Blanding Castle Omnibus

by P. G. Wodehouse

  ‘Perhaps you touched on a painful subject.’

  ‘No, it couldn’t have been that. I was telling her about a speech I made at our local town council. Draw her out and find what the trouble is, and then start observing the others. You needn’t bother with Connie, she’s more or less all right except for marrying a Yank with a head like a Spanish onion, and you could account for that by the fact that he’s got a lot of money, but there’s a fellow called Trout who needs attention badly. Keeps on marrying blondes. And of course there’s Threepwood.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought there was anything unbalanced about him.’

  ‘He wears an eyeglass. No, don’t you neglect any of them. Watch them all closely. Well, that’s that. You’ve got the idea. Let’s go down and have a cocktail. You haven’t tied your tie right. Here, let me,’ said the Duke, and with skilful hands he converted John’s cravat into something that looked like a squashed sock. This done, he led the way to the stairs, speaking as he went of his doctor down in Wiltshire, who, though trustworthy as regarded cramp, went all astray in the matter of ante-dinner aperitifs.

  ‘Says they raise the blood pressure and harden the arteries. Would like me to drink nothing but barley water and lemonade. Potty, of course,’ said the Duke, and paused at the head of the stairs to speak further of this misguided physician.

  It was at this moment that Howard Chesney, having given them what he thought sufficient time to pass downstairs, opened the portrait gallery door once more a cautious six inches, and peered out. Seeing them still among those present, he was about to dart back into his retreat like a cuckoo in a cuckoo clock, when it was as though his guardian angel had whispered to him that there was a better way. If, said his guardian angel, he were to creep noiselessly up behind John and give him a push, John would infallibly fall down these stairs whose surface had so recently been tested and proved slippery and probably break a leg. A consummation devoutly to be wished, for he would be removed to hospital and there would be no necessity for him, Chesney, to leave the castle in order to avoid a meeting which could not but be fraught with embarrassment.

  He stole softly forward like a leopard advancing on its prey.

  2

  Gally was in the hall when Linda came down from her room. He greeted her with a flashing eyeglass.

  ‘Hullo. You back?’

  ‘I’m back.’

  ‘Have a good time?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Didn’t enjoy yourself?’

  ‘No.’

  Gally nodded sagely.

  ‘I feared as much when I saw you drive off. I had an idea you would find the going sticky. I was not educated at a girls’ school myself, but I can picture the sort of thing that goes on at these reunions. The tedious playing over of bygone hockey matches, the recapitulation of the rights and wrongs of Angela’s big quarrel with Isobel, reminiscences of dormitory feeds and all that Will - you - ever - forget - the - night - when - Flossie -got - so - ill - eating - brown - shoe - polish - spread - on -bread - when - the - potted - meat - gave - out stuff. The discriminating popsy wisely avoids that sort of binge. Well, cheer up, it’s over now and you won’t be mug enough to go another year, so let’s see that beaming smile of yours of which I have heard such good reports. I have a surprise for you.’

  The marble of Linda’s face was disturbed by a momentary twitch or tremor, but she continued cold and aloof. Gally, eyeing her narrowly, was reminded of a girl he had known in the old days who had played the Snow Queen in a ballet at the Alhambra.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘I went down to the lake.’

  ‘Oh, you’ve seen him?’

  ‘In the distance.’

  ‘He looks even better close to. Did you shout Yoo-hoo at him?’

  She disdained to reply to this question, unless a quick curl of the upper lip could be counted as a reply.

  ‘You really need not have gone to all that trouble, Mr. Threepwood.’

  ‘Call me Gally. What trouble?’

  ‘It must have taken a lot of hard work to get him here.’

  ‘A labour of love.’

  ‘Wasted, because I’m not going to speak to him.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even an occasional Good morning?’

  ‘Only if he says it first.’

  ‘You’ll hurt his feelings.’

  ‘Good.’

