Blanding Castle Omnibus

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘Well, of course I entered for it.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Gally, surprised that any other action should be considered possible. ‘How much were the tickets?’

  ‘Ten pounds.’

  ‘Ten pounds? Shillings, you must mean.

  ‘No, pounds. It happened to be at a time when there was an unusual lot of money about. So I put up my tenner, and Sandy gave me the devil. She said I was just throwing it away. She had been a bit austere a few weeks previously when, hoping to bump up my little savings, I speculated on the races and dropped twenty quid.’

  Gally nodded. He thought he could see where the narrative was heading.

  ‘And your ten went down the drain and she said “I told you so“?‘

  ‘No, I had the most amazing luck. There were only two entries really in the running—Austin Phelps, the tennis player, you’ve probably heard of him, his name’s always in the papers, and Tipton Plimsoll, an American fellow. He’s engaged to a girl called Something Wedge.’

  ‘Veronica Wedge. My niece. So you know our Tipton?’

  ‘No, we’ve never met. We don’t even know each other by sight. He’s mostly in America and hardly ever comes to the club. He’s in America now, but I understand he’s coming over here very soon and the wedding will take place directly he arrives.’

  ‘That’s right. It’s fixed for early in September. Big affair. It’ll be at Blandings, with the whole county at the reception.’

  ‘Oh? Well, naturally, when I drew the Plimsoll ticket and heard next day that Phelps’s engagement had been broken off for some reason, I thought I was on velvet.’

  ‘And aren’t you?’

  ‘It depends on how you look at it. I’m bound to collect the sweep money, which amounts to over five hundred pounds, but I’ve lost Sandy.’

  Gally shook his head.

  ‘I don’t get it. I’d have thought she would have flung her arms round you and looked up at you with adoring eyes and murmured “My hero!”‘

  ‘You don’t know all.’

  ‘How the hell can I if you don’t tell me?’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you.’

  ‘Well, get on with it.’

  III

  Sam refreshed his drink. He was an abstemious young man as a rule, but this morning, possibly because of the disturbances in his love life, possibly because the mere presence of Galahad Threepwood nearly always turned the thoughts of those with whom he forgathered in the direction of alcohol, he felt impelled to indulge. He took a deep draught and resumed.

  ‘She couldn’t forgive the stand I took about the syndicate.’

  Gally stirred in his chair, exasperated. An accomplished raconteur himself, he chafed when others were obscure. He was thinking that if this was his young friend’s customary way of telling a story, it was madness on his part to suppose that anything of his, no matter how strong its kitten interest, would have a chance of acceptance by a discriminating organ like Wee Tots. His monocle flashed fire.

  ‘What syndicate? Which syndicate? What do you mean, the syndicate?’

  ‘I was approached by a syndicate,’ said Sam, suddenly becoming lucid, ‘who offered me a hundred pounds for my Plimsoll ticket.’

  Gally started.

  ‘You weren’t ass enough to take it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good boy,’ said Gally, relieved. ‘I thought for a moment you were going to tell me you did.’

  Sam scowled at an inoffensive fly which was stropping its back legs on the syphon.

  ‘It might have been better if I had,’ he said morosely. ‘That was what Sandy and I split up about. She wanted me to close with the offer. Her view was that a sure hundred was money in the bank, while an uncertain five wasn’t.’

  Gally nodded sagely.

  ‘Women are notoriously deficient in sporting blood. They resent one having a flutter and going for the big stakes. I remember when I was a kid, someone gave me ten bob on my birthday and influenced by a hot tip from the local hairdresser when he was cutting my hair I planked the entire sum on the nose of a long-priced outsider for the Grand National. You never heard such a fuss as the female members of my family made when the story broke. I couldn’t have got nastier notices if I’d been caught burgling the Bank of England. My selection wasn’t placed, unfortunately, which made it worse. So what happened?’

  ‘Oh, we argued for hours, and when I remained firm and absolutely refused to take the syndicate offer, she blew her top.’

