Three Men and a Maid

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  THREE MEN AND A MAID

  by P. G. WODEHOUSE

  1921

  CHAPTER ONE

  Through the curtained windows of the furnished apartment which Mrs.Horace Hignett had rented for her stay in New York rays of goldensunlight peeped in like the foremost spies of some advancing army. Itwas a fine summer morning. The hands of the Dutch clock in the hallpointed to thirteen minutes past nine; those of the ormolu clock in thesitting-room to eleven minutes past ten; those of the carriage clock onthe bookshelf to fourteen minutes to six. In other words, it wasexactly eight; and Mrs. Hignett acknowledged the fact by moving herhead on the pillow, opening her eyes, and sitting up in bed. She alwayswoke at eight precisely.

  Was this Mrs. Hignett _the_ Mrs. Hignett, the world-famous writeron Theosophy, the author of "The Spreading Light," "What of theMorrow," and all the rest of that well-known series? I'm glad you askedme. Yes, she was. She had come over to America on a lecturing tour.

  The year 1921, it will be remembered, was a trying one for theinhabitants of the United States. Every boat that arrived from Englandbrought a fresh swarm of British lecturers to the country. Novelists,poets, scientists, philosophers, and plain, ordinary bores; some herdinstinct seemed to affect them all simultaneously. It was like one ofthose great race movements of the Middle Ages. Men and women of widelydiffering views on religion, art, politics, and almost every othersubject; on this one point the intellectuals of Great Britain weresingle-minded, that there was easy money to be picked up on the lectureplatforms of America and that they might just as well grab it as thenext person.

  Mrs. Hignett had come over with the first batch of immigrants; for,spiritual as her writings were, there was a solid streak of businesssense in this woman and she meant to get hers while the getting wasgood. She was half way across the Atlantic with a complete itinerarybooked before 90 per cent. of the poets and philosophershad finished sorting out their clean collars and getting theirphotographs taken for the passport.

  She had not left England without a pang, for departure had involvedsacrifices. More than anything else in the world she loved her charminghome, Windles, in the county of Hampshire, for so many years the seatof the Hignett family. Windles was as the breath of life to her. Itsshady walks, its silver lake, its noble elms, the old grey stone of itswalls--these were bound up with her very being. She felt that shebelonged to Windles, and Windles to her. Unfortunately, as a matter ofcold, legal accuracy, it did not. She did but hold it in trust for herson, Eustace, until such time as he should marry and take possession ofit himself. There were times when the thought of Eustace marrying andbringing a strange woman to Windles chilled Mrs. Hignett to her verymarrow. Happily, her firm policy of keeping her son permanently underher eye at home and never permitting him to have speech with a femalebelow the age of fifty had averted the peril up till now.

  Eustace had accompanied his mother to America. It was his faint snoreswhich she could hear in the adjoining room, as, having bathedand dressed, she went down the hall to where breakfast awaitedher. She smiled tolerantly. She had never desired to convert her son toher own early rising habits, for, apart from not allowing him to callhis soul his own, she was an indulgent mother. Eustace would get up athalf-past nine, long after she had finished breakfast, read her mail,and started her duties for the day.

  Breakfast was on the table in the sitting-room, a modest meal of rolls,cereal, and imitation coffee. Beside the pot containing this hell-brewwas a little pile of letters. Mrs. Hignett opened them as she ate. Themajority were from disciples and dealt with matters of purelytheosophical interest. There was an invitation from the Butterfly Clubasking her to be the guest of honour at their weekly dinner. There wasa letter from her brother Mallaby--Sir Mallaby Marlowe, the eminentLondon lawyer--saying that his son Sam, of whom she had never approved,would be in New York shortly, passing through on his way back toEngland, and hoping that she would see something of him. Altogether adull mail. Mrs. Hignett skimmed through it without interest, settingaside one or two of the letters for Eustace, who acted as her unpaidsecretary, to answer later in the day.

  She had just risen from the table when there was a sound of voices inthe hall, and presently the domestic staff, a gaunt Irish lady ofadvanced years, entered the room.

  "Ma'am, there was a gentleman."

  Mrs. Hignett was annoyed. Her mornings were sacred.

  "Didn't you tell him I was not to be disturbed?"

  "I did not. I loosed him into the parlor."

  The staff remained for a moment in melancholy silence, then resumed."He says he's your nephew. His name's Marlowe."

