Aunts Aren't Gentlemen Read online

  But I didn't give up. We Woosters don't. I tried another tack altogether.

  'It was awfully kind of you to ask me to lunch,' I said.

  I don't say he actually frothed at the mouth. There was no question, however, that my words had displeased him:

  'Ask you to lunch? Ask you to lunch? I wouldn't ask you to lunch –'

  I think he was about to add 'with a ten-foot pole', but at this moment from off-stage there came the sound of a robust tenor voice singing what sounded like the song hit from some equatorial African musical comedy, and the next moment Major Plank appeared, and the scales fell from my eyes. Plank being on the premises meant that this wasn't the Briscoe residence by a damn sight. By losing faith in Jeeves and turning to the right on reaching the high road, instead of to the left as he had told me to, I had come to the wrong house. For an instant I felt like blaming the centenarian, but we Woosters are fair minded and I remembered that I had asked him the way to Eggesford Court, which this joint presumably was, and if you say Court when you mean Hall, there's bound to be confusion.

  'Good Lord,' I said, suffused with embarrassment, 'aren't you Colonel Briscoe?'

  He didn't deign to answer that one, and Plank started talking.

  'Why, hullo, Wooster,' he said. 'Who would ever have thought of seeing you here? I didn't know you knew Cook.'

  'Do you know him?' said the purple chap, evidently stunned by the idea that I could have a respectable acquaintance.

  'Of course I know him. Met him at my place in Gloucestershire, though under what circumstances I've forgotten. It'll come back, but at the moment all I know is that he has changed his name. It used to be something beginning with Al, and now it's Wooster. I suppose the original name was something ghastly which he couldn't stand any longer. I knew a man at the United Explorers who changed his name from Buggins to Westmacote-Trevelyan. I thought it very sensible of him, but it didn't do him much good, poor chap, because he had scarcely got used to signing his IOUs Gilbert Westmacote-Trevelyan when he was torn asunder by a lion. Still, that's the way it goes. How did you come out with the doctor, Wooster? Was it bubonic plague?'

  I said No, not bubonic plague, and he said he was glad to hear it, because bubonic plague was no joke, ask anyone.

  'You staying in these parts?'

  'No, I have a cottage in the village.'

  'Pity. You could have come here. Been company for Vanessa. But you'll join us at lunch?' said Plank, who seemed to think that a guest is entitled to issue invitations to his host's house, which any good etiquette book would have told him is not the case.

  'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I'm lunching at Eggesford Hall with the Briscoes.'

  This caused Cook, who had been silent for some time, probably having trouble with his vocal cords, to snort visibly.

  'I knew it! I was right! I knew you were Briscoe's hireling!'

  'What are you talking about, Cook?' asked Plank, not abreast.

  'Never mind what I'm talking about. I know what I'm talking about. This man is in the pay of Briscoe, and he came here to steal my cat.'

  'Why would he steal your cat?'

  'You know why he would steal my cat. You know as well as I do that Briscoe stops at nothing. Look at this man. Look at his face. Guilt written all over it. I caught him with the cat in his arms. Hold him there, Plank, while I go and telephone the police.'

  And so saying he legged it.

  I confess to being a little uneasy when I heard him tell Plank to hold me, because I had had experience of Plank's methods of holding people. I believe I mentioned earlier that at our previous meeting he had proposed to detain me with the assistance of his Zulu knob-kerrie, and he had in his grasp now a stout stick, which, if it wasn't a Zulu knob-kerrie, was unquestionably the next best thing.

  Fortunately he was in a friendly mood.

  'You mustn't mind Cook, Wooster. He's upset. He's been having a spot of domestic trouble. That's why he asked me to come and stay. He thought I might have advice to offer. He allowed his daughter Vanessa to go to London to study Art at the Slade, if that's the name of the place, and she got in with the wrong crowd, got pinched by the police and so on and so forth, upon which Cook did the heavy father and jerked her home and told her she had got to stay there till she learned a bit of sense. She doesn't like it, poor girl, but I tell her she's lucky not to be in equatorial Africa, because there if a daughter blots her copybook, her father chops her head off and buries her in the back garden. Well, I hate to see you go, Wooster, but I think you had better be off. I don't say Cook will be back with a shotgun, but you never know. I'd leave, if I were you.' His advice struck me as good. I took it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I headed for the cottage, where I had left the car. By the time I got there I should have done three miles of foot-slogging and I proposed to give the leg muscles a bit of time off, and if E. Jimpson Murgatroyd didn't like it, let him eat cake.

