Blanding Castle Omnibus

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘What!’

  ‘Miss Schoonmaker.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. What’s Miss Schoonmaker got to do with it?’

  ‘Miss Schoonmaker isn’t Miss Schoonmaker. She’s Sue Brown.’

  For a moment it seemed to Millicent that the crack in her companion’s heart had spread to his head. Futile though the action was, she stared in the direction from which his voice had proceeded. Then, suddenly, his words took on a meaning. She gasped.

  ‘She’s followed you down here!’

  ‘She hasn’t followed me down here. She’s followed Ronnie down here. Can’t you get it into your nut,’ said Hugo with justifiable exasperation, ‘that you’ve been making floaters and bloomers and getting everything mixed up all along? Sue Brown has never cared a curse for me, and I’ve never thought anything about her, except that she’s a jolly girl and nice to dance with. That’s absolutely and positively the only reason I went out with her. I hadn’t had a dance for six weeks and my feet had begun to itch so that I couldn’t sleep at night. So I went to London and took her out and Ronnie found her talking to that pestilence Pilbeam and thought he had taken her out and she had told him she didn’t even know the man, which was quite true, but Ronnie cut up rough and said he was through with her and came down here and she wanted to get a word with him, so she came down here, pretending to be Miss Schoonmaker, and the moment she gets here she finds Ronnie is engaged to you. A nice surprise for the poor girl!’

  Millicent’s head had begun to swim long before the conclusion of this recital.

  ‘But what is Pilbeam doing down here?’

  ‘Pilbeam?’

  ‘He was on the terrace talking to her.’

  A low snarl came through the darkness.

  ‘Pilbeam here? Ah! So he came, after all, did he? He’s the fellow Lord Emsworth sent me to, about the Empress. He runs the Argus Enquiry Agency. It was Pilbeam’s minions that dogged my steps that night, at your request. So he’s here, is he? Well, let him enjoy himself while he can. Let him sniff the country air while the sniffing is good. A bitter reckoning awaits that bloke.’

  From the disorder of Millicent’s mind another point emerged insistently demanding explanation.

  ‘You said she wasn’t pretty!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Sue Brown.’

  ‘Nor she is.’

  ‘You don’t call her pretty? She’s fascinating.’

  ‘Not to me,’ said Hugo doggedly. ‘There’s only one girl in the world that I call pretty, and she’s going to marry Ronnie.’ He paused. ‘If you haven’t realized by this time that I love you, and always shall love you, and have never loved anybody else, and never shall love anybody else, you’re a fathead. If you brought me Sue Brown or any other girl in the world on a plate with water-cress round her, I wouldn’t so much as touch her hand.’

  Another rat – unless it was an exceptionally large mouse – had begun to make its presence felt in the darkness. It seemed to be enjoying an early dinner off a piece of wood. Millicent did not even notice it. She had reached out, and her hand had touched Hugo’s arm. Her fingers closed on it desperately.

  ‘Oh, Hugo!’she said.

  The arm became animated. It clutched her, drew her along the mouse-and-mildew-scented floor. And time stood still.

  Hugo was the first to break the silence.

  And to think that not so long ago I was wishing that a flash of lightning would strike me amidships!’ he said.

  The aroma of mouse and mildew had passed away. Violets seemed to be spreading their fragrance through the cottage. Violets and roses. The rat, a noisy feeder, had changed into an orchestra of harps, dulcimers and sackbuts that played soft music.

  And then, jarring upon these sweet strains, there came the sound of the cottage door opening. And a moment later light shone through the holes in the floor.

  Millicent gave Hugo’s arm a warning pinch. They looked down. On the floor below stood a lantern, and beside it a man of massive build who, from the golloping noises that floated upwards, appeared to be giving the Empress those calories and proteins which a pig of her dimensions requires so often and in such large quantities.

  This Good Samaritan had been stooping. Now he straightened himself and looked about him with an apprehensive eye. He raised the lantern, and its light fell upon his face.

  And, as she saw that face, Millicent, forgetting prudence, uttered in a high, startled voice a single word.

  ‘Beach!’cried Millicent.