  Mrs. Hignett experienced no diminution of her annoyance. She had notseen her nephew Sam for ten years and would have been willing to extendthe period. She remembered him as an untidy small boy who, once ortwice, during his school holidays, had disturbed the cloistral peace ofWindles with his beastly presence. However, blood being thicker thanwater, and all that sort of thing, she supposed she would have to givehim five minutes. She went into the sitting-room and found there ayoung man who looked more or less like all other young men, thoughperhaps rather fitter than most. He had grown a good deal since she hadlast met him, as men will do between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five,and was now about six feet in height, about forty inches round thechest, and in weight about one hundred and eighty pounds. He had abrown and amiable face, marred at the moment by an expression ofdiscomfort somewhat akin to that of a cat in a strange alley.

  "Hallo, Aunt Adeline!" he said awkwardly.

  "Well, Samuel!" said Mrs. Hignett.

  There was a pause. Mrs. Hignett, who was not fond of young men anddisliked having her mornings broken into, was thinking that he hadnot improved in the slightest degree since their last meeting; and Sam,who imagined that he had long since grown to man's estate and put offchildish things, was embarrassed to discover that his aunt stillaffected him as of old. That is to say, she made him feel as if he hadomitted to shave, and, in addition to that, had swallowed some drugwhich had caused him to swell unpleasantly, particularly about thehands and feet.

  "Jolly morning," said Sam, perseveringly.

  "So I imagine. I have not yet been out."

  "Thought I'd look in and see how you were."

  "That was very kind of you. The morning is my busy time, but ... yes,that was very kind of you!"

  There was another pause.

  "How do you like America?" said Sam.

  "I dislike it exceedingly."

  "Yes? Well, of course some people do. Prohibition and all that.Personally, it doesn't affect me. I can take it or leave it alone."

  "The reason I dislike America--" began Mrs. Hignett bridling.

  "I like it myself," said Sam. "I've had a wonderful time. Everybody'streated me like a rich uncle. I've been in Detroit, you know, and theypractically gave me the city and asked me if I'd like another to takehome in my pocket. Never saw anything like it. I might have been themissing heir. I think America's the greatest invention on record."

  "And what brought you to America?" said Mrs. Hignett, unmoved by thisrhapsody.

  "Oh, I came over to play golf. In a tournament, you know."

  "Surely at your age," said Mrs. Hignett, disapprovingly, "you could bebetter occupied. Do you spend your whole time playing golf?"

  "Oh, no. I hunt a bit and shoot a bit and I swim a good lot, and Istill play football occasionally."

  "I wonder your father does not insist on your doing some useful work."

  "He is beginning to harp on the subject rather. I suppose I shall takea stab at it sooner or later. Father says I ought to get married, too."

  "He is perfectly
right."

  "I suppose old Eustace will be getting hitched up one of these days?"said Sam.

  Mrs. Hignett started violently.

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Eh?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Oh, well, he's a romantic sort of fellow. Writes poetry and all that."

  "There is no likelihood at all of Eustace marrying. He is of a shy andretiring temperament and sees few women. He is almost a recluse."

  Sam was aware of this and had frequently regretted it. He had alwaysbeen fond of his cousin and in that half-amused and rather patronisingway in which men of thews and sinews are fond of the weaker brethrenwho run more to pallor and intellect; and he had always felt that ifEustace had not had to retire to Windles to spend his life with a womanwhom from his earliest years he had always considered the Empress ofthe Wash-outs much might have been made of him. Both at school and atOxford, Eustace had been--if not a sport--at least a decidedly cheeryold bean. Sam remembered Eustace at school breaking gas globes with aslipper in a positively rollicking manner. He remembered him at Oxfordplaying up to him manfully at the piano on the occasion when he haddone that imitation of Frank Tinney which had been such a hit at theTrinity smoker. Yes, Eustace had had the makings of a pretty sound egg,and it was too bad that he had allowed his mother to coop him up downin the country miles away from anywhere.

  "Eustace is returning to England on Saturday," said Mrs. Hignett. Shespoke a little wistfully. She had not been parted from her son since hehad come down from Oxford; and she would have liked to keep him withher till the end of her lecturing tour. That, however, was out of thequestion. It was imperative that, while she was away, he should be atWindles. Nothing would have induced her to leave the place at themercy of servants who might trample over the flower-beds, scratch thepolished floors, and forget to cover up the canary at night. "He sailson the _Atlantic_."

  "That's splendid," said Sam. "I'm sailing on the _Atlantic_ myself.I'll go down to the office and see if we can't have a state-roomtogether. But where is he going to live when he gets to England?"

  "Where is he going to live? Why, at Windles, of course. Where else?"

  "But I thought you were letting Windles for the summer?"

  Mrs. Hignett stared.

  "Letting Windles!" She spoke as one might address a lunatic. "What putthat extraordinary idea into your head?"

  "I thought father said something about your letting the place to someAmerican."

  "Nothing of the kind!"