  ‘Girls with her shade of hair are sadly apt to. I’ve often wondered why Nature, widely publicised as being infinite in its wisdom, should have made the grave mistake of creating redheads, always so impulsive and quick on the trigger. If she had been a brunette or a platinum blonde, this tragedy would never have occurred. So she gave you back the ring?’

  ‘She threw it at me. You may have noticed the slight abrasion on my left cheek.’

  ‘And now she’s returned your letters. All because of your larger vision. All because you very properly saw that more was to be gained by taking a chance. You say you argued for hours. Had her arguments any sense in them?’

  Sam had been sorely hurt, but he was fair and could give credit where credit was due.

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose they had in away. When she was working for his uncle, she saw a lot of this fellow Plimsoll, and she said he was always getting engaged and nothing ever came of it. She said it would be the same with your niece. Apparently girls who get engaged to him have second thoughts.’

  ‘Veronica won’t.’

  ‘What makes you so sure of that?’

  ‘The fact that since Sandy knew him his uncle has died, leaving him millions. My sister Hermione will see to it that her ewe lamb doesn’t get ideas into her head. You can take it as certain that whatever false starts Tipton Plimsoll may have made in the matrimonial race in the past, this time the wedding is going to come off.’

  ‘Well, that’s good, of course, but it doesn’t alter the fact that I’ve lost Sandy.’

  ‘Are you sure she’s the right girl for you?’

  ‘Quite sure. No argument about that.’

  ‘Well, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’ve found her charming, and I suppose she can’t help having that feminine streak of caution. The best of girls always want to play it safe. Yes, I think she’s the mate for you.’

  ‘But she doesn’t.’

  ‘Temporarily, perhaps. But she’ll come round. You only have to talk to her quietly and reasonably and she’ll be co-operative all right.’

  ‘How can I talk to her? She’s at Blandings Castle and I’m in London.’

  Gally’s eyebrows rose, but such was his personal magnetism that the monocle remained in its place. He stared at Sam incredulously.

  ‘You aren’t proposing to remain in London?’

  ‘Where else?’

  ‘My dear boy, have you no spirit, no enterprise? You must take the first train to Market Blandings. I say Market Blandings because I am unfortunately not in a position to invite you to the castle. My sister Hermione is in charge there, and for some reason all my sisters have got the idea that if someone’s a friend of mine, he must be a rat of the underworld. No guest of my inviting would last a minute in the dear old place. Hermione would get a grip on his trouser seat and he would find himself flung out on his ear before he had finished unpacking. No, what you do is go to Market Blandings, take a room at the Emsworth Arms and lie in wait. Sandy is always bicycling to Market Blandings to change library books and so on. You’re on the watch, and you spring out at her from behind a lamp post and go into your sales talk. Girls like being sprung out at. They take it as a compliment. At your age I was always springing out at girls I’d had some little disagreement with, and it never failed to lead to a peaceful settlement.’

  ‘But suppose she doesn’t bicycle to Market Blandings?’

  ‘Then we must arrange a meeting on Visitors’ Day.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Thursday of each
week is Visitors’ Day at the castle. You cough up half-a-crown and Beach, our butler shows you round. The battlements, the portrait gallery, the amber drawing-room, all that sort of thing. The customers come from Wolverhampton, Bridgnorth and other centres. All you have to do is join the mob and there you are. The thing’s in the bag.’

  His enthusiasm began to infect Sam.

  ‘It certainly sounds good,’ he agreed. ‘But how do I get hold of Sandy?’

  ‘I’ll bring her along.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Yes, we must fix a meeting place. We’d better make it the Empress’s sty.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The residence of Empress of Blandings, my brother’s prize pig.’

  ‘Oh, I see. How do I find it?’

  Anyone will tell you where it is. It’s one of the Blandings’ landmarks. So I may expect you shortly?’

  ‘I’ll take a train to Market Blandings this afternoon.

