Blanding Castle Omnibus

by P. G. Wodehouse

  § 3

  The grey melancholy which accompanied Mr Cootes like a diligent spectre as he began his walk back to the town of Market Blandings, and which not even the delightful evening could dispel, was due primarily, of course, to that sickening sense of defeat which afflicts a man whose high hopes have been wrecked at the very instant when success has seemed in sight. Once or twice in the life of every man there falls to his lot something which can only be described as a soft snap, and it had seemed to Mr Cootes that this venture of his to Blandings Castle came into that category. He had, like most members of his profession, had his ups and downs in the past, but at last, he told himself, the goddess Fortune had handed him something on a plate with watercress round it. Once established in the castle, there would have been a hundred opportunities of achieving the capture of Lady Constance’s necklace and it had looked as though all he had to do was to walk in, announce himself, and be treated as the honoured guest. As he slouched moodily between the dusty hedges that fringed the road to Market Blandings, Edward Cootes tasted the bitterness that only those know whose plans have been upset by the hundredth chance.

  But this was not all. In addition to the sadness of frustrated hope, he was also experiencing the anguish of troubled memories. Not only was the Present torturing him, but the Past had come to life and jumped out and bitten him. A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things, and this was what Edward Cootes was doing now. It is at moments like this that a man needs a woman’s tender care, and Mr Cootes had lost the only woman in whom he could have confided his grief, the only woman who would have understood and sympathised.

  We have been introduced to Mr Cootes at a point in his career when he was practising upon dry land; but that was not his chosen environment. Until a few months back his business had lain upon deep waters. The salt scent of the sea was in his blood. To put it more exactly, he had been by profession a card-sharper on the Atlantic liners; and it was during this period that he had loved and lost. For three years and more he had worked in perfect harmony with the lady who, though she adopted a variety of names for purposes of travel, was known to her immediate circle as Smooth Lizzie. He had been the practitioner, she the decoy, and theirs had been one of those ideal business partnerships which one so seldom meets with in a world of cynicism and mistrust. Comradeship had ripened into something deeper and more sacred, and it was all settled between them that when they next touched New York, Mr Cootes, if still at liberty, should proceed to the City Hall for a marriage-licence; when they had quarrelled – quarrelled irrevocably over one of those trifling points over which lovers do quarrel. Some absurd dispute as to the proper division of the quite meagre sum obtained from a cattle millionaire on their last voyage had marred their golden dreams. One word had led to another. The lady, after woman’s habit, had the last of the series, and even Mr Cootes was forced to admit that it was a pippin. She had spoken it on the pier at New York, and then passed out of his life. And with her had gone all his luck. It was as if her going had brought a curse upon him. On the very next trip he had had an unfortunate misunderstanding with an irritable gentleman from the Middle West, who, piqued at what he considered – not unreasonably – the undue proportion of kings and aces in the hands which Mr Cootes had been dealing himself, expressed his displeasure by biting off the first joint of the other’s right index finger – thus putting an abrupt end to a brilliant career. For it was on this finger that Mr Cootes principally relied for the almost magical effects which he was wont to produce with a pack of cards after a little quiet shuffling.

  With an aching sense of what might have been he thought now of his lost Lizzie. Regretfully he admitted to himself that she had always been the brains of the firm. A certain manual dexterity he had no doubt possessed, but it was ever Lizzie who had been responsible for the finer work. If they had still been partners, he really believed that she could have discovered some way of getting round the obstacles which had reared themselves now between himself and the necklace of Lady Constance Keeble. It was in a humble and contrite spirit that Edward Cootes proceeded on his way to Market Blandings.

  ∗∗∗∗∗

  Miss Peavey, meanwhile, who, it will be remembered, was moving slowly along the road from the Market Blandings end, was finding her walk both restful and enjoyable. There were moments, it has to be recorded, when the society of her hostess and her hostess’s relations was something of a strain to Miss Peavey; and she was glad to be alone. Her headache had disappeared, and she revelled in the quiet evening hush. About now, if she had not had the sense to detach herself from the castle platoon, she would, she reflected, be listening to Lord Emsworth’s speech on the subject of the late Hartley Reddish, J.P., M.P.: a topic which even the noblest of orators might have failed to render really gripping. And what she knew of her host gave her little confidence in his powers of oratory.

