Jeeves and the Wedding Bells(37)

‘Cup of tea, Mr Wilberforce?’

‘Thank you, Mrs P. I don’t suppose you could lay your hands on something a little stronger, could you? Did I see some of that claret making its way back?’

‘I don’t know as I should by rights. It’s Mr Bicknell’s little perk. But seeing as how there’s quite a bit … You wait there.’

A moment or so later, I was clutching a goblet of the blushful hippocrene, which I proceeded to lower with all speed lest Bicknell should come in and dash it from my lips. It seemed a pity to rush it, but it bucked me up no end.

Back in my billet, I stretched out the aching limbs and picked up The Mystery of the Gabled House. For once, however, it failed to divert. I was not sure if this was a new corpse in the conservatory or one I had already known about. Oddly, it seemed not to matter.

I was distracted by a certain ferment inside the old bean. Georgiana had almost dropped me in the soup by using my real name – an odd lapse, I thought, for such a clever girl. Then I had blundered by letting Mrs Padgett see I knew that Georgiana’s normal appetite tended to the hearty. I thought I could survive a quizzical eyebrow from the cook, but the suspicious glare of Lady Hackwood and Dame Judith Puxley was altogether more ominous.

I consulted the alarm clock with its hideous twin bells. It was almost eleven, and I wondered if Lord Etringham might be needing anything before he turned in. By corridor, stair and landing, under the eyes of nine generations of painted Hackwood forebears, I found my way to his vast accommodation and knocked on the door. It was a relief to hear that familiar voice.

Jeeves was wearing my burgundy dressing gown over the remains of his evening dress, looking like the wronged husband in a West End comedy. He was seated in the armchair, holding a book at arm’s length, minus his reading glasses.

I shut the door behind me. ‘Jeeves,’ I said, ‘what’s all this about me being a county cricketer? You know perfectly well I’ve barely played since private school.’

‘Forgive me, sir. It was an impulse I was unable to resist. I felt certain that you would number some able players among your acquaintance and that it would be well for Sir Henry to feel that our continued presence at Melbury Hall was essential.’

‘I suppose there’s something in that. I could send a telegram to old “Stinker” Pinker. More of a rugby football man, but he’d probably give it a good thump.’

‘Undoubtedly, sir. A proficiency of hand-to-eye co-ordination is generally transferable from one sport to another.’

‘He’d also welcome a break from ministering to the poor and needy. And he could bring Stiffy. I haven’t seen her for ages.’

I ran over some more chums in my mind. Many were hot stuff at darts, snooker pool and other indoor pursuits, especially those that tended to involve the wagering of money; cricket, however, didn’t loom large among their pastimes.

Then I had a flash of inspiration. ‘What about Esmond Haddock? There’s a sporting fellow if ever I saw one.’

‘As I recall, his interests run more to the equestrian, sir.’

‘Absolutely. He’s the John Peel of the South Downs. But I bet he’d enjoy a game of cricket too. And he might bring Corky. I’ll go to the post office first thing in the morning and get cabling. By the way, how did you square it with Amelia not to mention that I was the fool who made a lunge at her by the tennis court?’

‘I brought her into my confidence in the drawing room before dinner. It was necessary for me to impress on her the possibility that her father could shortly be in a position to make such a considerable sum that he would be happy to bless her union   with Mr Beeching, regardless of other considerations.’

‘How?’

‘I deemed it best not to go into detail with the young lady, sir. But I emphasised that my continuing presence at her father’s side was essential.’

‘And she bought that?’

‘For the time being, sir.’

There was a pause while I steeled myself to broach a rather sticky topic – and I was not thinking of Dame Judith Puxley’s evening wear.

‘Jeeves?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You know Miss Meadowes?’

‘I have that pleasure, sir.’

‘Do you think … I wonder … You know what you said earlier? About these feelings of hers?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I’ve decided to pretend I never heard you. I don’t like what it does to the pit of my stomach. It’s as though I’d swallowed a whole jar of cocktail olives from the bar at the Drones.’

‘A most disagreeable sensation, one would be disposed to imagine, sir.’