Plum Pie Page 4

  Blair Eggleston seemed still at a loss. He looked at the door through which they had passed as if asking himself if he had really seen what he thought he had seen, then turned to me with the air of one who intends to demand an explanation.

  "What's all this, Wooster?"

  "What's all what, Eggleston? Be more explicit."

  "Who on earth is that female?"

  "Weren't you listening? My fiancée."

  "You're really engaged to her?"

  "That's right."

  "Who is she?"

  "She plays Fairy Queens in pantomime. Not in London owing to jealousy in high places, but they think a lot of her in Leeds, Wigan, Hull and Huddersfield. The critic of the Hull Daily News describes her as a talented bit of all right."

  He was silent for a space, appearing to be turning this over in his mind. Then he spoke in the frank, forthright and fearless way these modern novelists have.

  "She looks like a hippopotamus."

  I conceded this.

  "There is a resemblance, perhaps. I suppose Fairy Queens have to be stoutish if they are to keep faith with their public in towns like Leeds and Huddersfield. Those audiences up North want lots for their money."

  "And she exudes a horrible scent which I am unable at the moment to identify."

  "Patchouli. Yes, I noticed that."

  He mused again.

  "I can't get over you being engaged to her."

  "Well, I am."

  "It's official?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Well, this will be great news for Honoria."

  I didn't get his drift.

  "For Honoria?"

  "Yes. It will relieve her mind. She was very worried about you, poor child. That's why I'm here. I came to break it to you that she, can never be yours. She's going to marry me."

  I stared at him. My first impression was that even though the hour was only about four-thirty he was under the influence of alcoholic stimulants.

  "But I learned from a usually reliable source that that was all off."

  "It was, but now it's on again. We have had a complete reconciliation."

  "Well, fancy that!"

  "And she shrank from coming and telling you herself. She said she couldn't bear to see the awful dumb agony in your eyes. When I tell her you're engaged, she'll go singing about the West End of London, not only because of the relief of knowing that she hasn't wrecked your life but because she'll be feeling what a merciful escape she's had. Just imagine being married to you! It doesn't bear thinking of. Well, I'll be going along and telling her the good news," he said, and took his departure.

  A moment later the bell rang. I opened the door and found him on the mat.

  "What," he asked, "was that name again?"

  "Name?"

  "Your fiancée’s."

  "Trixie Waterbury."

  "Good God! " he said, and pushed off. And I returned to the reverie he had interrupted.

  There was a time when if somebody had come to me and said 'Mr. Wooster, I have been commissioned by a prominent firm of publishers to write your biography and I need some intimate stuff which only you can supply. Looking back, what would you consider the high spot in your career?', I would have had no difficulty in slipping him the info. It occurred, I would have replied, in my fourteenth year when I was a resident pupil at Malvern House, Bramley-on-Sea, the private school conducted by that prince of stinkers, Aubrey Upjohn, M.A. He had told me to present myself in his study on the following morning, which always meant six of the juiciest with a cane that bit like a serpent and stung like an adder, and blowed if when morning came I wasn't all over pink spots. I had contracted measles and the painful interview was of course postponed sine die, as the expression's.

  That had always been my-supreme moment. Only now was I experiencing to an even greater extent the feeling of quiet happiness which comes to you when you've outsmarted the powers of darkness. I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off me. Well, it had of course in one sense, for the Fairy Queen must have clocked in at fully a hundred and sixty pounds ringside, but what I mean is that a colossal burden had been removed from the Wooster soul. It was as though the storm clouds had called it a day and the sun come smiling through.

  The only thing that kept the moment from being absolutely perfect was that Jeeves was not there to share my hour of triumph. I toyed with the idea of ringing him up at the Junior Ganymede, but I didn't want to interrupt him when he was probably in the act of doubling six no trumps.

