more impressive than that of a very young, startled mouse.

  'Well, well, well!' said Lady Julia. 'Fancy that. Quite a coincidence, Mr Bodkin.'

  'Oh, quite. Most.'

  'We were just talking about you, Miss Brown.'

  Sue nodded speechlessly.

  'I am losing a son and gaining a daughter, and you're the daughter, eh?'

  Sue continued to nod. Monty, personally, considered that she was overdoing it. She ought, he felt, to be saying something. Something bright and snappy like. . . well, he couldn't on the spur of the moment think just what, but something bright and snappy.

  'Yes,' said Lady Julia, 'I recognize you. Ronnie sent me a photograph of you, you know. I thought it charming. Well, you must come over here and tell me all about yourself. We will get rid of Mr Bodkin. . . By the way, you did tell me you had not met Miss Brown?'

  'Definitely not. Certainly not. Far from it. Not at all.'

  ' Don't speak in that tone of horrified loathing, M r Bodkin. I'm sure Miss Brown is a very nice girl, well worthy of your acquaintance. At any rate, you've met her now. Mr Bodkin, Miss Brown.'

  'How do you do?' said Monty stiffly.

  ' How do you do?’ said Sue with aloofness.

  'Mr Bodkin is coming to Blandings as my brother's secretary.'

  'Fancy!' said Sue.

  'And now run along and look at the green countryside, Mr Bodkin. Miss Brown and I want to have a talk about all sorts of things.'

  ' I'll go and have a smoke,' said Monty, inspired. 'Do,' said Lady Julia.

  Monty Bodkin sat in his smoking-compartment, well pleased with himself. It had been a near thing, and it had taken a man of affairs to avert disaster, but he had brought it off. Another half-second and young Sue would have spilled the beans. He was, as we say, pleased with himself, and he was also pleased with Sue. She had shown a swift grasp of the situation. There had been a moment when he had feared he was being too subtle, trying the female intelligence, notoriously so greatly inferior to the male, too high. But all had been well. Good old Sue had understood those guarded hints of his, and now everything looked pretty smooth.

  He closed his eyes contentedly, and dropped off into a refreshing sleep.

  From this he was aroused some half an hour later by the click of the door; and, opening his eyes and blinking once or twice, was enabled to perceive Sue standing before him. 'Ah! Interview over ?'

  Sue nodded and sat down. Her face was grave, like that of a puzzled child. Extraordinarily pretty it made her look, felt Monty, and for an instant there stole over him a faint regret for what might have been. Then he thought of Gertrude Butterwick and was strong again.

  ‘I say, I did that distant aloofness stuff rather well, don't you think?' 'Oh, yes.'

  'And pretty shrewd of me to grapple with a tricky situation so promptly and give you that instant pointer as to how matters stood?'

  ‘Oh, yes.'

  'What do you mean, Oh, yes? It was genius.' He looked at her with some intentness. 'You seem a shade below par. Didn't the interview go off well?'

  'Oh, yes.'

  'Don't keep saying "Oh, yes." What happened?' 'Oh, we talked.'

  'Of course you talked, chump. What did you say?' ‘I told her about myself, and - oh, you know, all that sort of thing.'

  'And wasn't she chummy?' She reflected, biting her lip. 'She was quite nice.' ' I know what that means - rotten.'

  'No, she seemed perfectly friendly. Laughed a good deal and . . . well, just what you were saying. Lady Di. Bluff goodwill. But-'

  ' But you seemed to sense the velvet hand beneath the iron glove ? No, dash it, that's not right,' said Monty, musing. 'The other way about it should be, shouldn't it? You got the impression that she was simply waiting till your back was turned to stick a knife in it?'

  'A little. It's something about her eyes. She doesn't smile with them. Of course, I may be all wrong.'

  Monty looked dubious. He lit a cigarette and puffed at it thoughtfully.

  'No, I think you're right. I wish I didn't, but I do. I don't mind telling you that a second before you came in she was saying she was jolly well going to break the whole thing off.'

  'Oh?'

  'Of course,' Monty hastened to add consolingly, 'she hasn't got a dog's chance of doing it. There are few more resolute birds than Ronnie. But she'll try her damnedest. Tough eggs, that Blandings Castle female contingent. Odd that they should be so much deadlier than the male. Look at old Emsworth ... old Gally . .. young Freddie. . . you've never met Freddie, have you?.. .All jolly good sorts. And against them you have this Julia, yonder Constance, and a whole lot more, all snakes of the first water. When you get to know that family better, you'll realize that there are dozens of aunts you've not heard of yet - far-flung aunts scattered all over England, and each the leading blister of her particular county. It's a sort of family taint. Still, as I say, old Ronnie is staunch. Nobody could talk him out of prancing up the aisle with the girl he loves.'

  'No,' said Sue, her eyes dreamy.

  'And now, pardon the suggestion, but wouldn't it be as well if you shoved off? Suppose she happened to come along and found us hobnobbing here like this?'

  'I never thought of that.'

  'Always think of everything,' said Monty paternally. He closed his eyes again. The train rattled on towards Market Blandings.

