A Damsel in Distress

by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse

  “Oh?” was all she could find to say.

  “She wants to marry him.”

  Not for years had Billie Dore felt embarrassed, but she felt so now. She judged herself unworthy to be the recipient of these very private confidences.

  “Oh?” she said again.

  “He’s a good fellow. I like him. I liked him the moment we met. He knew it, too. And I knew he liked me.”

  A group of men and girls from a neighbouring table passed on their way to the door. One of the girls nodded to Billie. She returned the nod absently. The party moved on. Billie frowned down at the tablecloth and drew a pattern on it with a fork.

  “Why don’t you let George marry your daughter, Lord Marshmoreton?”

  The earl drew at his cigar in silence.

  “I know it’s not my business,” said Billie apologetically, interpreting the silence as a rebuff.

  “Because I’m the Earl of Marshmoreton.”

  “I see.”

  “No you don’t,” snapped the earl. “You think I mean by that that I think your friend isn’t good enough to marry my daughter. You think that I’m an incurable snob. And I’ve no doubt he thinks so, too, though I took the trouble to explain my attitude to him when we last met. You’re wrong. It isn’t that at all. When I say ‘I’m the Earl of Marshmoreton’, I mean that I’m a poor spineless fool who’s afraid to do the right thing because he daren’t go in the teeth of the family.”

  “I don’t understand. What have your family got to do with it?”

  “They’d worry the life out of me. I wish you could meet my sister Caroline! That’s what they’ve got to do with it. Girls in my daughter’s unfortunate position have got to marry position or money.”

  “Well, I don’t know about position, but when it comes to money—why, George is the fellow that made the dollar-bill famous. He and Rockefeller have got all there is, except the little bit they have let Andy Carnegie have for car-fare.”

  “What do you mean? He told me he worked for a living.” Billie was becoming herself again. Embarrassment Red.

  “If you call it work. He’s a composer.”

  “I know. Writes tunes and things.”

  Billie regarded him compassionately.

  “And I suppose, living out in the woods the way that you do that you haven’t a notion that they pay him for it.”

  “Pay him? Yes, but how much? Composers were not men in my day.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t talk of ‘your day’ as if you telling the boys down at the corner store about the good they all had before the Flood. You’re one of the Younger Set and don’t let me have to tell you again. Say, listen! You know that show you saw last night. The one where I was supported by a few underlings. Well, George wrote the music for that.”

  “I know. He told me so.”

  “Well, did he tell you that he draws three per cent of the gross receipts? You saw the house we had last night. It was a fair average house. We are playing to over fourteen thousand dollars a week. George’s little bit of that is—I can’t do it in my head, but it’s a round four hundred dollars. That’s eighty pounds of your money. And did he tell you that this same show ran over a year in New York to big business all the time, and that there are three companies on the road now? And did he mention that this is the ninth show he’s done, and that seven of the others were just as big hits as this one? And did he remark in passing that he gets royalties on every copy of his music that’s sold, and that at least ten of his things have sold over half a million? No, he didn’t, because he isn’t the sort of fellow who stands around blowing about his income. But you know it now.”

  “Why, he’s a rich man!”

  “I don’t know what you call rich, but, keeping on the safe side, I should say that George pulls down in a good year, during the season—around five thousand dollars a week.”

  Lord Marshmoreton was frankly staggered.

  “A thousand pounds a week! I had no idea!”

  “I thought you hadn’t. And, while I’m boosting George, let me tell you another thing. He’s one of the whitest men that ever happened. I know him. You can take it from me, if there’s anything rotten in a fellow, the show-business will bring it out, and it hasn’t come out in George yet, so I guess it isn’t there. George is all right!”

  “He has at least an excellent advocate.”

  “Oh, I’m strong for George. I wish there were more like him … Well, if you think I’ve butted in on your private affairs sufficiently, I suppose I ought to be moving. We’ve a rehearsal this afternoon.”

  “Let it go!” said Lord Marshmoreton boyishly.

  “Yes, and how quick do you think they would let me go, if I did? I’m an honest working-girl, and I can’t afford to lose jobs.”

  Lord Marshmoreton fiddled with his cigar-butt.

  “I could offer you an alternative position, if you cared to accept it.”

