A Pelican at Blandings (16 page)

'The chance of her ladyship dropping in on you for a glass
of port and a gossip is, I take it, slim. And it's nice to get away
from the women now and then. I have read in novels that there
is nothing more delightful than a tête-à-tête with a cultured
member of the other sex, and perhaps there isn't, but the time
for it should be carefully chosen. It's not a thing to rush into
with your eyes shut. Having stooped to tie your shoelace
outside her door while she was in conference with Mr.
Halliday, you are aware that the lady up top is for the moment
better avoided. Later on, possibly . . .'

Gally paused. His auditor, he saw, was not giving him his
attention. Beach, usually so imperturbable except when
visitors put water in their claret, was showing unmistakeable
signs of agitation.

'Something the matter, Beach?'

'Yes, indeed, Mr. Galahad.'

'Tell me all.'

'I fear this will come as a shock.'

'What does one more shock matter nowadays? Explode
your bomb.'

'I have received a letter from Mrs. Vail.'

'Who? Oh, Penny. Nothing sensational about that, is there?
You told me you corresponded regularly.'

'Yes, Mr. Galahad. But in this letter she . . . I must mention
that in my last communication I informed Mrs. Vail that we
had the daughter of the well-known American financier Mr. J.
B. Polk staying with us. I thought it might interest her.'

'I don't know why it should, but go on.'

'And in her reply . . . this is what gave me such a shock, Mr.
Galahad . . . she states that Mr. Polk has no daughter.'

'What!'

'Precisely that, Mr. Galahad.'

'Well, I'll be dashed.'

'And Mrs. Vail cannot be mistaken. She says in her letter
that her father Mr. Donaldson is an intimate friend of Mr.
Polk.'

'So she would know if he had a daughter.'

'Exactly, Mr. Galahad. One is reluctantly forced to the conclusion
that the lady calling herself Miss Polk is an impostor.'

'And presumably up to something. I wonder what.'

A respectful shrug of his ample shoulders indicated that this
was a mystery that Beach was unable to solve. Gally stood
frowning.

'Well,' he said, 'the obvious thing is to go and ask her. Any
idea where she is?'

'Yes, Mr. Galahad. She informed me that she was about to
visit the roof.'

'When was that?'

'Only a short time ago.'

'Then she's probably still up there. I'll go and see.'

Gally spoke without enthusiasm. It would be necessary, he
realized, when he met Vanessa, to be stern and austere, and
sternness and austerity did not come easily to him. He was by
nature a tolerant man, always inclined to let everyone do what
he or she liked. It was a frame of mind habitual with members
of the Pelican Club. 'Nothing to do with me', the Pelicans
would say if they saw someone up to something, and Gally
always said the same.

But this was a special case. Here he was in a sense representing
the family, and whatever this girl was contemplating it
was presumably something opposed to the family interests. He
must not allow an easygoing Pelican-Club-bred turn of mind
or his liking for her, which was considerable, to put him in the
position of an indulgent spectator.

All that was clear enough. Nevertheless he was not happy as
he started on his mission. He was about to have a tête-à-tête
with a cultured member of the other sex, but he was not
looking forward to it.

Though not much frequented by residents and visitors, the
roof was a feature of Blandings Castle that well repaid
inspection, for from it it was possible to see a fascinating
panorama of Shropshire and its adjoining counties. To reach it
the explorer went past the great gatehouse, where a channel of
gravel separated the west wing from the centre block, and
came on a small door leading to mysterious stone steps.
Mounting these, he found himself on a vast flat surface
bordered by battlements, on its edge the flagstaff from which
flew the gay flag announcing, in case the information was of
any interest to anyone, that Clarence, ninth Earl of Emsworth,
was on the premises. As a boy, when it had so often been
imperative to find a quiet hideaway when his father was
looking for him, Gally had spent many a happy hour there.

Vanessa was standing gazing over the battlements. He
hailed her, and she turned with a start.

'Oh hi,' she said.

'Hi to you,' said Gally. No sense in being stern and austere
till one had to. 'Taking a look at the countryside?'

