Service with a Smile (21 page)

‘So I
do. Glad you reminded me.’

‘I’ll
tell you why. It sticks out a mile. She’s potty about the chap. Sift the
evidence. In spite of his having a head like a Spanish onion, she keeps his
photograph on her writing table. She sends him urgent cables telling him to
come immediately. And what is even more significant, she makes Emsworth put on
a clean collar and go all the way to London to meet him. Why, dash it, she didn’t
do that for
me!
Would she go to such lengths if she wasn’t potty about
the … Get out, you!’

He was
addressing Beach, who had approached the hammock and uttered a discreet cough.

‘What
you want?’

‘I was
instructed by her ladyship to inquire of his lordship if he would be good
enough to speak to her ladyship in her ladyship’s boudoir, your Grace,’ said
Beach with dignity. He was not a man to be put upon by Dukes, no matter how white-moustached.

‘Wants
to see him, does she?’

‘Precisely,
your Grace.’

‘Better
go and find out what it’s all about, Ickenham. Remember what I was saying.
Watch her closely!’ said the Duke in a hissing whisper. ‘Watch her like a hawk.’

There
was a thoughtful look in Lord Ickenham’s eye as he crossed the lawn. This new
development interested him. He was aware how sorely persecuted Lord Emsworth
was by his sister Constance — the other’s story of the brass paper-fastener had
impressed him greatly — and he had hoped by his presence at the castle to ease
the strain for him a little, but he had never envisaged the possibility of
actually removing her from the premises. If Lady Constance were to marry James Schoonmaker
and go to live with him in America, it would be the biggest thing that had
happened to Lord Emsworth since his younger son Frederick had transferred
himself to Long Island City, N.Y., as a unit of the firm of Donaldson’s Dog
Biscuits, Inc. There is no surer way of promoting human happiness than to
relieve a mild man of the society of a sister who says, ‘Oh, Clarence!’ to him
and sees life in the home generally as a sort of Uncle Tom’s Cabin production,
with herself playing Simon Legree and her brother in the supporting role of
Uncle Tom.

Of
course, it takes two to make a romance, and James Schoonmaker had yet to be
heard from, but Lord Ickenham regarded his old friend’s instant response to
Lady Constance’s cable as distinctly promising. A man in Jimmy’s position, a
monarch of finance up to his eyes all the time in big deals, with barely a
moment to spare from cornering peanuts or whatever it might be, does not drop
everything and come bounding across the Atlantic with a whoop and a holler
unless there is some great attraction awaiting him at the other end. It would
be a good move, he decided, when Jimmy arrived, to meet him at Market Blandings
station, hurry him off to the Emsworth Arms and fill him to the brim with G.
Ovens’ home-brewed beer. Mellowed by that wonder fluid, he felt, it was more
than likely that he would cast off reserve, become expansive and give a
sympathetic buddy what George Cyril Wellbeloved would have called the griff.

Lady
Constance was seated at her writing table, tapping the woodwork with her
fingers, and Lord Ickenham had the momentary illusion, as always when summoned
to her presence, that time had rolled back in its flight and that he was once more
vis-à-vis
with his old kindergarten mistress. The great question in
those days had always been whether or not she would rap him on the knuckles
with a ruler, and it was with some relief that he noted that the only weapon
within his hostess’s reach was a small ivory paper-knife.

She was
not looking cordial. Her air was that of somebody who, where Ickenhams were
concerned, could take them or leave them alone. A handsome woman, though, and
one well calculated to touch off the spark in the Schoonmaker bosom.

‘Please
sit down, Lord Ickenham.’

He took
a chair, and Lady Constance remained silent for a moment. She seemed to be
searching for words. Then, for she was never a woman who hesitated long when
she had something to say, even when that something verged on the embarrassing,
she began.

‘Myra’s
father is arriving tomorrow, Lord Ickenham.’

‘So I
had heard. I was saying to Dunstable just now how much I shall enjoy seeing him
again after all these years.

