Jeeves and the Wedding Bells (20 page)

‘What they’re all asking now,’ he said, ‘is what happened to the man Dame Judith saw outside her window. If he was the burglar, where is he now and how did he escape?’

‘’Appen as he’s the one you saw on the roof, Mr B,’ said Mrs Padgett.

‘That’s as may be,’ said Bicknell. ‘But I had Hoad guard the fire escape, then go up on the roof first thing and there was nobody there.’

‘Sounds like
The Mystery of the Gabled House
,’ I said, taking a shot at lightening the tone. ‘Not that Melbury Hall has gables, obviously. Jolly good book, though.’

‘And who was the murderer?’ said Mrs Tilman.

‘The butler did it,’ I said. ‘He always does.’

‘Not this butler,’ said Bicknell. ‘Though I have my suspicions.’

‘Well, keep them to yourself,’ said Mrs Tilman, using a tone I wouldn’t have dared risk. ‘Mr Wilberforce, why don’t you pop into the dining room and start to clear the sideboard.’

Bicknell gave Mrs Tilman a reproachful look, but said nothing. I wondered whether she knew things about him, apart from his fondness for the master’s claret; perhaps over the years the odd weakness – a pretty housemaid here, a missing silver napkin ring there – had come to her attention and been set aside for a rainy day.

At any rate, I was glad to escape his cross-examination; pottering about in the background of the dining room seemed a safer option.

‘But, Dame Judith,’ Amelia was saying with some excitement when I went in, ‘surely you must have got a good look at the man’s face.’

‘I’ve told you, it was dark,’ said Dame Judith. ‘And I was in a state of shock. So would you have been, young lady.’

‘Yes, Ambo,’ said Georgiana, ‘it’s easier for someone outside to see into a lighted room than vice versa.’

‘So he must have got a good look at Dame Judith,’ said Amelia.

This thought seemed to cause both girls a spasm of silent amusement.

‘Were you in your nightclothes, Judith?’ asked Lady Hackwood sympathetically.

‘Indeed. I had completed my preparations for retiring and was coming to the end of a most interesting article in the
Journal of Cuneiform Studies
.’

At this point, Amelia had a fit of coughing that necessitated her holding a napkin over her face, while Georgiana leant over and ministered to her, her shoulders also silently shaking.

Sir Henry Hackwood put down his copy of
The Times
and looked down the table.

‘Goodwood soon,’ he said. ‘Any thoughts, Etringham?’

‘Not yet, I fear,’ said Jeeves. ‘But I shall shortly be in touch with a Newmarket friend who may conceivably be in a position to—’

‘Splendid. Good man.’

‘What I can’t understand,’ said Lady Hackwood, ‘is why, when Bicknell shone a torch up to the roof, the intruder seemed to be swaddled in a bed sheet.’

‘A bed sheet?’ said Dame Judith.

‘Bicknell?’ said Sir Henry.

‘Yes, Sir Henry,’ said Bicknell. ‘The party was wearing a long piece of cloth wrapped round him from neck to feet. Like an old statue.’

‘Do you mean like a toga?’ said Lady Hackwood.

‘A toga!’ said Dame Judith. ‘Good heavens. The last time a man in a toga was discovered on a roof in the middle of the night, it was poor Agatha Worplesdon’s lunatic nephew.’

‘Look what you’re doing, man!’ said Sir Henry, as I bent down to pick up the pieces of a Spode side plate that had slipped from my grasp.

‘Yes,’ went on Dame Judith. ‘It was at a Victorian house near Ludlow.’

‘Beautiful county, Shropshire,’ I heard Georgiana interject gamely, as I headed out to the kitchen.

The rest of the day passed off without incident, for which relief the entire household, I imagine, gave silent thanks. Lady Hackwood and Mrs Venables went to church; Georgiana played croquet with old Vishnu (the lawn was nowhere near as flat as that of Government House in Simla, it appeared), while Amelia gave Venables junior a straight-sets bashing at tennis. Mrs Padgett had the day off and Mrs Tilman conjured a creditable joint of roast pork for lunch. Woody made himself scarce doing some papers in his room and Sir Henry, I fancy, had another crack at the accounts, hoping that this time they just might come out right. The groans from behind the library door did not fill one with hope. I busied myself disposing of the dust sheet in a bonfire area behind the stables.

