I thought Hoad’s line ‘Must I speak now?’ had got the biggest laugh of the night, but it was as nothing to Titania’s ‘Thou art as wise as thou art beautiful.’ The plaster was coming off the ceiling and the dust of decades was being beaten from the floorboards by the stamp of the standees’ boots.
Georgiana had wisely cut the end of the scene, where various fairies hop about, so we were now in the home straight. ‘And I do love thee: therefore go with me,’ she was saying, squeezing my arm with most realistic grip; and even through the ass’s headgear I was feeling the force of those brown, pleading eyes. ‘… And they shall fetch thee jewels from the deep …’
Then something about the warmth of her low and throbbing voice seemed to calm the yokels at the back. ‘And I will purge thy mortal grossness so That thou shalt like an airy spirit go,’ she ended, and took me by the arm as the curtain fell.
The first thing we saw in the wings was Lord Etringham, sitting up, drinking a glass of water, apparently restored.
‘Quick, Bertie,’ said Georgiana, ‘give him back the ass’s head. He must take the credit.’
It was a relief to get the wretched thing off. Lord Etringham was struggling to keep up with events, but no one minds going on stage to a hero’s welcome, which is what he got. They cheered, they whistled, they clapped, and no one seemed to mind that Bottom had shrunk by almost a foot.
They came off stage at last, but the audience wanted them back for a curtain call.
‘Come on, Bertie, you come this time, too,’ said Georgiana.
I followed on, as in a dream. When we bowed again, Lord E removed the ass’s head, to the delight of the crowd. Even the two-bob seats were up on their feet, and Georgiana pushed him forwards to take a solo bow.
As he did so, she picked up the head, and put it on me. ‘Bless thee, Bottom,’ she said. ‘Bless thee! Thou art translated.’
Strictly speaking this was Quince’s line, but no one seemed to mind. Then she took it off again, stood on tiptoe and, to the unbridled delight of those watching, planted a big kiss on my lips. I thought the ceiling might now cave in completely. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed the dear girl round the waist and returned the kiss, with interest.
When eventually we managed to get off stage, things happened rather fast. The players went to change their clothes, but in a minute we were reunited backstage round some bottles of light ale and champagne.
Georgiana was standing beside me when the door opened and in came Lady Hackwood and Dame Judith Puxley, clearly the only two people in the hall who had not been amused. They stood there like Scylla and Charybdis, and the channel between them to the open sea was a narrow one.
‘Well, young man,’ said Lady Hackwood. ‘Can you please explain yourself?’
‘Explain what, Lady H?’ I said.
‘Explain what you mean by kissing my niece like that in front of two hundred people.’
I looked at Georgiana, who was back in her normal clothes, though still with the tiara and the fairy-queen make-up. I felt that I had compromised her in public, and the code of the Woosters allowed for only one way out.
‘I kissed her, Lady Hackwood, because … Because … we are engaged to be married.’
The pause that followed had a silence that felt bottomless, as it were.
‘Is this true, Georgiana?’ said Lady Hackwood eventually.
‘I don’t know. Is it true, Bertie?’
‘It is if you want it to be, dear girl. Dashed odd proposal, I admit. But will you marry me? Could you bear it?’
‘I want it more than anything on earth. Come on, you ass, let’s go.’
‘Where to?’
‘I’ll tell you when we’re in the car.’
She grabbed me by the hand and led me from the room.
A couple of minutes later, the roof was down on the old two-seater as we purred between the fragrant hedgerows.
‘Take the next right,’ said Georgiana, her head resting on my shoulder.
‘Where are we going?’
‘We’re going to have dinner at the Queen’s Head in Bere Regis.’
‘Then what?’ I said.
‘And then we’re going to have the rest of our lives.’
I CAN REMEMBER little of what took place over dinner. There were in any event things said on both sides which might, if repeated, bring a blush to the reader’s cheek. Georgiana was a passionate sort of girl and pretty good at expressing herself; I rather let her do the talking for both of us, restricting myself to the occasional ‘You bet’ or ‘Absolutely, old thing’.