  ‘That’s the way I like to hear you talk. Give me a ring on the telephone when you arrive. And now,’ said Gally, ‘I must be getting along to Barribault’s and picking up Clarence.

  IV

  Having been carefully informed by Sandy Callender on the telephone the previous evening that he would be calling for him shortly before one and it now being twelve fifty-four Lord Emsworth was naturally astounded to see Gally. He was sitting in the lounge when Gally reached Barribault’s Hotel, his long lean body draped like a wet sock on a chair, and he appeared to be thinking of absolutely nothing. His mild face wore the dazed look it always wore when he was in London, a city that disturbed and bewildered him. Unlike his younger brother to whom it had always been an earthly Paradise, he was allergic to England’s metropolis and counted each minute lost that he was obliged to spend there. He rose like a snake hurriedly uncoiling itself and his pince-nez flew from his nose and danced at the end of their string, their invariable habit when he was startled.

  ‘God bless my soul! Galahad!’

  ‘In person. Weren’t you expecting me?’

  ‘Eh? Oh yes, of course, yes. You’re looking very well, Galahad.’

  ‘You, too, Clarence. Your travels have given you a sparkle.’

  ‘Have you lunched?’

  ‘What, at my own expense with you all eagerness to fill me to the brim at yours? Not likely,’ said Gally. ‘Let’s go in, shall we, and as we fortify ourselves for the drive home you can tell me about your American adventures—what shows you saw, what bars you were thrown out of and so on, and I’ll give you the latest news from Blandings.’

  Quite a number of his acquaintances, most of them looking like men whom the police were anxious to interview because they had reason to believe that they might be able to assist them in their enquiries, accosted Gally as he went through the grill-room, and he had a good deal of stopping and passing the time of the day to do. It was consequently not for some little while that he and Lord Emsworth were at their table, dealing with their orders of sole mornay and able to take up the thread of their conversation again.

  Gally was the first to speak.

  ‘Well, Clarence, what did you think of America?’

  ‘Extraordinary country. You know it well, don’t you?’

  ‘Oh yes, I was always popping in and out of it in the old days. You found it extraordinary, you say?’

  ‘Very. Those tea bags.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘They serve your tea in little bags.’

  ‘So they do. I remember.’

  ‘And when you ask for a boiled egg, they bring it to you mashed up in a glass.’

  ‘You don’t like it that way?’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘Then the smart thing to do is not to ask for a boiled egg.’

  ‘True,’ said Lord Emsworth, who had not thought of that.

  ‘Though the way things are going now over there, you’re lucky if you’re able to afford boiled eggs.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Didn’t you read in the papers about the crash on the American Stock Exchange?’

  ‘I did not see any papers while I was in New York. They left one outside my door every morning, but I never read it. Has there been a crash on the Stock Exchange?’

  And how! Fellows jumping out of windows in droves.’

  ‘That’s America for you. One day you’re a millionaire, the next you’re selling apples.’

  ‘Selling apples?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Why apples?’

  ‘Why not apples?’

  ‘True. Do you think Constance’s husband—I forget his name—is selling apples?’

  ‘I don’t imagine so. I remember him telling me his money was mostly in Government bonds. How was the wedding, by the way? Did you get Connie off all right?’

  ‘Yes. Oh yes. They are spending the honeymoon at a town called Cape Cod.’

  ‘I know it well. Cape Cod, the Forbidden City. But something in your eye tells me you don’t want to talk about Connie and her nuptials, you want to be brought up to date on the latest happenings at Blandings. Let me think. Well, I suppose the first thing you’ll want to hear is how the Empress has been getting on in your absence. You will be relieved to learn that she’s as robust as ever, her health all that her friends and well-wishers could desire. Rosy cheeks and sparking eyes. Under the ministrations of Monica Simmons she has flourished like a green bay tree. You’ll be glad to see her again.

  ‘Yes, yes, oh yes indeed. And it is wonderful to think that Constance will not be there to look disapproving and make clicking noises with her tongue when I go off to the sty. You’ve no idea how I am looking forward to settling down at Blandings without.., well, of course nobody could be fonder of Constance than I am, but...’

