A Pelican at Blandings Page 13

  'Mention my name.'

  He did not give his name. He went on the assumption that everyone knew it instinctively and that the few who did not deserved no consideration. Quick thinking, however, told John that this must be the man who, if all went well at the coming round table conference with Linda, he would shortly be calling Uncle Alaric, and there swept over him the same warm glow of affection which he would have felt for any near relation of the girl he loved. He might have wished her a slimmer uncle and one with a smaller moustache and a more melodious voice, but any uncle of hers was all right with him, and he thanked him for his advice with a respectful sincerity which he hoped would be recognized as coming straight from the heart.

  'So you're the head-shrinker.'

  On the verge of saying 'I beg your pardon' again, John remembered the junior partnership which entitled him to that description. He said he was, and the Duke said he thought all you fellows had beards.

  'You haven't got a beard.'

  'No, no beard.'

  'That's probably what Connie meant when she was beefing about you being young. You are young. How old would you say you were actually?'

  'I shall be twenty-seven in September.'

  'One of my fatheaded nephews is that, the other a bit younger, but you can't go by age. They would be just as big fools if they were in the fifties. Married against my wishes, both of them. I should imagine you are all right, if you're working with a big pot like Glossop. He's good, isn't he?'

  'Very.'

  'Right up there at the top?'

  'Oh, decidedly. Nobody to touch him.'

  'Pity we couldn't have got him. Still, you'll have to do.'

  John said he would do his best to do, and the Duke proceeded.

  'Did Threepwood explain everything to you? About observing Emsworth and all that?'

  'Yes. I understand the situation.'

  'You seen him yet?'

  'Not yet.'

  'You'll be able to run your eye over him at dinner. Threepwood told you he was definitely off his onion, of course?'

  'I gathered from what he said that Lord Emsworth was somewhat eccentric.'

  The Duke would have none of this evasiveness. Professional caution, no doubt, but it annoyed him.

  'Eccentric be blowed. He's potty to the core. Look at the way he talks about that pig of his. Anyone with half an eye can see it's much too fat, and he insists it's supposed to be fat. Says it's been given medals for being fat, from which you will get a rough idea how far the malady has spread. What would a pig do with medals? Threepwood's theory is that he got this way because someone took his all day sucker from him when he was six, but I think it goes deeper than that. I think he was born potty, though he may have been dropped on his head when a baby, which would have helped the thing along. But you'll be able to form your own conclusions when you've observed him for a bit. How do you observe a fellow, by the way?'

  It was an awkward question for one so lacking in experience as John, but he did his best.

  'Well, I . . . how shall I put it? . . . I, as it were, observe him.'

  'Ask him things, you mean?'

  'That's right.'

  'You can't make him lie on a couch. He'd get suspicious.'

  'No, we'll be standing up.'

  'It works as well that way, does it?'

  'I have always found so.'

  'Then I'll leave it to you with every confidence that you'll be able to put your finger on whatever it is that makes him the way he is. Threepwood tells me he will be paying your bill. Is that correct?'

  'Yes, that's all arranged.'

  'I ask because I'm blowed if I'm going to shell out a lot of money just to be told why Emsworth is potty.'

  'Mr. Threepwood will be paying all expenses.'

  'Good. I wanted that clearly understood before you start. And a thought occurs to me. While you're about it, why not cock an eye at some of the others here? Do you take on these jobs wholesale, or do you charge so much per person? Not that it affects me, as I'm not paying, but I'm curious.'

  'I would make a reduction for quantity. No doubt I could come to some arrangement with Mr. Threepwood. You feel that some of the residents in the castle would be the better for psychiatric treatment?'

  'Practically all of them. Blandings Castle at the moment is a hot bed of pottiness. Take that niece of mine . . .What's the matter?'

  'Touch of cramp.'

