Jeeves and the Wedding Bells

  I had lost a battle, not a war. So, steady the Buffs, I thought – or may even have said out loud, as I rose from the truckle bed and changed back into clothing more fitted to my menial duties. Yet even as I donned the spongebag trousering, I suddenly remembered an afternoon at private school when I was about eleven and had been laid low by an attack of measles. The other chaps were off in a charabanc to play cricket against a nearby rival with a slap-up tea thrown in, while I was left perspiring beneath the blankets like the greater spotted toad.

  At dusk the matron came in with a letter from home. As well as the usual stuff about the asparagus bed, Grandpa’s gout and the Glossops’ summer ball, it contained the news that Horace, the family hound, had, at the admittedly splendid age of fourteen, handed in his dinner pail and would bark no more in Woosterland. I had confided more in this beast than any living creature thus far in my life, and my trust had been well founded. As Matron closed the sickbay curtain, I wondered whether life could get much gloomier.

  Why on earth this childish memory should have chosen that moment to ambush me, I had not the faintest idea. So straightening the dull blue tie, I checked that the hair was in place, the shoes shining and set off to find Lord Etringham.

  My first port of call was the housekeeper’s sitting room, though for once Mrs Tilman was unable to help. She had not heard whether the sporting duo was back from Dorchester, but perhaps a look in the garages beyond the stable block, this excellent woman pointed out, would establish whether the two-seater was still absent.

  The advantage of this plan was that it kept me in a part of the estate where I was unlikely to come across any of the increasingly large number of people I did not wish to clap eyes on me. In addition to Hackwoods, Puxleys, Venableses and other rough customers, this list, to my chagrin, now contained Amelia and Georgiana.

  If there was something furtive in my manner as I skirted past the thoroughbreds in their stabling, perhaps it can be forgiven in the circs. The Wooster sports model was neatly parked alongside what I took to be Sir Henry’s somewhat battered four-door chariot, so I made another longish loop on my way back to the first-floor corner room.

  I had never really considered before how little of a house like Melbury Hall is used by the family and its guests. Less than a third, I would have guessed, as I panted over a cobbled yard, through a battered side door, up a linoleum-covered stair, down a dim corridor, past maids’ rooms and half-shut store cupboards from which mysterious mops and brushes poked their heads. I had almost despaired of reaching civilisation, when I spotted a passage that led to a distant baize-upholstered door.

  This opening gave on to the main house and the huge right-angled oak landing that hung above the main hall. I looked from side to side, like a dowager afraid to cross at Piccadilly Circus. I took a chance. I scooted, skidded, halted, knocked.

  ‘Come in,’ said a welcome voice.

  His lordship was seated in an armchair by the window that overlooked the deer park.

  ‘I didn’t know you wore glasses, Jeeves,’ I panted.

  ‘Only for reading, sir.’

  ‘Eye strain, is it? Too many of those triple-decker Russian novels? I can’t say I’m surprised.’

  ‘It is normal for people in their middle years to require reading spectacles. The condition is known as presbyopia. It derives from the Greek word “presbys” meaning an elder or—’

  ‘Does it, by Jove?’

  ‘A weakening of the ciliary muscles is unable to compensate for a loss of elasticity in the crystalline lens, which—’

  ‘Jeeves?’

  ‘Yes, sir?’

  ‘Enough. I’ve got some bad news. An absolute wagonload of it.’

  Jeeves laid down the hefty book and removed the specs. ‘I am sorry to hear that, sir.’

  ‘Plan A laid an egg. And I thought it was going to be the goose that … But it was a turkey. Do you catch my drift?’

  ‘The poultry metaphors are painting a lively picture, sir. Am I to take it that you were out for a duck?’

  ‘Enough, Jeeves. This is an absolute snookeroo. Amelia was appalled by my behaviour and, what’s worse, by some utter fluke Georgiana witnessed the whole thing and now thinks I’m the biggest cad this side of Newton Abbot.’

  ‘Most distressing for you, sir.’

  ‘I mean, dash it, I came down here to try to put Woody back on track with Amelia and now Georgiana thinks I’m trying to steal old Woody’s girl. It’s a disaster.’

