However, being a sweet-tempered popinjay and always anxious to oblige, he switched it off. He was feeling a little puzzled. The atmosphere seemed to him to lack chumminess, and he was at a loss to account for it.
‘Nice day,’ he observed tentatively. ‘Never mind the day.’
‘Right ho. Heard from Uncle Gregory lately?’
‘Never mind your Uncle Gregory.’
‘Right ho.’
‘And don’t say “Right ho.”’
‘Right ho,’ said Monty dutifully.
‘Read this.’
Monty took the proffered copy of Tots.
‘You want me to read aloud to you?’ he said, feeling that this was matter.
‘You need not trouble. I have already seen the passage in question. Here, where I am pointing.’
‘Oh, ah, yes. Uncle Woggly. Right ho.’
‘Will you stop saying “Right ho”!.. .Well?’
‘Eh?’
‘You wrote that, I take it?’
‘Oh, rather.’
‘Cor!’
Monty was now definitely perplexed. He could conceal it from himself no longer that there was ill-will in the air. Lord Tilbury’s had never been an elfin personality, but he had always been a good deal more winsome than this.
A possible solution of his employer’s emotion occurred to him.
‘You aren’t worrying about it not being accurate, are you? Because that’s quite all right I had it on the highest authority—from an old boy called Galahad Threepwood. Lord Emsworth’s brother. You wouldn’t have heard of him, of course, but he was a great lad about the metropolis at one time, and you can rely absolutely on anything he says about whisky bottles.’
He broke off, puzzled once more. He could not understand what had caused his companion to strike the desk in that violent manner.
‘What the devil do you mean, you wretched imbecile,’ demanded Lord Tilbury, speaking a little indistinctly, for he was sucking his fist, ‘by putting stuff of this sort in Tiny Tots?’
‘You don’t like it?’ said Monty groping.
‘How do you suppose the mothers who read that drivel to their children will feel?’ Monty was concerned. This opened up a new line of thought.
‘Wrong tone, do you think?’
‘Mugs… Betting… Whisky… You have probably lost us ten thousand subscribers.’
‘I say, that never occurred to me. Yes, by Jove, I see what you mean now. Unfortunate slip, what? May quite easily cause alarm and despondency. Yes, yes, yes, to be sure. Oh, yes, indeed. Well, I can only say I’m sorry.’
‘You can not only say you are sorry,’ said Lord Tilbury, correcting this view, ‘you can go to the cashier, draw a month’s salary, get to blazes out of here, and never let me see your face in the building again.’
Monty’s concern increased.
‘But this sounds like the sack. Don’t tell me that what you are hinting at is the sack?’
Speech failed Lord Tilbury. He jerked his thumb doorwards. And such was the magic of his personality that Monty found himself a moment later with his fingers on the handle. Its cold hardness seemed to wake him from a trance. He halted, making a sort of Custer’s Last Stand.
‘Reflect!’ he said.
Lord Tilbury busied himself with his papers.
‘Uncle Gregory won’t like this,’ said Monty reproachfully.
Lord Tilbury quivered for an instant as if somebody had stuck a bradawl into him, but preserved an aloof silence.
‘Well, he won’t, you know.’ Monty had no wish to be severe, but he felt compelled to point this out. ‘He takes all the trouble to get me a job, I mean to say, and now this happens. Oh, no, don’t deceive yourself, Uncle Gregory will be vexed.’
‘Get out,’ said Lord Tilbury.
Monty fondled the door handle for a space, marshalling his thoughts. He had that to say which he rather fancied would melt the other’s heart a goodish bit, but he was not quite sure how to begin.
‘Haven’t you gone?’ said Lord Tilbury. Monty reassured him.
‘Not yet. The fact is, there’s something I rather wanted to call to your attention. You don’t know it, but for private and personal reasons I particularly want to hold this Tiny Tots job for a year. There are wheels within wheels. It’s a sort of bet, as a matter of fact.