  The thought of Aunt Dahlia presented itself. She of all people should be the one to hear the good news, for she was very fond of Roddy Glossop and had shown herself deeply concerned when informed of his in-the-soup-ness. Furthermore, she could scarcely not be relieved to learn that a loved nephew had escaped the fate that is worse than death—viz. marrying Honoria. It was true that my firm refusal to play Santa Claus at her children's party must still be rankling, if that's the word, but at our last meeting I had found her far less incandescent than she had been, so there was reason to suppose that if I looked in on her now I should get a cordial reception. Well, not absolutely cordial, perhaps, but something near enough to it. So I left a note for Jeeves saying where I'd gone and hared off to her address in a swift taxi.

  It was as I had anticipated. I don't say her face lit up when she saw me, but she didn't throw her Perry Mason at me and she called me no new names, and after I had told my story she was all joviality and enthusiasm. We were saying what a wonderful Christmas present the latest development would be for Pop Glossop and speculating- as to what it would feel like being married to his daughter Honoria and, for the matter of that, being married to Blair Eggleston, and we had just agreed that both Honoria and Blair had it coming to them, when the telephone rang. The instrument was on a table near her chair, and she reached for it.

  "Hullo?" she boomed. "Who?" Or, rather, WHO, for when at the telephone her vocal delivery is always of much the same calibre as it used to be on the hunting field. She handed me the receiver. "One of your foul friends wants you. Says his name's Waterbury."

  Jas Waterbury, placed in communication with self, seemed perplexed. In rather an awed voice he asked: "Where are you, cocky? At the Zoo?"

  "I don't follow you, Jas W7aterbury."

  "A lion just roared at me."

  "Oh, that was my aunt."

  "Sooner yours than mine. I thought the top of my head had come off."

  "She has a robust voice."

  "I'll say she has. Well, cully, I'm sorry I had to disturb her at feeding time, but I thought you'd like to know that Trix and I have been talking it over and we both think a simple wedding at the registrar's would be best. No need for a lot of fuss and expense. And she says she'd like Brighton for the honeymoon. She's always been fond of Brighton."

  I was at something of a loss to know what on earth he was talking about, but reading between the lines I gathered that the Fairy Queen was thinking of getting married. I asked if this was so, and he chuckled greasily.

  "Always kidding, Bertie. You will have your joke. If you don't know she's going to get married, who does?"

  "I haven't a notion. Who to?"

  "Why, you, of course. Didn't you introduce her to your gentleman friend as your fiancée?"

  I lost no time in putting him straight. "But that was just a ruse. Surely you explained it to her?"

  "Explained what?"

  "That I just wanted her to pretend that we were engaged."

  "What an extraordinary idea. What would I have done that for?"

  "Fifteen quid."

  "I don't remember any fifteen quid. As I recall it, you came to me and told me you'd seen Trixie as the Fairy Queen in Cinderella at the Wigan Hippodrome and fallen in love with her at first sight, as so many young fellows have done. You had found out somehow that she was my niece and you asked me to bring her to your address. And the moment we came in I could see the love light in your eyes, and the love light was in her eyes, too, and it wasn't five min
utes after that that you'd got her on your lap and there you were, as snug as two bugs in a rug. Just a case of love at first sight, and I don't mind telling you it touched me. I like to see the young folks getting together in Springtime. Not that it's Springtime now, but the principle's the same."

  At this point Aunt Dahlia, who had been simmering gently, intervened to call me a derogatory name and ask what the hell was going on. I waved her down with an imperious hand. I needed every ounce of concentration to cope with this misunderstanding which seemed to have arisen.

  "You're talking through your hat, Jas Waterbury."

  "Who, me?"

  "Yes, you. You've got your facts all wrong."

  "You think so, do you?"

  "I do, and I will trouble you to break it to Miss Waterbury that those wedding bells will not ring out."

  "That's what I was telling you. Trixie wants it to be at the registrar's."

  "Well, that registrar won't ring out, either."

  He said I amazed him.”

  “You don’t want to marry Trixie?”

  I wouldn't marry her with a ten foot pole."

  An astonished 'Lord love a duck' came over the wire.

