The Jeeves Omnibus - Vol 5: (Jeeves & Wooster) Read online

  ‘Is Lady Worpledon your aunt?’

  ‘And how.’

  ‘She’s never mentioned it.’

  ‘She wouldn’t. Her impulse would be to hush it up.’

  ‘Then, good Lord, she must be your cousin.’

  ‘No, my aunt. You can’t be both.’

  ‘I mean Florence. Florence Craye, my fiancée.’

  It was a shock, I don’t mind telling you, and if I hadn’t been seated I would probably have reeled. Though I ought not to have been so surprised. Florence was one of those girls who are always getting engaged to someone, first teaming up with Stilton Cheesewright, then me, and finally Percy Gorringe, who was dramatizing her novel Spindrift. The play, by the way, had recently been presented to the public at the Duke of York’s theatre and had laid an instantaneous egg, coming off on the following Saturday. One of the critics said he had perhaps seen it at a disadvantage because when he saw it the curtain was up. I had wondered a good deal what effect this had had on Florence’s haughty spirit.

  ‘You’re engaged to Florence?’ I yipped, looking at him with a wild surmise.

  ‘Yes. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Nobody tells me anything. Engaged to Florence, eh? Well, well.’

  A less tactful man than Bertram Wooster might have gone on to add ‘Oh, tough luck!’ or something along those lines, for there was no question but that the unhappy man was properly up against it, but if there’s one thing the Woosters have in heaping measure, it is tact. I merely gripped his hand, gave it a shake and wished him happiness. He thanked me for this.

  ‘You’re lucky,’ I said, wearing the mask.

  ‘Don’t I know it!’

  ‘She’s a charming girl,’ I said, still wearing as above.

  ‘That just describes her.’

  ‘Intellectual, too.’

  ‘Distinctly. Writes novels.’

  ‘Always at it.’

  ‘Did you read Spindrift?’

  ‘Couldn’t put it down,’ I said, cunningly not revealing that I hadn’t been able to take it up. ‘Did you see the play?’

  ‘Twice. Too bad it didn’t run. Gorringe’s adaptation was the work of an ass.’

  ‘I spotted him as an ass the first time I saw him.’

  ‘It’s a pity Florence didn’t.’

  ‘Yes. By the way, what became of Gorringe? When last heard of, she was engaged to him.’

  ‘She broke it off.’

  ‘Very wise of her. He had long side-whiskers.’

  ‘She considered him responsible for the failure of the play and told him so.’

  ‘She would.’

  ‘What do you mean she would?’

  ‘Her nature is so frank, honest and forthright.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it.’

  ‘She speaks her mind.’

  ‘Invariably.’

  ‘It’s an admirable trait.’

  ‘Oh, most.’

  ‘You can’t get away with much with a girl like Florence.’

  ‘No.’

  We fell into a silence. He was twiddling his fingers and a sort of what-d’you-call-it had come into his manner, as if he wanted to say something but was having trouble in getting it out. I remembered encountering a similar diffidence in the Rev. Stinker Pinker when he was trying to nerve himself to ask me to come to Totleigh Towers, and you find the same thing in dogs when they put a paw on your knee and look up into your face but don’t utter, though making it clear that there is a subject on which they are anxious to touch.

  ‘Bertie,’ he said at length.

  ‘Hullo?’

  ‘Bertie.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Bertie.’

  ‘Still here. Excuse me asking, but have you any cracked gramophone record blood in you? Perhaps your mother was frightened by one?’

  And then it all came out in a rush as if a cork had been pulled.

  ‘Bertie, there’s something I must tell you about Florence, though you probably know it already, being a cousin of hers. She’s a wonderful girl and practically perfect in every respect, but she has one characteristic which makes it awkward for those who love her and are engaged to her. Don’t think I’m criticizing her.’

  ‘No, no.’

  ‘I’m just mentioning it.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, she has no use for a loser. To keep her esteem you have to be a winner. She’s like one of those princesses in the fairy tales who set fellows some task to perform, as it might be scaling a mountain of glass or bringing her a hair from the beard of the Great Cham of Tartary, and gave them the brush-off when they couldn’t make the grade.’

