‘I can’t remember,’ he said. ‘Somebody told me something about her but it’s slipped my mind. The Empress looks as fit as ever,’ he added, to change the subject.
‘She is in wonderful health.’
‘Eating well?’
‘Magnificently. It’s too bad that I can’t get anyone to paint her portrait.[16] I did think it would be plain sailing when Connie went to America, but all the prominent artists I have approached have refused the commission.’
To add a likeness of the Empress to those of his ancestors in the Blandings Castle portrait gallery had long been Lord Emsworth’s dream, and with the departure of his sister Constance, the spearhead of the movement in opposition to the scheme, his hopes had risen high. The difficulty was to find a suitable artist. All the leading Royal Academicians to whom he had applied had informed him rather stiffly that they did not paint pigs. They painted sheep in Scottish glens, children playing with kittens and puppies, still-life representations of oranges and bananas on plates, but not pigs.
Gally had always approved of the idea, arguing that the Empress could not but lend tone to a gallery filled with the ugliest collection of thugs he had ever had the misfortune to see, comparable only to the Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud’s. He made but one exception, the sixth Earl, who he said reminded him of a charming pea and thimble man with whom he had formed a friendship one afternoon at Hurst Park race course the year Billy Buttons won the Jubilee Cup.
‘They were very firm about it,’ said Lord Emsworth. ‘Some of them were quite rude.’
‘Egad!’ said Gally.
‘Eh?’ said Lord Emsworth.
‘Just egad, Clarence. I’ve had an inspiration.’
At the word ‘portrait’ a close observer would have noticed a sudden sparkle in the eye behind Gally’s black-rimmed monocle. This usually happened when he got a bright idea.
‘Why waste time on Royal Academicians?’ he said. ‘A lot of stuffed shirts. You don’t need what you call a prominent artist. You want an eager young fellow all vim and ginger, and I’ve got the very man for you. He specializes in pigs.’
‘You don’t say, Galahad! What’s his name?’
‘You wouldn’t know his name.’
‘Is he good?’
‘I believe his morals are excellent.’
‘At painting, I mean.’
‘Terrific.’
‘Is he very expensive?’
‘He won’t charge you a penny. He is very well off, and only paints pigs because he loves them.’
‘Is he free at the moment?’
‘That is what I shall ascertain when I run up to London tomorrow.’
‘My dear Galahad, you can’t run up to London tomorrow. You only came back today.’
‘What of that? If a man can’t run up to London because he has just run down from it, where can he run up to? I want to do you a good turn.’
‘It’s extremely kind of you, Galahad.’
‘Just my old boy scout training, Clarence. One never quite loses the urge to do one’s daily good deed.’
Gally walked back to Vicky.
‘I think I’ll run up to London and interview this young man of yours, to see if he’s worthy of you. What’s his name besides Jeff?’
‘Bennison. But you’ll have to run further than London. His school’s at Eastbourne.’
‘Odd how these schools all flock to the east coast.[17] It’s like one of those great race movements of the Middle Ages. Were you at Eastbourne?’
‘Yes, at Dame Daphne Winkworth’s,[18] only she wasn’t a Dame then. That’s where Jeff is.’
‘Oh my God. I hope I don’t run into her. She was a guest at Blandings not long ago, and our relations were none too cordial. It would be embarrassing to meet her again. But I’ll risk it for your sake.’
‘What an angel you are, Gally. I’ll give you a letter to take to Jeff. My correspondence is closely watched.’
‘So was mine. It’s the first move of the prison authorities.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THANKS to the absence of his employer Claude Duff had got the day off and was on his way to the fashionable girls’ school outside Eastbourne to pay his respects to his aunt Dame Daphne Winkworth, its proprietress. His journey had been uneventful and would not merit attention but for the fact that he happened to share a compartment with Gally, who soon established cordial relations with him. Gally was always a great talker to strangers on trains.