  "If that isn't the most remarkable coincidence," he said. "Those were the very words Mr. Prosser used when refusing to marry another niece of mine after announcing his betrothal before witnesses, same as you did. Shows what a small world it is. I asked him if he hadn't ever heard of breach of promise cases, and he shook visibly and swallowed once or twice. Then he looked me in the eye and said 'How much?' I didn't get his meaning at first, and then it suddenly flashed on me. 'Oh, you mean you want to break the engagement,' I said, 'and feel it's your duty as a gentleman to see that the poor girl gets her bit of heart balm,' I said. 'Well, it'll have to be something substantial,' I said, 'because there's her despair and desolation to be taken into account'. So we talked it over and eventually settled on two thousand quid, and that's what I'd advise in your case. I think I can talk Trixie into accepting that. Nothing, mind you, can ever make life anything but a dreary desert for her after losing you, but two thousand quid would help."

  "BERTIE!" said Aunt Dahlia.

  "Ah," said Jas Waterbury, "there's that lion again. Well, I'll leave you to think it over. I'll come and see you tomorrow and get your decision, and if you feel that you don't like writing that cheque, I'll ask a friend of mine to try what he can do to persuade you. He's an all-in wrestler of the name of Porky Jupp. I used to manage him at one time. He's retired now because he broke a fellow's spine and for some reason that gave him a distaste for the game. But he's still in wonderful condition. You ought to see him crack Brazil nuts with his fingers. He thinks the world of me and there's nothing he wouldn't do for me. Suppose, for instance, somebody had done me down in a business transaction, Porky would spring to the task of plucking him limb from limb like some innocent little child doing She-loves-me she-loves-me-not with a daisy. Good night, good night," said Jas Waterbury, and rang off.

  I would have preferred, of course, after this exceedingly unpleasant conversation to have gone off into a quiet corner somewhere and sat there with my head between my hands, reviewing the situation from every angle, but Aunt Dahlia was now making her desire for explanatory notes so manifest that I had to give her my attention. In a broken voice I supplied her with the facts and was surprised and touched to find her sympathetic and understanding. It's often this way with the female sex. They put you through it in no uncertain manner if you won't see eye to eye with them in the matter—to take an instance at random—of disguising yourself in white whiskers and stomach padding, but if they see you are really up against it, their hearts melt, rancour is forgotten and they do all they can to give you a shot in the arm. It was so with the aged relative. Having expressed the opinion that I was the king of the fatheads and ought never to be allowed out without a nurse, she continued in gentler strain.

  "But after all you are my brother's son whom I frequently dandled on my knee as a baby, and a subhuman baby you were if ever I saw one, though I suppose you were to be pitied rather than censured if you looked like a cross between a poached egg and a ventriloquist's dummy, so I can't let you sink in the soup without a trace. I must rally round and lend a hand."

  "Well, thanks, old flesh and blood. Awfully decent of you to want to assist. But what can you do?"

  "Nothing by myself, perhaps, but I can confer with Jeeves and between us we ought to think of something. Ring him up and tell him to come here at once."

  "He won't be home yet. He's playing Bridge at his club."

  "Give him a buzz, anyway."

  I did so, and was surprised when I heard a measured voice say 'Mr Wooster's residence'.

  "Why, hullo, Jeeves," I said. "I didn't expect you to be home so early."

  "I left in advance of my usual hour, sir. I did not find my Bridge game enjoyable." "Bad cards?"

  "No, sir, the hands dealt to me were uniformly satisfactory, but I was twice taken out of business doubles, and I had not the heart to continue."

  "Too bad. So you're at a loose end at the moment?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then will you hasten to Aunt Dahlia's place? You are sorely needed."

  "Very good, sir."

  "Is he coming?" said Aunt Dahlia.

  "Like the wind. Just looking for his bowler hat."

  "Then you pop off."

  "You don't want me for the conference?"

  "No."

  "Three heads are better than two," I argued.

  "Not if one of them is solid ivory from the neck up," said the aged relative, reverting to something more like her customary form.

  I slept fitfully that night, my slumbers much disturbed by dreams of being chased across country by a pack of Fairy Queens with Jas Waterbury galloping after them shouting Yoicks and Tally ho. It was past eleven when I presented myself at the breakfast table.