  I was particularly anxious to get together with Jeeves and hear what he had to say about the strange experience through which I had just passed, as strange an e. as had come my way in what you might call a month of Sundays.

  I could make nothing of the attitude Cook had taken up. Plank's theory that his asperity had been due to the fact that Vanessa had got into the wrong crowd in London seemed to me pure apple sauce. I mean, if your daughter picks her social circle unwisely and starts clobbering the police, you don't necessarily accuse the first person you meet of stealing cats. The two things don't go together.

  'Jeeves,' I said, reaching the finish line and sinking into an armchair, 'answer what I am about to ask you frankly. You have known me a good time.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You have had every opportunity of studying my psychology.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Well, would you say I was a fellow who stole cats?'

  'No, sir.'

  His ready response pleased me not a little. No hesitation, no humming and hawing, just 'No, sir'.

  'Exactly what I expected you to say. Just what anyone at the Drones or elsewhere would say. And yet cat-stealing is what I have been accused of.'

  'Indeed, sir?'

  'By a scarlet-faced blighter named Cook.'

  And forthwith, if that's the expression, I told him about my strange e., passing lightly over my not having trusted his directions on reaching the high road. He listened attentively, and when I had finished came as near to smiling as he ever does. That is to say, a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitched slightly as if some flying object such as a mosquito had settled there momentarily.

  'I think I can explain, sir.'

  It seemed incredible. I felt like Doctor Watson hearing Sherlock Holmes talking about the one hundred and forty-seven varieties of tobacco ash and the time it takes parsley to settle in the butter dish.

  'This is astounding, Jeeves,' I said. 'Professor Moriarty wouldn't have lasted a minute with you. You really mean the pieces of the jig-saw puzzle have come together and fallen into their place?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You know all?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Amazing!'

  'Elementary, sir. I found the habitues of the Goose and Grasshopper a ready source of information.'

  'Oh, you asked the boys in the back room?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'And what did they tell you?'

  'It appears that bad blood exists between Mr Cook and Colonel Briscoe.'

  'They don't like each other, you mean?'

  'Precisely, sir.'

  'I suppose it's often that way in the country. Not much to do except think what a tick your neighbour is.'

  'It may be as you say, sir, but in the present case there is more solid ground for hostility, at least on Mr Cook's part. Colonel Briscoe is chairman of the board of magistrates and in that capacity recently imposed a substantial fine on Mr Cook for moving pigs without a permit.'

  I nodded intelligently. I could see how this must have rankled. I do not keep pigs myself, but if I did I s
hould strongly resent not being allowed to give them a change of air and scenery without getting permission from a board of magistrates. Are we in Russia?

  'Furthermore –'

  'Oh, that wasn't all?'

  'No, sir. Furthermore, they are rival owners of racehorses, and that provides another source of friction.'

  'Why?'

  'Sir?'

  'I don't see why. Most of the big owners are very chummy. They love one another like brothers.'

  'The big owners, yes, sir. It is different with those whose activities are confined to small local meetings. There the rivalry is more personal and acute. In the forthcoming contest at Bridmouth-on-Sea the race, in the opinion of my informants at the Goose and Grasshopper, will be a duel between Colonel Briscoe's Simla and Mr Cook's Potato Chip. All the other entries are negligible. There is consequently no little friction between the two gentlemen as the date of the contest approaches, and it is of vital importance to both of them that nothing shall go wrong with the training of their respective horses. Rigid attention to training is essential.'