  Yes, she was well out of it. The gentle breeze played soothingly upon her face. Her delicately modelled nostrils drank in gratefully the scent from the hedgerows. Somewhere out of sight a thrush was singing. And so moved was Miss Peavey by the peace and sweetness of it all that she, too, began to sing.

  Had those who enjoyed the privilege of her acquaintance at Blandings Castle been informed that Miss Peavey was about to sing, they would doubtless have considered themselves on firm ground if called upon to make a conjecture as to the type of song which she would select. Something quaint, dreamy, a little wistful . . . that would have been the universal guess . . . some old-world ballad, possibly . . .

  What Miss Peavey actually sang – in a soft, meditative voice like that of a linnet waking to greet a new dawn – was that curious composition known as ‘The Beale Street Blues’.

  As she reached the last line, she broke off abruptly. She was, she perceived, no longer alone. Down the road toward her, walking pensively like one with a secret sorrow, a man was approaching; and for an instant, as she turned the corner, something in his appearance seemed to catch her by the throat and her breath came sharply.

  ‘Gee!’ said Miss Peavey.

  She was herself again the next moment. A chance resemblance had misled her. She could not see the man’s face, for his head was bent, but how was it possible . . .

  And then, when he was quite close, he raised his head, and the county of Shropshire, as far as it was visible to her amazed eyes, executed a sudden and eccentric dance. Trees bobbed up and down, hedgerows shimmied like a Broadway chorus; and from out of the midst of the whirling countryside a voice spoke.

  ‘Liz!’

  ‘Eddie!’ ejaculated Miss Peavey faintly, and sat down in a heap on a grassy bank.

  § 4

  ‘Well, for goodness’ sake!’ said Miss Peavey.

  Shropshire had become static once more. She stared at him, wide-eyed.

  ‘Can you tie it!’ said Miss Peavey.

  She ran her gaze over him once again from head to foot.

  ‘Well, if this ain’t the cat’s whiskers!’ said Miss Peavey. And with this final pronouncement she rose from her bank, somewhat restored, and addressed herself to the task of picking up old threads.

  ‘Wherever,’ she inquired, ‘did you spring from, Ed?’

  There was nothing but affection in her voice. Her gaze was that of a mother contemplating her long-lost child. The past was past and a new era had begun. In the past she had been compelled to describe this man as a hunk of cheese and to express the opinion that his crookedness was such as to enable him to hide at will behind a spiral staircase; but now, in the joy of this unexpected reunion, all these harsh views were forgotten. This was Eddie Cootes, her old side-kick, come back to her after many days, and only now was it borne in upon her what a gap in her life his going had made. She flung herself into his arms with a glad cry.

  Mr Cootes, who had not been expecting this demonstration of esteem, staggered a trifle at the impact, but recovered himself sufficiently to return the embrace with something of his ancient warmth. He was delighted at this cordiality
, but also surprised. The memory of the lady’s parting words on the occasion of their last meeting was still green, and he had not realised how quickly women forget and forgive, and how a sensitive girl, stirred by some fancied injury, may address a man as a pie-faced plugugly and yet retain in her inmost heart all the old love and affection. He kissed Miss Peavey fondly.

  ‘Liz,’ he said with fervour, ‘you’re prettier than ever.’

  ‘Now you behave,’ responded Miss Peavey coyly.

  The arrival of a baaing flock of sheep, escorted by a priggish dog and followed by a couple of the local peasantry, caused an intermission in these tender exchanges; and by the time the procession had moved off down the road they were in a more suitable frame of mind to converse quietly and in a practical spirit, to compare notes, and to fill up the blanks.

  ‘Wherever,’ inquired Miss Peavey again, ‘did you spring from, Ed? You could of knocked me down with a feather when I saw you coming along the road. I couldn’t have believed it was you, this far from the ocean. What are you doing inland like this? Taking a vacation, or aren’t you working the boats any more?’