  Billie looked at him keenly. Other men in similar circumstances had made much the same remark to her. She was conscious of feeling a little disappointed in her new friend.

  “Well?” she said dryly. “Shoot.”

  “You gathered, no doubt, from Mr. Bevan’s conversation, that my secretary has left me and run away and got married? Would you like to take her place?”

  It was not easy to disconcert Billie Dore, but she was taken aback. She had been expecting something different.

  “You’re a shriek, dadda!”

  “I’m perfectly serious.”

  “Can you see me at a castle?”

  “I can see you perfectly.” Lord Marshmoreton’s rather formal manner left him. “Do please accept, my dear child. I’ve got to finish this damned family history some time or other. The family expect me to. Only yesterday my sister Caroline got me in a corner and bored me for half an hour about it. I simply can’t face the prospect of getting another from an agency. Charming girl, charming girl, of course, but … but … well, I’ll be damned if I do it, and that’s the long and short of it!”

  Billie bubbled over with laughter.

  “Of all the impulsive kids!” she gurgled. “I never met anyone like you, dadda! You don’t even know that I can use a typewriter.”

  “I do. Mr. Bevan told me you were an excellent stenographer.”

  “So George has been boosting me, too, has he?” She mused. “I must say, I’d love to come. That old place got me when saw it that day.”

  “That’s settled, then,” said Lord Marshmoreton masterfully. “Go to the theatre and tell them—tell whatever is usual in these cases. And then go home and pack, and meet me at Waterloo at six o’clock. The train leaves at six-fifteen.”

  “Return of the wanderer, accompanied by dizzy blonde! You’ve certainly got it all fixed, haven’t you! Do you think the family will stand for me?”

  “Damn the family!” said Lord Marshmoreton, stoutly.

  “There’s one thing,” said Billie complacently, eyeing her reflection in the mirror of her vanity-case, “I may glitter in the fighting-top, but it is genuine. When I was a kid, I was a regular little tow-head.”

  “I never supposed for a moment that it was anything but genuine.”

  “Then you’ve got a fine, unsuspicious nature, dadda, and I admire you for it.”

  “Six o’clock at Waterloo,” said the earl. “I will be waiting for you.”

  Billie regarded him with affectionate admiration.

  “Boys will be boys,” she said. “All right. I’ll be there.”

  Chapter 22

  “Young blighted Albert,” said Keggs the butler, shifting his weight so that it distributed itself more comfortably over the creaking chair in which he reclined, “let this be a lesson to you, young feller me lad.”

  The day was a week after Lord Marshmoreton’s visit to London, the hour six o’clock. The housekeeper’s room, in which the upper servants took their meals, had emptied. Of the gay company which had just finished dinner only Keggs remained, placidly digesting. Albert, whose duty it was to wait
on the upper servants, was moving to and fro, morosely collecting the plates and glasses. The boy was in no happy frame of mind. Throughout dinner the conversation at table had dealt almost exclusively with the now celebrated elopement of Reggie Byng and his bride, and few subjects could have made more painful listening to Albert.

  “What’s been the result and what I might call the upshot,” said Keggs, continuing his homily, “of all your making yourself so busy and thrusting of yourself forward and meddling in the affairs of your elders and betters? The upshot and issue of it ‘as been that you are out five shillings and nothing to show for it. Five shillings what you might have spent on some good book and improved your mind! And goodness knows it wants all the improving it can get, for of all the worthless, idle little messers it’s ever been my misfortune to have dealings with, you are the champion. Be careful of them plates, young man, and don’t breathe so hard. You ‘aven’t got hasthma or something, ‘ave you?”

  “I can’t breathe now!” complained the stricken child.

  “Not like a grampus you can’t, and don’t you forget it.” Keggs wagged his head reprovingly. “Well, so your Reggie Byng’s gone and eloped, has he! That ought to teach you to be more careful another time ‘ow you go gambling and plunging into sweepstakes. The idea of a child of your age ‘aving the audacity to thrust ‘isself forward like that!”

  “Don’t call him my Reggie Byng! I didn’t draw ‘im!”

  “There’s no need to go into all that again, young feller. You accepted ‘im freely and without prejudice when the fair exchange was suggested, so for all practical intents and purposes he is your Reggie Byng. I ‘ope you’re going to send him a wedding-present.”