Have you ever met a girl called Gertrude Butterwick?.. .However, it’s a long story and I won’t bother you with it now. But you can take it from me that there definitely are wheels within wheels and unless I continue in your employment, till somewhere around the middle of next June, my life will be a blank and all my hopes and dreams shattered. So how about it? Would you, on second thoughts, taking this into consideration, feel disposed to postpone the rash act till then? If you’ve any doubts as to my doing my bit, dismiss them. I would work like the dickens. First at the office, last to come away, and solid, selfless service all the time—no clock-watching, no folding of the hands in…’
‘Get OUT!’ said Lord Tilbury.
There was a silence.
‘You will not reconsider?’
‘No.’
‘You are not to be moved?’
‘No.’
Monty Bodkin drew himself up.
‘Oh, right ho,’ he said stiffly. ‘Now we know where we are. Now we know where we stand. If that is the attitude you take, I suppose there is nothing to be done about it. Since you have no heart, no sympathy, no feeling, no bowels—of compassion, I mean -I have no alternative but to shove off. I have only two things to say to you, Lord Tilbury. One is that you have ruined a man’s life. The other is Pip-pip.’
He passed from the room, erect and dignified, like some young aristocrat of the French Revolution stepping into the tumbril. Lord Tilbury’s secretary removed her ear from the door just in time to avoid a nasty flesh-wound.
A month’s salary in his pocket, chagrin in his heart, and in his soul that urgent desire for a quick one which comes to young men at times like this, Monty Bodkin stood hesitating in the doorway of Tilbury House. And Fate, watching him, found itself compelled to do a bit of swift thinking.
‘Now, shall I,’ mused Fate, ‘send this sufferer to have his snort at the Bunch of Grapes round the corner? Or shall I put him in a taxi and shoot him off to the Drones Club, where he will meet his old friend, Hugo Carmody, with momentous results?’
It was no light decision to have to make. Much depended on it. It would affect the destinies of Ronald Fish and his betrothed, Sue Brown; of Clarence, ninth Earl of Emsworth, and his pig, Empress of Blandings; of Lord Tilbury, of the Mammoth Publishing Company; of Sir Gregory Parsloe-Parsloe, Bart, of Matchingham Hall; and of that unpleasant little man, Percy Pilbeam, late editor of Society Spice and now proprietor of the Argus Private Inquiry Agency.
‘H’m!‘said Fate.
‘Oh, dash it!’ said Fate.‘Let’s make it the Drones.’
And so it came about that Monty, some twenty minutes later, was seated in the club smoking-room, side by side with young Mr Carmody, sipping a Lizard’s Breath and relating the story of his shattered career.
‘Turfed out!’ he concluded, with a bitter laugh.’ Driven into the snow! Well, that’s Life, I suppose.’
Hugo Carmody was not unsympathetic, but he had a fair mind and privately considered that Lord Tilbury had acted with great good sense. Obviously, felt Hugo, the whole secret of success, if you were running a business and had Monty Bodkin working for you, was to get rid of him at the earliest possible moment.
‘Tough,’ he said. ‘Still, what do you want with a job? You’re rolling in the stuff.’
Monty admitted that he was not unblessed with this world’s goods, but said that that was not the point.
‘Money’s got nothing to do with it. It was holding down the job that mattered. There are wheels within wheels. I’ll tell you all about it, shall I?’
‘No thanks.’
‘Just as you like. Another spot? Waiter, two more spots.’
‘Anyway,
’ said Hugo, with a kindly desire to point out the bright side,’ if you hadn’t got fired now, you’d have been bound to have got fired sooner or later, what? I mean to say, I don’t see how you could ever have been much good to a concern like the Mammoth, unless they had used you as a paperweight. And I’ll bet you were all wrong about that whisky bottle.’
Monty’s spirit had been a good deal reduced by recent happenings, but he could not let this pass.
‘I’ll bet I wasn’t,’ he said warmly.’ I had the information straight from an authoritative source. Lord Emsworth’s brother, old Gally Threepwood. My Uncle Gregory’s place in Shropshire is only about a couple of miles from Blandings, and when I was a kid I used to be popping in and out all the time, and one day old Gally drew me aside…’ Hugo was interested.
‘Your Uncle Gregory? Would that be Sir Gregory Parsloe?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, well. I never knew you were Parsloe’s nephew.’
‘Why, have you met him?’
