Sunset at Blandings (8 page)

‘Who
was that?’ he asked, and Florence was obliged to soil her lips again.

‘Mr.
Smith,’ she said.

‘Oh,
yes. He’s come to paint the Empress.’

‘So I
understand.’

‘He’s a
friend of Galahad’s.’

‘I do
not consider that a great recommendation.’

‘Nice
young fellow I thought he looked.’

‘He
struck me as a criminal type. He’s probably known to the police.’

‘I don’t
think so. Galahad said nothing about him being friends of theirs. Odd his
disappearing like that. I must find him and take him to see the Empress.’

‘Are
you really serious about putting that pig’s portrait in the portrait gallery?’

‘Of
course I am.’

‘You
will be the laughing—stock of the county.’

Gally
would have replied that a good laugh never hurt anybody, but Lord Emsworth was
more tactful.

‘I don’t
know why you say that. There will be a plaque, don’t you call them, at the side
of the picture about her being three years in succession silver medallist in
the Fat Pigs class at the Shropshire Agricultural Show, an unheard-of feat.
People will be too impressed to laugh.’

‘A pig
among your ancestors!’

‘Galahad
says she will lend the gallery a tone. He says that at present it is like the
Chamber of Horrors at Madame Tussaud’s.’

‘Don’t
talk to me about Galahad. The mere mention of his name upsets me.’

‘I
thought you were having one of your spells. You get them because you’re so
energetic all the time. You ought to lie in the hammock in the afternoons with
a book. Well, I can’t stay talking to you all day, I must be going and finding
Smith,’ said Lord Emsworth.

Jeff
was in the corridor, warming up after his session with the Snow Queen. Lord
Emsworth greeted him briskly. Already, brief though their acquaintance was, he
had taken a great fancy to Jeff.

‘Ah,
there you are, Mr. Smith. I am sorry my sister was having one of her spells
when you arrived. She always has them when she starts thinking about putting
the Empress’s portrait in the portrait gallery. It does something to her. It
was the same with my sister Constance, now in America married to an American
whose name I have forgotten. She, too, always had these spells when the matter
of the Empress’s portrait came up. But you will be wanting to see her. Not
Constance, the Empress. It is quite a short distance to her sty.’

He led
Jeff through the kitchen garden and into a meadow dappled with buttercups and
daisies, making pleasant conversation the while.

‘Things,’
he said, ‘have settled down now that the Empress has retired and no longer
competes in the Shropshire Agricultural Show, but when she was an active
contestant one was never free from anxiety. There was a man living in a house
near here who kept entering his pigs for the Fat Pigs event and was wholly
without scruples. One always feared that he would kidnap the Empress or do her
some mischief which would snatch victory from her grasp. He was a Baronet. Sir
Gregory Parsloe.’

Here he
paused impressively, seeming to suggest that Jeff must know what baronets were
like, and Jeff agreed that they wanted watching, and they reached the sty in
perfect harmony.

The
Empress was having an in-between-meals snack, her invariable practice when not
sleeping, and Jeff regarded her with awe.

‘I’ve
never seen such a pig,’ he said.

‘Nobody
has ever seen such a pig,’ said Lord Emsworth.

‘Good
appetite.’

‘Excellent.
You can’t imagine the bran mash she consumes daily.’

‘Well,
nothing like keeping body and soul together.’

‘You
would think that anyone would be proud to paint her. And yet all these Royal
Acadamecians refused.’

‘Incredible.’

‘In fact,
my dear fellow, you are my last hope. If you fail me. I shall have to give up
the whole thing.’

‘I won’t
fail you,’ said Jeff.

He
spoke sincerely. The affection Lord Emsworth felt for him was mutual. Say what
you might of the ninth Earl — his limpness, the way his trousers bagged at the
knees and the superfluity of holes in his shooting jacket —he was essentially a
lovable character and Jeff was resolved to do all that was within his power to
make him happy. And if the Gorgon objected and had spells, let her have spells.

CHAPTER
TEN

GALLY had no difficulty in
finding Freddie. A man in London on an expense account generally tends to do
himself well, and Freddie, when sent across the Atlantic by his father-in-law
to promote the interests of the English branch of Donaldson’s Dog Joy, never
watched the pennies. It was in a suite at the Ritz that the meeting between
uncle and nephew took place. Freddie was having a late breakfast.

Gally
was surprised to see a cloud on his nephew’s brow, for normally Freddie was a
cheerful young man, inclined perhaps, as his Aunt Florence had said, to confine
his talk to the subject of dog-biscuits, but uniformly cheerful. His sunny
smile, Gally had always understood, was one of the sights of Long Island City,
but now it no longer split his face. It was with a moody fork that he pronged
the kippered herring on his plate, and not even James Piper could have more
closely resembled the Mona Lisa as he sipped coffee.

Gally
noted these symptoms with interest. His experienced eye told him that they
were not due to a hangover, so it would seem that some business worry was
causing this depression.

‘Something
on your mind, I see,’ he said. ‘Is it that trade is not brisk?’

‘Trade
is a pain in the neck,’ said Freddie, abandoning the kipper and going on to
marmalade. ‘In England I mean, not in America. I have not a word of criticism
of the American dog, whose appetite for biscuits remains the same as always.
But the dogs over here … Old Donaldson will have a fit when I turn in my report.’

Gally’s
face took on a grave expression in keeping with the solemnity of the moment,
but he had come here on a mission of vital importance and was not to be
diverted from the main issue.

‘I’m
sorry,’ he said, ‘but before going into that in depth I will explain why I
wanted to see you. Your cousin Victoria —’

‘I don’t
know what England’s coming to.’