It was perplexing, to put it mildly, that this paragon of her sex should have formed such a high opinion of Wooster, B., but I felt it would be foolish to press her on this: I didn’t want to be the cause of the scales falling from her eyes at this late stage. I’ve never really understood why girls fall for chaps at all, to be quite frank, but I suppose if a twenty-four-carat popsy like Pauline Stoker can declare undying love for an ass like Chuffy Chufnell then all things are possible. Women are, as my old housemaster had remarked, queer cattle.
The gist – if I can convey this without breaking any confidences – was that Georgiana had fallen for me from day one on the Côte d’Azur on the grounds that I was ‘different’ from all the other chaps she knew (I thought it wiser not to press her on this ‘difference’). She further felt there was a bond between us – something about parents – and that although I obviously had lots of chums, only she could see and understand the ‘real’ Bertram. There was a good deal more in this vein – including a bit of hand-squeezing and eye-dabbing – that we can happily pass over.
In return, I told her that if hers was the face I saw on the pillow every day I should believe that some mix-up in the divine sweepstake had put my name where some other fellow’s ought to be, but that I was delighted to carry on till rumbled.
There were then a few practical questions to consider. First among these was as follows: would Sir Henry Hackwood consent to his ward’s being married to a man who had spent several days under his roof impersonating a valet and then clambered over that same roof wrapped in a builder’s dust sheet?
Georgiana thought it depended only on whether the old boy could be guaranteed continuing possession of his beloved Melbury Hall. Meanwhile, her mind seemed to have fastened on to the smaller details of the future.
‘We can have the second floor, Bertie. Dame Judith’s room is actually the best in the house, especially in summer. The views are wonderful.’
I repressed a shudder. ‘No cold cream and curling papers.’
‘Not until I’m at least seventy.’
‘I rather like the room at the end, where I am now.’
‘That can be the nursery.’
‘And I suppose Amelia and Woody will have the first floor.’
‘Absolutely. But I shall need to be in London during the week to carry on with my work.’
‘Plenty of room in Berkeley Mansions,’ I said.
‘What about Jeeves?’
‘He always said he’d hand in his notice if I got married.’
‘I’ll see if I can persuade him to change his mind,’ said my fiancée.
We drove back slowly through the summer night, and when we arrived at the Hall there seemed to be some sort of party going on. There were cars parked outside and lights blazing within. We went up the steps to the front door.
‘Let me go and speak to Uncle Henry first,’ said Georgiana. ‘I’ll drag him off to the library.’
I was left to make my way to the drawing room, where a large portion of the two-bobbers and a few standees were continuing the midsummer festivities. Bicknell was pushing round the refreshments and someone was playing the grand piano. I saw the hawkish face of Beeching, P. and made a bee-line for him.
‘What ho,’ I said.
‘What ho indeed, Bertie. This is another fine pickle you’ve got me into.’
‘Not so fast, young Beeching. All is for the best though oft we doubt what
the highest something tiddly-pom …’
‘Are you blotto?’
‘No. Not at all.’
‘I thought perhaps that zonker had got to you. I supervised the barman and it was a pretty hefty one. With a cherry on top. Must have tasted innocuous, but by golly …’
‘It never reached me.’ I had in fact completely forgotten about Woody’s promised nerve-calmer.
‘But I gave it to that fellow Hoad and said, “Give this to that ass, Wooster.”’
We looked at one another for a bit.
I had a thought. ‘I don’t suppose Hoad even knows my real name is Wooster.’
A light came into the keen advocate’s eye. He smiled. ‘I think he gave it to the wrong ass.’
‘Etringham?’
‘Yes. That’s why he dropped off.’
While we were mulling over this twist of fate, Georgiana materialised at my side. ‘Darling,’ she whispered in my ear, ‘go and see Uncle Henry in the library now.’
‘Wish me luck,’ I said to them both.
