The Jeeves Omnibus (346 page)

‘That sort of thing. Any idea how one sets about getting a cottage of that description?’

‘I’ll find you one. Jimmy Briscoe has dozens. And Maiden Eggesford, where he lives, is not far from the popular seaside resort of Bridmouth-on-Sea, notorious for its invigorating air. Corpses at Bridmouth-on-Sea leap from their biers and dance round the maypole.’

‘Sounds good.’

‘I’ll drop you a line when I’ve got the cottage. You’ll like Maiden Eggesford. Jimmy has a racing stable, and there’s a big meeting coming on soon at Bridmouth; so you’ll have not only pure air but entertainment. One of Jimmy’s horses is running, and most of the wise money is on it, though there is a school of thought that maintains that danger is to be expected from a horse belonging to a Mr Cook. And now for heaven’s sake get off the wire. I’m busy.’

So far, I said to myself as I put back the receiver, so g. I would have preferred, of course, to be going to the aged relative’s home, where Anatole her superb chef dished up his mouth-waterers, but we Woosters can rough it, and life in a country cottage with the aged r just around the corner would be a very different thing from a country c without her to come through with conversation calculated to instruct, elevate and amuse.

All that remained now was to break the news to Jeeves, and I rather shrank from the prospect.

You see, we had practically settled on a visit to New York, and I knew he was looking forward to it. I don’t know what he does in New York, but whatever it is it’s something he gets a big kick out of, and disappointment, I feared, would be inevitable.

‘Jeeves,’ I said when I had returned to the Wooster G.H.Q., ‘I’m afraid I have bad news.’

‘Indeed, sir? I am sorry to hear that.’

One of his eyebrows had risen about an eighth of an inch, and I knew he was deeply stirred, because I had rarely seen
him
raise an eyebrow more than a sixteenth of an inch. He had, of course, leaped to the conclusion that I was about to tell him that the medicine man had given me three months to live, or possibly two. ‘Mr Murgatroyd’s diagnosis was not encouraging?’

I hastened to relieve his apprehensions.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact it was. Most encouraging. He said the spots
qua
spots … Is it
qua
?’

‘Perfectly correct, sir.’

‘His verdict was that the spots
qua
spots didn’t amount to a row of beans and could be disregarded. They will pass by me like the idle wind which I respect not.’

‘Extremely gratifying, sir.’

‘Extremely, as you say. But pause before you go out and dance in the streets, because there’s more to come. It was to this that I was alluding when I said I had bad news. I’ve got to withdraw to the country and lead a quiet life. He says if I don’t, he cannot answer for the consequences. So I’m afraid New York is off.’

It must have been a severe blow, but he bore it with the easy nonchalance of a Red Indian at the stake. Not a cry escaped him, merely an ‘Indeed, sir?’, and I tried to point out the bright side.

‘It’s a disappointment for you, but it’s probably an excellent thing. Everybody in New York is getting mugged these days or shot by youths, and being mugged and shot by youths doesn’t do a fellow any good. We shall avoid all that sort of thing at Maiden Eggesford.’

‘Sir?’

‘Down in Somerset. Aunt Dahlia is visiting friends there and is going to get me a cottage. It’s near Bridmouth-on-Sea. Have you ever been to Bridmouth?’

‘Frequently, sir, in my boyhood, and I know Maiden Eggesford well. An aunt of mine lives there.’

‘And an aunt of mine is going there. What a coincidence.’

I spoke blithely, for this obviously made everything hotsy-totsy. He had probably been looking on beetling off to the country as going into the wilderness, and the ecstasy of finding that the first thing he would set eyes on would be a loved aunt must have been terrific.

So that was that. And having got the bad news broken, I felt at liberty to turn the conversation to other topics, and I thought he would be interested in hearing about my encounter with Plank.

‘I got a shock at the doc’s, Jeeves.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘Do you remember Major Plank?’

‘The name seems vaguely familiar, sir, but only vaguely.’

‘Throw the mind back. The explorer bloke who accused me of trying to chisel him out of five quid and was going to call the police, and you came along and said you were Inspector Witherspoon of Scotland Yard and that I was a notorious crook whom you had been after for ages, and I was known as Alpine Joe because I always wore an Alpine hat. And you took me away.’