Claude was tall and as aggressively good looking as a film-star. His clothes were impeccable, for he was particular about the way he looked. At school, where he had shared a study with Jeff Bennison, he had always been pained by the casualness of the latter’s costume. When visiting his aunt, he took especial pains to have everything just right, and he was flicking a speck of dust off his left trouser leg when there came out of the front door a stalwart young man, the sight of whom caused him to stare, to blink, and finally to utter a glad cry of ‘Bingo!’
It was an embarrassing moment for Jeff. He recognized his old schoolmate without difficulty, but he had no recollection of what his nickname was. And when an old friend has hailed you as ‘Bingo’, you cannot be formal. He compromised by calling Claude nothing. So when Claude said he was blowed and that Jeff was the last chap he had expected to see coming out of a girls’ school, he merely replied that he worked there.
‘You work here? How do you mean?’
‘I teach drawing.’
‘Somebody told me you were an architect.’
‘I had to give it up. No money.’
‘Oh, I say! That’s too bad.’
‘Just one of those things. What are you doing now?’
‘I’m second secretary to Sir James Piper.’
‘The name seems familiar.’
‘Chancellor of the Exchequer.’
‘Golly, you’re moving in exalted circles. How do you like your job?’
‘Very much. How do you like teaching drawing?’
‘I don’t like it. Or didn’t. Recently—in fact this morning—I have been relieved of my duties.’
‘Eh?’
‘Sacked. Fired. Given the push. I had a dispute with the boss and lost my temper.’
‘Gosh! Aunt Daphne wouldn’t like that.’
‘She didn’t. So she’s your aunt, is she?’
‘Yes.’
‘Sooner you than me.’
‘What will you do now?’
‘Look around, I suppose, till I find something worthy of my talents. But I mustn’t stand talking to you. I must go and finish my packing. She wants me off the place at my earliest convenience. Or sooner.’
Left alone, Claude stood musing. He was a good-hearted young man, and Jeff’s predicament had saddened him. He himself had never had to worry about money. His father had pushed him into this secretarial job, thinking it would lead to all sorts of things — if he wanted to go into Parliament, for instance — but if Sir James ever decided to part company with him he had several rich relations ready to give him employment. But Jeff, who had been his hero at school … he didn’t like the look of Jeff’s position at all.
He was still brooding and was liking the position less than ever, when the dapper little man he had met on the train came trotting up.[19] Glad of anything which would divert his gloomy thoughts, he greeted him effusively, and the little man seemed equally pleased to see him.
‘We meet again,’ he said. ‘Did I finish that story of mine about my friend Fruity Biffen and the Assyrian beard? I fancy not. It was one he bought at Clarkson’s in order to be able to attend the Spring meeting at New-market and at the same time avoid recognition from the various bookies he owed money to. And he was just passing the stall of Tim Simms, the Safe Man, when it fell off. Something wrong with the gum, one supposes.’
‘Was Simms one of the ones he owed money to?’
‘One of the many, and there was a painful scene. But Fruity’s life was never what you would call placid. I remember one mor
ning asking him to come for a walk in the park with me. It was at the epoch when I was rather addicted to feeding the ducks on the Serpentine. He was horrified. “Me out of doors on a Monday in the daytime !” he gasped. “You must be mad. If only Duff and Trotter will trust me for a couple of raised pies[20] and a case of old brandy, I intend hiding in the crypt of St. Paul’s till the bookies have forgotten all about the City and Suburban.” Did you tell me, by the way, that your name was Duff?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Any relation to Duff and Trotter, the provision people?’
‘My uncle.’
‘Then you ought to be all right for raised pies. Galahad Threepwood at this end. Do you come to this seminary often?’
‘Fairly often.’
‘Then perhaps you can help me. How do I find a fellow called Bennison?’
Claude was all animation.
‘Jeff Bennison? Old Bingo? I’ve just been talking to him. One of my oldest friends.’
‘Really?’
‘He’s gone up to his room.’
‘Then I will follow him.’
Jeff, his packing finished, had left his room. Dame Daphne’s butler met him at the foot of the stairs.