  ‘So it would appear, sir.’

  ‘Jeeves, you’re not helping. You don’t seem to understand the gravity of the situation.’

  ‘The plan or expedient was one about which, as I recall, I did express grave reservations, sir.’

  ‘If you’re trying to say “I told you so”, you’d better just come out and say it.’

  ‘On the contrary, sir. It merely occurred to me that Miss Hackwood is too much preoccupied with her feelings for Mr Beeching to be able to extrapolate any general rule about the behaviour of the male sex from a chance encounter with an over-friendly stranger, let alone to apply such an axiom to her particular situation.’

  There was a longish silence in Sir Henry Hackwood’s favoured guest room as I slowly decoded what Jeeves had said. I got there in the end and I had to admit that the chap had a point. I could see that now.

  I slid a cigarette from my case and sucked in a pensive lungful.

  ‘What next, Jeeves?’

  ‘I would suggest doing nothing, sir.’

  ‘Nothing? Have you taken leave of your senses?’

  ‘I trust not, sir. However, my observation of Miss Hackwood leads me to suppose that she is very much struck by the charms of Mr Beeching. I believe her coldness to be temporary. If Mr Beeching can remember to contain his friendly impulse towards any member of the fairer sex to a point of simple civility in future, then I am confident that—’

  ‘But what about Amelia? Do you think Woody can point out to her that he can’t spend the rest of his life being dashed chilly to anything in a skirt?’

  ‘Miss Hackwood is young, sir, but she is not unintelligent. And her character is not yet set. I see no reason why each party should not learn from his unfortunate froideur.’

  ‘You may be right, Jeeves, but don’t forget that whether they get hitched or not still depends on keeping Sir Henry sweet. Which reminds me, how did you get on at the bookies’ in Dorchester?’

  ‘It was Gold Cup day at Ascot, sir. I am happy to say that Sir Henry followed my lead and backed Solario.’

  ‘So he’s in a pretty good mood?’

  ‘Indeed, sir, though it would be even better had he taken my advice and backed Pons Asinorum for a place.’

  ‘Pond’s What?’

  ‘Pons Asinorum, sir. Sir Henry was deterred by the Latin name which he described as “fancy nonsense”.’

  ‘But you weren’t put off?’

  ‘Not at all, sir. The phrase was familiar to me from the fifth proposition of Euclid.’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir. It means the asses’ bridge. It is the beginners’ hurdle – or first point of a proof that the novice must somehow get across.’

  ‘And this nag did well?’

  ‘It ran on strongly to finish third, sir.’

  ‘And you trousered a second bagful of silver?’

  ‘A quite satisfactory sum, thank you, sir.’

  I bunged the cigarette end into the fireplace. ‘I’m very happy for you, Jeeves. But what am I to do about Georgiana? She’s going to tell Woody that I’ve been making up to his fiancée.’

  ‘I somehow doubt it, sir.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I can think of two reasons, sir.’

  ‘I’m all ears, Jeeves.’

  ‘Miss Meadowes is a good-hearted young lady, sir. She is disposed to think well of people. She is also quick-witted and may suspect there was an ulterior motive in your behaviour. Furthermore, she is devoted to her cousin, Miss Hackwood. She wou
ld do nothing to threaten her happiness.’

  ‘Even though Amelia regularly gives her a pummelling on the tennis court.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. I believe she is most sporting about it.’

  ‘Well, that’s one reason. I take it that it was just one, wasn’t it? Even if it had half a dozen subclauses?’

  ‘Indeed, sir, it was intended as a single entity.’

  ‘Right ho. So what’s reason number two? And any chance it might dash the Dorsetshire Bounder of the Year cup from my unwilling grasp?’

  Jeeves cleared his throat and looked out of the window as though he had spotted something. I followed his gaze but could see nothing of moment beyond the railing of the park and a few contented deer cropping the verdure.

  ‘The second reason is a delicate one, sir. It raises questions of feelings contingent on your own person.’

  ‘Would it be possible to speak in plain English, Jeeves? I’m in a spot of bother here.’

  ‘I shall endeavour, sir, to …’ Jeeves coughed.

  ‘Would you like a glass or water?’ I asked.

