Jeeves and the Wedding Bells(21)

‘Oh, I see, so it was Lord Etringham you wanted to see,’ I said, and it came out a little more tartly than I’d intended.

Georgiana flushed. ‘No, no, Bertie, not at all. It’s just that … Time’s running out. We only have till Sunday night.’

I was a little hot under the collar myself. From our seated positions, the pair of us looked upwards like a couple of messengers sent to consult the oracle at Delphi.

It was a sticky moment or two before the oracle pronounced. ‘I was on the point of outlining a plan to Mr Wooster, Miss, when we … heard you arrive.’

‘Jeeves, you’re a marvel.’ The Tolstoy scholar allowed herself a girlish clap of the hands.

‘Thank you, Miss. The scheme is not without its hazards. In the vernacular of the card table, it is a question of raising the stakes or indeed “buying for one”.’

‘Do get on with it, Jeeves.’

‘I beg your pardon, sir. It occurred to me that if you are to proceed with your scheme for the enlightenment of Miss Hackwood you will need to be present, or preferably resident, at Melbury Hall. I further reflected that a gentleman of Lord Etringham’s standing would be in need of a gentleman’s personal gentleman. If you were willing to accept that role, sir, it would make it easy for you to be in Sir Henry’s establishment while to all intents and purposes invisible to your host.’

My chin had fallen so far that I was incapable of speech.

‘It would be unnecessary for you to venture beyond the green baize door, sir, except for whatever visits to Lord Etringham might be necessary for the purposes of verisimilitude. Such moments might also be useful for further confabulation.’

Georgiana was on her feet. ‘It’s a marvellous idea, Jeeves. Isn’t it, Bertie?’

Speech returned, albeit reluctantly. ‘I wouldn’t know where to begin. I can’t boil an egg.’

‘The cook does that,’ said Georgiana. ‘Mrs Padgett. Heaven help you if she finds you anywhere near her eggs.’

‘But you know what I mean. I couldn’t manage all the pressing of clothes, the tea, the drinks, the—’

‘Bertie, you can pour a drink. I’ve seen you do it. Jolly well you did it too.’

‘I’m sure I should give myself away. I mean, I don’t know how to talk to the bootboy or the scullery maid. They’d sniff me out in no time. I’d sound all wrong. I’m—’

‘Look at me, Bertie,’ said Georgiana.

And I did, knowing the risks full well.

‘You’re being absurd and, if you don’t mind my saying so, a bit of a snob,’ said Georgiana. ‘I’m quite sure that you can walk with kings nor lose the common touch. Just be polite. Look at Jeeves. He didn’t bat an eyelid at sitting down at table and being waited on. He just … He was a natural.’

‘The dramatic requirement is, mutatis mutandis, no greater, sir. In fact, since most of the time your work will be unscruti-nised, one might argue that yours is the simpler role.’

‘What name will you take, Bertie?’

‘I’m not taking any jolly—’

‘You know that game where you take your second name and then add the name of your street and it gives you a film star? What would yours be?’

‘Wilberforce Berkeley.’

‘That’s marvellous! He’d be an absolute matinée idol. And Wilberforce is the perfect name for a valet. Don’t you think, Jeeves?’

I battled on gamely for another couple of minutes.

‘“Please bring me a whisky and soda, Wilberforce. Put it over there, please, Wilberforce”,’ Georgiana was saying – and plenty more such rot.

‘I’d love to help,’ I said. ‘But it’s simply beyond me.’

At this moment, Georgiana took my hands in hers. My heart, already skipping the odd one from the prolonged eye contact, now began to beat the sort of rhythm you hear in the Congo before the missionary gets lobbed into the bouillon.

‘Just do it to please me, Bertie,’ said Georgiana, lowering the voice a half-octave and giving the fingers a final squeeze. ‘I’ll make sure you’re all right. We can meet beside the tennis court in the evening and I’ll bring you a nice half-bottle of something from the cellar. Do it for Woody and Amelia. It’s only till Sunday evening. Please, Bertie, please.’

The packing of the suitcases involved some redistribution of clothing. Jeevesward went the tennis garb, the linen jacket, a pair of new co-respondent shoes (a painful loss), the stiff-fronted shirts and a half-dozen studs in Drones Club colours (the last received with a faint but perceptible flaring of the nostril); among my new effects were two pairs of spongebag trousers and a navy blue tie of singular drabness.