‘I fear not, sir. Sir Henry was somewhat offhand in his manner towards Mr Beeching. And Miss Hackwood refused to pass him the salt, repeatedly affecting not to hear his request.’
‘I see. The doghouse. Poor Woody. And Venables? Did he throw him a bone?’
‘Mr Venables’s attitude could I think best be described as patronising, sir. Miss Meadowes was the only person who attempted to include Mr Beeching in the conversation.’
‘What about Lady H?’ I said. ‘Surely the hostess was at least polite?’
‘Lady Hackwood’s manner was on the chilly side.’
‘Arctic?’
‘A degree or two above, sir. Enough to attain a modicum of civility, but little more. One had the impression that were it not for the cricket match on Saturday Mr Beeching’s presence would not be tolerated.’
I was turning this information over in the mind and I didn’t much like what I saw.
‘I trust the Côte d’Azur was not mentioned?’
‘It was briefly alluded to by Mr Rupert Venables, sir.’
‘Really? You surprise me greatly.’
‘He appeared to be chaffing or teasing his fiancée, sir.’
‘Golly. That’s a bit rich. And how did she take it?’
‘She was able to make light of it, sir, though I saw her cast a warning glance towards Sir Henry, at which point the young gentleman desisted. Sir Henry’s expression was not encouraging.’
‘I should think not.’
‘Will there be anything else this evening, sir?’
‘Hang on, Jeeves. Were there any sticky moments when you thought you might be rumbled? Did Sir Henry mention Burke or Debrett?’
‘Neither, sir. The subterfuge passed off with an ease I had not foreseen. Having a long acquaintance with country houses, I was familiar with the etiquette. Mr Venables made it unnecessary for the other guests to speak to the floor, as it were, so I ran no risk of exposure there.’
‘You could just have a quiet natter either side with Georgie or Mrs V.’
‘Exactly, sir.’
‘You didn’t find yourself under cross-examination?’
‘Knowing who I was, Mr Beeching and Miss Hackwood were naturally discreet, and of course Miss Meadowes was also aware of my true identity. Lady Hackwood appeared too out of sorts to take much interest in her guests.’
‘But surely a snob like Sir Henry would have wanted the dope on your coat of arms and all that stuff?’
‘After the ladies had retired I did find myself the subject of some questions of a genealogical nature from Sir Henry. I thought it best to steer the conversation on to a subject I knew would interest him even more.’
‘Which was?’
‘The Turf, sir. I shared with him some information I had gathered about the field in the three-thirty at Ascot tomorrow. A friend of mine at the Junior Ganymede has a brother who works at a well-known Lambourn stables.’
‘So you gave him a hot tip?’
‘I was in a position to make a number of recommendations, sir.’
‘And he was grateful?’
‘Sir Henry was already well informed, but we seemed to strike up a considerable rapport. He asked Bicknell, the butler, to bring up his last bottle of Warre’s 1885 to drink to our success with the bookmaker tomorrow.’
‘A decent glassful?’
‘I found it a most helpful digestive, sir.’
‘Talking of which, Jeeves, I don’t suppose you packed any emergency supplies for a nightcap, did you?’
‘I shall prepare it at once, sir.’
Ten minutes later, agreeably capped, I went up to the bedroom to find that Jeeves had laid out my heliotrope pyjamas with the old gold stripe. It had been a long day and I felt ready for a full ration of the deep and dreamless.
I don’t know how it is with other chaps, but I tend to feel pretty bobbish first thing in the morning. The tea and newspaper bring a smile to the features; between the ablutions and the breakfast table there is generally a show tune or two to receive its premiere from the Wooster lips.
This June morning was no exception. Jeeves had made up for lost time at the local shops. The eggs had a pleasing orange glow and the bacon came from a beast far removed from the baleful husbandry of any Jude, obscure or otherwise. Yet despite the cloudless blue sky over Kingston St Giles, the day’s task was a serious one, and I felt it would tax my resources to the last drop. Little did I know, as I set fire to an after-breakfast gasper in the cottage garden, what the lead-filled sock of fate had in store for me.
It started well enough, as I moved swiftly on to Chapter Seven of The Mystery of the Gabled House, in which a third body was found, this one behind the potting shed. I was contemplating a spin down to the seaside to sniff out a bit of fish for luncheon, when Jeeves came out on to the lawn to announce that he had had some news.