  Down below, the butler stood congealed. It seemed to him that the Voice of Conscience had spoken.

  IV

  Conscience, besides having a musical voice, appeared also to be equipped with feet. Beach could hear them clattering down the stairs, and the volume of noise was so great that it seemed as if Conscience must be a centipede. But he did not stir. It would have required at that moment a derrick to move him, and there was no derrick in the gamekeeper’s cottage in the West Wood. He was still standing like a statue when Hugo and Millicent arrived. Only when the identity of the new-comers impressed itself on his numbed senses did his limbs begin to twitch and show some signs of relaxing. For he looked on Hugo as a friend. Hugo, he felt, was one of the few people in his world who, finding him in his present questionable position, might be expected to take the broad and sympathetic view.

  He nerved himself to speak.‘Good evening, sir. Good evening, miss.’

  ‘What’s all this?’said Hugo.

  Years ago, in his hot and reckless youth, Beach had once heard that question from the lips of a policeman. It had disconcerted him then. It disconcerted him now.

  ‘Well, sir,’ he replied.

  Millicent was staring at the Empress, who, after one courteous look of inquiry at the intruders, had given a brief grunt of welcome and returned to the agenda.

  ‘You stole her, Beach? You!’

  The butler quivered. He had known this girl since her long hair and rompers days. She had sported in his pantry. He had cut elephants out of paper for her and taught her tricks with bits of string. The shocked note in her voice seared him like vitriol. To her, he felt, niece to the Earl of Emsworth and trained by his lordship from infancy in the best traditions of pig-worship, the theft of the Empress must seem the vilest of crimes. He burned to re-establish himself in her eyes.

  There comes in the life of every conspirator a moment when loyalty to his accomplices wavers before the urge to make things right for himself. We can advance no more impressive proof of the nobility of the butler’s soul than that he did not obey this impulse. Millicent’s accusing eyes were piercing him, but he remained true to his trust. Mr Ronald had sworn him to secrecy: and even to square himself he could not betray him.

  And, as if by way of a direct reward from Providence for this sterling conduct, inspiration descended upon Beach.

  Yes, miss,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh, Beach!’

  Yes, miss. It was I who stole the animal. I did it for your sake, miss.’

  Hugo eyed him sternly.

  ‘Beach,’ he said. ‘This is pure apple-sauce.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Apple-sauce, I repeat. Why endeavour to swing the lead, Beach? What do you mean, you stole the pig for her sake?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Millicent. ‘Why for my sake?’

  The butler was calm now. He had constructed his story, and he was going to stick to it.

  ‘In order to remove the obstacles in your path, miss.’

  ‘Obstacles?’

  ‘Owing to the fact that you and Mr Carmody have frequently entrusted me with your – may I say surreptitious correspondence, I have long been cognizant of your sentiments towards one another, miss. I am aware that it is your desire to contract a union with Mr Carmody, and I knew that there would be objections raised on the part of certain members of the family.’

  ‘So far,’ said Hugo critically, ‘this sounds to me like drivel of the purest water. But go on.’

  �
�Thank you, sir. And then it occurred to me that, were his lordship’s pig to disappear, his lordship would, on recovering the animal, be extremely grateful to whoever restored it. It was my intention to apprise you of the animal’s whereabouts, and suggest that you should inform his lordship that you had discovered it. In his gratitude, I fancied, his lordship would consent to the union.’

  There could never be complete silence in any spot where Empress of Blandings was partaking of food; but something as near silence as was possible followed this speech. In the rays of the lantern Hugo’s eyes met Millicent’s. In hers, as in his, there was a look of stunned awe. They had heard of faithful old servitors. They had read about faithful old servitors. They had seen faithful old servitors on the stage. But never had they dreamed that faithful old servitors could be as faithful as this.

  ‘Oh, Beach!’said Millicent.

  She had used the words before. But how different this ‘Oh, Beach!’ was from that other, earlier ‘Oh, Beach!’ On that occasion, the exclamation had been vibrant with reproach, pain, disillusionment. Now, it contained gratitude, admiration, an affection almost too deep for speech.