  No one could have called her attitude encouraging, but Gally was always difficult to depress. Many of his interviews with bookies in the old days had begun on a similarly unpromising note, and eloquence and persuasiveness had pulled him through in the end. He saw no reason to suppose that a man who had bent to his will tough eggs like Honest Jerry Judson and Tim Simms the Safe Man would be baffled by a mere girl, sore as a sunburned neck though she unquestionably was. He proceeded, unruffled.

  ‘I think you’re making a great mistake, my dear child. Surely it’s a mug’s game to throw away a life’s happiness just because Johnny has made you momentarily a bit hot under the collar. You know in your heart that he is Prince Charming and Today’s Safety Bet. Do you play golf?’

  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘Johnny’s handicap is six.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Eighteen.’

  ‘Well, then. Think how he would improve your game. With him constantly at your side you might get down into single figures. What every girl needs is a husband whose loving task it will be to make her keep her head down and her eye on the ball. And apart from that the mere fact that after only a few meetings you both became convinced that you were twin souls makes it obvious that a merger between you and John Stiffy Halliday is a good thing and should be pushed along.’

  In spite of her resolve to keep the scene on a dignified plane and to do nothing that would detract from her cold hauteur, Linda gave a squeak of surprise.

  ‘John what Halliday?’

  ‘His father at the christening insisted on the Stiffy. It was his nickname at the Pelican Club, and he wanted it to live after him. His wife objected and the parson wasn’t any too pleased, but he won the battle of the font. He was a very determined chap. Johnny’s the same.’

  ‘He can be as determined as he likes. I don’t want anything more to do with him.’

  ‘That’s what you think now.’

  ‘And I shall go on thinking it.’

  Gally sighed. He removed his eyeglass and began to polish it. Uphill work, this. A little difficult to know how to proceed. He could understand how those Old Testament snake charmers must have felt who tried to ingratiate themselves with the deaf adder and did not get to first base. He spoke reproachfully.

  ‘You know where you’ve made your bloomer?’

  ‘Where have I made my bloomer?’

  ‘You’ve let the sun go down on your wrath, which is the worst possible thing to do. All the nibs are agreed on that.’

  Linda was silent for awhile. She seemed to be thinking.

  ‘I suppose I have. Though it isn’t wrath exactly.’

  ‘It looks like wrath to me.’

  ‘It was at first, but now it’s more like clear vision, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘It’s hard to explain.’

  ‘Have a try.’

  ‘Well, after I’d been thinking about it for a long time it suddenly struck me … Have you ever had all your clothes taken off and been tarred and feathered?’

  ‘Not that I remember.’

  ‘Well, that’s how I felt when I was in the witness box with him saying “I suggest” and “Is it not a fact”, and I suddenly realized that if we were married, every time I looked at him I would be thinking of it and a happy marriage would be impossible.’

  ‘What rot.’

  ‘It isn’t rot. It’s plain sense. The fact is, no girl ought to marry a barrister.’

  ‘Then barristers would become extinct.’

  ‘Which would be fine. The
more extinct they become, the better.’

  ‘I disagree with you. Barristers are all right.’

  ‘They’re not. They’re sadists, never happier than when they’re torturing some unfortunate witness.’

  ‘Just doing their duty.’

  ‘Nonsense. It gives them a kick. They love it.’

  ‘Do you think Johnny loved it?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘Well, he didn’t. He suffered agonies. His soul was twisted into knots. But it was his duty to go all out and win the case for his client. He was taking Clutterbuck’s money, and he had to give him a square deal. He couldn’t pull his punches just because the other side’s star witness happened to be the girl he loved. I admire Johnny intensely. He is an example to all of us. I class him with Lucius Junius Brutus.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Haven’t you ever heard of Lucius Junius Brutus?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They don’t seem to have taught you much at your school. You ought to have gone to Eton. I suppose you were trying so hard to get into the hockey team that you neglected your studies.’

  ‘I didn’t play hockey.’