  'Thought so when I saw you jump. Used to suffer from cramp myself. My doctor down in Wiltshire cured me. But I was telling you about my niece. The night before I came here she turned up at the hotel humming and giggling, and wouldn't say why. It occurred to me later that she might have been in love, but I enquired of her on her arrival here and she said she wasn't, and she was probably speaking the truth, for I haven't heard her hum and giggle since. I was rather disappointed, for I had been hoping she might be in love with a very fine fellow I know on the Stock Exchange. Very rich. He's been trying to get her to marry him since last November, and he's only got to keep at it. It won't take long, not with one of her branch of the family. Her late father was always falling in love till he married my late sister, when of course it stopped. Yes, I'd like you to keep an eye on her, though, as I say, she hasn't hummed and giggled for some days. One can't be sure it won't break out again. And while you're at it, take a look at a Miss Polk who's staying here. One of Connie's friends. There's something wrong with her. The first day or two after her arrival she was bright and lively: used to talk sixteen to the dozen all the time to Threepwood, though what she found entertaining in him I couldn't tell you: but now she falls into silences when I'm with her. A sort of film comes over her eyes, and she makes some excuse and legs it. That happened only this morning, when she was sitting on a bench in the park and I came along, and we got into conversation. It's a bad sign.'

  'Perhaps you touched on a painful subject.'

  'No, it couldn't have been that. I was telling her about a speech I made at our local town council. Draw her out and find what the trouble is, and then start observing the others. You needn't bother with Connie, she's more or less all right except for marrying a Yank with a head like a Spanish onion, and you could account for that by the fact that he's got a lot of money, but there's a fellow called Trout who needs attention badly. Keeps on marrying blondes. And of course there's Threepwood.'

  'I wouldn't have thought there was anything unbalanced about him.'

  'He wears an eyeglass. No, don't you neglect any of them. Watch them all closely. Well, that's that. You've got the idea. Let's go down and have a cocktail. You haven't tied your tie right. Here, let me,' said the Duke, and with skilful hands he converted John's cravat into something that looked like a squashed sock. This done, he led the way to the stairs, speaking as he went of his doctor down in Wiltshire, who, though trustworthy as regarded cramp, went all astray in the matter of ante-dinner aperitifs.

  'Says they raise the blood pressure and harden the arteries. Would like me to drink nothing but barley water and lemonade. Potty, of course,' said the Duke, and paused at the head of the stairs to speak further of this misguided physician.

  It was at this moment that Howard Chesney, having given them what he thought sufficient time to pass downstairs, opened the portrait gallery door once more a cautious six inches, and peered out. Seeing them still among those present, he was about to dart back into his retreat like a cuckoo in a cuckoo clock, when it was as though his guardian angel had whispered to him that there was a better way. If, said his guardian angel, he were to creep noiselessly up behind John and give him a push, John would infallibly fall down these stairs whose surface had so recently been tested and proved slippery and probably break a leg. A consummation devoutly to be wished, for he would be removed to hospital and there would be no necessity for him, Chesney, to leave the castle in order to avoid a meeting which could not but be fraught with embarrassment.

  He stole softly forward like a leopard advancing on its prey.

  2

/>   Gally was in the hall when Linda came down from her room. He greeted her with a flashing eyeglass.

  'Hullo. You back?'

  'I'm back.'

  'Have a good time?'

  'No.'

  'Didn't enjoy yourself?'

  'No.'

  Gally nodded sagely.

  'I feared as much when I saw you drive off. I had an idea you would find the going sticky. I was not educated at a girls' school myself, but I can picture the sort of thing that goes on at these reunions. The tedious playing over of bygone hockey matches, the recapitulation of the rights and wrongs of Angela's big quarrel with Isobel, reminiscences of dormitory feeds and all that Will - you - ever - forget - the - night - when - Flossie -got - so - ill - eating - brown - shoe - polish - spread - on -bread - when - the - potted - meat - gave - out stuff. The discriminating popsy wisely avoids that sort of binge. Well, cheer up, it's over now and you won't be mug enough to go another year, so let's see that beaming smile of yours of which I have heard such good reports. I have a surprise for you.'