  I recalled the princesses of whom he spoke, and I had always thought them rather fatheads. I mean to say, what sort of foundation for a happy marriage is the bridegroom’s ability to scale mountains of glass? A fellow probably wouldn’t be called on to do it more than about once every ten years, if that.

  ‘Gorringe,’ said Ginger, continuing, ‘was a loser, and that dished him. And long ago, someone told me, she was engaged to a gentleman jockey and she chucked him because he took a spill at the canal turn in the Grand National. She’s a perfectionist. I admire her for it, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘A girl like her is entitled to have high standards.’

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘But, as I say, it makes it awkward for me. She has set her heart on my winning this Market Snodsbury election, heaven knows why, for I never thought she had any interest in politics, and if I lose it, I shall lose her, too. So …’

  ‘Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party?’

  ‘Exactly. You are going to canvass for me. Well, canvass like a ton of bricks, and see that Jeeves does the same. I’ve simply got to win.’

  ‘You can rely on us.’

  ‘Thank you, Bertie, I knew I could. And now let’s go in and have a bite of lunch.’

  4

  * * *

  HAVING RESTORED THE tissues with the excellent nourishment which Barribault’s hotel always provides and arranged that Ginger was to pick me up in his car later in the afternoon, my own sports model being at the vet’s with some nervous ailment, we parted, he to go in search of Magnolia Glendennon, I to walk back to the Wooster G.H.Q.

  It was, as you may suppose, in thoughtful mood that I made my way through London’s thoroughfares. I was reading a novel of suspense the other day in which the heroine, having experienced a sock in the eye or two, was said to be lost in a maze of mumbling thoughts, and that description would have fitted me like the paper on the wall.

  My heart was heavy. When a man is an old friend and pretty bosom at that, it depresses you to hear that he’s engaged to Florence Craye. I recalled my own emotions when I had found myself in that unpleasant position. I had felt like someone trapped in the underground den of the Secret Nine.

  Though, mark you, there’s nothing to beef about in her outer crust. At the time when she was engaged to Stilton Cheesewright I remember recording in the archives that she was tall and willowy with a terrific profile and luxuriant platinum-blonde hair; the sort of girl who might, as far as looks were concerned, have been the star unit of the harem of one of the better-class Sultans; and though I hadn’t seen her for quite a while, I presumed that these conditions still prevailed. The fact that Ginger, when speaking of her, had gone so readily into his turtle dove impersonation seemed to indicate as much.

  Looks, however, aren’t everything. Against this pin-up-ness of hers you had to put the bossiness which would lead her to expect the bloke she married to behave like a Hollywood Yes-man. From childhood up she had been … I can’t think of the word … begins with an i … No, it’s gone … but I can give you the idea. When at my private school I once won a prize for Scripture Knowledge, which naturally involved a lot of researching into Holy Writ, and in the course of my researches I came upon the story of the military chap who used to say ‘Come’ and they cometh and ‘Go’ and they goeth. I have alwa
ys thought that that was Florence in a nutshell. She would have given short shrift, as the expression is, to anyone who had gone when she said ‘Come’ or the other way round. Imperious, that’s the word I was groping for. She was as imperious as a traffic cop. Little wonder that the heart was heavy. I felt that Ginger, mistaking it for a peach, had plucked a lemon in the garden of love.

  And then my meditations took a less sombre turn. This often happens after a good lunch, even if you haven’t had a cocktail. I reminded myself that many married men positively enjoy being kept on their toes by the little woman, and possibly Ginger might be one of them. He might take the view that when the little w made him sit up and beg and snap lumps of sugar off his nose, it was a compliment really, because it showed that she was taking an interest.

  Feeling a bit more cheerful, I reached for my cigarette case and was just going to open it, when like an ass I dropped it and it fell into the road. And as I stepped from the pavement to retrieve it there was a sudden tooting in my rear, and whirling on my axis I perceived that in about another two ticks I was going to be rammed amidships by a taxi.