  And the same may be said of Hugo’s ‘Gosh!’

  ‘Beach,’ cried Millicent, ‘you’re an angel!’

  ‘Thank you, miss.’

  ‘A topper!’ agreed Hugo.

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  ‘However did you get such a corking idea?’

  ‘It came to me, miss.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what it is, Beach,’ said Hugo earnestly. ‘When you hand in your dinner-pail in due course of time – and may the moment be long distant! – you’ve got to leave your brain to the nation. You’ve simply got to. Have it pickled and put in the British Museum, because it’s the outstanding brain of the century. I never heard of anything so brilliant in my puff. Of course the old boy will be all over us.’

  ‘He’ll do anything for us,’ said Millicent.

  ‘This is not merely a scheme. It is more. It is an egg. Pray silence for your chairman. I want to think.’

  Outside, the storm had passed. Birds were singing. Far away, the thunder still rumbled. It might have been the sound of Hugo’s thoughts, leaping and jostling one another.

  ‘I’ve worked it all out,’ said Hugo at length. ‘Some people might say, Rush to the old boy now and tell him we’ve found his pig. I say, No. In my opinion we ought to hold this pig for a rising market. The longer we wait, the more grateful he will be. Give him another forty-eight hours, I suggest, and he will have reached the stage where he will deny us nothing.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘No! Act precipitately and we are undone. Don’t forget that it is not merely a question of getting your uncle’s consent to our union. We’ve got to break it to him that you aren’t going to marry Ronnie. And the family have always been pretty keen on your marrying Ronnie. To my mind, another forty-eight hours at the very least is essential.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right.’

  ‘I know I’m right.’

  ‘Then we’ll simply leave the Empress here?’

  ‘No,’ said Hugo decidedly. ‘This place doesn’t strike me as safe. If we found her here, anybody might. We require a new safe-deposit, and I know the very one. It’s . . .’

  Beach came out of the silence. His manner betrayed agitation.

  ‘If it is all the same to you, sir, I would much prefer not to hear it.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘It would be a great relief to me, sir, to be able to expunge the entire matter from my mind. I have been under a considerable mental strain of late, sir, and I really don’t think I could bear any more of it. Besides, supposing I were questioned, sir. It may be my imagination, but I have rather fancied from the way he has looked at me occasionally that Mr Baxter harbours suspicions.’

  ‘Baxter always harbours suspicions about something,’ said Millicent.

  ‘Yes, miss. But in this case they are well-grounded, and if it is all the same to you and Mr Carmody, I would greatly prefer that he was not in a position to go on harbouring them.’

  ‘All right, Beach,’ said Hugo. ‘After what you have done for us, your lightest wish is law. You can be out of this, if you want to. Though I was going to suggest that, if you cared to go on feeding the animal . . .’

  ‘No, sir . . . really . . . if you please . . .’

  ‘Right ho, then. Come along, Millicent. We must be shifting.’

  Are you going to take her away now?’

  ‘This very moment. I pass this handkerchief through the handy ring which you observe in the nose and . . . Ho! Allez-oop! Good-bye, Beach. It is a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done – I think.’

  ‘Good-bye, Beach,’ said Millicent. ‘I can’t tell you how grateful we are.’

  ‘I am glad to have given satisfaction, miss. I wish you every success and happiness, sir.’

  Left alone, the butler drew in his breath till he swelled like a balloon, then poured it out again in a long, sighing puff. He picked up the lantern and left the cottage. His walk was the walk of a butler from whose shoulders a great weight has rolled.

  V

  It is a fact not generally known, for a nice sense of the dignity of his position restrained him from exercising it, that Beach possessed a rather attractive singing-voice. It was a mellow baritone, in timbre not unlike that which might have proceeded from a cask of very old, dry sherry, had it had vocal cords; and we cannot advance a more striking proof of the lightness of heart which had now come upon him than by mentioning that, as he walked home through the wood, he broke his rigid rule and definitely warbled.

  ‘There’s a light in thy bow-er.’

  sang Beach,

  ‘A light in thy BOW-er . . .’