  ‘Well, lacrosse or ping-pong or whatever it was. Lucius Junius Brutus was a judge of the criminal court in ancient Rome, and one day who should come up before him, charged with some particularly fruity crime, but his only son, the apple of his eye, and as the trial proceeded it became evident that it was an open and shut case and the prosecution had the thing in a bag. Not even Perry Mason could have got the accused off. But did Lucius Junius Brutus dismiss him with a few fatherly words of caution not to do it again? Did he impose a nominal fine or give him a suspended sentence? No, he saw where his duty lay. He threw the book at the young stinker, and everybody went about saying what a splendid fellow he was. I feel the same about Johnny.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘You will. Give yourself time. Don’t rush it. The day will come when you’ll be proud to marry him.’

  ‘I wouldn’t marry him if he were the last man on earth.’

  ‘Well, he isn’t, so the question does not arise.’

  ‘I don’t think I’ll ever marry anyone.’

  ‘Of course you will. You’ll marry Johnny.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Want to bet?’

  At this moment, when the conversation seemed to have reached a deadlock and stalemate to have set in at the negotiating table, John and the Duke came downstairs, or rather the Duke and John, for they descended in that order. They came not at the leisurely pace customary in good society, but almost as rapidly as if they had slid down the banisters. One moment they were not there, the next they were.

  It will be remembered that when last seen these two amateur acrobats were at the head of the stairs and that Howard Chesney was advancing on them like a leopard in quest of its prey, having decided to follow what he could see was the excellent advice of his guardian angel. He reached journey’s end just as John was taking his first downward step, he having courteously allowed his elder to precede him. He then, in accordance with his guardian angel’s instructions, placed a hand between John’s shoulder blades and pushed.

  He pushed with the utmost force at his command, and results from his point of view could not have been more satisfactory. The stairs were just as slippery as they had been when he had floated down them, and John, losing his footing, flew through the air like the daring young man on the flying trapeze of whom the poet has sung. He had not proceeded far when he overtook the Duke, and they both flew through the air with, to quote the bard again, the greatest of ease. Arriving in the hall, they separated. The Duke reached the suit of armour in the shadow of which the recent board meeting had been held, while John got only as far as the table where the papers and magazines were kept. Less fortunate than Howard Chesney, he struck it with his head. There was a nasty banging sound and then, as the expression is, he knew no more.

  One of the things he did not know was that as he and the table came together Linda had sprung to her feet, uttered a choking cry like Gally’s friend who swallowed the aspirin tablet and clutched at her throat in the manner of the heroine of a mystery play when there is a shriek in the night. She then sped across the hall to where the injured man lay, plainly stirred to her depths.

  Her display of emotion would have caused Lady Constance’s governesses to shake their heads, but Gally, following her at the slower pace fitted to his advanced years, regarded it with an approving eyeglass. It seemed to him that things could not have worked out more satisfactorily. He had recommended his godson to have an accident, and he had had an accident. And getting stunned like this was in his opinion even better than being hit on the head with a stone tobacco jar, and that had been amply sufficient to bring two sundered hearts together. In next to no time, he estimated, the popsy would be flinging herself on that prostrate form and showering kisses on it.

  He was right. She did. And John, recovering consciousness and with it the illusion that some practical joker had substituted for his head a large and throbbing pumpkin, looked up dazedly. He had an odd feeling that someone had been kissing him. It hardly seemed possible that it was Linda who had done this, but she was certainly bending over him, and it was worth enquiring into.

  ‘Were you kissing me?’ he muttered.

  ‘She was indeed,’ said Gally heartily. ‘No argument about that, my boy. She was kissing you like a ton of bricks. And I think I speak for her when I say that any little differences you may have had are now all washed up and that the laughing love god has wound his silken fetters about her once more, just as in the good old days when Clutterbuck and Frisby were nothing but a couple of names in the telephone directory. Correct, wench?’

  ‘Quite correct.’

  ‘This poor bit of human wreckage is officially established as the cream in your coffee and the salt in your stew?’

  ‘He is.’

  ‘Then would it be fair to suggest that you take him to the downstairs washroom and bathe his head in cold water. That certainly is a lump you’ve got, Johnny. I’ve not seen one as big as that since I used to attend the Saturday night gatherings at the old Pelican. Your father was a great man for getting lumps on his head, generally owing to being hit with bottles. He was always having political disputes with the more quick-tempered members. What the devil’s all that noise?’ said Gally changing the subject.