  The marble of Linda's face was disturbed by a momentary twitch or tremor, but she continued cold and aloof. Gally, eyeing her narrowly, was reminded of a girl he had known in the old days who had played the Snow Queen in a ballet at the Alhambra.

  'I know,' she said. 'I went down to the lake.'

  'Oh, you've seen him?'

  'In the distance.'

  'He looks even better close to. Did you shout Yoo-hoo at him?'

  She disdained to reply to this question, unless a quick curl of the upper lip could be counted as a reply.

  'You really need not have gone to all that trouble, Mr. Threepwood.'

  'Call me Gally. What trouble?'

  'It must have taken a lot of hard work to get him here.'

  'A labour of love.'

  'Wasted, because I'm not going to speak to him.'

  'No?'

  'No.'

  'Not even an occasional Good morning?'

  'Only if he says it first.'

  'You'll hurt his feelings.'

  'Good.'

  No one could have called her attitude encouraging, but Gally was always difficult to depress. Many of his interviews with bookies in the old days had begun on a similarly unpromising note, and eloquence and persuasiveness had pulled him through in the end. He saw no reason to suppose that a man who had bent to his will tough eggs like Honest Jerry Judson and Tim Simms the Safe Man would be baffled by a mere girl, sore as a sunburned neck though she unquestionably was. He proceeded, unruffled.

  'I think you're making a great mistake, my dear child. Surely it's a mug's game to throw away a life's happiness just because Johnny has made you momentarily a bit hot under the collar. You know in your heart that he is Prince Charming and Today's Safety Bet. Do you play golf?'

  'Yes. Why?'

  'Johnny's handicap is six.'

  'I know.'

  'What's yours?'

  'Eighteen.'

  'Well, then. Think how he would improve your game. With him constantly at your side you might get down into single figures. What every girl needs is a husband whose loving task it will be to make her keep her head down and her eye on the ball. And apart from that the mere fact that after only a few meetings you both became convinced that you were twin souls makes it obvious that a merger between you and John Stiffy Halliday is a good thing and should be pushed along.'

  In spite of her resolve to keep the scene on a dignified plane and to do nothing that would detract from her cold hauteur, Linda gave a squeak of surprise.

  'John what Halliday?'

  'His father at the christening insisted on the Stiffy. It was his nickname at the Pelican Club, and he wanted it to live after him. His wife objected and the parson wasn't any too pleased, but he won the battle of the font. He was a very determined chap. Johnny's the same.'

  'He can be as determined as he likes. I don't want anything more to do with him.'

  'That's what you think now.'

  'And I shall go on thinking it.'

  Gally sighed. He removed his eyeglass and began to polish it. Uphill work, this. A little difficult to know how to proceed. He could understand how those Old Testament snake charmers must have felt who tried to ingratiate themselves with the deaf adder and did not get to first base. He spoke reproachfully.

  'You know where you've made your bloomer?'

  'Where have I made my bloomer?'

  'You've let the sun go down on your wrath, which is the worst possible thing to do. All the nibs are agreed on that.'

  Linda was silent for awhile. She seemed to be thinking.

  'I suppose I have. Though it isn't wrath exactly.'

  'It looks like wrath to me.'

  'It was at first, but now it's more like clear vision, if you know what I mean.'

  'I don't.'

  'It's hard to explain.'

  'Have a try.'

  'Well, after I'd been thinking about it for a long time it suddenly struck me . . . Have you ever had all your clothes taken off and been tarred and feathered?'

  'Not that I remember.'

  'Well, that's how I felt when I was in the witness box with him saying "I suggest" and "Is it not a fact", and I suddenly realized that if we were married, every time I looked at him I would be thinking of it and a happy marriage would be impossible.'

  'What rot.'

  'It isn't rot. It's plain sense. The fact is, no girl ought to marry a barrister.'

  'Then barristers would become extinct.'

  'Which would be fine. The more extinct they become, the better.'

  'I disagree with you. Barristers are all right.'

  'They're not. They're sadists, never happier than when they're torturing some unfortunate witness.'