  It seemed to Sam that his aunt spoke somewhat vehemently, evensnappishly, in correcting what was a perfectly natural mistake. Hecould not know that the subject of letting Windles for the summer wasone which had long since begun to infuriate Mrs. Hignett. People hadcertainly asked her to let Windles. In fact people had pestered her. Therewas a rich fat man, an American named Bennett, whom she had met justbefore sailing at her brother's house in London. Invited down to Windlesfor the day, Mr. Bennett had fallen in love with the place and had beggedher to name her own price. Not content with this, he had pursued herwith his pleadings by means of the wireless telegraph while she was onthe ocean, and had not given up the struggle even when she reached NewYork. He had egged on a friend of his, a Mr. Mortimer, to continue thepersecution in that city. And, this very morning, among the letters onMrs. Hignett's table, the buff envelope of a cable from Mr. Bennett hadpeeped out, nearly spoiling her breakfast. No wonder, then, that Sam'sallusion to the affair had caused the authoress of "The SpreadingLight" momentarily to lose her customary calm.

  "Nothing will induce me ever to let Windles," she said with finality,and rose significantly. Sam, perceiving that the audience was at anend--and glad of it--also got up.

  "Well, I think I'll be going down and seeing about that state-room," hesaid.

  "Certainly. I am a little busy just now, preparing notes for my nextlecture."

  "Of course, yes. Mustn't interrupt you. I suppose you're having a greattime, gassing away--I mean--well, good-bye!"

  "Good-bye!"

  Mrs. Hignett, frowning, for the interview had ruffled her and disturbedthat equable frame of mind which is so vital to the preparation oflectures on Theosophy, sat down at the writing-table and began to gothrough the notes which she had made overnight. She had hardlysucceeded in concentrating herself when the door opened to admit thedaughter of Erin once more.

  "Ma'am there was a gentleman."

  "This is intolerable!" cried Mrs. Hignett. "Did you tell him that I wasbusy?"

  "I did not. I loosed him into the dining-room."

  "Is he a reporter from one of the newspapers?"

  "He is not. He has spats and a tall-shaped hat. His name is BreamMortimer."

  "Bream Mortimer!"

  "Yes, ma'am. He handed me a bit of a kyard, but I dropped it, beingslippy from the dishes."

  Mrs. Hignett strode to the door with a forbidding expression. This, asshe had justly remarked, was intolerable. She remembered BreamMortimer. He was the son of the Mr. Mortimer who was the friend of theMr. Bennett who wanted Windles. This visit could only have to do withthe subject of Windles, and she went into the dining-room in a state ofcold fury, determined to squash the Mortimer family once and for all.

  Bream Mortimer was tall and thin. He had small, bright eyes and asharply curving nose. He looked much more like a parrot than mostparrots do. It gave strangers a momentary shock of surprise when theysaw Bream Mortimer in restaurants eating roast beef. They had thefeeling that he would have preferred sun-flower seeds.

  "Morning, Mrs. Hignett."

  "Please sit down."

  Bream Mortimer sat down. He looked as though he would rather havehopped on to a perch, but he sat down. He glanced about the room withgleaming, excited eyes.

  "Mrs. Hignett, I must have a word with you alone!"

  "You _are_ having a word with me alone."

  "I hardly know how to begin."

  "Then let me help you. It is quite impossible. I will never consent."

  Bream Mortimer started.

  "Then you have heard!"

  "I have heard about nothing else since I met Mr. Bennett in London. Mr.Bennett talked about nothing else. Your father talked about nothingelse. And now," cried Mrs. Hignett fiercely, "you come and try toreopen the subject. Once and for all nothing will alter my decision. Nomoney will induce me to let my house."

  "But I didn't come about that!"

  "You did not come about Windles?"

  "Good Lord, no!"

  "Then will you kindly tell me why you have come?"

  Bream Mortimer looked embarrassed. He wriggled a little and moved hisarms as if he were trying to flap them.

  "You know," he said, "I'm not a man who butts into other people'saffairs." ... He stopped.

  "No?" said Mrs. Hignett.

  Bream began again.

  "I'm not a man who gossips with servants."

  "No?"

  "I'm not a man who...."

  Mrs. Hignett was never a very patient woman.

  "Let us take all your negative qualities for granted," she said curtly."I have no doubt that there are many things which you do not do. Let usconfine ourselves to issues of definite importance. What is it, if youhave no objection to concentrating your attention on that for a moment,that you wish to see me about?"

  "This marriage."

  "What marriage?"

  "Your son's marriage."

  "My son is not married."

  "No, but he's going to be. At eleven o'clock this morning at the LittleChurch Round the Corner!"

  Mrs. Hignett stared.