  3

  The noise to which he alluded was proceeding from the Duke. He was lying underneath the suit of armour and giving every indication that, whatever ill effects he might have suffered from his fall, his lungs had remained unimpaired. Gally walked over to where he lay and surveyed him with a sympathetic eye. He was not fond of the Duke, but he had a kind heart and could see that he was in pain.

  ‘Are you all right, Dunstable?’ he asked, feeling as he spoke that it was a foolish question, and the injured man told him not to be an ass.

  ‘Of course I’m not all right. I’ve sprained my ankle.’

  ‘Let me have a look. Does that hurt?’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Yes, it’s a sprain all right. I can feel the swelling. I’ll help you to your room. Oh, Beach,’ said Gally, as that interested observer appeared beside them, ‘His Grace has sprained his ankle.’

  ‘Indeed, Mr. Galahad?’

  ‘Will you lend a hand. And then you might phone the doctor to come and look him over.’

  After a difficult journey the Duke was deposited on the sofa in the garden suite, and Beach withdrew to telephone. Gally, about to follow him, was halted by a sharp ‘Hey’ from the invalid. He turned, expecting to listen to further observations on the subject of sprained ankles, on which already the other had been far from reticent, but it was on a different topic that the Duke now touched.

  ‘Threepwood!’

  ‘Hullo?’

  ‘Ouch!’

  ‘Agony?’

  ‘Of course it’s agony. But it’s not that. It’s about that niece of mine. What the dev
il’s come over her?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘You know. You were standing right beside her when she did it. You saw the whole thing. Dammit, man, even if you wear an eyeglass, you aren’t blind. She was kissing the headshrinker.’

  Gally uttered an exclamation. It was as if his memory had been jogged.

  ‘You’re perfectly right. So she was. Yes, it all comes back to me. He was lying on the floor, and she bent over him—’

  ‘What do you mean, bent over him? She flung herself at him like a performing seal going after a bit of fish and kissed him.’

  ‘Yes, I noticed.’

  ‘About fifty times.’

  ‘Yes, that would probably be somewhere near the figure. And you are naturally wondering why. I can explain it in a few words. She’s in love with him.’

  ‘Don’t be an ass. She’s never met him. Not till tonight, I mean. He only arrived this evening. They’re perfect strangers.’

  Gally saw that the time had come to unseal his lips. He would have preferred to postpone the revelation till he had had his dinner, but this did not appear to be within the sphere of practical politics. It was plain that the invalid would not rest easily on his sofa until presented with a solution of the mystery which was vexing him. He embarked on his narrative with the smooth suavity which had been wont to win all hearts at the Pelican Club.

  ‘I see the time has come to let you in on a little secret, Dunstable, though I wasn’t intending to mention it till a more favourable opportunity. In supposing that Johnny Halliday and your niece are perfect strangers you are very wide of the mark. He has known her for quite a time, during which time he never for an instant omitted to press his suit. You know the sort of thing. Flowers, lunches, ardent glances, whispered words and I should imagine, though this is merely a conjecture, bottles of scent. Sometimes he would tell himself that he was making progress, sometimes he would feel that he was getting nowhere and despondency would ensue. He was often to be seen in Hyde Park or Kensington Gardens plucking daisies and murmuring “She loves me, she loves me not”. And so it went on till some nights ago, stiffening the sinews and summoning up the blood, as the fellow said, he proposed to her in a taxi cab and they became betrothed. That was the night you were so disturbed because she hummed and giggled, giving you the impression that something had gone wrong with the two hemispheres of her brain and the broad band of transversely running fibres known as the corpus callosum and that she was, in your crisp phrase, potty. It was not pottiness, Dunstable, it was the natural exuberance of a young girl who has found love and happiness and is looking forward to the wedding with full choral effects, with the man she adores standing at her side in a morning coat and sponge bag trousers and the bishop and assistant clergy doing their stuff as busily as one-armed paperhangers with the hives. And then the reception and the going-away dress and the sunlit honeymoon and all that applesauce.’