  ‘No, sir, I … Forgive me if this appears in some way ultra vires but—’

  ‘You’re at it again.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ After one final throat clearance and wistful glance towards the grazing herbivores, he finally gave voice. ‘Had it occurred to you, sir, that Miss Meadowes may entertain certain feelings for you?’

  ‘Feelings? What sort of … Good heavens, Jeeves, you don’t mean … Surely not … Not that sort of feeling?’

  I sat down heavily on the end of the bed. My emotions at this moment can best be described as confused. There was a bit of exhilaration, a hefty dose of doubt, a worry about Jeeves’s mental stability and the usual unease about bandying a woman’s name. When the roiling waters of the Wooster mind had calmed a fraction, however, there was only one thing visible: disbelief.

  I chose my words with care. ‘What on earth makes you think that a woman who edits books and shoots the breeze with you about … what was that chap’s name … Something-hour?’

  ‘Schopenhauer, sir.’

  ‘… and furthermore looks like an angel in human form on a quite exceptional day for angels would care for a complete ass like me – an ass, what’s more, she’s just seen manhandling her cousin?’

  Jeeves passed a hand across his mouth. ‘Miss Meadowes is undoubtedly a well-educated young woman, sir, but there is nothing of the intellectual snob about her. She told me that her time at Somerville was spent mostly at the Oxford University Dramatic Society. I believe her Rosalind in As You Like It was especially admired.’

  ‘She mentioned something about Rosalind one night in France. I thought she was referring to a girl I knew in St Hilda’s.’

  ‘When not treading the boards, Miss Meadowes spent a good deal of time organising picnics or entertaining friends to dinner on a flat roof reached by way of the Principal’s fire escape.’

  ‘But she got a degree, didn’t she?’

  ‘Of the second class, I believe, sir.’

  ‘That’s a bit showy, isn’t it? Anyway, the point is there’s no reason in the world why she should have any of the feelings you’re suggesting.’

  ‘You spent a good deal of time together in France, sir.’

  ‘Brother and sister stuff, Jeeves. Catsmeat and Corky dine together at every opportunity. And one doesn’t want to put on the bib and tucker alone every night.’

  ‘I believe you hold the young lady in high esteem, sir.’

  ‘I do. The highest possible, in fact. But that’s a completely different matter. That doesn’t mean that I’m any more than the dust beneath her thingummy.’

  ‘At dinner last night, sir, I observed a look in her eye when Mr Venables brought up the subject of the south of France.’

  ‘A look in her eye! Egad, Jeeves, these are slim pickings.’

  ‘A wistful look, sir. Accompanied by a degree of moisture.’

  ‘Enough of this childish nonsense, Jeeves.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’

  ‘And in any event, I feel we may well have been bandying, don’t you?’

  ‘It was difficult to convey my meaning without identifying the individual, sir. I might, perhaps, have chosen the form of a parable, as did the prophet Nathan when seeking to enlighten King David, but—’

  ‘Yes, I remember. But I suppose you thought if you’d done the parable routine there was the risk that I wouldn’t have known what you were on about.’

  ‘The more direct approach seemed on balance—’

  ‘Do you mind if we just stop there, Jeeves?’

  The waters had started roiling again and the cardiac muscle was giving the inside shirt-front a bit of a pasting.

  ‘As you wish, sir. Might I just add that it is still conceivable that Mr Beeching might hear of this afternoon’s misunderstanding from a different source.’

  ‘From Amelia, you mean?’

  ‘The young lady is so out of sorts that I feel she cannot be relied on.’

  ‘She’s cornered, you mean. Desperate. She might lash out.’

  ‘The situation is fraught, sir. Miss Hackwood may feel she no longer has an interest in preserving the fiction of Lord Etringham and his gentleman’s personal gentleman, Mr Wilberforce.’

  ‘That’s pretty serious, Jeeves.’

  ‘I fear so, sir. It would mean an early end to our visit.’

  ‘And Lady Hackwood would be straight on the blower to Aunt Agatha.’

  ‘It is as well that the instrument is temporarily disabled, sir.’

  ‘I tell you what else it would mean if Amelia tells Woody.’