  “Well, you ain’t any better off than me, with all your ‘ighway robbery!”

  “My what!”

  “You ‘eard what I said.”

  “Well, don’t let me ‘ear it again. The idea! If you ‘ad any objections to parting with that ticket, you should have stated them clearly at the time. And what do you mean by saying I ain’t any better off than you are?”

  “I ‘ave my reasons.”

  “You think you ‘ave, which is a very different thing. I suppose you imagine that you’ve put a stopper on a certain little affair by surreptitiously destroying letters entrusted to you.”

  “I never!” exclaimed Albert with a convulsive start that nearly sent eleven plates dashing to destruction.

  “‘Ow many times have I got to tell you to be careful of them plates?” said Keggs sternly. “Who do you think you are—a juggler on the ‘Alls, ‘urling them about like that? Yes, I know all about that letter. You thought you was very clever, I’ve no doubt. But let me tell you, young blighted Albert, that only the other evening ‘er ladyship and Mr. Bevan ‘ad a long and extended interview in spite of all your hefforts. I saw through your little game, and I proceeded and went and arranged the meeting.”

  In spite of himself Albert was awed. He was oppressed by the sense of struggling with a superior intellect.

  “Yes, you did!” he managed to say with the proper note of incredulity, but in his heart he was not incredulous. Dimly, Albert had begun to perceive that years must elapse before he could become capable of matching himself in battles of wits with this master-strategist.

  “Yes, I certainly did!” said Keggs. “I don’t know what ‘appened at the interview—not being present in person. But I’ve no doubt that everything proceeded satisfactorily.”

  “And a fat lot of good that’s going to do you, when ‘e ain’t allowed to come inside the ‘ouse!”

  A bland smile irradiated the butler’s moon-like face.

  “If by ‘e you’re alloodin’ to Mr. Bevan, young blighted Albert, let me tell you that it won’t be long before ‘e becomes a regular duly invited guest at the castle!”

  “A lot of chance!”

  “Would you care to ‘ave another five shillings even money on it?”

  Albert recoiled. He had had enough of speculation where the butler was concerned. Where that schemer was allowed to get within reach of it, hard cash melted away.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Never you mind what I’m going to do. I ‘ave my methods. All I ‘ave to say to you is that tomorrow or the day after Mr. Bevan will be seated in our dining-’all with ‘is feet under our table, replying according to his personal taste and preference, when I ask ‘im if ‘e’ll ‘ave ‘ock or sherry. Brush all them crumbs carefully off the tablecloth, young blighted Albert—don’t shuffle your feet—breathe softly through your nose—and close the door be’ind you when you’ve finished!”

  “Oh, go and eat cake!” said Albert bitterly. But he said it to his immortal soul, not aloud. The lad’s spirit was broken.

  Keggs, the processes of digestion completed, presented himself before Lord Belpher in the billiard-room. Percy was alone. The house-party, so numerous on the night of the ball and on his birthday, had melted down now to reasonable proportions. The second and third cousins had retired, flushed and gratified, to obscure dens from which they had emerged, and the castle housed only the more prominent members of the family, always harder to dislodge than the small fry. The Bishop still remained, and the Colonel. Besides these, there were perhaps half a dozen more of the closer relations: to Lord Belpher’s way of thinking, half a dozen too many. He was not fond of his family.

  “Might I have a word with your lordship?”

  “What is it, Keggs?”

  Keggs was a self-possessed man, but he found it a little hard to begin. Then he remembered that once in the misty past he had seen Lord Belpher spanked for stealing jam, he himself having acted on that occasion as prosecuting attorney; and the memory nerved him.

  “I earnestly ‘ope that your lordship will not think that I am taking a liberty. I ‘ave been in his lordship your father’s service many years now, and the family honour is, if I may be pardoned for saying so, extremely near my ‘eart. I ‘ave known your lordship since you were a mere boy, and …”

  Lord Belpher had listened with growing impatience to this preamble. His temper was seldom at its best these days, and the rolling periods annoyed him.

  “Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “What is it?”

  Keggs was himself now. In his opening remarks he had simply been, as it were, winding up. He was now prepared to begin.