  Chapter Six

  It was nearly an hour after the two forty-five had arrived at its destination that a slower shabbier train crawled in and deposited Ronnie Fish on the platform of the little station of Market Blandings. The festivities connected with his cousin George's wedding and the intricacies of a railway journey across the breadth of England had combined to prevent an earlier return.

  He was tired, but happy. The glow of sentiment which warms young men in love when they watch other people getting married still lingered. Mendelssohn's well-known march was on his lips as he gave up his ticket, and it was with a perceptible effort that he checked himself from saying to the driver of the station cab, "Wilt thou, Robinson, take this Ronald to Blandings Castle?' Even when he reached his destination and found the hands of the grandfather clock in the hall pointing to ten to eight, his exuberance did not desert him. It was his pride that he could shave, bathe, and dress, always provided that nothing went wrong with the tie, in nine and a quarter minutes.

  Tonight, all was well. The black strip of Crepe-de-Chine assumed the perfect butterfly shape of its own volition, and at eight precisely he was standing in the combination drawing-room and picture-gallery in which Blandings Castle was wont to assemble long before the evening meal.

  He was surprised to find himself alone. And it was not long before surprise gave way to a stronger emotion. For some minutes he wandered to and fro, gazing at the portraits of his ancestors on the walls; but to a man who has just come from a long and dusty train journey ancestral portraits are a poor substitute for the old familiar juice. He pressed the bell, and presently Beach the butler appeared.

  'Oh, hullo, Beach. I say, Beach, what about the cocktails ?' The butler seemed surprised.

  'I was planning to serve them when the guests arrived. Mr Ronald.'

  'Guests? There aren't people coming to dinner, are there?' 'Yes, sir. We shall sit down twenty-four.' 'Good Lord! A binge?' 'Yes, sir.'

  'I must go and put on a white tie.'

  'There is plenty of time, Mr Ronald. Dinner will not be served till nine o'clock. Perhaps you would prefer me to bring you an aperitif in advance of the formal cocktails?'

  ' I certainly would. I'm dying by inches.'

  ' I will attend to the matter immediately.'

  The butler of Blandings Castle was not a man who
when he said 'immediately' meant 'somewhere in the distant future'. Like a heavyweight jinn, stirred to activity by the rubbing of a lamp, he vanished and reappeared; and it was only a few minutes later that Ronnie was blossoming like a flower in the gentle rain of summer and finding himself disposed for leisurely chat.

  'Twenty-four?' he said. 'Golly, we're going gay. Who's coming?'

  The butler's eyes took on a glaze similar to that seen in those of policemen giving evidence.

  'His lordship the Bishop of Poole, Sir Herbert and Lady Musker, Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe . ..'

  'What!'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Who invited him?’

  'Her ladyship, I should imagine, sir.'

  'And he's coming? Well, I suppose he knows his own business,' said Ronnie dubiously. 'Better keep a close eye on Uncle Clarence, Beach. If you see him toying with a knife, remove it.'

  'Very good, sir.'

  'Who else?'

  'Colonel and Mrs Mauleverer and daughter, the Honourable Major and Lady Augusta Lindsay-Todd and niece . ..'

  'All right. You needn't go on. I get the general idea. Eighteen local nibs, plus the gang of six in residence.'

  'Eight, Mr Ronald.'

  'Eight?'

  'His lordship, her ladyship, Mr Galahad, yourself, Miss Brown, Mr ...' The butler's voice shook a little.'. . . Pilbeam .. 'Exactly. Six, you old ass.' 'There is also Mr Bodkin, sir.' 'Bodkin?'

  'Sir Gregory Parsloe's nephew, Mr Ronald. Mr Montague Bodkin. You may recall him as a somewhat frequent visitor to the Castle during his school days.'

  'Of course 1 remember old Monty. But you've got muddled. You've counted him in among the resident patients, when he's really one of the outside crowd.'

  'No, sir. Mr Bodkin is assuming Mr Carmody's duties as his lordship's secretary.'

  'Not really?'

  'Yes, sir. I understand the appointment was ratified two days ago.'

  'But that's odd. What does Monty want, sweating as a secretary ? He's got about fifteen thousand a year of his own.' 'Indeed, sir?'

  'Well, he had. Somehow or other we've not happened to run into each other much these last two years. Do you think he's lost it?'

  'Very possibly, sir. A great many people have become fiscally crippled of late.'

  'Rummy,' said Ronnie.

  Then speculation on this mystery was borne away on a flood of sober pride. With a pardonable feeling of smugness, Ronnie Fish realized that his soul had achieved such heights of nobility that the prospect of a Monty Bodkin buzzing about the Castle premises in daily contact with Sue was causing him no pang of apprehension or jealousy.

  Not so very long ago, such a thought would have been a dagger in his bosom. It was just the Monty type of chap-tall, lissom, good-looking, and not pink - that he had always feared. And now he could contemplate his coming without a tremor. Pretty good, felt Ronnie.

  'Well, come along with your eight,' he said. 'That's only seven, so far.' The butler coughed.

  ‘I was assuming, Mr Ronald, that you were aware that her ladyship, your mother, arrived this evening on the two forty-five train.' 'What!' 'Yes, sir.' 'Good Lord!'