‘There is a gentleman to see you, Mr. Bennison,’ he said. ‘I have shown him to the morning room.’
Gally was polishing his eyeglass when Jeff joined him in the morning room, as always when ill at ease. He was not a man to be readily unnerved, but even he quailed a little now that he was in such close proximity to Dame Daphne Winkworth.
‘Mr. Bennison?’ he said. ‘How do you do. My name is Threepwood. You must pardon me for being agitated.’
‘You don’t seem agitated to me.’
‘I wear the mask, do I? I am agitated, though. I am in the position of a native of India who knows that a tigress is lurking in the undergrowth near at hand and wonders how soon she will be among those present. I allude to Dame Daphne Winkworth. No danger of her dropping in, is there?’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
‘Good. Then we can proceed. I come bringing a letter from my niece Victoria. I am her Uncle Galahad.’
‘Oh, how do you do?’ said Jeff. ‘I’ve heard her talk of you.’
‘No doubt she has a fund of good stories. Here’s the letter.’
‘You don’t mind if I kiss it?’
‘I shall be offended if you don’t.’
‘And if I then skim through it for a moment?’
‘Go ahead.’
It was some little time before Jeff was able to resume the conversation.
‘Thank God you brought me this,’ he said at length. ‘I’ve been worrying myself into a decline. I kept writing to her, but no answer.’
‘I doubt if she got your letters.’
‘I sent them to her London address.’
‘Then they were probably forwarded to Blandings Castle, where she now is, and intercepted and destroyed. I’d better sketch out for you the position of affairs concerning you and Vicky and the Blandings Castle circle. Finding out about your romance, my sister Florence instantly had Vicky arrested and hauled off to the clink. In other words, she was taken to Blandings. This, I may say, is always done when girls of my family fall in love with men whom their mothers consider undesirable. It’s a matter of money, of course. Unless the chap has a solid balance at the bank, he automatically become undesirable. You, I gather from Vicky, have nothing but your salary here.’
‘Not even that. I’ve just been fired.’
‘Really? Too bad.’
‘A merciful release I looked on it as. The thought that I shall never have to see another school-girl trying to draw is like a tonic. Of course, the situation has its disadvantages. I expect to starve in the gutter at any moment.’
‘No money?’
‘Very little.’
‘No prospects?’
‘Only hopes. It’s like this. If you’re Vicky’s Uncle Galahad, you must be my friend Freddie Threepwood’s Uncle Galahad.’
‘Remorselessly true, but I don’t see where you’re heading.’
‘I mean you know all about Freddie,[21] that he’s out in America selling dog-biscuits and has become a regular tycoon and knows everybody — editors and people like that.’
‘I believe he’s doing very well. He took the precaution of starting his career by marrying the boss’s daughter.’
‘He was in England not long ago. They sent him over to buck up the English end of the business.’
Gally, who, like all confirmed raconteurs, was not good at listening patiently to other people’s stories, heaved a sigh.
‘I’m sure this narrative is getting somewhere,’ he said, ‘but I wish you would tell me where.’
‘I’m coming to the nub. The last time he was in England I gave him a comic strip I’d done to try to sell to some paper over there. You know those comic strips —Mutt and Jeff, Blondie, all that. They go on for ever, and it means big money. I’ll be on velvet if he sells it.’
‘He’s bound to. There are no limits to the powers of a man capable of selling dog-biscuits. But meanwhile you will probably be glad of a job to keep you from starving in that gutter you spoke of.’
‘I certainly would.’
‘Then listen carefully and I’ll tell you how this can be arranged.’
Whatever Gally’s defects — and someone like his sister Hermione[22] could speak of these by the hour, scarcely pausing to take in breath — he could tell a story well, and long before the conclusion of his résumé of recent events at Blandings Castle, Jeff had gathered that he was to become the latest of the long line of impostors who had sneaked into that stately home of England.