‘Of course I’ve met him. I’ve been down at Blandings all the summer.’
‘Not really? Oh, but, of course, I was forgetting. You and Ronnie Fish have always been pals, haven’t you? You were staying with him?’
‘No. I was secretarying for old Emsworth. A nice, soft job. I’ve chucked it now.’
‘I thought a fellow called Baxter was his secretary.’
‘My dear chap, you aren’t abreast. Baxter left ages ago.’
Monty sighed, as a young man will who is made to realize that time is passing.
‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘I’ve lost touch with Blandings a bit. It must be three years since I was there. Somehow, ever since this business of going to the South of France in the summer started, I’ve never seemed to be able to get down. How are they all? Is old Emsworth much about the same?’
‘What was he like when you used to infest the place?’
‘Oh, a mild, dreamy, absent-minded sort of old bird. Talked about nothing but roses and pumpkins.’
‘Then he is much about the same, except that now he talks about nothing but pigs.’
‘Pigs, eh?’
‘His Empress of Blandings won the silver medal in the Fat Pigs’ Class at last year’s Shropshire Agricultural Show, and is confidently expected to repeat this year. This gives the ninth Earl’s conversation a porcine trend.’
‘How’s old Gally?’
‘Still going strong.’
‘And Beach?’
‘Buttling away as hard as ever.’
‘Well, well, well,’ said Monty sentimentally. ‘The old spot certainly doesn’t seem to have changed much since … Good Lord!’ he exclaimed abruptly, spilling the remains of his cocktail over his trousers and in his emotion not noticing it. He had been electrified by a sudden idea.
Although since his arrival at the Drones we have seen Monty Bodkin relaxed, at his ease, chatting of this and that, he had never forgotten that he had just lost a job and that, owing to there being wheels within wheels, it was imperative that he secure another. And a bright light had just flashed upon him.
Minds like Monty Bodkin’s may not always work at express speed, but they are subject to the same subconscious processes as those of more brain-burdened men. Right from the moment when Hugo had mentioned that he had been acting as secretary to the Earl of Emsworth, he had had a sort of nebulous idea that there was a big and important message wrapped up in this information, if only he could locate it. His subconscious mind had been having a go at the problem ever since, and now it passed the solution up to headquarters.
He quivered with excitement.
‘Just a second,’ he said.’ Let’s get this straight. You say you were old Emsworth’s secretary.’
‘Yes.’
‘And you’ve been fired?’
‘I have not been fired,’ said Hugo Carmody with justifiable annoyance, ‘I’ve resigned. If you really want to know, I’m engaged to Lord Emsworth’s niece, and I’m taking her down to Worcestershire in about half an hour to meet the head of the clan.’
Monty was too preoccupied to offer felicitations.
‘When did you leave?’
‘Day before yesterday.’
‘Anybody been engaged to take your place?’
‘Not that I know of.’
‘Hugo,’ said Monty earnestly, ‘I’m going to get that job. I’m going to phone straight off to my uncle Gregory to snaffle it for me without delay.’
Hugo looked at him commiseratingly. It was painful to him to be in the position of having to throw spanners into an old friend’s daydreams, but he felt the poor chap ought to be told the truth.
‘I shouldn’t count too much on Sir G. Parsloe getting you jobs with old Emsworth,’ he said. ‘As I remarked before, you aren’t quite abreast of modern Blandings history. Relations between Blandings Castle and Matchingham Hall are a bit strained just at the moment. Not long ago your uncle did the dirty on old Emsworth by luring his pig-man away from him.’
‘Oh, a little thing like that…’
‘Well, try this one. Lord Emsworth has a fixed idea that your uncle is plotting to nobble Empress of Blandings.’
‘What! Why?’
‘He’s got it all worked out. Your uncle owns a pig called Pride of Matchingham, and with the Empress out of the way it would probably cop the silver medal at the Show. So when the Empress was stolen the other day…’
‘Stolen! Who stole her?’
‘Ronnie.’
Monty’s head, never strong, was beginning to swim.
‘What Ronnie? Do you mean Ronnie Fish?’
‘That’s right. It’s a complicated story. Ronnie’s engaged to a girl, and he can’t marry her unless old Emsworth coughs up his money.’