  Well, he didn't need to tell me that. An old hand like myself knows how vital rigid training is for success on the turf. I have not forgotten the time at Aunt Dahlia's place in Worcestershire when I had a heavy bet on Marlene Cooper, the gardener's niece, in the Girls' Under Fifteen Egg and Spoon race on Village Sports Day, and on the eve of the meeting she broke training, ate pounds of unripe gooseberries, and got abdominal pains which prevented her showing up at the starting post.

  'But, Jeeves,' I said, 'while all this is of absorbing interest, what I want to know is why Cook got into such a frenzy about this cat. You ought to have seen his blood pressure. It shot up like a rocket. He couldn't have been more emotional if he had been a big shot in the Foreign Office and I a heavily veiled woman diffusing a strange exotic scent whom he had caught getting away with the Naval Treaty.'

  'Fortunately I am in a position to elucidate the mystery, sir. One of the habitués with whom I fraternized at the Goose and Grasshopper chances to be an employee of Mr Cook, and he furnished me with the facts in the case. The cat was a stray which appeared one morning in the stable yard, and Potato Chip took an instant fancy to it. This, I understand, is not unusual with highly bred horses, though more often it is a goat or a sheep which engages their affection.'

  This was quite new stuff to me. First I'd ever heard of it.

  'Goat?' I said.

  'Yes, sir.'

  'Or a sheep?'

  'Yes, sir.'

  'You mean love at first sight?'

  'One might so describe it, sir.'

  'What asses horses are, Jeeves.'

  'Certainly their mentality is open to criticism, sir.'

  'Though I suppose if for weeks you've seen nothing but Cook and stable boys, a cat comes as a nice change. I take it that the friendship ripened?'

  'Yes, sir. The cat now sleeps nightly in the horse's stall and is there to meet him when he returns from his daily exercise.'

  'The welcome guest?'

  'Extremely welcome, sir.'

  'They've put down the red carpet for it, you might say. Strange. I'd have thought a human vampire bat like Cook would have had a stray cat off the premises with a single kick.'

  'Something of that nature did occur, my informant tells me, and the result was disastrous. Potato Chip became listless and refused his food. Then one day the cat returned, and the horse immediately recovered both vivacity and appetite.'

  'Golly!'

  'Yes, sir, the story surprised me when I heard it.'

  I rose. Time was getting on, and I had a vision of the Briscoes with their noses pressed to the drawing-room window, looking out and telling each other that surely their Wooster ought to have shown up by now.

  'Well, many thanks, Jeeves,' I said. 'With your customary what-d'you-call-it you have cast light on what might have remained a permanent brain-teaser. But for you I should have passed sleepless nights wondering what on earth Cook thought he was playing at. I now feel kindlier towards him. I still wouldn't care to have to go on a long walking tour with the son of a what-not, and if he ever gets himself put up for the Drones, I shall certainly blackball him, but I can see his point of view. He finds me clutching his cat, learns that I am on pally terms with his deadly rival the Colonel, and naturally assumes that there is dirty work afoot. No wonder he yelled like a soul in torment and brandished his hunting crop. He deserves considerable credit for not having given me six of the best with it.'

  'Your broadminded view is to be applauded, sir.'

  'One must always strive to put oneself in the other fellow's place and remember . . . remember what?'

  'Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner.'

  'Thank you, Jeeves.'

  'Not at all, sir.'

  'And now Ho for Eggesford Hall.'

  If you ask about me in circles which I frequent, you will be told that I am a good mixer who is always glad to shake hands with new faces, and it ought to have been in merry mood that I braked the car at the front door of Eggesford Hall. But it wasn't. Not that there was anything about the new faces on the other side to give me the pip. Colonel Briscoe proved to be a genial host, Mrs B. a genial hostess. There were also present, besides Aunt Dahlia, the Rev. Ambrose Briscoe, the Colonel's brother, and the latter's daughter Angelica, a very personable wench with whom, had I not been so preoccupied, I should probably have fallen in love. In short, as pleasant a bunch as you could wish to meet.