  He felt more like a gay young second footman than a butler of years’ standing. He listened to the birds with an uplifted heart. Upon the rabbits that sported about his path he bestowed a series of indulgent smiles. The shadow that had darkened his life had passed away. His conscience was at rest.

  So completely was this so that when, on reaching the house, he was informed by Footman James that Lord Emsworth had been inquiring for him and desired his immediate presence in the library, he did not even tremble. A brief hour ago, and what menace this announcement would have seemed to him to hold. But now it left him calm. It was with some little difficulty that, as he mounted the stairs, he kept himself from resuming his song.‘Er – Beach.’

  ‘Your lordship?’

  The butler now became aware that his employer was not alone. Dripping in an unpleasant manner on the carpet, for he seemed somehow to have got himself extremely wet, stood the Efficient Baxter. Beach regarded him with a placid eye. What was Baxter to him or he to Baxter now?

  ‘Your lordship?’ he said again, for Lord Emsworth appeared to be experiencing some difficulty in continuing the conversation.

  ‘Eh? What? What? Oh, yes.’

  The ninth Earl braced himself with a visible effort.

  ‘Er – Beach.’

  ‘Your lordship?’

  ‘I-er-I sent for you, Beach . . .’

  ‘Yes, your lordship?’

  At this moment Lord Emsworth’s eye fell on a volume on the desk dealing with Diseases in Pigs. He seemed to draw strength from it.

  ‘Beach,’ he said, in quite a crisp, masterful voice, ‘I sent for you because Mr Baxter has made a remarkable charge against you. Most extraordinary.’

  ‘I should be glad to be acquainted with the gravamen of the accusation, your lordship.’

  ‘The what?’ asked Lord Emsworth, starting.

  ‘If your lordship would be kind enough to inform me of the substance of Mr Baxter’s charge?’

  ‘Oh, the substance? Yes. You mean the substance? Precisely. Quite so. The substance. Yes, to be sure. Quite so. Quite so. Yes, Exactly. No doubt.’

  It was plain to the butler that his employer had begun to dodder. Left to himself this human cuckoo-clock would go maundering on li
ke this indefinitely. Respectfully, but with the necessary firmness, he called him to order.

  ‘What is it that Mr Baxter says, your lordship?’

  ‘Eh? Oh, tell him, Baxter. Yes, tell him, dash it.’

  The Efficient Baxter moved a step closer and began to drip on another part of the carpet. His spectacles gleamed determinedly. Here was no stammering, embarrassed Peer of the Realm, but a man who knew his own mind and could speak it.

  ‘I followed you to the gamekeeper’s cottage in the West Wood just now, Beach.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You heard what I said.’

  ‘Undoubtedly, sir. But I fancied I must be mistaken. I have not been to the spot you mention, sir.’

  ‘I saw you with my own eyes.’

  ‘I can only repeat my asseveration, sir,’ said the butler with a saintly meekness.

  Lord Emsworth, who had taken another look at Diseases in Pigs, became brisk again.

  ‘He says he peeped through the window, dash it.’

  Beach raised a respectful eyebrow. It was as if he had said that it was not his place to comment on the pastimes of the Castle’s guests, however childish. If Mr Baxter wished to go out into the woods in the rain and play solitary games of Peep-Bo, that, said the eyebrow, that was a matter that concerned Mr Baxter alone.

  ‘And you were in there, he says, feeding the Empress.’

  Your lordship?’

  ‘And you were in there . . . Dash it, you heard.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, your lordship, but I really fail to comprehend.’

  ‘Well, if you want it in a nutshell, Mr Baxter says it was you who stole my pig.’

  There were few things in the world that the butler considered worth raising both eyebrows at. This was one of the few. He stood for a moment, exhibiting them to Lord Emsworth; then turned to Baxter, so that he could see them, too. This done, he lowered them and permitted about three-eighths of a smile to play for a moment about his lips.

  ‘Might I speak frankly, your lordship?’

  ‘Dash it, man, we want you to speak frankly. That’s the whole idea. That’s why I sent for you. We want a full confession and the name of your accomplice and all that sort of thing.’