Sometimes when you get a breather like that, though, the respite can seem ominous – as though fate is merely taking time off to refill the sock with wet sand. And so it proved; for Monday was the day that mayhem had marked down for her own.

First thing in the morning, I took Lord Etringham his tea.

‘Jeeves,’ I said, placing the tray beside the bed. ‘Plan B swings into action shortly before three pip emma.’

‘Indeed, sir? Might I be so bold as to inquire into the nature of the stratagem?’

‘Georgiana is to come over all flirtatious with Woody and he’s going to give her the bum’s rush just as Amelia comes on the scene. She’ll see that he’s a parfit gentil knight who only has eyes for her.’

Jeeves took a sip of Oolong. ‘I am somewhat surprised that Miss Meadowes has consented to such a scheme.’

‘She didn’t at first. Then she hit on the idea of getting Woody in on the act.’

‘A wise precaution, undoubtedly, sir. And Miss Meadowes is a high-spirited young lady who doubtless enjoys a prank – especially in a good cause.’

‘Spot on, Jeeves.’

‘And where is the assignation to take place?’

‘Next to a rhododendron bush with a bench seat in front of it on the gravel path. Not far from the tennis court. Why do you want to know?’

‘I was merely trying to envisage the scene, sir. Assuming all passes off without incident, how will Miss Meadowes subsequently repair her friendship with Miss Hackwood?’

I hadn’t really considered this angle. ‘I’m sure she’ll think of something,’ I said.

‘One can but hope, sir. They seem the best of friends.’

‘I expect when the dust’s settled, she’ll tell her the truth. Amelia will be so dashed happy she’ll forgive and forget. She’ll probably thank Georgie as the – who’s that chap who brought people together?’

‘The willing Pandarus, sir. He was the uncle of Criseyde in the poem by Chaucer, who enabled—’

‘That’s the chap. Is all quiet on the intruder front?’

‘For the time being, sir, though I fear that Dame Judith remains in a state of agitation.’

‘And what about me, for heaven’s sake? It was one of the most terrifying sights of my life.’

‘One can well imagine, sir.’

‘So that’s it, Jeeves. Back to the old metrop tomorrow and no harm done. Or not too much, anyway.’

Jeeves did a bit of throat-clearing. I knew of old what this meant.

‘Something on your mind?’ I said.

‘Yes, sir. Sir Henry has invited me to return next weekend for the Midsummer Festival at Melbury Tetchett.’

‘You declined, I suppose. And don’t give me that “in the circumstances I deemed it best to accept” routine.’

‘I temporised, sir.’

‘You did what?’

‘Prevaricated, sir.’

‘Come again?’

‘I played for time. I told Sir Henry I would endeavour to return, though I warned him that once back in London I should need to confirm that no more pressing matters had arisen.’

‘Well, you’d better think of something pretty sharpish, Jeeves. Much as I love Dorset, I can’t stand another night on that fakir’s couch.’

‘I believe it is Sir Henry’s intention to reconvene many of this weekend’s house party.’

‘Why? Has he gone barking mad? Think of the cost, apart from anything else. Say what you like about the old fox, he knows how to push the boat out.’

‘The Midsummer Festival is something that the Hackwood family has patronised for many generations. I understand it was Sir Lancelot Hackwood who initiated the celebration in
1705. And I fear that in financial matters Sir Henry has thrown caution to the winds.’

‘Might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb, you mean.’

‘The gallows image is most vivid, if I may say so, sir.’

‘Well, let’s jolly well hope something turns up for the old rogue. If Amelia and Woody can bury the hatchet, Georgiana will bring Venables to heel and all will be well. Sausage casings all round. Plan B, you see.’

‘Indeed, sir. “All is best, though oft we doubt what th’ unsearchable dispose of highest wisdom brings about.”’

‘I say, that’s awfully good, Jeeves.’

‘Thank you, sir. It was the poet Milton who so opined in a dramatic work called—’

‘As you say, Jeeves. He must be awfully pleased to think that someone’s still spouting his stuff.’

So saying, I tooled off to the hall, grabbed a couple of newspapers, delivered them to the corner room and went on my merry way.

