Chapter Text
Aunts are the absolute giddy limit! - That also goes for mothers and grandmothers, it seems - for those who have an à la carte selection of fierce female relatives.
Indeed, I learned one Sunday morning, at a time far too early for any right-thinking chap to expect distressing news, that a terrifying collectivised descension of the esteemed dowagers was due in the metrop. the very next day.
It was all in the name of some society or other. Lace-making, perhaps. Or was it tapestry? At any rate, it matters little what the flock of ancestral harpies were actually making at their annual congregation, for, regardless of activity, it was clear that match-making would be pretty high on their list. It therefore also followed that yours truly would be one of the unfortunate suspects to be summoned forth and given marching orders in the direction of the altar.
In order to prevent this interference in his happy bachelor existence, B. Wooster had to make himself as scarce as possible from the capital that week. I thus alighted upon the brilliant idea of an escape to the seaside, maybe with a few chums from the Drones as company. Given the popular reaction to my sudden airing of such a sojourn among the birds at the club that Sunday afternoon, I was certainly not alone in my wish to escape the clutches of the impending congregation of some kind of -arcs. ‘Matriarchs,’ – yes, that was it.
Bingo Little was swift on the uptake, as was Gussie Fink-Nottle and at least a dozen others, so we sallied forth and booked most of the third floor of the Palace Hotel at Spindleythorpe-on-Sea for a welcome week of golfing and sandcastle building, without an aunt in sight.
I returned to the flat and told Jeeves that we were leaving for the week to soak up Blighty's finest, à la mer. Despite such a sudden announcement, the marvellous fellow had our luggage packed in two shakes of the junior ovine appendage and we managed to catch the two-thirty from Victoria; the sea air becoming ever closer as the train puffed its merry way South.
"Well Jeeves, that was a lucky escape," I said as we coursed our way through the fields.
"Yes sir, most fortuitous."
"One aunt is bad enough, but a whole collection of the terrors in one place..." I suppressed a shudder.
"Quite so, sir. Most distressing." Jeeves paused and pursed his lips slightly, as he does when he is about to phrase a delicate question. " If you don't mind me asking, sir, much as an escape from London of any sort at this time was most agreeable, why did you select Spindleythorpe-on-Sea as our destination? Are you aware of any particular event that will occur there within the next week?"
"No, not at all," I replied. "It was Bingo's idea actually. He seemed frightfully keen to choose this place, so I was happy to go along with what the old bean wanted."
"I see, sir." Jeeves fixed me with one of those dashed clever looks.
"You see what, Jeeves?"
"Forgive me for suggesting this, sir, but when you informed me of our destination this lunchtime, I could not help but think that the week will not pass entirely without event. Last evening I was speaking with Mr. Morgan, who is the butler of the Glossop household, and he commented that Miss Honoria and various of her associates in their Ladies’ Club - I believe it is called the Junior Lipstick - were also planning a sojourn at the very same seaside resort, with a particular theatrical purpose in mind."
"I say, Jeeves! You mean that all of the female gang is going to be there too?”
“It would seem so, sir.”
“And what is this ‘theatrical purpose’, exactly?"
"I had understood it, sir, that-"
Unfortunately I never learnt exactly what Jeeves had understood, because at that moment a loud and enthusiastic cry of, "What-ho, Bertie!" rang through the cabin of the train. I turned around to be greeted by the sight of Bingo trying to keep his balance as the carriage rolled from one side to the other, and he quickly scurried over and sat down with Jeeves and me.
“What-ho, Bingo,” I said, “Jolly good idea this getaway, eh?”
“Topping, Bertie, simply topping,” he replied, “Especially as we get to be involved with the production of 'The Mikado' that Josephine's organising for charity.”
“Yes, quite,” I said absently, while staring out of the window. Then Bingo's last statement percolated through the old grey matter. “Hang on a second! Who's Josephine and what's all this ‘avocado’ business?”