A
slight frown on Lady Constance’s forehead seemed to suggest that his emotions
did not interest her.

‘I
wonder if Jimmy’s put on weight. He was inclined to bulge when I last saw him. Wouldn’t
watch his calories.’

Nor,
said the frown, was she in a mood to discuss Mr Schoonmaker’s poundage.

‘He has
come because I asked him to. I sent him an urgent cable.’

‘After
we had had our little talk?’

‘Yes,’
said Lady Constance, shuddering as she recalled that little talk. ‘I intended
to put the whole matter in his hands and advise him to take Myra back to
America immediately.’

‘I see.
Did you say so?’

‘No, I
did not, and I am particularly anxious that he shall know nothing of her
infatuation. It would be difficult to explain why I had allowed Mr Bailey to
stay on at the castle.’

‘Very
difficult. One can see him raising his eyebrows.’

‘On the
other hand, I must give him some reason why I sent that cable, and I wanted to
see you, Lord Ickenham, to ask if you had anything to suggest.’

She
sank back in her chair, stiffened in every limb. Her companion was beaming at
her, and his kindly smile affected her like a blow in the midriff. She was in a
highly nervous condition, and the last thing she desired was to be beamed at by
a man whose very presence revolted her finer feelings.

‘My
dear Lady Constance,’ said Lord Ickenham buoyantly, ‘the matter is simple. I
have the solution hot off the griddle. You tell him that his daughter has
become engaged to Archie Gilpin and you wanted him to look in and give the boy
the once-over. Perfectly natural thing to suggest to an affectionate father. He
would probably have been very hurt, if you hadn’t cabled him. That solves your
little difficulty, I think?’

Lady
Constance relaxed. Her opinion of this man had in no way altered, she still
considered him a menace to one and all and his presence an offence to the pure
air of Blandings Castle, but she was fair enough to admit that, however black
his character might be, and however much she disliked having him beam at her,
he knew all the answers.

2

The
11.45
train
from Paddington. first stop Swindon, rolled into Market Blandings station, and
Lord Emsworth stepped out, followed by James R. Schoonmaker of Park Avenue, New
York, and The Dunes, Westhampton, Long Island.

American
financiers come in all sizes, ranging from the small and shrimp-like to the
large and impressive. Mr Schoonmaker belonged to the latter class. He was a
man in the late fifties with a massive head and a handsome face interrupted
about half way up by tortoiseshell-rimmed spectacles. He had been an
All-American footballer in his youth, and he still looked capable of bucking a
line, though today he would have done it not with a bull-like rush but with an
authoritative glance which would have taken all the heart out of the opposition.

His
face, as he emerged, was wearing the unmistakable look of a man who has had a
long railway journey in Lord Emsworth’s company, but it brightened suddenly
when he saw the slender figure standing on the platform. He stared
incredulously.

‘Freddie!
Well, I’ll be darned!’

‘Hullo
there, Jimmy.’

‘You
here?’

‘That’s
right.’

‘Well,
well!’ said Mr Schoonmaker.

‘Well,
well, well!’ said Lord Ickenham.

‘Well,
well, well,
well!’
said Mr Schoonmaker.

Lord Emsworth
interrupted the reunion before it could reach the height of its fever. He was
anxious to lose no time in getting to the haven of his bedroom and shedding the
raiment which had been irking him all day. His shoes, in particular, were
troubling him.

‘Oh,
hullo, Ickenham. Is the car outside?’

‘Straining
at the leash.’

‘Then
let us be off, shall we?’

‘Well,
I’ll tell you,’ said Lord Ickenham. ‘I can readily understand your desire to
hasten homeward and get into some-thing loose —’

‘It’s
my shoes, principally.’

‘They
look beautiful.’

‘They’re
pinching me.’

