Blandings Castle and Elsewhere (11 page)

All right.'

'Thanks. And, in regard to your little trouble, I'll be giving
it my best attention. You're looking in after dinner to-night?'

'I suppose so,' said the Rev. Rupert moodily.

The information that her impressionable daughter had gone
off to roam the country-side in a two-seater car with the perilous
Watkins had come as a grievous blow to Lady Alcester. As she
sat on the terrace, an hour after Freddie had begun the weary
homeward trek from Matchingham Vicarage, her heart was
sorely laden.

The Airedale had wandered away upon some private ends,
but the Peke lay slumbering in her lap. She envied it its calm
detachment. To her the future looked black and the air seemed
heavy with doom.

Only one thing mitigated her depression. Her nephew
Frederick had disappeared. Other prominent local pests were
present, such as flies and gnats, but not Frederick. The grounds
of Blandings Castle appeared to be quite free from him.

And then even this poor consolation was taken from the
stricken woman. Limping a little, as if his shoes hurt him,
the Hon. Freddie came round the corner of the shrubbery,
headed in her direction. He was accompanied by something
having the outward aspect of a dog.

'What-ho, Aunt Georgiana!'

'Well, Freddie?' sighed Lady Alcester resignedly.

The Peke, opening one eye, surveyed the young man for a
moment, seemed to be debating within itself the advisability of
barking, came apparently to the conclusion that it was too hot,
and went to sleep again.

'This is Bottles,' said Freddie.

'Who?'

'Bottles. The animal I touched on some little time back. Note
the well-muscled frame.'

'I never saw such a mongrel in my life.'

'Kind hearts are more than coronets,' said Freddie. 'The point
at issue is not this dog's pedigree, which, I concede, is not all
Burke and Debrett, but his physique. Reared exclusively on a
diet of Donaldson's Dog-Joy, he goes his way with his chin up,
frank and fearless. I should like you, if you don't mind, to come
along to the stables and watch him among the rats. It will give
you some idea.'

He would have spoken further, but at this point something
occurred, as had happened during his previous sales talk, to mar
the effect of Freddie's oratory.

The dog Bottles, during this conversation, had been roaming
to and fro in the inquisitive manner customary with dogs who
find themselves in strange territory. He had sniffed at trees. He
had rolled on the turf. Now, returning to the centre of things, he
observed for the first time that on the lap of the woman seated in
the chair there lay a peculiar something.

What it was Bottles did not know. It appeared to be alive.
A keen desire came upon him to solve this mystery. To keep the
records straight, he advanced to the chair, thrust an inquiring
nose against the object, and inhaled sharply.

The next moment, to his intense surprise, the thing had gone
off like a bomb, had sprung to the ground, and was moving
rapidly towards him.

Bottles did not hesitate. A rough-and-tumble with one of his
peers he enjoyed. He, as it were, rolled it round his tongue and
mixed it with his saliva. But this was different. He had never
met a Pekingese before, and no one would have been more
surprised than himself if he had been informed that this curious,
fluffy thing was a dog. Himself, he regarded it as an Act of God,
and, thoroughly unnerved, he raced three times round the
lawn and tried to climb a tree. Failing in this endeavour, he
fitted his ample tail if possible more firmly into its groove and
vanished from the scene.

The astonishment of the Hon. Freddie Threepwood was only
equalled by his chagrin. Lady Alcester had begun now to express
her opinion of the incident, and her sneers, her jeers, her
unveiled innuendoes were hard to bear. If, she said, the patrons
of Donaldson's Dog-Joy allowed themselves to be chased off the
map in this fashion by Pekingese, she was glad she had never
been weak enough to be persuaded to try it.

'It's lucky,' said Lady Alcester in her hard, scoffing way, 'that
Susan wasn't a rat. I suppose a rat would have given that mongrel
of yours heart failure.'

'Bottles,' said Freddie stiffly, 'is particularly sound on rats.
I think, in common fairness, you ought to step to the stables and
give him a chance of showing himself in a true light.'

'I have seen quite enough, thank you.'

'You won't come to the stables and watch him dealing with
rats?'

'I will not.'

'In that case,' said Freddie sombrely, 'there is nothing
more to be said. I suppose I may as well take him back to the
Vicarage.'