‘You have no objection to becoming an impostor?’[23]
‘I shall enjoy it.’
‘I felt sure you would say so. One can see at a glance that you have the same spirit of adventure that animated Drake, Stanley, and Doctor Livingstone and is the motive power of practically all cats. You’ll like Blandings. Gravel soil, company’s own water, extensive views over charming old-world parkland. You will, moreover, be constantly in the society of my brother Clarence and his monumental pig, which alone is worth the price of admission. And now think of a name.’
‘For me?’
‘It would hardly be within the sphere of practical politics to use your own, considering that my sister Florence writhes like an electric eel at the very sound of it. David Lloyd-George? Good, but still not quite what we want. Messmore Breamworthy?’
‘Could there be a name like that?’
‘It is the name of one of Freddie’s co-workers at Donaldson’s Dog Joy, Long Island City, U.S.A. But I don’t really like it. Too ornate, and the same objection holds in the case of Aubrey Trefusis, Alexander Strongin-th’-Arm and Augustus Cave-Brown-Cave. We need something simple, easily remembered. Wibberley-Smith? I like the Smith. We’ll settle on that. Bless my soul,’ said Gally with fervour, ‘how it brings back old triumphs, this sketching out plans for adding another impostor to the Blandings roll of honour. But the thing has rather lost its tang since Connie went to America. The man who could introduce an impostor into the castle under Connie’s X-ray eye and keep him there undetected had done something he could be proud of. “This,” he could say to himself, “was my finest hour !”‘
CHAPTER SIX
THE JOURNEY from Eastbourne to Market Blandings is a long and tiring one, but Gally’s wiry frame was more than equal to it, and he alighted at his destination in good shape. He was, however, afflicted by a thirst which could not wait to be slaked by Beach’s port, and he made his way to the Emsworth Arms[24] for a beaker of the celebrated beer brewed by G. Ovens, its proprietor. Arriving at the bar, he found his old friend James Piper there, and was saddened to see that he looked as gloomy as ever.
Sir James had been a disappointment to Gally ever since the latter’s return to Blandings Castle. He had not expected to find the sprightly young Jimmy Piper of the old Pelican days, for he knew that long y
ears in Parliament, always having to associate with the sort of freaks who get into Parliament nowadays, take their toll; but he had anticipated a reasonable cheerfulness, and such was Jimmy’s moroseness that it could not be explained merely by the circumstance of his having perpetually on the back of his neck a sister like Brenda. After all, Gally felt, he himself had ten sisters, four of them just as bad as Brenda, but you never heard unmanly complaints from him.
Gally was not a man to beat about bushes. He welcomed this opportunity of solving a mystery which had been annoying him, and embarked on his probe without preamble.
‘What on earth’s the matter with you, Jimmy? Arid don’t say “Nothing” or talk a lot of guff about the cares of office weighing on you. A man doesn’t necessarily go about looking like a dead fish because he’s Home Secretary, or whatever you are. I’ve known Home Secretaries who were as cheerful as stand-up comics. No, something is biting you, and I want to know what it is. Confide in me, Jimmy, bearing in mind that there was a time when our minds were open books to each other. You’ve given me enough material to write your biography, only I suppose it wouldn’t do now that you are such a big pot. Still, let’s have the latest instalments.’
It was only for a moment that Sir James hesitated. Then, for G. Ovens’s home-brew has above all other beverages the power to break down reticences, he said:
‘Can I confide in you, Gally?’
‘Of course.’
‘I badly need advice.’
‘I have it on tap.’
‘You remember in the old days how crazy I was about your sister Diana?’
‘I remember.’
‘I still am. You’d think I would have got over it, but no. The moment I saw her again, it was just as bad as ever.’
His statement was one which might have seemed sensational to some auditors, but Gally took it calmly. He had the advantage of having given up many hours of his valuable time to listening to a younger James Piper expressing himself on the subject of the woman he loved; and if he was surprised, it was only because he found it remarkable that the fire of those days should still be ablaze after all those years.
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