‘Ah, yes, sir, I remember now.’

‘I ran into him this morning. He remembered my face, but nothing more except that he said he knew my name began with Al.’

‘A most unnerving experience, sir.’

‘Yes, it rattled me more than somewhat. It’s a great relief to think that I shall never see him again.’

‘I can readily understand your feelings, sir.’

In due course Aunt Dahlia rang to say that she had got a cottage for me and to let her know what day I would be arriving.

And so began what I suppose my biographers will refer to as The Maiden Eggesford Horror – or possibly The Curious Case Of The Cat Which Kept Popping Up When Least Expected.

4

I LEFT FOR
Maiden Eggesford a couple of days later in the old two-seater. Jeeves had gone on ahead with the luggage and would be there to greet me on my arrival, no doubt all braced and refreshed from communing with his aunt.

It was in jocund mood that I set forth. There were rather more astigmatic loonies sharing the road with me than I could have wished, but that did nothing to diminish my euphoria, as I have heard it called. The weather couldn’t have been better, blue skies and sunshine all over the place, and to put the frosting on the cake E. Jimpson Murgatroyd had been one hundred per cent right about the spots. They had completely disappeared, leaving not a wrack behind, and the skin on my chest was back to its normal alabaster.

I reached journey’s end at about the hour of the evening cocktail and got my first glimpse of the rural haven which was to be the Wooster home for I didn’t know how long.

Well, I had had a sort of idea that there would be what they call subtle but well-marked differences between Maiden Eggesford and such resorts as Paris and Monte Carlo, and a glance told me I had not erred. It was one of those villages where there isn’t much to do except walk down the main street and look at the Jubilee watering-trough and then walk up the main street and look at the Jubilee watering-trough from the other side. E. Jimpson Murgatroyd would have been all for it. ‘Oh, boy,’ I could hear him saying, ‘this is the stuff to give the typical young man about town.’ The air, as far as I could tell from the first few puffs, seemed about as pure as could be expected, and I looked forward to a healthy and invigorating stay.

The only thing wrong with the place was that it appeared to be haunted, for as I alighted from the car I distinctly saw the phantasm or wraith of Major Plank. It was coming out of the local inn, the Goose and Grasshopper, and as I gazed at it with bulging eyes it vanished round a corner, leaving me, I need
scarcely
say, in something of a twitter. I am not, as I mentioned earlier, a fussy man, but nobody likes to have spectres horsing around, and for a while my jocund mood became a bit blue about the edges.

I speedily pulled myself together. ’Twas but a momentary illusion, I said to myself. I reasoned the thing out. If Plank had come to a sticky end since I had seen him last and had started on a haunting career, I said to myself, why should he be haunting Maiden Eggesford when the whole of equatorial Africa was open to him? He would be much happier scaring the daylights out of natives whom he had cause to dislike – the widows and surviving relatives of the late chief of the ‘Mgombis, for instance.

Fortified by these reflections, I went into the cottage.

A glance told me it was all right. I think it must have been built for an artist or somebody like that, for it had all the modern cons including electric light and the telephone, being in fact more a desirable bijou residence than a cottage.

Jeeves was there, and he brought me a much-needed refresher – in deference to E. Jimpson Murgatroyd a dry ginger ale. Sipping it, I decided to confide in him, for in spite of the clarity with which I had reasoned with myself I was still not altogether convinced that what I had seen had not been a phantom. True, it had looked solid enough, but I believe the best ghosts often do.

‘Most extraordinary thing, Jeeves,’ I said, ‘I could have sworn I saw Major Plank coming out of the pub just now.’

‘No doubt you did, sir. Major Plank would be quite likely to come to the village. He is the guest of Mr Cook of Eggesford Court.’

You could have knocked me down with a cheese straw.

‘You mean he’s
here
?’

‘Yes, sir.’

I was astounded. When he had told me he was off to the country, I had naturally assumed that he meant he was returning to his home in Gloucestershire. Not, of course, that there’s any reason why someone who lives in Gloucestershire shouldn’t visit Somerset. Aunt Dahlia lives in Worcestershire, and she was visiting Somerset. You have to look at these things from every angle.

Nevertheless, I was perturbed.

‘I’m not sure I like this, Jeeves.’

