A Pelican at Blandings:

by P. G. Wodehouse

  'His shoe lace had come untied outside Lady Constance's door, and he stooped to tie it.'

  'And happened to overhear what was passing within?'

  'Yes.'

  Her story rang true to Gally, though he found it hard to believe that a man of Beach's build could have stooped.

  'This,' he said, 'undeniably complicates things. I had been relying on Johnny making an extended stay at the castle with plenty of time to work on your ghastly uncle and gradually get him into a more reasonable frame of mind. We are now in something of a dilemma. But don't despair. There must be a way out, there's always a way out of everything, and I'm sure to spot it sooner or later. Hullo, here's Beach again, and five will get you ten that he's come to tell me her ladyship would like a word with me. Yes, Beach?'

  'Her ladyship would like a word with you, Mr. Galahad.'

  'Then what a pity,' said Gally, 'that she isn't going to get it.'

  'Sir?'

  'You hunted high and low, you turned stones and explored avenues, but you couldn't find me. You think I must have gone to Market Blandings to buy tobacco. That is your story, Beach, and be careful to tell it without any of the hesitations and stammerings which are so apt to arouse suspicion in the auditor. Above all, remember not to stand on one leg. What you will be aiming at in her ladyship is that willing suspension of disbelief dramatic critics are always talking about. Tell your tale so that it can be swallowed. In this way much unpleasantness will be avoided,' said Gally.

  He was an intrepid man and was not afraid of his sister Constance. He merely thought it wiser not to confer with her until the hot blood had had time to cool. He had pursued the same policy in the past with Honest Jerry Judson and Tim Simms the Safe Man.

  2

  Beach made the telling of his tale as succinct as possible, and after Lady Constance had clicked her tongue, as she did on receipt of the news, he did not linger to offer her silent sympathy for her disappointment, but passed from the presence as quickly as was within the scope of a man of his portliness. He was anxious to get back to his pantry and resume the perusal of a letter which had come for him by the morning post.

  The letter was from a Mrs. Gerald Vail, formerly Miss Penelope Donaldson, younger daughter of the Mr. Donaldson of Donaldson's Dog Joy whose elder daughter had married Lord Emsworth's son Freddie. During her recent visit to the castle a warm friendship had sprung up between her and Beach, and since her marriage to the health cure establishment in which her husband was a partner they had been in regular correspondence. She would give him the latest hot news from the health cure establishment, and he would reciprocate with an up-to-date account of doings at Blandings Castle.

  Her letters were always fraught with interest, for the health cure establishment as seen through her eyes appeared to be peopled by eccentrics of the first water, and he chafed at any interruption which delayed the reading of them. It was consequently with annoyance that as he crossed the hall he found his progress arrested by Vanessa Polk. He liked and admired Vanessa Polk, but he wanted to get to his pantry.

  'Oh, Beach,' said Vanessa, 'I'm looking for Mr. Trout. You haven't seen him, have you?'

  'No, miss.'

  'Very difficult finding people in a place this size. What Blandings Castle needs is a troupe of bloodhounds. I'd see that a few were laid on, if I were you. You never know when they won't come in handy. Well, if you see him, tell him I'm up on the roof.'

  She passed on, and he was able to continue heading for the pantry.

  The letter was on the table where he had left it when rung for by Lady Constance, and he resumed his reading of it with the enjoyment Penny Vail's letters always gave him. He had just reached the postscript, when the door opened and Gally came in. Thinking it over, Gally said, he had come to the conclusion that Beach's pantry was the one spot in the castle where a man with whom Lady Constance would like to have a word could feel safe from having that word said to him.

  'The chance of her ladyship dropping in on you for a glass of port and a gossip is, I take it, slim. And it's nice to get away from the women now and then. I have read in novels that there is nothing more delightful than a tête-à-tête with a cultured member of the other sex, and perhaps there isn't, but the time for it should be carefully chosen. It's not a thing to rush into with your eyes shut. Having stooped to tie your shoelace outside her door while she was in conference with Mr. Halliday, you are aware that the lady up top is for the moment better avoided. Later on, possibly . . .'