“Oh Bertie! She's wonderful, simply amazing... truly and honestly a paragon of feminine beauty and charm... She's a... a...”
“Divine goddess, sir?” Jeeves helpfully completed.
“Yes, Jeeves! You have it on the button. She's a divine goddess! I thought I had met wonderful ladies before, but compared to Josephine they are all pale imitations of the real thing. This is the girl I'm going to marry, Bertie!”
“Oh, I say, Bingo. Congratulations,” I offered, “When is the happy day to be, then?”
Bingo shifted in his seat a little and peered at his fingernails. “Well, I haven't exactly asked her quite yet. We don't know each other very well. She's a friend of Honoria's who is visiting from Edinburgh – Miss Josephine Houghton-Wright. I first laid eyes on her last weekend in London, and I knew in that very second, just like magic, that she was going to be the love of my life!” Bingo's momentary deflation had clearly passed, as he was once again full of all of the joys of spring by the end of that paragraph.
“Ah,” I said, in manner that aimed to be sage, and I traded a knowing look with Jeeves across the carriage. I do like it when other people are being dashed silly, and I get to be one of the clever ones - comparatively speaking – along with Jeeves. I get this lovely feeling of kinship and fuzzy tingles inside.
“Well, best of luck with that, old chap,” I rounded off, hoping that the conversation might have a chance of moving on from Bingo's latest crush at that point. Then the alarm bells began ringing once more, in the distance. “Now what's all this about a melon? Or was it a courgette?”
“If you are referring to ‘The Mikado’, sir?” Jeeves answered smoothly, “It is a comic operetta of some fame by Messrs Gilbert and Sullivan, which opened at the Savoy Theatre in 1855 and has enjoyed numerous performances of both a professional and amateur nature ever since.”
“Yes, that's right!” enthused Bingo. “Josephine is so clever – she's directing the whole thing at the Crenellation Theatre at Spindleythorpe next weekend – and I’ve offered to help her with the organisation of the thing. She was utterly delighted when I said I could bring along a friend called Bertie who would sing the male lead. I really do think she might grow to love me, you know. Wouldn't that be marvellous!”
The implications of Bingo's speech filtered through the Wooster brain, and I was distinctly less than pleased. Quite a weighty measure short of being pleased, I can tell you. “Hang on a bally moment!” I exclaimed, “I'm intending to have a nice quiet week at the seaside here, and that certainly doesn't involve any kind of monkey-business in a dashed theatre. The only performances I attend are ones where I get to stay nice and safe the right side of the curtain in my seat in the stalls.”
Bingo affixed a lost-puppy expression to his dial and began to say something.
“I simply won't do it,” I insisted, before he had the chance. For a split-second, I thought that by some miracle he had let the idea drop, because his expression transformed to one of delight. Only then did I see that he was no longer concentrating on me, but on the far door of the railway carriage, from where a sharp-featured young lady with the predatory, starved look of a peeved coyote appeared in view.
“Ah, Josephine!” said Bingo, jumping to his feet and then immediately falling back into his seat as the train encountered a hefty bump on the rail. He recovered himself, and then gestured wildly for the girl to join us.
“Good afternoon, Richard,” said Josephine. She then turned her attention to me. “And you must be Bertram,” she said, extending a well-groomed claw – I mean ‘hand’ - in my direction, “I'm very pleased to meet you. Richard has assured me that you will take to the role of Nanki-Poo admirably for our little production.”
“Yes, definitely he will,” chorused Bingo, all gooey-eyed.
“I say,” I protested, “Hang on a dashed second. Much as I'm flattered to be asked and all that, I'm afraid this week is looking rather busy, so sorry – no can do.” I tried to employ one of those firm, final tones about the thing. That should sort it out, I thought.
“Oh, that's tosh, Bertie,” said Bingo, the blighter. “I know for a fact that you have absolutely nothing to do this week. In fact, you only planned the trip to get away from your Aunt Agatha and the others while they're in London.” How could he, I ask you? The traitor.