‘No, sir?’

‘He may remember what our last meeting was all about.’

‘It should not be difficult to avoid him, sir.’

‘Something in that. Still, what you say has given me a shock. Plank is the last person I want in my neighbourhood. I think, as my nervous system has rather taken the knock, we might discard this ginger ale and substitute for it a dry Martini.’

‘Very good, sir.’

‘Murgatroyd will never know.’

‘Precisely, sir.’

And so, having breathed considerable quantities of pure air and taken a couple of refreshing looks at the Jubilee watering-trough, to bed early, as recommended by E. Jimpson Murgatroyd.

The result of this following of doctor’s orders was sensational. Say what you might about his whiskers and his habit of looking as if he had been attending the funeral of a dear friend, E. Jimpson knew his job. After about ten hours of restful sleep I sprang from between the sheets, leaped to the bathroom, dressed with a song on my lips and headed for the breakfast table like a two-year-old. I had cleaned up the eggs and b., and got the toast and marmalade down the hatch to the last crumb with all the enthusiasm of a tiger of the jungle tucking into its ration of coolie, and was smoking a soothing cigarette, when the telephone rang and Aunt Dahlia’s voice came booming over the wire.

‘Hullo, old ancestor,’ I said, and it was a treat to hear me, so full of ginger and loving-kindness was my diction. ‘A very hearty good morning to you, aged relative.’

‘You’ve got here, have you?’

‘In person.’

‘So you’re still alive. The spots didn’t turn out to be fatal.’

‘They’ve entirely disappeared,’ I assured her. ‘Gone with the wind.’

‘That’s good. I wouldn’t have liked introducing a piebald nephew to the Briscoes, and they want you to come to lunch today.’

‘Vastly civil of them.’

‘Have you a clean collar?’

‘Several, with immaculate shirts attached.’

‘Don’t wear that Drones Club tie.’

‘Certainly not,’ I agreed. If the Drones Club tie has a fault, it is a little on the loud side and should not be sprung suddenly
on
nervous people and invalids, and I had no means of knowing if Mrs Briscoe was one of these. ‘What time is the binge?’

‘One-thirty.’

‘Expect me then with my hair in a braid.’

The invitation showed a neighbourly spirit which I applauded, and I said as much to Jeeves.

‘They sound good eggs, these Briscoes.’

‘I believe they give uniform satisfaction, sir.’

‘Aunt Dahlia didn’t say where they lived.’

‘At Eggesford Hall, sir.’

‘How does one get there?’

‘One proceeds up the main street of the village to the high road, where one turns to the left. You cannot miss the house. It is large and stands in extensive grounds. It is a walk of about a mile and a half, if you were intending to walk.’

‘I think I’d better. Murgatroyd would advise it. You, I take it, in my absence will go and hobnob with your aunt. Have you seen her yet?’

‘No, sir. I learn from the lady behind the bar of the Goose and Grasshopper, where I looked in on the night of my arrival, that she has gone to Liverpool for her annual holiday.’

Liverpool, egad! Sometimes one feels that aunts live for pleasure alone.

I made an early start. If these Briscoes were courting my society, I wanted to give them as much of it as possible.

Reaching the high road, where Jeeves had told me to turn to the left, I thought I had better make sure. He had spoken confidently, but it is always well to get a second opinion. And by jove I found that he had goofed. I accosted a passing centenarian – everybody in Maiden Eggesford seemed to be about a hundred and fifty, no doubt owing to the pure air – and asked which way I turned for Eggesford Court, and he said to the right. It just showed how even Jeeves can be mistaken.

On one point, however, he had been correct. A large house, he had said, standing in extensive grounds, and I had been walking what must have been a mile and a half when I came in sight of just such a residence, standing in grounds such as he had described. There were gates opening on a long drive, and I was starting to walk up this, when it occurred to me that I could save time by cutting across country, because the house I could see through the trees was a good deal to the nor’-nor’-east. They make these drives winding so as to impress visitors.

Bless my soul, the visitor says, this drive must be three-quarters of a mile long; shows how rich the chap is.

Whether I was singing or not I can’t remember – more probably whistling – but be that as it may I made good progress, and I had just come abreast of what looked like stables when there appeared from nowhere a cat.