‘He’s Ronnie’s trustee?’
‘Yes.’
‘Trustees are tough eggs,’ said Monty thoughtfully. ‘I had one till I was twenty-five, and it used to take me weeks of patient spadework to extract so much as a tenner from the man.’
‘So, in order to ingratiate himself with old Emsworth, Ronnie pinched his pig.’
Once more Monty became conscious of that swimming sensation. He could not follow this.
‘But why-?’
‘Quite simple. His idea was to kidnap the pig, hide it somewhere for a day or two, and then pretend to find it and so win the old boy’s gratitude. After which, to have put the bite on him would have been an easy task. It was a very sound scheme indeed. Of course, it all went wrong. Any scheme of Ronnie’s would.’
‘What went wrong?’
‘Well, various unforeseen events occurred, and in the end the animal was discovered in a caravan belonging to Baxter. I told you it was a little complicated,’ said Hugo kindly, noting the strained expression on his friend’s face.
Monty agreed, but on one point he found himself reasonably clear.
‘Then old Emsworth must have known that my uncle didn’t steal the pig? I mean, if it was found in Baxter’s…’
‘Not at all. He thinks Baxter was working for your uncle. I tell you once more, as I was saying at the beginning, that, taking it by and large, I don’t think I’d rely too much on Sir Gregory’s pull, if I were you.’
Monty chewed his lip thoughtfully.
‘There’s no harm in trying.’
‘Oh, have a shot, by all means. I’m only saying it isn’t one of those stone-cold certainties that old Emsworth will engage you as his secretary purely out of love for Sir G. Parsloe.’ Hugo looked at the clock, and rose. ‘I’ve got to be going,’ he said,’ if I don’t want to miss that train.’
Monty accompanied him to the front steps, and Hugo hailed a cab.
‘It might work,’ said Monty pensively.
‘Oh, rather. Certainly.’
‘They might have had a what-is-it—a reconciliation by this time.’
‘I didn’t see any signs of it when I left. And now I must really rush,’ said Hugo, getting into the cab. ‘Oh, by the way,’ he added, leaning out of
the window, ‘there’s just one thing. If you do go to Blandings, you’ll find the second prettiest girl in England there. Keep well away, is my advice.’
‘Eh?’
‘Ronnie’s fiancee. They’re both at the Castle, and if you exhibit too much enthusiasm about her he is extremely apt to strangle you with his bare hands. Personally,’ said Hugo, ‘I regard jealousy as a mug’s game, my view being that where there is thingummy there should be what-d’you-call-it. Perfect love, ditto trust. But Ronnie belongs more to the Othello or green-eyed monster school of thought. He was so jealous of a fellow called Pilbeam that he went so far on one occasion as to wreck a restaurant when he found him apparently dining with Sue in it. Oh, yes, a bird of strong feelings and keen sensibilities, old Ronnie.’
‘How do you mean apparently dining?’
‘She was really dining with me. Blameless Hugo. But Ronnie didn’t know that. He discovered Sue in conversation with this Pilbeam—you’ll find him at the Castle too,…’
‘Sue?’ said Monty.
‘Her name’s Sue. Sue Brown.’
‘What!’
‘Sue Brown.’
‘Not Sue Brown? You don’t mean a girl called Sue Brown who was in the chorus at the Regal?’
‘That’s the one. You seem to know her.’
‘Know her? I should say I do know her. Certainly I know her. I haven’t seen her for about a couple of years, but at one time … Dear old Sue! Good old Sue! One of the sweetest things on earth, old Sue. You don’t often come across such a ripper. Why…’
Hugo shook his head deprecatingly.
‘Precisely the spirit against which I am warning you. Just the very tone you would do well to avoid. I think we may say that it is an excellent thing that your chances of getting to Blandings Castle are so remote. I should hate to read in my morning paper that your swollen body had been found floating in the lake.’
For some moments after the cab had rolled away, Monty remained in deep thought on the steps. The news that Sue Brown, of all people, was at Blandings Castle had certainly made the prospect of securing employment there additionally attractive. It would be great seeing old Sue again.
Blanding Castle Omnibus Page 108