  The trouble about whirling on your axis, in case you didn’t know, is that you’re liable, if not an adagio dancer, to trip over your feet, and this was what I proceeded to do. My left shoe got all mixed up with my right ankle, I tottered, swayed, and after a brief pause came down like some noble tree beneath the woodman’s axe, and I was sitting there lost in a maze of numbing thoughts, when an unseen hand attached itself to my arm and jerked me back to safety. The taxi went on and turned the corner.

  Well, of course the first thing the man of sensibility does on these occasions is to thank his brave preserver. I turned to do this, and blow me tight if the b.p. wasn’t Jeeves. Came as a complete surprise. I couldn’t think what he was doing there, and for an instant the idea occurred to me that this might be his astral body.

  ‘Jeeves!’ I ejaculated. I’m pretty sure that’s the word. Anyway, I’ll risk it.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir. I trust you are not too discommoded. That was a somewhat narrow squeak.’

  ‘It was indeed. I don’t say my whole life passed before me, but a considerable chunk of it did. But for you—’

  ‘Not at all, sir.’

  ‘Yes, you and you only saved me from appearing in tomorrow’s obituary column.’

  ‘A pleasure, sir.’

  ‘It’s amazing how you always turn up at the crucial moment, like the United States Marines. I remember how you did when A. B. Filmer and I were having our altercation with that swan, and there were other occasions too numerous to mention. Well, you will certainly get a rave notice in my prayers next time I make them. But how do you happen to be in these parts? Where are we, by the way?’

  ‘This is Curzon Street, sir.’

  ‘Of course. I’d have known that if I hadn’t been musing.’

  ‘You were musing, sir?’

  ‘Deeply. I’ll tell you about it later. This is where your club is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, sir, just round the corner. In your absence and having completed the packing, I decided to lunch there.’

  ‘Thank heaven you did. If you hadn’t, I’d have been … what’s that gag of yours? Something about wheels.’

  ‘Less than the dust beneath thy chariot wheels, sir.

  ‘Or, rather, the cabby’s chariot wheels. Why are you looking at me with such a searching eye, Jeeves?’

  ‘I was thinking that your misadventure had left you somewhat dishevelled, sir. If I might suggest it, I think we should repair to the Junior Ganymede now.’

  ‘I see what you mean. You would give me a wash and brush-up?’

  ‘Just so, sir.’

  ‘And perhaps a whisky and soda?’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  ‘I need one sorely. Ginger’s practically on the waggon, so there were no cocktails before lunch. And do you know why he’s practically on the waggon? Because the girl he’s engaged to has made him take that foolish step. And do you know who the girl he’s engaged to is? My cousin Florence Craye.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  Well, I hadn’t expected him to roll his eyes and leap about, because he never does no matter how sensational the news item, but I could see by the way one of his eyebrows twitched and rose perhaps an eighth of an inch that I had interested him. And there was what is called a wealth of meaning in that ‘Indeed, sir?’ He was conveying his opinion that this was a bit of luck for Bertram, because a girl you have once been engaged to is always a lurking menace till she gets engaged to someone else and so cannot decide at any moment to play a return date. I got the message and thoroughly agreed with him, though naturally I didn’t say so.

  Jeeves, you see, is always getting me out of entanglements with the opposite sex, and he knows all about the various females who from time to time have come within an ace of hauling me to the altar rails, but of course we don’t discuss them. To do so, we feel, would come under the head of bandying a woman’s name, and the Woosters do not bandy women’s names. Nor do the Jeeveses. I can’t speak for his Uncle Charlie Silversmith, but I should imagine that he, too, has his code of ethics in this respect. These things generally run in families.

  So I merely filled him in about her making Ginger stand for Parliament and the canvassing we were going to undertake, urging him to do his utmost to make the electors think along the right lines, and he said ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘Very good, sir’ and ‘I quite understand, sir’, and we proceeded to the Junior Ganymede.