  Gally paused. His auditor, he saw, was not giving him his attention. Beach, usually so imperturbable except when visitors put water in their claret, was showing unmistakeable signs of agitation.

  'Something the matter, Beach?'

  'Yes, indeed, Mr. Galahad.'

  'Tell me all.'

  'I fear this will come as a shock.'

  'What does one more shock matter nowadays? Explode your bomb.'

  'I have received a letter from Mrs. Vail.'

  'Who? Oh, Penny. Nothing sensational about that, is there? You told me you corresponded regularly.'

  'Yes, Mr. Galahad. But in this letter she . . . I must mention that in my last communication I informed Mrs. Vail that we had the daughter of the well-known American financier Mr. J. B. Polk staying with us. I thought it might interest her.'

  'I don't know why it should, but go on.'

  'And in her reply . . . this is what gave me such a shock, Mr. Galahad . . . she states that Mr. Polk has no daughter.'

  'What!'

  'Precisely that, Mr. Galahad.'

  'Well, I'll be dashed.'

  'And Mrs. Vail cannot be mistaken. She says in her letter that her father Mr. Donaldson is an intimate friend of Mr. Polk.'

  'So she would know if he had a daughter.'

  'Exactly, Mr. Galahad. One is reluctantly forced to the conclusion that the lady calling herself Miss Polk is an impostor.'

  'And presumably up to something. I wonder what.'

  A respectful shrug of his ample shoulders indicated that this was a mystery that Beach was unable to solve. Gally stood frowning.

  'Well,' he said, 'the obvious thing is to go and ask her. Any idea where she is?'

  'Yes, Mr. Galahad. She informed me that she was about to visit the roof.'

  'When was that?'

  'Only a short time ago.'

  'Then she's probably still up there. I'll go and see.'

  Gally spoke without enthusiasm. It would be necessary, he realized, when he met Vanessa, to be stern and austere, and sternness and austerity did not come easily to him. He was by nature a tolerant man, always inclined to let everyone do what he or she liked. It was a frame of mind habitual with members of the Pelican Club. 'Nothing to do with me', the Pelicans would say if they saw someone up to something, and Gally always said the same.

  But this was a special case. Here he was in a sense representing the family, and whatever this girl was contemplating it was presumably something opposed to the family interests. He must not allow an easygoing Pelican-Club-bred turn of mind or his liking for her, which was considerable, to put him in the position of an indulgent spectator.

  All that was clear enough. Nevertheless he was not happy as he started on his mission. He was about to have a tête-à-tête with a cultured member of the other sex, but he was not looking forward to it.

  3

  Though not much frequented by residents and visitors, the roof was a feature of Blandings Castle that well repaid inspection, for from it it was possible to see a fascinating panorama of Shropshire and its adjoining counties. To reach it the explorer went past the great gatehouse, where a channel of gravel separated the west wing from the centre block, and came on a small door leading to mysterious stone steps. Mounting these, he found himself on a vast flat surface bordered by battlements, on its edge the flagstaff from which flew the gay flag announcing, in case the information was of any interest to anyone, that Clarence, ninth Earl of Emsworth, was on the premises. As a boy, when it had so often be
en imperative to find a quiet hideaway when his father was looking for him, Gally had spent many a happy hour there.

  Vanessa was standing gazing over the battlements. He hailed her, and she turned with a start.

  'Oh hi,' she said.

  'Hi to you,' said Gally. No sense in being stern and austere till one had to. 'Taking a look at the countryside?'

  'It's a wonderful view. What's that hill over there?'

  'The Wrekin.'

  'Where's this Bredon that A. E. Housman writes about?'

  'Good heavens, do you read Housman?'

  'Why not?'

  The discomfort Gally had been feeling became intensified. She seemed so wholesome, so like the sort of girl you brought home to meet mother. To denounce her was not going to be easy, and for an instant he toyed with the idea of abandoning the whole project. Curiosity was probably what decided him to continue. Sleep at night would be impossible until he had informed himself of her motives in undertaking the perilous task of starting funny business with so hard-boiled an egg as Connie.