The only incident of note in the morning was the arrival of a repair man from the telephone company. Hoad was back in his place to shove round the luncheon plates, leaving me to hobnob with the excellent Mrs Tilman in the kitchen. All seemed to be purring along nicely towards the triumphant enactment of Plan B.

The appointed hour found me secreted in a rhododendron. This tree or shrub makes an admirable hiding place, especially when in full flower, as it was now. You can insert the person
without risk of injury and at once become invisible; the genus had given top-notch accommodation to early experiments with tobacco by most of my school friends.

Woody poled up a few minutes early and sat on the bench, leafing through a book someone seemed to have left behind. The path was covered with a fine pea-shingle and gave ample warning of approaching footsteps. I had chosen the spot for this reason, and sure enough a girlish footfall was soon heard, followed by Georgiana’s fond hello.

‘Shall we have a trial run?’ said Woody.

‘Right ho. Shall we be sitting or standing?’

‘Sitting’s better. Then it looks as though as we’ve been having a serious heart-to-heart.’

‘All right,’ said Georgiana. ‘You sit there, so Ambo gets a good view of you as she comes round the corner. Then I’ll stroke your arm like this.’

‘You’d better talk a lot of rot at the same time.’

‘Right ho. Oh, Woody, I don’t know how to tell you this. My heart is yours, you dashing sportsman. I love your broody eyes and your noble nose and your charm and modesty—’

‘Steady on, Georgie.’

‘Am I overacting? I have a tendency to.’

‘Well, I suppose we have to send a clear message.’

‘So perhaps I ought to kiss you. I lean in like this and plant a smacker on your lips.’

‘Yes, I suppose so. Don’t let’s spoil the ship for a ha’porth of tar.’

Meanwhile, deep in the concealing rhododendron, the
feelings in the Wooster bosom were decidedly mixed. I was aware of a nasty tightening in the pit of the stomach, and it was all I could do not to leap out of the bally bush and tell them to put a sock in it.

‘But then I rebuff you sternly,’ said Woody. ‘I push you away and say, “My heart is only for Amelia. So cut out the funny stuff.”’

‘Ssh. I can hear her coming.’

Georgiana took closer order on the bench. ‘Oh, Woody, you handsome cricketer, you Apollo of the bat and ball, let me wrap you in my arms.’

The footsteps came closer and Georgiana began to lay it on with a trowel.

‘Let me stroke your hair, you little spring chicken. I adore you, Woody, you heavenly creature. Let me kiss those gorgeous lips again. Hold me closer, please.’

It was hard to make out through the twigs and branches exactly what had gone wrong, or when. But I can say for certain that it took no more than a second for the lovers to spring apart when they saw that the new arrival was not Amelia but a harassed-looking Rupert Venables.

MY SERVICES WERE
required neither at dinner nor after it, so I seemed to be in for a solitary evening. By the time the ‘quality’ put on the nosebag at eight, I could contain my restlessness no longer and set off for the village. I dined once more at the Hare and Hounds, where the landlord’s mind was still clearly on the cricket as he shoved a pint of ale across the bar.

‘Best use both hands on that. Shall I carry ’im to the table for you?’

Then, when he came over a few minutes later to take my order: ‘We got some nice duck pâté. I know you be fond of a duck, young man.’

I was about to remonstrate when I remembered it was mine host’s bony finger that had cut down Sidney Venables at the wicket and sent him packing. The fellow couldn’t be all bad, I told myself.

A great deal seemed to have happened since my last steak and kidney in the same window seat, and not much of it came under the heading of good news. I had escaped playing host to Aunt Agatha and the blighter Thomas in London, though a part of me – not the largest part, I suppose – felt ashamed of what my late father might have thought of my giving his sister the miss in baulk. The only other item in the credit column was having successfully misled our hosts as to our identity, and my aching back prevented me from taking much pleasure in this minor triumph.

The real business of the trip – the attempt to reunite the sundered hearts of my oldest friend and his beloved – had been an utter washout: a fiasco, a lulu, a damp squib from start to finish. I had tried my best to play Woody out of trouble and give him a decent shot at the green; I had left the poor chap playing five off the tee.