  An extremely cosy club it proved to be. I didn’t wonder that he liked to spend so much of his leisure there. It lacked the sprightliness of the Drones. I shouldn’t think there was much bread and sugar thrown about at lunch time, and you would hardly expect that there would be when you reflected that the membership consisted of elderly butlers and gentlemen’s gentlemen of fairly ripe years, but as regards comfort it couldn’t be faulted. The purler I had taken had left me rather tender in the fleshy parts, and it was a relief after I had been washed and brushed up and was on the spruce side once more to sink into a well-stuffed chair in the smoking-room.

  Sipping my whisky and s, I brought the conversation round again to Ginger and his election, which was naturally the front page stuff of the day.

  ‘Do you think he has a chance, Jeeves?’

  He weighed the question for a moment, as if dubious as to where he would place his money.

  ‘It is difficult to say, sir. Market Snodsbury, like so many English country towns, might be described as straitlaced. It sets a high value on respectability.’

  ‘Well, Ginger’s respectable enough.’

  ‘True, sir, but, as you are aware, he has had a Past.’

  ‘Not much of one.’

  ‘Sufficient, however, to prejudice the voters, should they learn of it.’

  ‘Which they can’t possibly do. I suppose he’s in the club book—’

  ‘Eleven pages, sir.’

  ‘—But you assure me that the contents of the club book will never be revealed.’

  ‘Never, sir. Mr Winship has nothing to fear from that quarter.’

  His words made me breathe more freely.

  ‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘your words make me breathe more freely. As you know, I am always a bit uneasy about the club book. Kept under lock and key, is it?’

  ‘Not actually under lock and key, sir, but it is safely bestowed in the secretary’s office.’

  ‘Then there’s nothing to worry about.’

  ‘I would not say that, sir. Mr Winship must have had companions in his escapades, and they might inadvertently make some reference to them which would get into gossip columns in the Press and thence into the Market Snodsbury journals. I believe there are two of these, one rigidly opposed to the Conservative interest which Mr Winship is representing. It is always a possibility, and the results would be disastrous. I have no means at the moment of knowing the identity of Mr Winship’s opponent, but he is sure to be a model of respectability whose
past can bear the strictest investigation.’

  ‘You’re pretty gloomy, Jeeves. Why aren’t you gathering rosebuds? The poet Herrick would shake his head.’

  ‘I am sorry, sir. I did not know that you were taking Mr Winship’s fortunes so much to heart, or I would have been more guarded in my speech. Is victory in the election of such importance to him?’

  ‘It’s vital. Florence will hand him his hat if he doesn’t win.’

  ‘Surely not, sir?’

  ‘That’s what he says, and I think he’s right. His observations on the subject were most convincing. He says she’s a perfectionist and has no use for a loser. It is well established that she handed Percy Gorringe the pink slip because the play he made of her novel only ran three nights.’

  ‘Indeed, sir?’

  ‘Well documented fact.’

  ‘Then let us hope that what I fear will not happen, sir.’

  We were sitting there hoping that what he feared would not happen, when a shadow fell on my whisky and s and I saw that we had been joined by another member of the Junior Ganymede, a smallish, plumpish, Gawd-help-us-ish member wearing clothes more suitable for the country than the town and a tie that suggested that he belonged to the Brigade of Guards, though I doubted if this was the case. As to his manner, I couldn’t get a better word for it at the moment than ‘familiar’, but I looked it up later in Jeeves’s Dictionary of Synonyms and found that it had been unduly intimate, too free, forward, lacking in proper reserve, deficient in due respect, impudent, bold and intrusive. Well, when I tell you that the first thing he did was to prod Jeeves in the lower ribs with an uncouth forefinger, you will get the idea.

  ‘Hullo, Reggie,’ he said, and I froze in my chair, stunned by the revelation that Jeeves’s first name was Reginald. It had never occurred to me before that he had a first name. I couldn’t help thinking what embarrassment would have been caused if it had been Bertie.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Jeeves, and I could see that the chap was not one of his inner circle of friends. His voice was cold, and anyone less lacking in proper reserve and deficient in due respect would have spotted this and recoiled.