'It's a wonderful view. What's that hill over there?'

'The Wrekin.'

'Where's this Bredon that A. E. Housman writes about?'

'Good heavens, do you read Housman?'

'Why not?'

The discomfort Gally had been feeling became intensified.
She seemed so wholesome, so like the sort of girl you brought
home to meet mother. To denounce her was not going to be
easy, and for an instant he toyed with the idea of abandoning
the whole project. Curiosity was probably what decided him to
continue. Sleep at night would be impossible until he had
informed himself of her motives in undertaking the perilous
task of starting funny business with so hard-boiled an egg as
Connie.

'You're a very remarkable girl,' he said.

'Because I read poetry?'

'I was thinking more of what you do when you aren't
reading poetry. Only a very remarkable girl would have been
capable of doing what you did.'

'What was that?'

'Kidding my sister Constance into believing that you are the
daughter of J. B. Polk. I learn from a reliable source close to
him that he hasn't one.'

Gally paused, inviting comment. When it came, it was not
the comment he had expected. He had been prepared for the
guilty start, the sudden pallor and possibly the flood of tears,
but he had not anticipated that she would be amused. She
laughed, a jolly ringing laugh, the laugh of a girl with a sense
of humour who can join in the merriment though the joke is
on her.

'I was afraid this might happen,' she said. 'I read it in the tea
leaves.'

'It's surprising that it didn't happen sooner. I'd have thought
you would have come a purler at the first fence. Connie's
married to a big pot in the world of finance. Polk is also a big
pot in that world. The betting would have been that she was
bound to have met him. Why didn't she?'

'Mr. Polk doesn't meet anyone. He's a recluse. The only
person he sees outside business hours is a Mr. Donaldson who
sells dog biscuits.'

'And Donaldson has a daughter who is a great friend of
Beach. She was the reliable source I mentioned. Beach has just
had a letter from her in which she states that J. B. Polk has
neither chick nor child.'

'He would hate having either. He lives alone with four dogs
and seven cats, and loves it.'

'You seem to know a lot about him.'

'Oh, one gets around. As a matter of fact, I'm his secretary.'

'I see. And as a good secretary should, you look on him as a
father. So when you told Connie you were his daughter, you
were just speaking figuratively.'

'I like that way of putting it.'

'It is rather tactful. Connie would say in her blunt way that
you had wormed yourself in under a false name.'

'Who's wormed herself in under a false name? Not me. I
may have gone a little astray in describing myself as J. B's
daughter, but I'm Miss Polk all right. My father was P. P.
Polk, formerly from Norfolk, later an American citizen. Polk's
a good Norfolk name.'

'Is it?'

'So they tell me.'

'Don't two Polks in the office cause confusion? If I walked
in and shouted "Polk!", which of you would bound forward?'

'Neither of us. You wouldn't have a hope of seeing him or
me without an appointment. But if what you're trying to say is
Did the coincidence of our having the same name distress J. B.
Polk, the answer is No. He was amused. In fact, I think that's
why he made me his confidential secretary.'

'Confidential, eh?'

'Very confidential. J. B. has no secrets from me.'

'Must be a well-paid job.'

'Very.'

'Then,' said Gally, frankly bewildered, 'I don't get it. What's
your game?'

'I beg your pardon?'

'What are you after? Are you working for some museum
that wants to get hold of Clarence's bedroom slippers? The
Smithsonian would probably pay a large sum for them. Are
you connected with a secret society which is plotting to kidnap
Beach? Dash it, my good wench, you must have had
some
reason for coming here under false pretences.'

'It's quite simple. I wanted to see Blandings Castle.'

'Just that?'

'Just that.'

Something of the sternness which had so far been absent
from it crept into Gally's manner. He spoke severely.

'I resent having my leg pulled.'

'I'm not pulling your leg. I wanted to see it, and when I say
see it, I mean
see
it. Live in it, soak myself in it, not just come
on Visitors Day and be one of a mob shown around by the
butler.'

Gally could make nothing of this.