  ‘No, Liz,’ said Mr Cootes sadly. ‘I’ve had to give that up.’

  And he exhibited the hiatus where an important section of his finger had been and told his painful tale. His companion’s sympathy was balm to his wounded soul.

  ‘The risks of the profession, of course,’ said Mr Cootes moodily, removing the exhibit in order to place his arm about her slender waist. ‘Still, it’s done me in. I tried once or twice, but I couldn’t seem to make the cards behave no more, so I quit. Ah, Liz,’ said Mr Cootes with feeling, ‘you can take it from me that I’ve had no luck since you left me. Regular hoodoo there’s been on me. If I’d walked under a ladder on a Friday to smash a mirror over the dome of a black cat I couldn’t have had it tougher.’

  ‘You poor boy!’

  Mr Cootes nodded sombrely.

  ‘Tough,’ he agreed, ‘but there it is. Only this afternoon my jinx gummed the game for me and threw a spanner into the prettiest little scenario you ever thought of. . . . But let’s not talk about my troubles. What are you doing now, Liz?’

  ‘Me? Oh, I’m living near here.’

  Mr Cootes started.

  ‘Not married?’ he exclaimed in alarm.

  ‘No!’ cried Miss Peavey with vehemence, and shot a tender glance up at his face. And I guess you know why, Ed.’

  ‘You don’t mean . . . you hadn’t forgotten me?’

  As if I could ever forget you, Eddie! There’s only one tintype on my mantelpiece.’

  ‘But it struck me . . . it sort of occurred to me as a passing thought that, when we saw each other last, you were a mite peeved with your Eddie . . .’

  It was the first allusion either of them had made to the past unpleasantness, and it caused a faint blush to dye Miss Peavey’s soft cheek.

  ‘Oh, shucks!’ she said. ‘I’d forgotten all about that next day. I was good and mad at the time, I’ll allow, but if only you’d called me up next morning, Ed . . .’

  There was a silence, as they mused on what might have been.

  ‘What are you doing, living here?’ asked Mr Cootes after a pregnant pause. ‘Have you retired?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m sitting in at a game with real worthwhile stakes. But, darn it,’ said Miss Peavey regretfully, ‘I’m wondering if it isn’t too big for me to put through alone. Oh, Eddie, if only there was some way you and me could work it together like in the old days.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Diamonds, Eddie. A necklace. I’ve only had one look at it so far, but that was enough. Some of the best ice I’ve saw in years, Ed. Worth every cent of a hundred thousand berries.’

  The coincidence drew from Mr Cootes a sharp exclamation.

  ‘A necklace!’

  ‘Listen, Ed, while I slip you the low-down. And, say, if you knew the relief it was to me talking good United States again! Like taking off a pair of tight shoes. I’m doing the high-toned stuff for the moment. Soulful. You remember, like I used to pull once or twice in the old days. Just after you and me had that little spat of ours I thought I’d take another trip in the old Atlantic– force of habit or something, I guess. Anyway, I sailed, and we weren’t two days out from New York when I made the biggest kind of a hit with the dame this necklace belongs to. Seemed to take a shine to me right away . . .’

  ‘I don’t blame her!’ murmured Mr Cootes devotedly.

  ‘Now don’t you interrupt,’ said Miss Peavey, administering a gratified slap. ‘Where was I? Oh yes. This here now Lady Constance Keeble I’m telling you about . . .’

  ‘What!’

  ‘What’s the matter now?’

  ‘Lady Constance Keeble?’

  ‘That’s the name. She’s Lord Emsworth’s sister, who lives at a big place up the road. Blandings Castle it’s called. She didn’t seem like she was able to let me out of her sight, and I’ve been with her off and on ever since we landed. I’m visiting at the castle now.’

  A deep sigh, like the groan of some great spirit in travail, forced itself from between Mr Cootes’s lips.

