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

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I said.

  ‘I’ll tell you what’s the matter,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, do,’ I said, and he did.

  ‘Bertie,’ he said, taking a third one. ‘I think you will understand that when I read that announcement in The Times I was utterly bowled over?’

  ‘Oh quite. Perfectly natural.’

  ‘My head swam, and –’

  ‘Yes, you told me. Everything went black.’

  ‘I wish it had stayed black,’ he said bitterly, ‘but it didn’t. After awhile the mists cleared, and I sat there seething with fury. And after I had seethed for a bit I rose from my chair, took pen in hand and wrote Bobbie a stinker.’

  ‘Oh, gosh!’

  ‘I put my whole soul into it.’

  ‘Oh, golly!’

  ‘I accused her in set terms of giving me the heave-ho in order that she could mercenarily marry a richer man. I called her a carrot-topped Jezebel whom I was thankful to have got out of my hair. I … Oh, I can’t remember what else I said but, as I say, it was a stinker.’

  ‘But you never mentioned a word about this when I met you.’

  ‘In the ecstasy of learning that that Times thing was just a ruse and that she loved me still it passed completely from my mind. When it suddenly came back to me just now, it was like getting hit in the eye with a wet fish. I reeled.’

  ‘Squealed?’

  ‘Reeled. I felt absolutely boneless. But I had enough strength to stagger to the telephone. I rang up Skeldings Hall and was informed that she had just arrived.’

  ‘She must have driven like an inebriated racing motorist.’

  ‘No doubt she did. Girls will be girls. Anyway, she was there. She told me with a merry lilt in her voice that she had found a letter from me on the hall table and could hardly wait to open it. In a shaking voice I told her not to.’

  ‘So you were in time.’

  ‘In time, my foot! Bertie, you’re a man of the world. You’ve known a good many members of the other sex in your day. What does a girl do when she is told not to open a letter?’

  I got his drift.

  ‘Opens it?’

  ‘Exactly. I heard the envelope rip, and the next moment … No, I’d rather not think of it.’

  ‘She took umbrage?’

  ‘Yes, and she also took my head off. I don’t know if you have ever been in a typhoon on the Indian Ocean.’

  ‘No, I’ve never visited those parts.’

  ‘Nor have I, but from what people tell me what ensued must have been very like being in one. She spoke for perhaps five minutes –’

  ‘By Shrewsbury clock.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. What did she say?’

  ‘I can’t repeat it all, and wouldn’t if I could.’

  ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’

  ‘One can’t sometimes.’

  ‘Women talk so damn quick.’

  ‘How well I know it! And what was the final score?’

  ‘She said she was thankful that I was glad to have got her out of my hair, because she was immensely relieved to have got me out of hers, and that I had made her very happy because now she was free to marry you, which had always been her dearest wish.’

  In this hair-raiser of Ma Cream’s which I had been perusing there was a chap of the name of Scarface McColl, a gangster of sorts, who, climbing into the old car one morning and twiddling the starting key, went up in fragments owing to a business competitor having inserted a bomb in his engine, and I had speculated for a moment, while reading, as to how he must have felt. I knew now. Just as he had done, I rose. I sprang to the door, and Kipper raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Am I boring you?’ he said rather stiffly.

  ‘No, no. But I must go and get my car.’

  ‘You going for a ride?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But it’s nearly dinner time.’

  ‘I don’t want any dinner.’

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Herne Bay.’

  ‘Why Herne Bay?’

  ‘Because Jeeves is there, and this thing must be placed in his hands without a moment’s delay.’

  ‘What can Jeeves do?’

  ‘That,’ I said, ‘I cannot say, but he will do something. If he has been eating plenty of fish, as no doubt he would at a seashore resort, his brain will be at the top of its form, and when Jeeves’s brain is at the top of its form, all you have to do is press a button and stand out of the way while he takes charge.’

  11

  * * *

  IT’S CONSIDERABLY MORE than a step from Brinkley Court to Herne Bay, the one being in the middle of Worcestershire and the other on the coast of Kent, and even under the best of conditions you don’t expect to do the trip in a flash. On the present occasion, held up by the Arab steed getting taken with a fit of the vapours and having to be towed to a garage for medical treatment, I didn’t fetch up at journey’s end till well past midnight. And when I rolled round to Jeeves’s address on the morrow, I was informed that he had gone out early and they didn’t know when he would be back. Leaving word for him to ring me at the Drones, I returned to the metropolis and was having the pre-dinner keg of nails in the smoking-room when his call came through.

  ‘Mr. Wooster? Good evening, sir. This is Jeeves.’

  ‘And not a moment too soon,’ I said, speaking with the emotion of a lost lamb which after long separation from the parent sheep finally manages to spot it across the meadow. ‘Where have you been all this time?’

  ‘I had an appointment to lunch with a friend at Folkestone, sir, and while there was persuaded to extend my visit in order to judge a seaside bathing belles contest.’

  ‘No, really? You do live, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘How did it go off?’

  ‘Quite satisfactorily, sir, thank you.’

  ‘Who won?’