'This is most extraordinary. Gratifying, of course, to one of
the family to hear such a plug for the old dosshouse, but where
did you get all this enthusiasm? I wouldn't have thought that
living in New York you would ever have heard of Blandings
Castle. We aren't Buckingham Palace or the Tower of
London.'

'That was my mother.'

'What do you mean, that was your mother? What was your
mother?'

'She used to talk about Blandings all the time when I was a
child—or chick, if you prefer it. The park, the lake, the yew
alley, the amber drawing-room, everything. It fascinated me. I
could never have enough of it, and I made up my mind that
some day I'd get there.'

'And you've got.'

'Temporarily, shall we say.'

'But how did your mother become such an authority on the
place? Used she to stay here?'

'In a sense. She was one of the parlourmaids.'

'What!'

'That surprises you?'

'It does indeed. You're not pulling my leg again?'

'Why again? I've never pulled your leg.'

'I suggest, as my godson would say, that you are. How on
earth would a Blandings parlourmaid get to New York?'

'It can be done, given the right sequence of events. My
father was valet to an American millionaire. They came to the
castle on a visit. My father was naturally thrown into my
mother's society. They fell in love and got married, and then
they all three went back to America, where they lived happily
till after several years the millionaire died of a heart attack. All
straight so far?'

'Quite.'

'As for my becoming J. B. Polk's girl Friday and the friend
of Lady Constance, that perhaps requires a lengthier
explanation. Would you care to hear the story of my life?'

'I'd love it. Not omitting your reasons for settling in as J. B.
Polk's daughter.'

'No, I'll be coming to that. But first, I think, a cigarette, if
you've got one.'

Gally produced his case. Vanessa stood looking over the
battlements, a rather rapt expression on her face.

'I suppose your ancestors used to pour boiling lead on
people from up here?' she said.

'All the time. Made them jump.'

'That's just the sort of thing I find so romantic about the
place.'

'I can see how you might. Very attractive, those old English
customs. But don't go wandering off on the subject of my
ancestors. Let's have the story.'

'Ready?'

'And waiting.'

'Then away we go. Where did the last instalment end?'

'Death of millionaire.'

'Oh, yes. Well, he left my father a bit of money, enough to
buy a little restaurant. It prospered, and I was able to go to a
good school and after that to college. I had always wanted to
be a secretary, so I boned up on shorthand and efficiency and
all that, and I got a job, then a better job, till climbing the
ladder rung by rung I got taken on by Polk Enterprises, finally,
as told in an earlier chapter, becoming J. B. Polk's confidential
secretary. Am I boring you?'

'Not at all.'

'It sounds pretty dull to me. But keep on listening, for the
plot now thickens. One day about three weeks ago I came into
the office and found my employer tearing what remained of his
hair. It seemed that he had a colossal law suit on, with millions
at stake, and he had just learned on the grapevine that the
opposition were going to subpoena me as a witness. And if I
gave evidence about a certain letter he had dictated to me, he
would be in a spot. The letter apparently had been lost, but I
could testify to its contents, and bang would go all hope of his
winning the case. See where I'm heading?'

'I think so.'

'I'm sure you do. He told me I must get out of the country
quick. England, he said, would be the best place to lie hid,
which suited me, because though I had heard so much about
England I had never been there. He gave me liberal expense
money and booked me a passage on the boat. That's how I
came to meet Lady Constance. And now you will be wanting
to know how she came to mistake me for J. B's daughter.'

'Just what I was going to ask.'

'It came about quite naturally. After we had got friendly she
used to talk a lot about Blandings Castle, but though I made it
clear enough that I was perfectly willing to join her there she
did not issue an invitation. It was as if she was wary about
getting too friendly with strangers she met on ocean liners.
And then one day the ship's paper had a bit in it about J. B.
Polk, something about his dogs and cats, and she asked me if
I was any relation, and feeling that it might just turn the scale
and bring about the happy ending I said I was his daughter. It
did turn the scale. I got my invitation instantly. That is how
our heroine comes to be at Blandings Castle. And now,' said
Vanessa, 'I suppose I had better be going and starting my
packing.'