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Jeeves and the Wedding Bells(67)

By:Sebastian Faulks


Well of course one couldn’t help but wonder how much excitement the old nerve-patient could take; but I thought it best not to throw a spanner in the works.

‘Sure you won’t have a glass of brandy, Bobby?’ said Sir Henry.

‘No, I really can’t. Roddy Glossop is absolutely strict on that point. The powders he has diagnosed must never be mixed with alcohol. He said I should fall asleep almost at once.’

There was the sound of a throat being cleared, and long experience made me glance in Jeeves’s direction.

‘Might I suggest, Sir Henry, that we leave you and Lord Etringham together? I’m sure that Mrs Tilman will have reor-ganised the sleeping arrangements by now.’

‘Good idea,’ said Georgiana. ‘Come on, Ambo.’

Sensing that wiser heads than mine were on to something, I shuffled off with the gang and left the peer and baronet alone. Jeeves accompanied me to my new quarters at the end of the corridor on the second floor, a small but charming room with a fine view over the lawns towards the tennis court – in so far as one could see past a giant wellingtonia. Mrs Tilman had done a sterling job in restoring all my clothes to chest and wardrobe.

‘Well, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Business as usual, what?’

‘So it would appear, sir. I confess that I shall be happy to resume my normal duties. I found myself suffering a degree of indigestion after so many of Mrs Padgett’s meals.’

‘And the bed a fraction soft, was it?’

‘I have long favoured a firmer mattress as being beneficial to the posture, sir.’

I glanced round the new arrangements. I felt I should sleep like a lamb.

‘Old Etringham’s a very forgiving chap, isn’t he?’ I said.

‘A most mild-mannered and agreeable gentleman, sir.’

‘A bachelor, is he?’

‘Yes, sir. He has no issue.’

‘So what happens to the Etringham fortune when he pops off?’

‘I did some research at the Junior Ganymede when we were in London and I believe he has favoured a number of educational trusts and charities, sir.’

A thought struck me. ‘I say, Jeeves, you don’t think Sir Henry has … that he’s planning …’

‘I think that in extremis, as he now finds himself, Sir Henry would consider all options. It is conceivable that he sees in Lord Etringham a deus ex machina.’

‘Come again?’

‘Perhaps the phrase “a white knight” would be more readily illuminating, sir.’

‘It might. But how would it work out?’

‘I should not care to hazard a conjecture, sir. However, I felt it imperative that we leave them alone, the better to get to know one another.’

‘Well, miracles do happen, don’t they, even at the eleventh hour? What I want to know first is how on earth I’m to face Lady H and Dame Judith in the morning.’

‘Might I suggest breakfast in bed, sir? After that you will be required for rehearsal in the drawing room, where neither lady will be present.’

‘And lunch? Perhaps a sandwich and a half-bottle in the sunken garden?’

‘Indeed, sir. Following which the ladies will be occupied by the fete. There will then be only the evening’s festivities to negotiate before we can return to London.’

I heaved a deepish one. As I did so, I noticed Jeeves’s eye on my burgundy dressing gown with the paisley pattern, which was hanging on the door.

He saw me seeing him, if you catch my drift.

‘Go on, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Keep the thing. It can be a souvenir of a pretty sticky few days.’

‘That is most generous of you, sir. It is a splendid garment.’

The bed turned out to be everything I had foreseen, and the sun was already well up in the heavens when Jeeves came in with the laden breakfast tray. Having missed dinner in all the previous night’s excitement, I set to with a will.

‘What’s the latest from Bedlam?’ I said, forking up the last of the kedgeree. ‘I hardly dare ask.’

‘There has been an alteration to this evening’s programme, sir.’

‘Oh yes?’ I said. And I dare say there was a note of wariness – or even of dread – in my tone.

‘Yes, sir. It appears that Sir Henry and Lord Etringham sat up deep into the night. His lordship’s agoraphobia—’

‘Yes, I meant to ask, what is this aggra-thing?’

‘The word derives from the ancient Greek, sir. It means a morbid fear of the marketplace – or by implication of any open space. It is the opposite of claustrophobia, which is—’

‘I know, Jeeves. I’m not a complete ass, you know. Carry on.’

‘As I was saying, sir, his lordship’s agoraphobia has responded well to treatment so far, but Sir Roderick Glossop has advised him that a full return of confidence may come only after he has faced down his worst fear – that of appearing and speaking in public.’