  "Are you mad?"

  "Well, I'm not any too well pleased, I'm bound to say," admitted Mr.Mortimer. "You see, darn it all, I'm in love with the girl myself!"

  "Who is this girl?"

  "Have been for years. I'm one of those silent, patient fellows who hangaround and look a lot, but never tell their love...."

  "Who is this girl who has entrapped my son?"

  "I've always be
en one of those men who...."

  "Mr. Mortimer! With your permission we will take your positivequalities, also, for granted. In fact, we will not discuss you at all.You come to me with this absurd story...."

  "Not absurd. Honest fact. I had it from my valet, who had it from hermaid, and, though I'm not a man who gossips with servants, I'm bound tosay...."

  "Will you please tell me who is the girl my misguided son wishes tomarry?"

  "I don't know that I'd call him misguided," said Mr. Mortimer, as onedesiring to be fair, "I think he's a right smart picker! She's such acorking girl, you know. We were children together, and I've loved herfor years. Ten years at least. But you know how it is--somehow onenever seems to get in line for a proposal. I thought I saw an openingin the summer of nineteen-twelve, but it blew over. I'm not one ofthese smooth, dashing guys, you see, with a great line of talk. I'mnot...."

  "If you will kindly," said Mrs. Hignett impatiently, "postpone thisessay in psycho-analysis to some future occasion I shall be greatlyobliged. I am waiting to hear the name of the girl my son wishes tomarry."

  "Haven't I told you?" said Mr. Mortimer, surprised. "That's odd. Ihaven't! It's funny how one doesn't do the things one thinks one does.I'm the sort of man..."

  "What is her name?"

  "Bennett."

  "Bennett? Wilhelmina Bennett? The daughter of Mr. Rufus Bennett? Thered-haired girl I met at lunch one day at your father's house?"

  "That's it. You're a great guesser. I think you ought to stop thething."

  "I intend to."

  "Fine!"

  "The marriage would be unsuitable in every way. Miss Bennett and my sondo not vibrate on the same plane."

  "That's right. I've noticed it myself."

  "Their auras are not the same colour."

  "If I've thought that once," said Bream Mortimer, "I've thought it ahundred times. I wish I had a dollar for every time I've thought it.Not the same colour! That's the whole thing in a nutshell."

  "I am much obliged to you for coming and telling me of this. I shalltake immediate steps."

  "That's good! But what's the procedure? How are you going to form aflying-wedge and buck-centre? It's getting late. She'll be waiting atthe church at eleven. With bells on," said Mr. Mortimer.

  "Eustace will not be there."

  "You think you can fix it?"

  "Eustace will not be there," repeated Mrs. Hignett.

  Bream Mortimer hopped down from his chair.

  "Well, you've taken a weight off my mind."

  "A mind, I should imagine, scarcely constructed to bear great weights."

  "I'll be going. Haven't had breakfast yet. Too worried to eatbreakfast. Relieved now. This is where three eggs and a rasher of hamget cut off in their prime. I feel I can rely on you."

  "You can!"

  "Then I'll say good-bye."

  "Good-bye."

  "I mean really good-bye. I'm sailing for England on Saturday on the_Atlantic_."

  "Indeed? My son will be your fellow-traveller."

  Bream Mortimer looked somewhat apprehensive.

  "You won't tell him that I was the one who spilled the beans?"

  "I beg your pardon."

  "You won't wise him up that I threw a spanner into the machinery?"

  "I do not understand you."

  "You won't tell him that I crabbed his act--gave the thing away--gummedthe game?"

  "I shall not mention your chivalrous intervention."

  "Chivalrous?" said Bream Mortimer doubtfully. "I don't know that I'dcall it absolutely chivalrous. Of course, all's fair in love and war.Well, I'm glad you're going to keep my share in the business under yourhat. It might have been awkward meeting him on board."

  "You are not likely to meet Eustace on board. He is a very indifferentsailor and spends most of his time in his cabin."

  "That's good! Saves a lot of awkwardness. Well, good-bye."

  "Good-bye. When you reach England remember me to your father."

  "He won't have forgotten you," said Bream Mortimer confidently. He didnot see how it was humanly possible for anyone to forget this woman.She was like a celebrated chewing-gum. The taste lingered.

  Mrs. Hignett was a woman of instant and decisive action. Even while herlate visitor was speaking schemes had begun to form in her mind likebubbles rising to the surface of a rushing river. By the time the doorhad closed behind Bream Mortimer she had at her disposal no fewer thanseven, all good. It took her but a moment to select the best andsimplest. She tip-toed softly to her son's room. Rhythmic snoresgreeted her listening ears. She opened the door and went noiselesslyin.