The number of times I have been engaged to be married does not reflect well on me; even less flattering is the fact that none of the many proposed couplings got as far as the ‘Tell me about your prospects, young man’ stage with the intended’s father.
The scene ahead, as I knocked at the library door, was therefore what Jeeves calls terra incognita.
Sir Henry Hackwood was standing with his foot up on the club fender. He had changed from his Quince costume into the green smoking jacket.
‘Ah, Wooster. Sit down. Have a drink.’
I did as I was told, twice over, the ottoman yielding of its bounty.
‘Pretty good do, that, wouldn’t you say?’ said Sir Henry.
‘Rather. The paying public lapped it up.’
‘Bobby Etringham was thrilled.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ I said. ‘He went over big.’
‘He doesn’t remember much about it. It’s important he just savours the triumph. No need to fill him in on the details.’
‘None whatever.’
‘Now, Wooster.’
‘Yes, Sir Henry.’
‘I’ve been talking to my niece.’
‘Georgiana.’
He shot me a warning look, as if to let me know he was well aware of his niece’s given name.
‘I am going to be quite frank with you, young man. Do you play golf?’
‘I … er. Yes, occasionally. Not very well.’
‘Are you familiar with a shot near the green known as a “son-in-law”?’
‘No,’ I said, wondering if my host had been attacking the ottoman a bit too freely.
‘It’s a slight mishit that’s not a complete disaster. Calling it a “son-in-law” is a polite way of saying “Not quite what we were hoping for.”’
There was a pause as I tried to work out what the old sportsman was getting at.
Sir Henry cleared his throat with a bark. ‘Bobby Etringham’s going to take the stable block and the home farm for his school scheme. His lawyer’s going to send the papers next week. But it still won’t meet all the requirements of the estate.’
There followed a delicate exchange on matters financial. Georgiana’s inheritance, it transpired, was comparable in size to the Wooster war chest; so if I could foot the necessary bills until the Meadowes trust came into its own in a few years’ time … I quickly indicated a willingness to open up the pocket book to whatever extent would clinch the deal, starting with a cheque to S. Venables for the money he had lost with the Dorchester bookies.
Sir Henry did not exactly throw his bonnet over the windmill at this point, but he exhaled a big one and nodded a few times as it sank in.
‘I’ve changed my will,’ he said eventually. ‘In the absence of any male heir, which is a great regret to me, I shall be leaving the Hall jointly to Amelia and Georgiana. This Beeching is clearly a clever fellow and will take silk in no time. I have no doubts of his sincerity where Amelia is concerned. She’s too young to be married, really, but what can I do?’
‘Indeed,’ I said, rather feebly.
‘That leaves Georgiana,’ he said.
‘She’s a wonderful girl.’
‘I know,’ said the old baronet. ‘I love her like a daughter. I swore a solemn oath to her late father, who loved her too …’
For the second time that evening there was a bit of handkerchief work, Sir Henry being less of a dabber than a dasher.
‘She’s made up her mind. God knows why she …’ He pulled himself up short. ‘Anyway. She’s a darn clever girl. She reads between the lines. She understands things I don’t. I trust her. Do you love her, Wooster?’
‘You bet I do, Sir Henry. And I always will.’
The old chap nodded once more, a trifle wistfully, it seemed to me. ‘All right, then. Go on. Marry her.’
At this point I think I may have made it a straight hat-trick for the eye-dabbing tendency. I don’t recall exactly; but if so, it was not for long, since there followed a manly handshake and a swift return to the drawing room where something about my expression must have given the game away, since, before I could even open my mouth, a pandemonium of cheering and clapping had broken out, while from the grand piano came the strains of ‘The Wedding March’.
It was a few days before I found myself alone again with Jeeves. My time had been filled with back-slapping, telegrams and celebrations, culminating in a gruelling dinner at the Drones after which Freddie Widgeon was arrested on the way home for singing a Marie Lloyd song in Albemarle Street.
‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘may we speak frankly?’
‘Of course, sir.’
It was another fine morning and I had little to do until twelve-thirty, at which time I had arranged to meet Georgiana for an early lunch.