‘The
very words my nephew Pongo said that day at the dog races, and his statement
was tested and proved correct. Courage, Emsworth! Think of the women in China.
You don’t find them beefing because their shoes are tight. But what I was about
to say was that Jimmy and I haven’t seen each other for upwards of fifteen
years, and we’ve a lot of heavy thread-picking-up to do. I thought I’d take him
to the Emsworth Arms for a quick one. You’d enjoy a mouthful of beer, Jimmy?’

‘Ah!’ said
Mr Schoonmaker, his tongue flickering over his lips.

‘So we’ll
just bung you into the car and walk over later.’

The
process of bunging Lord Emsworth into a car was never a simple one, for on
these occasions his long legs always took on something of the fluid quality of
an octopus’s tentacles, but the task was accomplished at last, and Lord
Ickenham led his old friend to a table in the shady garden where all those
business conferences between Lord Tilbury, the Duke of Dun-stable and Lavender
Briggs had taken place.

‘Ah!’ said
Mr Schoonmaker again some little time later, laying down his empty tankard.

‘Have
another?’

‘I
think I will,’ said Mr Schoonmaker, speaking in the rather awed voice customary
with those tasting G. Ovens’ home-brewed for the first time. He added that the
beverage had a kick, and Lord Ickenham agreed that its kick was considerable.
He said he thought G. Ovens put some form of high explosive in it, and Mr Schoonmaker
agreed that this might well be so.

A
considerable number of threads had been picked up by this time, and it seemed
to Lord Ickenham that it would not be long now before he would be able to
divert the conversation from the past to the present. From certain signs he saw
that the home-brewed was beginning to have its beneficent effect. Another pint,
he felt, should be sufficient to bring his companion to the confidential
stage. In one of the cosy talks he had had with George Cyril Wellbeloved before
Lord Emsworth had driven him with a flaming sword from his garden of Eden, the pigman
had commented on the mysterious properties of a quart of the Ovens output,
speaking with a good deal of bitterness of the time when that amount of it had
caused him to reveal to Claude Murphy, the local constable, certain top secrets
which later he would have given much to have kept to himself.

The
second pint arrived, and Mr Schoonmaker quaffed deeply. His journey had been a
stuffy one, parching to the throat. He looked about him approvingly, taking in
the smooth turf, the shady trees and the silver river that gleamed through
them.

‘Nice
place, this,’ he said.

‘Rendered
all the nicer by your presence, Jimmy,’ replied Lord Ickenham courteously. ‘What
brought you over here, by the way?’

‘I had
an urgent cable from Lady Constance.’ A thought struck Mr Schoonmaker. ‘Nothing
wrong with Mike, is there?’

‘Not to
my knowledge. Nor with Pat. Mike who?’

‘Myra.’

‘I didn’t
know she was known to the police as Mike. You must have started calling her
that after my time. No, Myra’. all right. She’s just got engaged.’

Mr Schoonmaker
started violently, always a dangerous thing to do when drinking beer. Having
stopped coughing and dried himself off, he said:

‘She
has? What made her do that?’

‘Love,
Jimmy,’ said Lord Ickenham with a touch of reproach. ‘You can’t expect a girl
not to fall in love in these romantic surroundings. There’s something in the
air of Blandings Castle that brings out all the sentiment in people. Strong
men have come here without a thought of matrimony in their minds and within a
week have started writing poetry and carving hearts on trees. Probably the
ozone.’

Mr Schoonmaker
was frowning. He was not at all sure he liked the look of this. His daughter’s
impulsiveness was no secret from him.

‘Who is
the fellow?’ he demanded, not exactly expecting to hear that it was the boy who
cleaned the knives and boots, but prepared for the worst. ‘Who’s this guy she’s
got engaged to?’

‘Gilpin
is the name, first name Archibald. He’s the nephew of the Duke of Dunstable,’
said Lord Ickenham, and Mr Schoonmaker’s brow cleared magically. He would have
preferred not to have a son-in-law called Archibald, but he knew that in these
matters one has to take the rough with the smooth, and he had a great respect
for Dukes.

‘Is he,
by golly! Well, that’s fine.’

‘I
thought you’d be pleased.’