  Beach regarded him solicitously, but did not develop the theme. He had a nice sense of the proprieties. Between himself and this young man there had existed for eighteen years a warm friendship. Ronnie as a child had played bears in his pantry. Ronnie as a boy had gone fishing with him on the lake. Ronnie as a freshman at Cambridge had borrowed five-pound notes from him to sec him through to his next allowance. Ronnie, grown to man's estate, had given him many a sound tip on the races, from which his savings bank account had profited largely. He knew the last detail of Ronnie's romance, sympathized with his aims and objects, was aware that an interview of extreme delicacy faced him; and, had they been sitting in his pantry now, would not have hesitated to offer sympathy and advice.

  But because this was the drawing-room, his lips were sealed. A mere professional gesture was all he could allow himself.

  'Another cocktail, Mr Ronald?'

  'Thanks.'

  Ronnie, sipping thoughtfully, found his equanimity returning. For a moment, he could not deny it, there had been a slight sinking of the heart; but now he was telling himself that his mother had always been a cheery soul, one of the best, and that there was no earthly reason to suppose that she was likely to make any serious trouble now. True, there might be a little stiffness at first, but that would soon wear off.

  ' Where is she, Beach ?'

  'In the Garden Room, Mr Ronald.'

  'I ought to go there, I suppose. And yet.. . No,' said Ronnie, on second thoughts.' Might be a little rash, what ? There she would be with her hair-brush handy, and the temptation to put me across her knee and... No. I think you'd better send a maid or someone to inform her that I await her here.'

  'I will do so immediately, Mr Ronald.'

  With a quiver of the left eyebrow intended to indicate that, had such a thing been possible to a man in his position, he would gladly have remained and lent moral support, the butler left the room. And presently the door reopened, and Lady Julia Fish came sailing in.

  Ronnie straightened his tie, pulled down his waistcoat, and advanced to meet her.

  The emotions of a young man on encountering his maternal parent, when in the interval since they last saw one another he has announced his betrothal to a member of the chorus, are necessarily mixed. Filial love cannot but be tempered with apprehension. On the whole, however, Ronnie was feeling reasonably debonair. He and his mother had laughed together at a good many things in their time, and he was optimistic enough to hope that with a little adroitness on his part the coming scene could be kept on the lighter plane. As he had said to Sue, Lady Julia Fish was not Lady Constance Keeble.

  Nevertheless, as he kissed her, he was aware of something of the feeling which he had had in his boxing days when shaking hands with an unpleasant-looking opponent.

  'Hullo, mother.'

  'Well, Ronnie.'

  'Here you are, what?'

  'Yes.'

  'Nice journey?' 'Quite.'

  'Not rough, crossing over?' 'Not at all.'

  'Good,' said Ronnie. 'Good.' He began to feel easier.

  'Well,' he proceeded chattily, 'we got old George off all right.' 'George?'

  'Cousin George. I've just been best-manning at his wedding.'

  'Ah, yes. I had forgotten. It was today, was it not?'

  'That's right. I only got back half an hour ago.'

  'Did everything go off well?'

  'Splendidly. Not a hitch.'

  'Family pleased, I suppose?'

  'Oh, delighted.'

  'They would be, wouldn't they? Seeing that George was marrying a girl of excellent position with ten thousand a year of her own.'

  'H'r'rmph,' said Ronnie.

  'Yes,' said Lady Julia, 'you'd better say "H'r'rmph!"' There was a pause. Ronnie, who had just straightened his tie again, pulled it crooked and began straightening it once more. Lady Julia watched these manifestations of unrest with a grim blue stare. Ronnie, looking up and meeting it, diverted his gaze towards a portrait of the second Earl which hung on the wall beside him.

  'Amazing beards those blokes used to wear,' he said nonchalantly.

  ‘I wonder you can look your ancestors in the face.'

  'I can't, as a matter of fact. They're an ugly crowd. The only decent one is Daredevil Dick Threepwood who married the actress.'

  'You would bring up Daredevil Dick, wouldn't you?' 'That's right, mother. Let's see the old smile.' 'I'm not smiling. What you observed was a twitch of pain. Really, Ronnie, you ought to be certified.' 'Now, mother . . .'

  'Ronnie,' said Lady Julia, 'if you dare to lift up your finger and say "Tweet-tweet, shush-shush, come-come," I'll hit you. It's no good grinning in that sickening way. It simply confirms my opinion that you are a raving lunatic, an utter imbecile, and that you ought to have been placed under restraint years ago.'

  'Oh, dash it.'

&n
bsp; 'It's no good saying "Oh, dash it".'

  'Well, I do say "Oh, dash it." Be reasonable. Naturally I don't expect you to start dancing round and strewing roses out of a hat, but you might preserve the decencies of debate. Highly offensive, that last crack.'

  Lady Julia sighed.

  'Why do all you young fools want to marry chorus-girls?' 'Read any good books lately, mother?' asked Ronnie, pacifically.

  Lady Julia refused to be diverted.

  'It's too amazing. It's a disease. It really is. Just like measles or whooping-cough. All young men apparently have to go through it.