'What Vicarage?'

'Matchingham Vicarage.'

'Was that Rupert's dog?'

'Of course it was.'

'Then have you seen Rupert?'

'Of course I have.'

'Did you warn him? About Mr Watkins?'

'It was too late to warn him. He had had a letter from
Gertrude, giving him the raspberry.'

'What!'

'Well, she said Was he sure and Did they know their own
minds, but you can take it from me that it was tantamount to the
raspberry. Returning, however, to the topic of Bottles, Aunt
Georgiana, I think you ought to take into consideration the
fact that, in his recent encounter with the above Peke, he was
undergoing a totally new experience and naturally did not
appear at his best. I repeat once more that you should see him
among the rats.'

'Oh, Freddie?'

'Hullo?'

'How can you babble about this wretched dog when Gertrude's
whole future is at stake? It is simply vital that somehow
she be cured of this dreadful infatuation ...'

'Well, I'll have a word with her if you like, but, if you ask me,
I think the evil has spread too far. Watkins has yowled himself
into her very soul. However, I'll do my best. Excuse me, Aunt
Georgiana.'

From a neighbouring bush the honest face of Bottles was protruding.
He seemed to be seeking assurance that the All Clear had been blown.

It was at the hour of the ante-dinner cocktail that Freddie
found his first opportunity of having the promised word with
Gertrude. Your true salesman and go-getter is never beaten,
and a sudden and brilliant idea for accomplishing the conversion
of his Aunt Georgiana had come to him as he brushed his
hair. He descended to the drawing-room with a certain jauntiness,
and was reminded by the sight of Gertrude of his mission.
The girl was seated at the piano, playing dreamy chords.

'I say,' said Freddie, 'a word with you, young Gertrude. What
is all this bilge I hear about you and Beefers?'

The girl flushed.

'Have you seen Rupert?'

'I was closeted with him this afternoon. He told me all.'

'Oh?'

'He's feeling pretty low.'

'Oh?'

'Yes,' said Freddie, 'pretty low the poor old chap is feeling, and
I don't blame him, with the girl he's engaged to rushing about
the place getting infatuated with tenors. I never heard of such a
thing, dash it! What do you see in this Watkins? Wherein lies
his attraction? Certainly not in his ties. They're awful. And the
same applies to his entire outfit. He looks as if he had bought his
clothes off the peg at a second-hand gents' costumiers. And, as if
that were not enough, he wears short, but distinct, side-whiskers.
You aren't going to tell me that you're seriously considering
chucking a sterling egg like old Beefers in favour of a whiskered
warbler?'

There was a pause. Gertrude played more dreamy chords.

'I'm not going to discuss it,' she said. 'It's nothing to do with
you.'

'Pardon me!' said Freddie. 'Excuse me! If you will throw
your mind back to the time when Beefers was conducting his
wooing, you may remember that I was the fellow who worked
the whole thing. But for my resource and ingenuity you and the
old bounder would never have got engaged. I regard myself,
therefore, in the light of a guardian angel or something; and as
such am entitled to probe the matter to its depths. Of course,'
said Freddie, 'I know exactly how you're feeling. I see where you
have made your fatal bloomer. This Watkins has cast his glamorous
spell about you, and you're looking on Beefers as a piece
of unromantic cheese. But mark this, girl ...'

'I wish you wouldn't call me "girl."'

'Mark this, old prune,' amended Freddie. And mark it well.
Beefers is tried, true and trusted. A man to be relied on. Whereas
Watkins, if I have read those whiskers aright, is the sort of fellow
who will jolly well let you down in a crisis. And then, when it's
too late, you'll come moaning to me, weeping salt tears and
saying, "Ah, why did I not know in time?" And I shall reply, "You
unhappy little fathead ...!"'

'Oh, go and sell your dog-biscuits, Freddie!'

Gertrude resumed her playing. Her mouth was set in an
obstinate line. Freddie eyed her with disapproval.

'It's some taint in the blood,' he said. 'Inherited from female
parent. Like your bally mother, you are constitutionally incapable of seeing
reason. Pig-headed, both of you. Sell my dog biscuits, you say? Ha! As if
I hadn't boosted them to Aunt Georgiana till my lips cracked. And with what
result? So far, none. But wait till to-night.'

