Jeeves and the Wedding Bells(44)

From among the cars behind the pavilion, the soft thump of metal on metal, followed by a loud rattle of clashing crockery announced that Georgiana had arrived with the tea things.

Pinker, H. and Venables, S. went out to bat, to the applause of the crowd – which, with the entire household of Melbury Hall, plus supporters of the Gents and sundry sporting folk of Melbury-cum-Kingston, must have numbered almost a hundred.

I found that Jeeves had materialised by my side.

‘Did you manage to place your bet?’ I said.

‘Yes, thank you, sir. The turf accountant was most obliging. I was able to link the outcome of the match to that of the daily double at Ascot this afternoon.’

‘And did Hackwood have enough of the stuff to make it a worthwhile wager?’

‘Emphatically so, sir. Sir Henry was able to negotiate the loan of a substantial sum from Mr Venables senior.’

‘But you told me the Colonial Service pension was paltry.’

‘I believe the Collector was obliged to draw on Mrs Venables’s means, sir. Yesterday was a day of intense financial activity. In the end, a telegraphic transfer was effected from London.’

‘So the moolah’s wrapped in Spanier’s Sausage Casing?’

‘One might so describe it, sir, though in this instance the casing forms the meat of the wager and Sir Henry’s contribution merely the outer membrane.’

‘How much is the old villain in for?’

‘I fear I am not at liberty to disclose, sir, though if the bet were to come good, it would certainly enable Sir Henry to refuse the importuning of the private school for a considerable period.’

‘Hickory Hot Boy, Jeeves!’ I said. ‘A most apt summation of—’

‘That’s smokin’ good.’

‘One can but hope so, sir.’

Out in the middle, hostilities had commenced.

‘But, Jeeves,’ I said, ‘suppose the nags don’t win. Or we come a cropper here, in the cricket. More than likely, I would have thought. Do you need all three parts to bring home the goods?’

‘Indeed, sir. Two winners would not suffice. It is a case of all or nothing.’

‘But if we lose, how will Sir Henry pay back old Vishnu?’

‘I did put that question to Sir Henry myself, sir, but it was not an eventuality he was willing to contemplate. He has developed an unshakeable faith in my equine selections and is confident of his ability to captain the cricket side to victory.’

I felt a slight queasiness when I finally cast the eyes pitch-ward to see Sidney Venables crouched, willow in hand, and the Dorset Gents opening bowler thundering in from the village end. I haven’t the faintest idea who Victor Trumper was, but unless he wore a striped tie beneath his belly and waved his bat like a dowager attempting to swat a wasp, his resemblance to S. Venables can have been no more than fleeting. The Nizam of Hyderabad, one felt, must have been quite a one for dishing out the old oil.

Things were on a firmer footing, in all senses, at the other end, where Stinker seemed to be taking root. His lower half remained attached to the turf, but he met the ball with a meaningful thump that sent it into the long grass. The Gents bowler stood with his hands on his hips and let him have what appeared to be a rather un-Christian appraisal of his batting style. Stinker simply turned the other cheek and carted the next one into a group of small boys on the opposite side of the ground.

‘Good shot, Pinker!’ called out Sir Henry.

I settled into a deckchair and picked up my copy of The Mystery of the Gabled House. My amateur sleuthing was interrupted by a tremendous commotion from the middle, where Vishnu Venables was being given his marching orders by the umpire – the finger of doom belonging to a tallish cove I recognised as the landlord of the Hare and Hounds.

Esmond Haddock now made his way to the wicket, with a consoling word for the Collector as their paths crossed. If Esmond’s pre-lunch blazer had been on the loud side, the cap he had selected from a number in his bag made the many colours of Joseph’s coat look as dull as an army blanket. It appeared to be the cause of some ribaldry among the Dorset Gents, and the first ball sent down in Esmond’s direction made a good stab at removing it, peak first, from his head.

‘Hello, Wilberforce,’ said a friendly voice in my ear, and the next thing I knew the adjacent deckchair was full of summer cotton and dark, waving tresses. ‘Enjoying the cricket?’

‘Rather,’ I said. ‘Everything all right with the tea things?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ said Georgiana. ‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

‘It’s just that I heard you arrive and …’

‘Yes. Well, one of these wretched Dorset Gents had parked in the wrong place.’