  ‘Well, wouldn’t that jar you!’ he demanded of circumambient space. ‘Of all the lucky ones! getting into the place like that, with the band playing and a red carpet laid down for you to walk on! Gee, if you fell down a well, Liz, you’d come up with the bucket. You’re a human horseshoe, that’s what you are. Say, listen. Lemme-tell-ya-sumf’n. Do you know what I’ve been doing this afternoon? Only trying to edge into the dam’ place myself and getting the air two minutes after I was past the front door.’

  ‘What! You, Ed?’

  ‘Sure. You’re not the only one that’s heard of that collection of ice.’

  ‘Oh, Ed!’ Bitter disappointment rang in Miss Peavey’s voice. ‘If only you could have worked it! Me and you partners again! It hurts to think of it. What was the stuff you pulled to get you in?’

  Mr Cootes so far forgot himself in his agony of spirit as to expectorate disgustedly at a passing frog. And even in this trivial enterprise failure dogged him. He missed the frog, which withdrew into the grass with a cold look of disapproval.

  ‘Me?’ said Mr Cootes. ‘I thought I’d got it smooth. I’d chummed up with a fellow who had been invited down to the place and had thought it over and decided not to go, so I said to myself what’s the matter with going there instead of him. A gink called McTodd this was, a poet, and none of the folks had ever set eyes on him, except the old man, who’s too short-sighted to see anyone, so . . .’

  Miss Peavey interrupted.

  ‘You don’t mean to tell me, Ed Cootes, that you thought you could get into the castle by pretending to be Ralston McTodd?’

  ‘Sure I did. Why not? It didn’t seem like there was anything to it. A cinch, that’s what it looked like. And the first guy I meet in the joint is a mutt who knows this McTodd well. We had a couple of words, and I beat it. I know when I’m not wanted.’

  ‘But, Ed! Ed! What do you mean? Ralston McTodd is at the castle now, this very moment.’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘Sure. Been there coupla days and more. Long, thin bird with an eyeglass.’

  Mr Cootes’s mind was in a whirl. He could make nothing of this matter.

  ‘Nothing like it! McTodd’s not so darned tall or so thin, if it comes to that. And he didn’t wear no eyeglass all the time I was with him. This . . .’ He broke offsharply. ‘My gosh! I wonder!’ he cried. ‘Liz! How many men are there in the joint right now?’

  ‘Only four besides Lord Emsworth. There’s a big party coming down for the County Ball, but that’s all there is at present. There’s Lord Emsworth’s son, Freddie . . .’

  ‘What does he look like?’

  ‘Sort of a dude with blond hair slicked back. Then there’s Mr Keeble. He’s short with a red face.’

  And?’

  And Baxter. He’s Lord Emsworth’s secretary. Wears spectacles.’

  ‘And that’s the l
ot?’

  ‘That’s all there is, not counting this here McTodd and the help.’

  Mr Cootes brought his hand down with a resounding report on his leg. The mildly pleasant look which had been a feature of his appearance during his interview with Psmith had vanished now, its place taken by one of an extremely sinister malevolence.

  ‘And I let him shoo me out as if I was a stray pup!’ he muttered through clenched teeth. ‘Of all the bunk games!’

  ‘What are you talking about, Ed?’

  And I thanked him! Thanked hïm!’ moaned Edward Cootes, writhing at the memory. ‘I thanked him for letting me go!’

  ‘Eddie Cootes, whatever are you . . . ?’

  ‘Listen, Liz.’ Mr Cootes mastered his emotion with a strong effort. ‘I blew into that joint and met this fellow with the eyeglass, and he told me he knew McTodd well and that I wasn’t him. And, from what you tell me, this must be the very guy that’s passing himself off as McTodd! Don’t you see? This baby must have started working on the same lines I did. Got to know McTodd, found he wasn’t coming to the castle, and came down instead of him, same as me. Only he got there first, damn him! Wouldn’t that give you a pain in the neck!’

  Amazement held Miss Peavey dumb for an instant. Then she spoke.

  ‘The big stiff!’ said Miss Peavey.

  Mr Cootes, regardless of a lady’s presence, went even further in his censure.

  ‘I had a feeling from the first that there was something not on the level about that guy!’ said Miss Peavey. ‘Gee! He must be after that necklace too.’