‘Indeed, sir. Otherwise, the company tends to take the service for granted and to be absorbed in its own conversation.’
‘That sounds a bit ungrateful.’
‘It is the way of the world, sir, and not ours to question. Might I for instance ask you who waited on you last time you stayed at Brinkley Court?’
‘Seppings?’
‘No, sir. Mr Seppings was indisposed. It was Mr Easton, a young man from the village.’
‘I didn’t notice.’
‘Exactly, sir.’
I pondered this for a moment. ‘It’s still a blood-curdling prospect.’
‘I understand your trepidation, sir. Remember, however, that your disguise has been unremarked thus far. Then, to make assurance doubly sure, as it were, it might be advisable to alter your appearance in a small way.’
‘A false beard?’
‘No, sir. The footman you are replacing–’
‘Hoad? The gargoyle?’
‘Mr Hoad also has a pair of side-whiskers.’
‘Are you saying the whiskers naturally go with the corkscrew and the folded white napkin?’
‘They are more frequently worn by the serving classes, sir.’
There are times to take offence, but this was not one of them. I left my high horse unmounted – though tethered pretty close. ‘What else?’
‘If you were to part your hair centrally, sir … It is surprising how much difference such a small alteration can make.’
‘Anything further? An eyepatch? A kilt and sporran?’
‘Nothing so drastic, sir. I think that if you were to wear my reading glasses for the evening the disguise would be complete without being histrionic.’
I went over to the window and did a bit of the fashionable deer-gazing.
The diners, I thought, could be divided into three camps. There were those who had never clapped eyes on me: three Venableses and a brace of Hackwoods. There were those who were in on the plot and could be relied on: Lord Etringham and Georgiana. Then there was the problematic trio of Woody, Amelia and Dame Judith Puxley.
The episode of J. Caesar and the Shropshire roof had taken place some years earlier, and I was the last person Dame Judith would expect to see shovelling round the petits pois. Even if she deigned to look my way, the disguise should suffice. The danger lurked with Woody and Amelia. Woody, for all I knew, was even as we spoke planning to flatten my nose, while Amelia … Well, who could say what Amelia planned – or thought, or felt?
I outlined the above to Jeeves, who did not disagree.
‘Might I suggest a division of labour, sir? If you take it on yourself to find Mr Beeching, explain your behaviour of this afternoon and beg his indulgence, I shall draw Miss Hackwood aside before dinner and endeavour to explain that her best interests could be served by allowing the subterfuge to continue.’
‘But won’t the other servants think it odd that I’ve changed my parting and taken to wearing gig lamps?’
‘I doubt it, sir. They hardly know you, and would think it only a mild eccentricity at worst.’
‘Right ho, Jeeves. Give me the specs. There’s no time to be lost. Where can I find Woody?’
‘I suspect he may be in his bedroom, sir. He has not been made to feel welcome downstairs.’
Woody had been moved from the corner room to a modest bolt-hole on the second floor. Following Jeeves’s instructions, I made it up there in no time, but there was something a fraction tentative in my knock at the door.
‘Come in,’ said a voice. And if a voice can be described as listless, this was that v.
Woody was sitting in an armchair with his feet up on the windowsill, looking down the crazy paving towards the yew hedge. He was smoking a cigarette and his eye seemed fixed. It was as though he was trying somehow to see through the hedge to what lay beyond.
‘Sit down,’ he said, the v. still l.
The only place to sit was the end of the bed and it struck me I was conducting a pretty extensive trial of Melbury Hall mattresses. This one gave a bit, but nothing like the model in the Etringham corner room.
‘I was wondering when you’d pluck up courage,’ said Woody, still not looking at me.
‘Did Amelia mention that we’d … Had a slight misunderstanding?’
‘No.’
‘Oh.’
Woody ground out his cigarette in a not altogether friendly way. ‘Amelia,’ he said, ‘told me she had been set upon by a lunatic who started stroking her arm and then had the impudence to kiss her. I don’t think there is any “misunderstanding” there, do you?’
‘Well, no … I mean, yes.’
‘You’re babbling.’
‘Listen, Woody old man, let’s not fall out over this. I was making eyes at Amelia in order to help you.’