  'Just doing their duty.'

  'Nonsense. It gives them a kick. They love it.'

  'Do you think Johnny loved it?'

  'Yes, I do.'

  'Well, he didn't. He suffered agonies. His soul was twisted into knots. But it was his duty to go all out and win the case for his client. He was taking Clutterbuck's money, and he had to give him a square deal. He couldn't pull his punches just because the other side's star witness happened to be the girl he loved. I admire Johnny intensely. He is an example to all of us. I class him with Lucius Junius Brutus.'

  'Who?'

  'Haven't you ever heard of Lucius Junius Brutus?'

  'No.'

  'They don't seem to have taught you much at your school. You ought to have gone to Eton. I suppose you were trying so hard to get into the hockey team that you neglected your studies.'

  'I didn't play hockey.'

  'Well, lacrosse or ping-pong or whatever it was. Lucius Junius Brutus was a judge of the criminal court in ancient Rome, and one day who should come up before him, charged with some particularly fruity crime, but his only son, the apple of his eye, and as the trial proceeded it became evident that it was an open and shut case and the prosecution had the thing in a bag. Not even Perry Mason could have got the accused off. But did Lucius Junius Brutus dismiss him with a few fatherly words of caution not to do it again? Did he impose a nominal fine or give him a suspended sentence? No, he saw where his duty lay. He threw the book at the young stinker, and everybody went about saying what a splendid fellow he was. I feel the same about Johnny.'

  'I don't.'

  'You will. Give yourself time. Don't rush it. The day will come when you'll be proud to marry him.'

  'I wouldn't marry him if he were the last man on earth.'

  'Well, he isn't, so the question does not arise.'

  'I don't think I'll ever marry anyone.'

  'Of course you will. You'll marry Johnny.'

  'I won't.'

  'Want to bet?'

  At this moment, when the conversation seemed to have reached a deadlock and stalemate to have set in at the negotiating table, John and the Duke came downstairs, or rather the Duke and John, for they descended in that order. They came not at the leisurely pace custo
mary in good society, but almost as rapidly as if they had slid down the banisters. One moment they were not there, the next they were.

  It will be remembered that when last seen these two amateur acrobats were at the head of the stairs and that Howard Chesney was advancing on them like a leopard in quest of its prey, having decided to follow what he could see was the excellent advice of his guardian angel. He reached journey's end just as John was taking his first downward step, he having courteously allowed his elder to precede him. He then, in accordance with his guardian angel's instructions, placed a hand between John's shoulder blades and pushed.

  He pushed with the utmost force at his command, and results from his point of view could not have been more satisfactory. The stairs were just as slippery as they had been when he had floated down them, and John, losing his footing, flew through the air like the daring young man on the flying trapeze of whom the poet has sung. He had not proceeded far when he overtook the Duke, and they both flew through the air with, to quote the bard again, the greatest of ease. Arriving in the hall, they separated. The Duke reached the suit of armour in the shadow of which the recent board meeting had been held, while John got only as far as the table where the papers and magazines were kept. Less fortunate than Howard Chesney, he struck it with his head. There was a nasty banging sound and then, as the expression is, he knew no more.

  One of the things he did not know was that as he and the table came together Linda had sprung to her feet, uttered a choking cry like Gally's friend who swallowed the aspirin tablet and clutched at her throat in the manner of the heroine of a mystery play when there is a shriek in the night. She then sped across the hall to where the injured man lay, plainly stirred to her depths.

  Her display of emotion would have caused Lady Constance's governesses to shake their heads, but Gally, following her at the slower pace fitted to his advanced years, regarded it with an approving eyeglass. It seemed to him that things could not have worked out more satisfactorily. He had recommended his godson to have an accident, and he had had an accident. And getting stunned like this was in his opinion even better than being hit on the head with a stone tobacco jar, and that had been amply sufficient to bring two sundered hearts together. In next to no time, he estimated, the popsy would be flinging herself on that prostrate form and showering kisses on it.