  ‘A Miss Marlene Higgins of Brixton, sir, with Miss Lana Brown of Tulse Hill and Miss Marilyn Bunting of Penge honourably mentioned. All most attractive young ladies.’

  ‘Shapely?’

  ‘Extremely so.’

  ‘Well, let me tell you, Jeeves, and you can paste this in your hat, shapeliness isn’t everything in this world. In fact, it sometimes seems to me that the more curved and lissome the members of the opposite sex, the more likely they are to set Hell’s foundations quivering. I’m sorely beset, Jeeves. Do you recall telling me once about someone who told somebody he could tell him something which would make him think a bit? Knitted socks and porcupines entered into it, I remember.’

  ‘I think you may be referring to the ghost of the father of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, sir. Addressing his son, he said “I could a tale unfold whose lightest word would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, thy knotted and combined locks to part and each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful porpentine.”’

  ‘That’s right. Locks, of course, not socks. Odd that he should have said porpentine when he meant porcupine. Slip of the tongue, no doubt, as so often happens with ghosts. Well, he had nothing on me, Jeeves. It’s a tale of that precise nature that I am about to unfold. Are you listening?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Then hold on to your hat and don’t miss a word.’

  When I had finished unfolding, he said, ‘I can readily appreciate your concern, sir. The situation, as you say, is one fraught with anxiety,’ which is pitching it strong for Jeeves, he as a rule coming through with a mere ‘Most disturbing, sir.’

  ‘I will come to Brinkley Court immediately, sir.’

  ‘Will you really? I hate to interrupt your holiday.’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  ‘You can resume it later.’

  ‘Certainly, sir, if that is convenient to you.’

  ‘But now –’

  ‘Precisely sir. Now, if I
may borrow a familiar phrase –’

  ‘– is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party?’

  ‘The very words I was about to employ, sir. I will call at the apartment at as early an hour tomorrow as is possible.’

  ‘And we’ll drive down together. Right,’ I said, and went off to my simple but wholesome dinner.

  It was with … well, not quite an uplifted heart … call it a heart lifted about half way … that I started out for Brinkley on the following afternoon. The thought that Jeeves was at my side, his fish-fed brain at my disposal, caused a spot of silver lining to gleam through the storm clouds, but only a spot, for I was asking myself if even Jeeves might not fail to find a solution of the problem that had raised its ugly head. Admittedly expert though he was at joining sundered hearts, he had rarely been up against a rift within the lute so complete as that within the lute of Roberta Wickham and Reginald Herring, and as I remember hearing him say once, ’tis not in mortals to command success. And at the thought of what would ensue, were he to fall down on the assignment, I quivered like something in aspic. I could not forget that Bobbie, while handing Kipper his hat, had expressed in set terms her intention of lugging me to the altar rails and signalling to the clergyman to do his stuff. So as I drove along the heart, as I have indicated, was uplifted only to a medium extent.

  When we were out of the London traffic and it was possible to converse without bumping into buses and pedestrians, I threw the meeting open for debate.

  ‘You have not forgotten our telephone conversation of yestreen, Jeeves?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘You have the salient points docketed in your mind?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Have you been brooding on them?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Got a bite of any sort?’

  ‘Not yet, sir.’

  ‘No, I hardly expected you would. These things always take time.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘The core of the matter is,’ I said, twiddling the wheel to avoid a passing hen, ‘that in Roberta Wickham we are dealing with a girl of high and haughty spirit.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And girls of high and haughty spirit need kidding along. This cannot be done by calling them carrot-topped Jezebels.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I know if anyone called me a carrot-topped Jezebel, umbrage is the first thing I’d take. Who was Jezebel, by the way? The name seems familiar, but I can’t place her.’

  ‘A character in the Old Testament, sir. A queen of Israel.’

  ‘Of course, yes. Be forgetting my own name next. Eaten by dogs, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Can’t have been pleasant for her.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Still, that’s the way the ball rolls. Talking of being eaten by dogs, there’s a dachshund at Brinkley who when you first meet him will give you the impression that he plans to convert you into a light snack between his regular meals. Pay no attention. It’s all eyewash. His belligerent attitude is simply –’

  ‘Sound and fury signifying nothing, sir?’

  ‘That’s it. Pure swank. A few civil words, and he will be grappling you … what’s that expression I’ve heard you use?’

  ‘Grappling me to his soul with hoops of steel, sir?’

  ‘In the first two minutes. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but he has to put up a front because his name’s Poppet. One can readily appreciate that when a dog hears himself addressed day in and day out as Poppet, he feels he must throw his weight about. His self-respect demands it.’

  ‘Precisely, sir.’

  ‘You’ll like Poppet. Nice dog. Wears his ears inside out. Why do dachshunds wear their ears inside out?’

  ‘I could not say, sir.’