  But that was the trouble. I was preoccupied. It wasn't so much finding myself practically next door to Vanessa Cook that worried me. It would be pretty difficult for me to go anywhere in England where there wasn't somebody who had turned me down at one time or another. I have run across them in spots as widely separated as Bude, Cornwall, and Sedbergh, Yorks. No, what was occupying the Wooster mind was the thought of Pop Cook and his hunting crop. It was not agreeable to feel that one was on bad terms with a man who might run amok at any moment and who, if he did, would probably make a beeline for Bertram.

  The result was that I did not shine at the festive b. The lunch was excellent and the port with which it concluded definitely super, and I tucked in with a zest which would have made E. Jimpson Murgatroyd draw in a sharp breath, but as far as sprightly conversation went I was a total loss, and the suspicion must have crossed the minds of my host and hostess fairly soon in the proceedings that they were entertaining a Trappist monk with a good appetite.

  That this had not failed to cross the mind of Aunt Dahlia was made abundantly clear to me when the meal was over and she took me for a tour of what Jeeves had called the extensive grounds. She ticked me off with her habitual non-mincing of words. All through my life she has been my best friend and severest critic, and when she rebukes a nephew she rebukes him good.

  She spoke as follows, her manner and diction similar to those of a sergeant-major addressing recruits.

  'What's the matter with you, you poor reptile? I told Jimmy and Elsa that my nephew might look like a half-witted halibut, but wait till he starts talking, I said, he'll have you in stitches. And what occurs? Quips? Sallies? Diverting anecdotes? No, sir. You sit there stupefying yourself with food, and scarcely a sound out of you except the steady champing of your jaws. I felt like an impresario of performing fleas who has given his star artist a big build-up, only to have him forget his lines on the opening night.'

  I bowed my head in shame, knowing how justified was the rebuke. My contribution to what I have heard called the feast of reason and flow of soul had been, as I have indicated, about what you might have expected from a strong silent Englishman with tonsillitis.

  'And the way you waded into that port. Like a camel arriving at an oasis after a long journey through desert sands. It was as if you had received private word from Jimmy that he wanted his cellar emptied quick so that he could turn it into a games room. If that's the way you carry on in London, no wonder you come out all over in spots. I'm surprised you can walk.'

 
She was right. I had to admit it.

  'Did you ever see a play called Ten Nights in a Bar Room?'

  I could bear no more. Weakly I tried to plead my case.

  'I am sorry, aged relative. What you say is true. But I am not myself today.'

  'Well, that's a bit of luck for everybody.'

  'I'm what you could call distraught.'

  'You're what I could call a mess.'

  'I passed through a strange experience this morning.'

  And with no further ado – or is it to-do? I never can remember – I told her my cat-Cook story.

  I told it well, and there was no mistaking her interest when I came to the part where Jeeves elucidated the mystery of the cat's importance in the scheme of things.

  'Do you mean to say,' she yipped, 'that if you had got away with that cat –'

  I had to pull her up here with a touch of austerity. In spite of the clearness with which I had been at pains to tell the story just right she seemed to have got the wrong angle on the thing.

  'There was no question, old ancestor, of my getting away with the cat. I was merely doing the civil thing by tickling its stomach.'

  'But do you really mean that if someone were to get away with it, it would be all up with Potato Chip's training?'

  'So Jeeves informs me, and he had it from a reliable source at the Goose and Grasshopper.'

  'H'm.'

  'Why do you say H'm?'

  'Ha.'

  'Why do you say Ha?'

  'Never mind.'

  But I did mind. When an aunt says 'H'm' and 'Ha', it means something, and I was filled with a nameless fear.

  However, I had no time to go into it, for at this moment we were joined by the Rev. Briscoe and his daughter. And shortly afterwards I left.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The afternoon had now hotted up to quite a marked extent, and what with a substantial lunch and several beakers of port I was more or less in the condition a python gets into after its mid-day meal. A certain drowsiness had stolen over me, so much so that twice in the course of my narrative the aged r. had felt compelled to notify me that if I didn't stop yawning in her face, she would let me have one on the side of my fat head with the parasol with which she was shielding herself from the rays of the sun.