“Um, well, yes. There was an element of escape to it, I admit, but since then the old schedule has filled up remarkably quickly...” I was casting around for a nice solid excuse to land on, but my hesitancy must have shown through.
Then Josephine piped up again, with one of those cunning feline expressions that females use to strike fear into the heart of any right-thinking chap. “But Bertie, you have no idea how much it would be appreciated if you could find a way to squeeze our little project into your timetable. There will only be about seven hours of rehearsals each day, after all. When I next speak to your dear aunt, Mrs. Gregson, I would be delighted to tell her how you have been such an asset to a worthwhile cause.”
“You... You know my aunt, then, do you? Ha-ha,” I squeaked.
“Oh yes,” continued Josephine smoothly, “Mrs. Gregson and I are great friends. There is very little that we don't share with one another. For example, I do feel naturally compelled by our friendship to tell her that her dearest and favourite nephew has plotted to leave his home for a week to avoid seeing her. I imagine she may well be somewhat distressed at that news, and would see fit to make her distress felt.” Josephine paused delicately to allow the full implications of that statement to sink in. “However, if I was sufficiently distracted by, say, a heartfelt and enthusiastic performance in the style of a Japanese lyric tenor, such a sad story might slip my mind, and be replaced by the kind of praise that would warm an aunt to even the most errant variety of nephew.” She smiled at me innocently, waiting for a reply.
“You wouldn't,” I said, more in disbelief than hope.
“I think she would, Bertie,” piped Bingo, “It is a terribly strong friendship, after all.”
As you can probably guess, I was left pretty much speechless at that point, which led to smiles and congratulations all round with numerous promises of how it would be such fun working together, and how they would see me at rehearsals tomorrow. Josephine gave Jeeves a timetable that was positively teeming with little coloured boxes, and which ended ominously the following Saturday afternoon. Then Bingo escorted his lady-friend, who might well have been one of Spode’s lieutenants, out of the carriage and I was left once more with Jeeves, feeling considerably less cheerful than I had been half-an-hour ago. My valet however, had a distinctly amused expression on his dial – if that twitch of the left eyebrow was anything to go by.
“This is a disaster, Jeeves!” I exclaimed. “Utterly hideous. There I was, minding my own business, and all of a sudden my seaside holiday is up in smoke and I have to make a fool of myself in public at the weekend.”
“I understand your distress at the situation, sir, but if you will permit me to express an opinion, I do not believe the project will be a disaster.”
“Why on earth not, Jeeves? What do I possibly have to gain here?”
Jeeves looked thoughtful for the smallest moment, as if he might be choosing his words carefully. “I was merely alluding to the fact that I believe you to be musically talented, sir,” he said, and then busied himself with folding my umbrella more neatly.
I was quite shocked. “You mean to say that you think I’ll actually be good on stage, Jeeves? Me? As the romantic lead in some operetta? Stretching the point rather, isn’t it?”
Pretty much anyone else wouldn’t have noticed something in Jeeves at that point, but I have been watching that man’s subtle reactions for so long that very few clues to his mood can escape me. At that moment a tiny frown formed between his eyebrows and he swallowed quite hard.
“As I said, sir. I think you would perform the role admirably.”
*****
We arrived at Spindleythorpe in due course, and checked in to the hotel to find a perfectly pleasant suite of rooms awaiting us – bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, and the usual lair for Jeeves. The Palace was a bit stuck in the last century with doileys and florals and whatnot on every available surface, but that’s just how these provincial places tend to be, isn’t it?
By this point, with no small amount of encouragement from Jeeves, I had decided to make the best of the whole Gilbert and someone-or-other fandango, and was resigned to my fate as an amateur thespian. It was only for the one performance, after all, and I was assured that Spindleythorpe’s residents were people I neither knew nor were likely to meet again.