  ‘Nor me. I’ve often wondered. But this won’t do, Jeeves. Here we are, yakking about Jezebels and dachshunds, when we ought to be concentrating our minds on …’

  I broke off abruptly. My eye had been caught by a wayside inn. Well, not actually so much by the wayside inn as by what was standing outside it – to wit, a scarlet roadster which I recognized instantly as the property of Bobbie Wickham. One saw what had happened. Driving back to Brinkley after a couple of nights with Mother, she had found the going a bit warm and had stopped off at this hostelry for a quick one. And a very sensible thing to do, too. Nothing picks one up more than a spot of sluicing on a hot summer afternoon.

  I applied the brakes.

  ‘Mind waiting here a minute, Jeeves?’

  ‘Certainly, sir. You wish to speak to Miss Wickham?’

  ‘Ah, you spotted her car?’

  ‘Yes, sir. It is distinctly individual.’

  ‘Like its owner. I have a feeling that I may be able to accomplish something in the breach-healing way with a honeyed word or two. Worth trying, don’t you think?’

  ‘Unquestionably, sir.’

  ‘At a time like this one doesn’t want to leave any avenue unturned.’

  The interior of the wayside inn – the ‘Fox and Goose’, not that it matters – was like the interiors of all wayside inns, dark and cool and smelling of beer, cheese, coffee, pickles and the sturdy English peasantry. Entering, you found yourself in a cosy nook with tankards on the walls and chairs and tables dotted hither and thither. On one of the chairs at one of the tables Bobbie was seated with a glass and a bottle of ginger ale before her.

  ‘Good Lord, Bertie!’ she said as I stepped up and what-ho-ed. ‘Where did you spring from?’

  I explained that I was on my way back to Brinkley from London in my car.

  ‘Be careful someone doesn’t pinch it. I’ll bet you haven’t taken out the keys.’

  ‘No, but Jeeves is there, keeping watch and ward, as you might say.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve brought Jeeves with you? I thought he was on his holiday.’

  ‘He very decently cancelled it.’

  ‘Pretty feudal.’

  ‘Very. When I told him I needed him at my side, he didn’t hesitate.’

  ‘What do you need him at your side for?’

  The moment had come for the honeyed word. I lowered my voice to a confidential murmur, but on her inquiring if I had laryngitis raised it again.

  ‘I had an idea that he might be able to do something.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About you and Kipper,’ I said, and started to feel my way cautiously towards the core and centre. It would be necessary, I knew, to pick my words with c., for with girls of high and haughty spirit you have to watch your step, especially if they have red hair, like Bobbie. If they think you’re talking out of turn, dudgeon ensues, and dudgeon might easily lead her to reach for the ginger ale bottle and bean me with it. I don’t say she would, but it was a possibility that had to be taken into account. So I sort of eased into the agenda.

  ‘I must begin by saying that Kipper has given me a full eyewitness’s – well, earwitness’s I suppose you’d say – report of that chat you and he had over the telephone, and no doubt you are saying to yourself that it would have been in better taste for him to have kept it under his hat. But you must remember that we were boys together, and a fellow naturally confides in a chap he was boys together with. Anyway, be that as it may, he poured out his soul to me, and he hadn’t been pouring long before I was able to see that he was cut to the quick. His blood pressure was high, his eye rolled in what they call a fine frenzy, and he was death-where-is-thy-sting-ing like nobody’s business.’

  I saw her quiver and kept a wary eye on the ginger ale bottle. But even if she had raised it and brought it down on the Wooster bean, I couldn’t have been more stunned than I was by the words that left her lips.

  ‘The poor lamb!’

  I had ordered a gin and tonic. I now spilled a portion of this.

  ‘Did you say poor lamb?’

  ‘You bet I said poor lamb, though “Poor sap” would perhaps be a better description. Just imagine him taking all that stu
ff I said seriously. He ought to have known I didn’t mean it.’

  I groped for the gist.

  ‘You were just making conversation?’

  ‘Well, blowing off steam. For heaven’s sake, isn’t a girl allowed to blow off some steam occasionally? I never dreamed it would really upset him. Reggie always takes everything so literally.’

  ‘Then is the position that the laughing love god is once more working at the old stand?’

  ‘Like a beaver.’

  ‘In fact, to coin a phrase, you’re sweethearts still?’

  ‘Of course. I may have meant what I said at the time, but only for about five minutes.’

  I drew a deep breath, and a moment later wished I hadn’t, because I drew it while drinking the remains of my gin and tonic.

  ‘Does Kipper know of this?’ I said, when I had finished coughing.

  ‘Not yet. I’m on my way to tell him.’

  I raised a point on which I particularly desired assurance.

  ‘Then what it boils down to is – No wedding bells for me?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Quite all right. Anything that suits you.’

  ‘I don’t want to get jugged for bigamy.’

  ‘No, one sees that. And your selection for the day is Kipper. I don’t blame you. The ideal mate.’

  ‘Just the way I look at it. He’s terrific, isn’t he?’

  ‘Colossal.’

  ‘I wouldn’t marry anyone else if they came to me bringing apes, ivory and peacocks. Tell me what he was like as a boy.’

  ‘Oh, much the same as the rest of us.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  ‘Except, of course, for rescuing people from burning buildings and saving blue-eyed children from getting squashed by runaway horses.’

  ‘He did that a lot?’

  ‘Almost daily.’