'It is to-night.'

'I mean, wait till later on to-night. Watch my little experiment.'

'What little experiment?'

'Ah!'

'What do you mean, "Ah"?'

'Just "Ah!"' said Freddie.

The hour of the after-dinner coffee found Blandings Castle
apparently an abode of peace. The superficial observer, peeping
into the amber drawing-room through the French windows that
led to the terrace, would have said that all was well with the
inmates of this stately home of England. Lord Emsworth sat in
a corner absorbed in a volume dealing with the treatment of pigs
in sickness and in health. His sister, Lady Constance Keeble, was
sewing. His other sister, Lady Alcester, was gazing at Gertrude.
Gertrude was gazing at Orlo Watkins. And Orlo Watkins was
gazing at the ceiling and singing in that crooning voice of his a
song of Roses.

The Hon. Freddie Threepwood was not present. And that
fact alone, if one may go by the views of his father, Lord
Emsworth, should have been enough to make a success of any
party.

And yet beneath this surface of cosy peace troubled currents
were running. Lady Alcester, gazing at Gertrude, found herself a
prey to gloom. She did not like the way Gertrude was gazing at
Orlo Watkins. Gertrude, for her part, as the result of her recent
conversation with the Hon. Freddie, was experiencing twinges
of remorse and doubt. Lady Constance was still ruffled from
the effect of Lady Alcester's sisterly frankness that evening on the
subject of the imbecility of hostesses who deliberately let Crooning
Tenors loose in castles. And Lord Emsworth was in that
state of peevish exasperation which comes to dreamy old gentlemen
who, wishing to read of Pigs, find their concentration
impaired by voices singing of Roses.

Only Orlo Watkins was happy. And presently he, too, was to
join the ranks of gloom. For just as he started to let himself go
and handle this song as a song should be handled, there came
from the other side of the door the sound of eager barking. A dog
seemed to be without. And, apart from the fact that he disliked
and feared all dogs, a tenor resents competition.

The next moment the door had opened, and the Hon.
Freddie Threepwood appeared. He carried a small sack, and
was accompanied by Bottles, the latter's manner noticeably
lacking in repose.

On the face of the Hon. Freddie, as he advanced into the
room, there was that set, grim expression which is always seen on
the faces of those who are about to put their fortune to the test,
to win or lose it all. The Old Guard at Waterloo looked much
the same. For Freddie had decided to stake all on a single throw.

Many young men in his position, thwarted by an aunt who
resolutely declined to amble across to the stables and watch a
dog redeem himself among the rats, would have resigned themselves
sullenly to defeat. But Freddie was made of finer stuff.

'Aunt Georgiana,' he said, holding up the sack, at which
Bottles was making agitated leaps, 'you refused to come to the
stables this afternoon to watch this Donaldson's Dog-Joy-fed
animal in action, so you have left me no alternative but to play
the fixture on your own ground.'

Lord Emsworth glanced up from his book.

'Frederick, stop gibbering. And take that dog out of here.'

Lady Constance glanced up from her sewing.

'Frederick, if you are coming in, come in and sit down. And
take that dog out of here.'

Lady Alcester, glancing up from Gertrude, exhibited in even
smaller degree the kindly cordiality which might have been
expected from an aunt.

'Oh, do go away, Freddie! You're a perfect nuisance. And take
that dog out of here.'

The Hon. Freddie, with a noble look of disdain, ignored
them all.

'I have here, Aunt Georgiana,' he said, 'a few simple rats. If
you will kindly step out on to the terrace I shall be delighted to
give a demonstration which should, I think, convince even your
stubborn mind.'

The announcement was variously received by the various
members of the company. Lady Alcester screamed. Lady Constance
sprang for the bell. Lord Emsworth snorted. Orlo Watkins
blanched and retired behind Gertrude. And Gertrude,
watching him blench, seeing him retire, tightened her lips.
A country-bred girl, she was on terms of easy familiarity with
rats, and this evidence of alarm in one whom she had set on a
pedestal disquieted her.

The door opened and Beach entered. He had come in pursuance
of his regular duties to remove the coffee cups, but arriving,
found other tasks assigned to him.

'Beach!' The voice was that of Lady Constance. 'Take away
those rats.'