  “Your lordship will recall inquiring of me on the night of the ball as to the bona fides of one of the temporary waiters? The one that stated that ‘e was the cousin of young bli—of the boy Albert, the page? I have been making inquiries, your lordship, and I regret to say I find that the man was a impostor. He informed me that ‘e was Albert’s cousin, but Albert now informs me that ‘e ‘as no cousin in America. I am extremely sorry this should have occurred, your lordship, and I ‘ope you attribute it to the bustle and haste inseparable from duties as mine on such a occasion.”

  “I know the fellow was an impostor. He was probably after the spoons!”

  Keggs coughed.

  “If I might be allowed to take a further liberty, your lordship, might I suggest that I am aware of the man’s identity and of his motive for visiting the castle.”

  He waited a little apprehensively. This was the crucial point in the interview. If Lord Belpher did not now freeze him with a glance and order him from the room, the danger would be past, and he could speak freely. His light blue eyes were expressionless as they met Percy’s, but inwardly he was feeling much the same sensation as he was wont to experience when the family was in town and he had managed to slip off to Kempton Park or some other race-course and put some of his savings on a horse. As he felt when the racing steeds thundered down the straight, so did he feel now.

  Astonishment showed in Lord Belpher’s round face. Just as it was about to be succeeded by indignation, the butler spoke again.

  “I am aware, your lordship, that it is not my place to offer suggestions as to the private and intimate affairs of the family I ‘ave the honour to serve, but
, if your lordship would consent to overlook the liberty, I think I could be of ‘elp and assistance in a matter which is causing annoyance and unpleasantness to all.”

  He invigorated himself with another dip into the waters of memory. Yes. The young man before him might be Lord Belpher, son of his employer and heir to all these great estates, but once he had seen him spanked.

  Perhaps Percy also remembered this. Perhaps he merely felt that Keggs was a faithful old servant and, as such, entitled to thrust himself into the family affairs. Whatever his reasons, he now definitely lowered the barrier.

  “Well,” he said, with a glance at the door to make sure that there were no witnesses to an act of which the aristocrat in him disapproved, “go on!”

  Keggs breathed freely. The danger-point was past.

  “‘Aving a natural interest, your lordship,” he said, “we of the Servants’ ‘All generally manage to become respectfully aware of whatever ‘appens to be transpirin’ above stairs. May I say that I became acquainted at an early stage with the trouble which your lordship is unfortunately ‘aving with a certain party?”

  Lord Belpher, although his whole being revolted against what practically amounted to hobnobbing with a butler, perceived that he had committed himself to the discussion. It revolted him to think that these delicate family secrets were the subject of conversation in menial circles, but it was too late to do anything now. And such was the whole-heartedness with which he had declared war upon George Bevan that, at this stage in the proceedings, his chief emotion was a hope that Keggs might have something sensible to suggest.

  “I think, begging your lordship’s pardon for making the remark, that you are acting injudicious. I ‘ave been in service a great number of years, startin’ as steward’s room boy and rising to my present position, and I may say I ‘ave ‘ad experience during those years of several cases where the daughter or son of the ‘ouse contemplated a misalliance, and all but one of the cases ended disastrously, your lordship, on account of the family trying opposition. It is my experience that opposition in matters of the ‘eart is useless, feedin’, as it, so to speak, does the flame. Young people, your lordship, if I may be pardoned for employing the expression in the present case, are naturally romantic and if you keep ‘em away from a thing they sit and pity themselves and want it all the more. And in the end you may be sure they get it. There’s no way of stoppin’ them. I was not on sufficiently easy terms with the late Lord Worlingham to give ‘im the benefit of my experience on the occasion when the Honourable Aubrey Pershore fell in love with the young person at the Gaiety Theatre. Otherwise I could ‘ave told ‘im he was not acting judicious. His lordship opposed the match in every way, and the young couple ran off and got married at a registrar’s. It was the same when a young man who was tutor to ‘er ladyship’s brother attracted Lady Evelyn Walls, the only daughter of the Earl of Ackleton. In fact, your lordship, the only entanglement of the kind that came to a satisfactory conclusion in the whole of my personal experience was the affair of Lady Catherine Duseby, Lord Bridgefield’s daughter, who injudiciously became infatuated with a roller-skating instructor.”