‘I’ve always understood that in the event of my getting hitched you’d be giving in your notice. Is that right?’
‘Yes, sir. It has been my invariable custom to terminate my employment under such circumstances.’
‘So it’s the parting of the ways, is it?’
Jeeves glanced out of the window for a moment, then looked down at this shoes. There was something a little shifty in his manner. ‘Not necessarily, sir. Perhaps I can explain.’
‘Explain away, old friend.’
‘In the event that a gentleman’s personal gentleman were simultaneously to contemplate matrimony of his own accord, I feel that the propriety of the arrangement might be maintained.’
‘You what?’
‘I am also engaged to be married, sir.’
‘Good heavens, Jeeves. Who to?’
‘Mrs Tilman, sir.’
The power of speech had left me and I sat down heavily on the sofa.
‘I knew Mrs Tilman when she was Miss Charlton, sir, in the employ of Sir Henry Dalgleish. I was unable to press my suit at the time as I had an understanding with another young lady. The unfortunate demise of Mr Tilman, however …’
‘I see.’
‘Mrs Tilman is a most excellent lady.’
‘I know, Jeeves. My heartfelt congratulations.’
‘Thank you, sir. She thinks highly of you, as well, sir, if I may say so. She was most helpful to me in the course of our stay at Melbury Hall.’
‘Come again?’
‘I informed her that you had played the part of Bottom, the weaver, while at school and it was she who suggested to Sir Henry that the scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream would make an apt conclusion to the evening. Sir Henry depends on her a good deal.’
‘Yes, I noticed. But why did she want to see me tread the boards?’
Jeeves did not answer at once. ‘When you planned to flirt with Miss Hackwood, sir, whom did you consult about her tennis routine?’
‘Mrs Tilman. At your suggestion, Jeeves. She told me she was meeting the pro. Then Georgiana turned up!’
‘I fear Mrs Tilman may inadvertently have confused the days of the week, sir.’
‘Or not s
o inadvertently, eh?’
‘It was felt that if Miss Meadowes were to see you in such a light it would concentrate her feelings for you.’
‘I see. And what about Plan B? Did Mrs Tilman fix for that to come a cropper, too?’
‘No, sir. I regret to say that that was my doing. When Miss Hackwood was on her way to the bench I waylaid her and informed her that I had seen a Camberwell Beauty in the rose garden.’
‘And had you?’
‘I am not an expert lepidopterist, sir. It may well have turned out to be a Cabbage White. But Hiss Hackwood was diverted.’
‘And young Venables?’
‘I told Mr Venables I had spotted an unsigned copy of By Tramcar to Toledo on the bench by the rhododendron. He needed little urging to make his way there with all speed.’
‘And what was the strategy there?’
‘As with the first misunderstanding, sir. It was felt that when confronted with an unpalatable situation Mr Venables would be compelled to examine his own feelings.’
‘Golly, Jeeves. You have been hard at work.’
‘Mrs Tilman was a most willing aide-de-camp, sir. She wished to see a similar outcome.’
‘So she played the role of Puck in more ways than one. And while we’re at it, has young Venables got fixed up with this girl in Nottinghamshire?’
‘I believe so, sir. Much to his parents’ satisfaction. I understand they had some doubts about the suitability of the match with Miss Meadowes.’
A number of loose ends of which I had earlier been aware now seemed to be tied off.
‘Mrs Tilman was very helpful with my alibi on the night of the rooftop incident,’ I said. ‘The next morning she said she’d seen me leave the library and go to bed … And you were rather insistent on knowing where Plan B was going to take place.’
‘I regret that a degree of dissimulation was necessary on occasion, sir. The reversal of our customary roles made it difficult for me to apprise you of my thinking at all material times.’
I hummed and hah-ed a bit. One or two other things were falling into place. The day that Jeeves had given me the morning off tea-duty, presumably so he could have another confab with his co-conspirator … The way Mrs Tilman looked guilty when I mentioned how often in a day she seemed to bump into Lord Etringham …