  ‘I get your meaning, Clarence. No need to be apologetic about it. You know and I know that Connie was a Grade A pest.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘I would.’

  ‘But she was very autocratic.’

  ‘Very. Bossy is perhaps the word.’

  ‘Odd how all our sisters are like that.’

  ‘I’ve always said it was a mistake to have sisters. We should have set our faces against it from the outset.’

  ‘Constance ... Dora ... Julia ... Hermione ... How they oppressed me! None of them would ever leave me alone. They were always wanting me to do things, always saying I must keep up my position.’

  ‘That’s what you get for being the head of the family. We younger sons escape all that sort of thing.’

  ‘Hermione, of course, was the worst of them, but fortunately she was not very often at Blandings, while Constance was there all the time. You never attended the annual school treat, did you, Galahad?’

  ‘Too much sense.’

  ‘Constance always made me wear a top hat for it.’

  ‘I’ll bet you were a sensation.’

  ‘And a stiff collar. Yes, I must confess that, devoted as I am to Constance, it will be a wonderful relief to be free from feminine society. The peace of it! By the way, who was that who spoke to me on the telephone yesterday? A strange female voice.’

  ‘You can hardly expect me to keep tab on all the strange female voices that ring you up on the telephone. You know what a dog you are with the other sex.

  Lord Emsworth allowed this innuendo to pass, probably feeling that his reputation needed no defending. Since the death of his wife twenty-five years ago he had made something of a life work of avoiding women. In sharp contradistinction to Gally, who liked nothing better than their society and in his younger days had always been happiest when knee deep in ballet girls and barmaids, he had taken considerable pains to keep them at a distance. He could not hope, of course, to evade them altogether for women have a nasty way of popping up at unexpected moments, but he was quick on his feet and his policy of suddenly disappearing like a diving duck had had excellent results. It was now pretty generally accepted in his little circle that he was not a ladies’
man and that any woman who tried to get a civil word out of him did so at her own risk.

  ‘She was speaking from Blandings. She said you would be coming here today to pick me up. She told me her name ... now what did she say her name was?’

  ‘Callender. Sandy Callender. She’s your secretary.’

  ‘But I have no secretary.’

  ‘Yes, you have.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken, Galahad.’

  ‘No, I’m not. She’s your secretary all right. Hermione engaged her.’

  Lord Emsworth was a mild man, but he could be roused to wrath.

  ‘Meddlesome and officious!’ he cried, his eyes gleaming militantly behind their pince-nez. ‘High-handed impertinence! What business has Hermione to engage secretaries for me? When did she do this?’

  ‘Shortly after her arrival at Blandings.’

  The sole lay untasted on Lord Emsworth’s plate, the hock unsipped in his wine glass. His pince-nez had gone adrift again and his nude eyes glazed at Gally with a horror that touched the latter’s heart.

  ‘Hermione’s not at Blandings?’ he quavered.

  Gally patted his hand sympathetically. He knew how he felt. ‘I’ve been wondering all this time how to break it to you, Clarence. I was planning to do it gently, but perhaps the surgeon’s knife is best. Yes, Hermione has moved in and is firmly wedged into the woodwork. Egbert’s there, too, of course. And Wilfred Allsop.’

  ‘And that tall half-witted girl of theirs?’

  ‘If you are alluding to your niece Veronica, no. She’s in London. I brought her with me this morning and left her at Dora’s. I gather she’s stocking up with clothes against the day when young Plimsoll returns from America and makes her his bride. I’m afraid this has been something of a blow to you, Clarence.’

  Lord Emsworth nodded dismally, limp among the ruins of his golden dreams. The prospect of having his sister Hermione substituted for his sister Constance had affected him rather as the announcement that for the future they might expect to be chastised with scorpions instead of, as under the previous administration, with whips must have affected the Children of Israel.