Jeeves and the Wedding Bells(31)

‘To help me? Have you lost your last brain cell? Shall I finally place that telephone call to Colney Hatch?’

I didn’t think this sort of language would have gone down well in the Court of Appeal; there was also the matter of the telephone being out of action, but I let that pass.

‘Let me explain, Woody. Look at me, please.’

Woody finally unhooked his ankles from the windowsill and swung round to face me. I had half a mind to ask him to turn back again, as the new vista did little for the Wooster morale. The look on his face was one I had not seen since that evening in the Savoy hotel, when, at seven-thirty on the dot, he stepped into the ring.

After a standing count of ten, I launched into an explanation of Plan A. I saw the old pal’s features register curiosity, disbelief, anger and then something I couldn’t put my finger on.

I finished and waited.

Finally, he spoke. ‘I’d like you to understand something, Bertie. Once and for all. Amelia is out of bounds. No touching, pawing, kissing, slobbering or anything else. Do you understand?’

‘Couldn’t be clearer, Woody, old man. Daylight itself is murky when compared to—’

‘I haven’t finished. Amelia is a very clever young woman, well educated and—’

‘I should say so! Brainy as anything.’

‘Will you please put a sock in it, Wooster. I’ll tell you when I want to hear from you next.’

Woody was now standing up, a couple of feet away, and I had that old Gonville and Caius feeling in the knees. ‘Right ho, Woody. Speak on.’

‘As well as being an exceptionally bright girl and a very beautiful one, she is also an innocent. She’s lived a sheltered life. I see in her great qualities which have yet to come to full maturity. They are there to be nurtured carefully over the years. What that girl doesn’t know about butterflies is not worth knowing. She has the finest collection in the west of England. Amelia is the girl I am going to marry and I don’t want any bunglers getting in the way. I’m going to marry her even if old Hackwood doesn’t give his blessing. We’ll elope if necessary. For old times’ sake I’m prepared to believe your ridiculous story. I wouldn’t credit such a hare-brained tale from anyone else. And you can take that whichever way you like. I’m not a jealous type and I don’t want to become one. Let’s not mention the incident again. But I warn you, Bertie, I shall be watching you. Like a hawk.’

I said nothing, as per instruction.

‘Well?’

‘Am I allowed to speak now?’

‘Yes. Have you the faintest idea what I’ve been talking about?’

‘Yes, I have. You love Amelia and intend to make her Mrs Beeching if it’s the last thing you do.’

‘Oh, hallelujah! He’s got it. Hold tight to that thought, Bertie. Don’t get confused or misled by anything else. And don’t try to imagine the feelings that lie behind it. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘You never know, Woody. Perhaps I might.’

There was an awkward one, during which I caught sight of that look again.

‘Or possibly not,’ I footnoted, as I made my escape.

It being now almost seven o’clock, I went down a floor, through the green baize and up the back stairs to my quarters. I had fulfilled my share of the division of labours between Jeeves and me, and though Woody may have been a little graceless, I felt he had a point. A chap who’s completely lost his head over a girl doesn’t want some other chap giving her the come-on. It confuses. It enrages. I had no doubt about his passion for this Amelia, mysterious though she remained to me. And I had at least avoided a series of left-right combinations to the person. I could only hope Jeeves had pulled off a result with Amelia.

A bracing encounter with the chill waters of the bathroom was followed by a change of clothing and a re-parting of the hair. When I peered into the glass above the basin, it seemed to me I looked like Dan Leno about to go on stage at the Shoreditch Empire, but I trusted Jeeves’s judgement. I took the spectacles he’d lent me and hooked them over the ears, thinking as I did so, how much of Plato and the gang had passed through the lenses on the way to that great brain. It was an honour to wear them. Then I went downstairs – rather unsteadily, as the glasses seemed to make the steps rise up to meet me, like the gangway of a Channel steamer.

In the kitchen, Mrs Padgett filled me in on what to expect. The first course was soup, unfortunately. There was to be no less than five minutes but not more than ten between courses. Bicknell was on wine duty, but would help distribute the plates if I was getting behind.

‘But ’ark at me going on,’ said Mrs P. ‘’Appen you’ve done this all an ’undred times before.’