‘Your
cousin Victoria has fallen in love with the wrong man and is immured at
Blandings, and I have got the man there under a false name. I can reveal this
to you without reserve as you have been associated with me in many of my cases.
You will recall the Bill Lister incident.’
[35]

‘And I’ll
tell you why trade isn’t brisk,’ said Freddie. ‘It’s because of the bad
practice of English dog owners of giving their dogs scraps at the luncheon and
dinner tables. I was lunching —’

‘Freddie
—’

‘I was
lunching at a house in Sussex only yesterday, and there was my hostess with a
dog on each side of her, and all through the meal she kept giving them
hand-outs, yes, even of the Bavarian Cream which was the final course.’

‘Freddie
—’

‘Is it
reasonable to suppose that a dog full of Bavarian Cream will be satisfied with
a biscuit, even one as wholesome and rich in all the essential vitamins as
Donaldson’s Dog Joy? Naturally when I produced a sample and offered it to the
animals they backed away, turning up their noses, and I was unable to book an
order. And the same thing has happened over and over —’Freddie,’ said Gaily, ‘if
you don’t stop babbling about your damned dog-biscuits and listen to me, I’ll
shove the remains of that kipper down your neck.’

Freddie
looked up from his marmalade, surprised. ‘Were you saying something?’

‘I was
trying to. It’s about Jeff Bennison.’

‘I know
Jeff Bennison.’

‘I know
you do.’

‘What
about him?’

‘He and
Vicky are in love.’

‘Nothing
wrong with that, is there?’

‘Yes,
there is, because Florence has imprisoned her at Blandings to get her out of
Jeff’s way and I have got Jeff into the house, calling himself Smith.’

‘You
mean he’s in?’

‘Yes,
he’s in.’

‘Hob-nobbing
daily with Vicky?’

‘Yes.’

‘Absolutely
on the premises?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then
what’s your problem?’

‘I
wouldn’t have one if you hadn’t wired Clarence that you were coming to
Blandings … You mustn’t come within a hundred miles of the place. Go anywhere
else in England that takes your fancy — they say Skegness is very bracing—but
keep away from Shropshire.’

‘I don’t
get it. Why?’

‘Because
the first thing you would do when you got there would be to say — in Florence’s
presence — “Bless my soul if it isn’t my old friend Jeff Bennison. How are you,
Jeff old man, how
are
you?”‘

Freddie
was offended. Had he not been seated, he would undoubtedly have drawn himself
up to his full height.

‘Are
you insinuating that I am a beans-spiller?’

‘Yes, I
am.’

‘I’ve
been given medals for keeping things under my hat.’

‘You
didn’t get one in the Bill Lister affair. I got Bill into the castle incognito
in order to oblige my niece Prudence, they being deeply enamoured and kept
apart by various relatives. You probably remember the affair …’

‘Of
course I do, and let me tell you —’

‘So
what occurred? We were all having tea as cosy as be blowed, when you burst in
through the french window and bellowed “Blister! Well, well, well! Well, well,
well, well, well! This is fine, this is splendid! I can’t tell you how glad I
am, Prue, that everything is hunky-dory”. Then, addressing Prue’s mother, you
said that Prue could find no worthier mate than good old Bill Lister, whereupon,
as might have been foreseen, she had him out of the house in three seconds
flat. We don’t want that sort of thing happening again.’

If
Freddie had not finished his marmalade, he would have choked on it, so great
was his indignation.

‘Well,
dash it,’ he thundered, ‘I don’t see how you can blame me. It stands to reason
that if a chap has been established as a pariah and an outcast and you suddenly
find him tucking into tea and buttered toast in company with the girl’s mother,
you naturally assume that the red light has turned to green.’

‘Yes, I
can see your side of it,’ said Gally pacifically. It was no part of his policy
to rouse the fiend that slept in Freddie’s bosom. ‘But I still think it would
be safer if you didn’t come to Blandings.’

Freddie
was all cold dignity.

‘I have
no wish to come to Blandings,’ he said. ‘I was only going there to give the guv’nor
a treat. He enjoys my visits so much.’

‘Then
that’s settled,’ said Gally, relieved. ‘A pity, of course, that you won’t see
Jeff.’

‘As a
matter of fact,’ said Freddie, ‘I’m not particularly anxious to see Jeff. He
gave me a comic strip thing to sell in America, and I couldn’t land it
anywhere, and I’m afraid he’ll be thinking I’ve let him down.’

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

BY inciting the Bentley to
make a special effort Gally was enabled to reach Blandings Castle just in time
to dress for dinner. It was not till he joined the company at the table that he
became aware that unfortunate things must have been happening in his absence.
If the atmosphere was not funereal, he told himself, he did not know a funereal
atmosphere when he saw one, and it perplexed him. For moodiness on the part of
James Piper he had been prepared, and he had not expected anything rollicking
from his sister Florence, but Jeff and Vicky should surely have been more
vivacious. Their gloom was as marked as that of Freddie had been when brooding
on the mistaken liberablity of the English dog owner. Vicky was pale and cold,
and Jeff crumbled a good deal of bread.

At the
conclusion of the meal there was a general move to the drawing-room, but Jeff
went out on to the terrace, and Gally followed him there, eager for an
explanation. When a man has gone all the way from Shropshire to London to
further the interests of a young protégé, he resents it when the latter shows
no appreciation of his efforts. It was with an offended rasp in his voice that
he opened the conversation.

‘Jeff,’
he said, ‘you look like the seven years of Famine we read of in Scripture. You
could go on and play King Lear without make-up. Before going into the reasons
for this — possibly you have been having another spell in the frigidaire with
Florence — let me tell you a bit of news which ought to bring the sun smiling
through. I saw Freddie, and I have headed him off.’

‘You’ve
done what?’