  "I take it, Jeeves," I said as I started to pick at a moody fried egg, "that Aunt Dahlia has told you all?"

  "Yes, sir, Mrs. Travers was most informative."

  Well, that was a relief in a way, because all that secrecy and A-and-B stuff is always a strain

  "Disaster looms, wouldn't you say?"

  "Certainly your predicament is one of some gravity, sir."

  "I can't face a breach of promise action with a crowded court giving me the horse's laugh and the jury mulcting...Is it mulcting?"

  "Yes, sir, you are quite correct."

  "And the jury mulcting me in heavy damages. I wouldn't be able to show my face in the Drones again."

  "The publicity would certainly not be agreeable, sir."

  "On the other hand, I thoroughly dislike the idea of paying Jas Waterbury two thousand pounds."

  "I can appreciate your dilemma, sir."

  "But perhaps you have already thought of some terrific scheme for foiling Jas and bringing his greasy hairs in sorrow to the grave. What do you plan to do when he calls?"

  "I shall attempt to reason with him, sir."

  The heart turned to lead in the bosom. I suppose I've become so used to having Jeeves wave his magic wand and knock the stuffing out of the stickiest crises that I expect him to produce something brilliant from the hat every time, and though never at ray brightest at breakfast I could see that what he was proposing to do was far from being what Jas Waterbury would have called box office. Reason with him, forsooth! To reason successfully with that king of the twisters one would need brass knuckles and a stocking full of sand. There was reproach in my voice as I asked him if that was the best he could do.

  "You do not think highly of the idea, sir?"

  "Well, I don't want to hurt your feelings---"

  "Not at all, sir."

  "---but I wouldn't call it one of your top thoughts."

  "I am sorry, sir. Nevertheless---"

  I leaped from the table, the fried egg frozen on my lips. The front door bell had given tongue. I don't know if my eyes actually rolled as I gazed at Jeeves, but
I should think it extremely likely, for the sound had got in amongst me like the touching off an ounce or so of trinitrotoluol.

  "There he is!"

  "Presumably, sir."

  "I can't face him as early in the morning as this."

  "One appreciates your emotion, sir. It might be advisable if you were to conceal yourself while I conduct the negotiations. Behind the piano suggests itself as a suitable locale."

  "How right you are, Jeeves!"

  To say that I found it comfortable behind the piano would be to give my public a totally erroneous impression, but I secured privacy, and privacy was just what I was after. The facilities, too, for keeping in touch with what was going on in the great world outside were excellent. I heard the door opening and then Jas Waterbury's voice.

  "Morning, cocky."

  "Good morning, sir."

  "Wooster in?"

  "No, sir, he has just stepped out."

  "That's odd. He was expecting me."

  "You are Mr. Waterbury?"

  "That's me. Where's he gone?"

  "I think it was Mr. Wooster's intention to visit his pawnbroker, sir."

  "What!"

  "He mentioned something to me about doing so. He said he hoped to raise, as he expressed it, a few pounds on his watch."

  "You're kidding! What's he want to pop his watch for?"

  "His means are extremely straightened."

  There was what I've heard called a pregnant silence. I took it that Jas Waterbury was taking time off to allow this to sink in. I wished I could have joined in the conversation, for I would have liked to say 'Jeeves, you are on the right lines' and offer him an apology for ever having doubted him. I might have known that when he said he was going to reason with Jas he had the ace up his sleeve which makes all the difference.

  It was some little time before Jas Waterbury spoke, and when he did his voice had a sort of tremolo in it, as if he'd begun to realize that life wasn't the thing of roses and sunshine he'd been thinking it. I knew how he must be feeling. There is no anguish like that of the man who, supposing that he has found the pot of gold behind the rainbow, suddenly learns from an authoritative source that he hasn't, if you know what I mean. To him until now Bertram Wooster had been a careless scatterer of fifteen quids, a thing you can't do if you haven't a solid bank balance behind you, and to have him presented to him as a popper of watches must have made the iron enter into his soul, if he had one. He spoke as if stunned.