  I think I may have mentioned that in addition to everything else, Woody secured a half-blue at boxing in his final year at Oxford. Those of us who made the journey down to the Savoy hotel for the match against Cambridge will never forget the one minute and twelve seconds that made up the full extent of the middleweight bout, the amount of claret splashed about the ring nor the look on the face of the opposing undergraduate as he was helped back to his corner before resuming – with all speed, one imagined – his restful studies at Gonville and Caius.

  I was not at all keen to find myself in the shoes of that young man, especially since in the intervening years Woody had almost certainly moved up a division.

  ‘Golly, Jeeves. How on earth are we going to keep Amelia sweet until Sunday night?’

  ‘I have been reflecting on the matter, sir and I have—’

  But what exactly he had, I did not at once find out, as there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Come in,’ we said in unison.

  The door opened and the space filled. When I say ‘filled’, I mean that there was nothing between lintel, jamb and floor that was not solid butler.

  ‘I beg your, pardon, my lord,’ said Bicknell. ‘I was looking for Mr Wilberforce.’

  ‘You came to the right place, Mr Bicknell,’ I said.

  ‘With Lord Etringham’s permission, I wondered if I might ask your assistance, Mr Wilberforce.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jeeves.

  ‘Anything you like, Mr Bicknell,’ I said. ‘As I told you this morning, we Woo … Wilberforces like to make ourselves useful. No General Striking for us.’

  ‘Hoad, the temporary footman, finds himself indisposed. We sit down ten to dinner this evening and I need you to wait at table.’

  ‘Love to help,’ I said, thinking rapidly on my feet, ‘but I haven’t yet had a chance to get down to the village and make that call about the telephone line, so—’

  ‘There’s no hurry for that, Mr Wilberforce. I can go tomorrow.’

  ‘It’s just that I can’t …’

  I looked across to Jeeves for salvation, but his face was expressionless and his lips remained sealed.

  ‘I am most grateful,’ said Bicknell. ‘I shall be serving cocktails in the drawing room from seven o’clock and Sir Henry likes to sit down no later than eight. Perhaps you could report to Mrs Padgett at s
even-thirty.’

  The doorway emptied.

  I may have got out a weak ‘Right ho’, or I may not. It is immaterial.

  ‘JEEVES,’ I SAID, when I had finally regained the power of speech. ‘This is the bally end.’

  ‘It would appear that confusion now hath made his masterpiece, sir.’

  ‘Well, I jolly well wish his masterpiece didn’t involve me in a starring role.’

  ‘It is a most vexed state of affairs, sir, though perhaps not beyond hope.’

  Then I noticed that Jeeves had a glint in his eye. There had been times over the last forty-eight hours when I had doubted the fellow. I had thought he was perhaps partaking in the workshy public mood; I wondered if as well as Spinoza he had been dipping into a bit of Karl Marx. Not for the first time, I had underestimated him.

  ‘It is a fact of life, sir,’ he said, ‘that in the course of a large dinner party those at table barely notice those who wait on them.’

  ‘Unless they make an ass of themselves.’

  ‘Indeed, sir. Otherwise, the company tends to take the service for granted and to be absorbed in its own conversation.’

  ‘That sounds a bit ungrateful.’

  ‘It is the way of the world, sir, and not ours to question. Might I for instance ask you who waited on you last time you stayed at Brinkley Court?’

  ‘Seppings?’

  ‘No, sir. Mr Seppings was indisposed. It was Mr Easton, a young man from the village.’

  ‘I didn’t notice.’

  ‘Exactly, sir.’

  I pondered this for a moment. ‘It’s still a blood-curdling prospect.’

  ‘I understand your trepidation, sir. Remember, however, that your disguise has been unremarked thus far. Then, to make assurance doubly sure, as it were, it might be advisable to alter your appearance in a small way.’

  ‘A false beard?’

  ‘No, sir. The footman you are replacing–’

  ‘Hoad? The gargoyle?’

  ‘Mr Hoad also has a pair of side-whiskers.’

  ‘Are you saying the whiskers naturally go with the corkscrew and the folded white napkin?’

  ‘They are more frequently worn by the serving classes, sir.’