  'You're a very remarkable girl,' he said.

  'Because I read poetry?'

  'I was thinking more of what you do when you aren't reading poetry. Only a very remarkable girl would have been capable of doing what you did.'

  'What was that?'

  'Kidding my sister Constance into believing that you are the daughter of J. B. Polk. I learn from a reliable source close to him that he hasn't one.'

  Gally paused, inviting comment. When it came, it was not the comment he had expected. He had been prepared for the guilty start, the sudden pallor and possibly the flood of tears, but he had not anticipated that she would be amused. She laughed, a jolly ringing laugh, the laugh of a girl with a sense of humour who can join in the merriment though the joke is on her.

  'I was afraid this might happen,' she said. 'I read it in the tea leaves.'

  'It's surprising that it didn't happen sooner. I'd have thought you would have come a purler at the first fence. Connie's married to a big pot in the world of finance. Polk is also a big pot in that world. The betting would have been that she was bound to have met him. Why didn't she?'

  'Mr. Polk doesn't meet anyone. He's a recluse. The only person he sees outside business hours is a Mr. Donaldson who sells dog biscuits.'

  'And Donaldson has a daughter who is a great friend of Beach. She was the reliable source I mentioned. Beach has just had a letter from her in which she states that J. B. Polk has neither chick nor child.'

  'He would hate having either. He lives alone with four dogs and seven cats, and loves it.'

  'You seem to know a lot about him.'

  'Oh, one gets around. As a matter of fact, I'm his secretary.'

  'I see. And as a good secretary should, you look on him as a father. So when you told Connie you were his daughter, you were just speaking figuratively.'

  'I like that way of putting it.'

  'It is rather tactful. Connie would say in her blunt way that you had wormed yourself in under a false name.'

  'Who's wormed herself in under a false name? Not me. I may have gone a little astray in describing myself as J. B's daughter, but I'm Miss Polk all right. My father was P. P. Polk, formerly from Norfolk, later an American citizen. Polk's a good Norfolk name.'

  'Is it?'

  'So they tell me.'

  'Don't two Polks in the office cause confusion? If I walked in and shouted "Polk!", which of you would bound forward?'

  'Neither of us. You wouldn't have a hope of seeing him or me without an appointment. But if what you're trying to say is Did the coincidence of our having the same name distress J. B. Polk, the answer is No. He was amused. In fact, I think that's why he made me his confidential secretary.'

  'Confidential, eh?'

  'Very confidential. J. B. has no secrets from me.'

  'Must be a well-paid job.'

  'Very.'

  'Then,' said Gally, frankly bewildered, 'I don't get it. What's your game?'

  'I beg your pardon?'

  'What are you after? Are you working for some museum that wants to get hold of Clarence's bedroom slippers? The Smithsonian would probably pay a large sum for them. Are you connected with a secret society which is plotting to kidnap Beach? Dash it, my good wench, you must have had some reason for coming here under false pretences.'

  'It's quite simple. I wanted to see Blandings Castle.'

  'Just that?'

  'Just that.'

  Something of the sternness which had so far been absent from it crept into Gally's manner. He spoke severely.

  'I resent having my leg pulled.'

  'I'm not pulling your leg. I wanted to see it, and when I say see it, I mean see it. Live in it, soak myself in it, not just come on Visitors Day and be one of a mob shown around by the butler.'

  Gally could make nothing of this.

  'This is most extraordinary. Gratifying, of course, to one of the family to hear such a plug for the old dosshouse, but where did you get all this enthusiasm? I wouldn't have thought that living in New York you would ever have heard of Blandings Castle. We aren't Buckingham Palace or the Tower of London.'

  'That was my mother.'

  'What do you mean, that was your mother? What was your mother?'

  'She used to talk about Blandings all the time when I was a child—or chick, if you prefer it. The park, the lake, the yew alley, the amber drawing-room, everything. It fascinated me. I could never have enough of it, and I made up my mind that some day I'd get there.'