That didn’t mean that I had forgiven Bingo for his part in the matter however, and it was as Jeeves and I were taking the air before dinner that evening, that I had the most spiffing of spiffing ideas for a means of revenge.
“Look, Jeeves! Over there,” I said, pointing toward a small structure at the edge of the esplanade.
Jeeves cast around quizzically with his eyes where I was pointing, as if he were expecting to see the Lusitania sail into the harbour, or some such spectacle. Eventually he said, “if you are referring to the fortune-teller’s pavilion, sir, I’m afraid I don’t quite see what makes it quite so noteworthy.”
“That's fair enough, Jeeves,” I conceded. “What's extraordinary is not the building itself, but the part it will play in the brilliant scheme I have just thought up to get back at Bingo.”
Jeeves looked distinctly sceptical. “And what might this scheme involve, exactly, sir?”
“Ah. I thought you might ask that, Jeeves,” I said in triumph, “The Wooster brain has been in overdrive just now and I have thought of a fabulous way for us to make Bingo thoroughly ruffled.”
“‘Us’, sir?”
“Yes, Jeeves, ‘us’. I'll need your help with this one. What I want you to do is to go and talk to the fortune-telling lady who works there – ‘Madam Osiris’, by the look of the sign - and either persuade or bribe her to tell Bingo a really rotten fortune regarding the future of him and the ghastly Josephine when we all go along to have our palms read, or crystals gazed into, or whatever these gypsy types do. He'll be royally miffed about it and we can all laugh at his expense! Isn't that marvellous?”
Jeeves paused for a moment, almost as if he was devising a scheme of his own, and then turned to me with a grave expression while drawing a laboured breath. “I regret, sir, that I am unable to help you with this particular idea.”
“Why ever not, Jeeves? It's a perfectly simple thing to do. I'd do it myself, but I can't very well be briefing the good woman while I'm steering Bingo in the direction of the tent, now, can I?”
“No, sir, and I certainly wouldn't advise that course of action either.”
I felt floored for a moment. I didn't know why Jeeves was being such a party-pooper. “What's got into you, Jeeves? You're usually full-steam ahead with the high-jinks and all that, and now you're acting as if no cunning plan has ever flowed forth from that gigantic brain of yours.”
Jeeves raised an eyebrow slightly, and answered very smoothly. “Let me assure you, sir, that my demeanour regarding such distractions in general remains unchanged, but forgive me if I seem somewhat hesitant in this particular case. The course of action you advocate would involve interfering with a most ancient and serious rite that should be held in the highest reverence. I would not wish to anger one who has the rare gift of communion with the supernatural by attempting to pervert the course of her visions, and I would also be most concerned for your safety if you were to embark upon such a mission.”
Well, that was surprising. “Are you telling me, Jeeves, that you actually believe in all of this fortune-telling business. That I should take it seriously?”
“I would strongly recommend that you do, sir,” my valet responded.
We continued walking along the seafront for a few more minutes in companionable silence. Jeeves' words weighed heavily upon my mind. Perhaps there was something in this fortune-telling malarkey after all, then. Maybe some people really could divine the future with the aid of cards or crystals or tea-leaves. It began to make a whole lot of sense, actually. The world is a mysterious place, and there are many things that we can't hope to fully understand. Wasn't Jeeves saying something along those lines the other day from one of his books? 'The more I know, the more I don't know that I know that I don't know.' ...Or something like that. Dashed clever.
I continued musing in such manner while Jeeves set our course along the promenade and looked out to sea a little, and by the end of my reflections I felt jolly grateful that my wonderful valet had saved me from a terrible gypsy curse or enraged hauntings by the dearly departed, or suchlike. Of course, I heartily told him so.
“You are most welcome, sir,” Jeeves replied, with a small quirk to his mouth. We then returned to the hotel and prepared for dinner, me going down to meet the other birds in the hotel dining room, and Jeeves biffing off wherever he biffs of an evening.