  'And you've got.'

  'Temporarily, shall we say.'

  'But how did your mother become such an authority on the place? Used she to stay here?'

  'In a sense. She was one of the parlourmaids.'

  'What!'

  'That surprises you?'

  'It does indeed. You're not pulling my leg again?'

  'Why again? I've never pulled your leg.'

  'I suggest, as my godson would say, that you are. How on earth would a Blandings parlourmaid get to New York?'

  'It can be done, given the right sequence of events. My father was valet to an American millionaire. They came to the castle on a visit. My father was naturally thrown into my mother's society. They fell in love and got married, and then they all three went back to America, where they lived happily till after several years the millionaire died of a heart attack. All straight so far?'

  'Quite.'

  'As for my becoming J. B. Polk's girl Friday and the friend of Lady Constance, that perhaps requires a lengthier explanation. Would you care to hear the story of my life?'

  'I'd love it. Not omitting your reasons for settling in as J. B. Polk's daughter.'

  'No, I'll be coming to that. But first, I think, a cigarette, if you've got one.'

  Gally produced his case. Vanessa stood looking over the battlements, a rather rapt expression on her face.

  'I suppose your ancestors used to pour boiling lead on people from up here?' she said.

  'All the time. Made them jump.'

  'That's just the sort of thing I find so romantic about the place.'

  'I can see how you might. Very attractive, those old English customs. But don't go wandering off on the subject of my ancestors. Let's have the story.'

  'Ready?'

  'And waiting.'

  'Then away we go. Where did the last instalment end?'

  'Death of millionaire.'

  'Oh, yes. Well, he left my father a bit of money, enough to buy a little restaurant. It prospered, and I was able to go to a good school and after that to college. I had always wanted to be a secretary, so I boned up on shorthand and efficiency and all that, and I got a job, then a better job, till climbing the ladder rung by rung I got taken on by Polk Enterprises, finally, as told in an earlier chapter, becoming J. B. Polk's confidential secretary. Am I boring you?'

  'Not at all.'

  'It sounds pretty dull to me. But keep on listening, for the plot now thickens. One day about three weeks ago I came
into the office and found my employer tearing what remained of his hair. It seemed that he had a colossal law suit on, with millions at stake, and he had just learned on the grapevine that the opposition were going to subpoena me as a witness. And if I gave evidence about a certain letter he had dictated to me, he would be in a spot. The letter apparently had been lost, but I could testify to its contents, and bang would go all hope of his winning the case. See where I'm heading?'

  'I think so.'

  'I'm sure you do. He told me I must get out of the country quick. England, he said, would be the best place to lie hid, which suited me, because though I had heard so much about England I had never been there. He gave me liberal expense money and booked me a passage on the boat. That's how I came to meet Lady Constance. And now you will be wanting to know how she came to mistake me for J. B's daughter.'

  'Just what I was going to ask.'

  'It came about quite naturally. After we had got friendly she used to talk a lot about Blandings Castle, but though I made it clear enough that I was perfectly willing to join her there she did not issue an invitation. It was as if she was wary about getting too friendly with strangers she met on ocean liners. And then one day the ship's paper had a bit in it about J. B. Polk, something about his dogs and cats, and she asked me if I was any relation, and feeling that it might just turn the scale and bring about the happy ending I said I was his daughter. It did turn the scale. I got my invitation instantly. That is how our heroine comes to be at Blandings Castle. And now,' said Vanessa, 'I suppose I had better be going and starting my packing.'

  Gally stared at her, amazed.

  'You aren't thinking of leaving?'

  'I certainly am. I don't propose to be among those present when you pass my story along to Lady Constance. You don't catch me waiting to be looked at through a lorgnette as if I were a deceitful cockroach. Never outstay your welcome is the motto of this branch of the Polks.'

  It was very rarely that Gally, who prided himself on his ability to preserve an unmoved front on all occasions, was heard to emit a gasp of horrified incredulity, but he did so now. It sounded like the bursting of a paper bag.