A Pelican at Blandings (19 page)

It was not sheer goodness of heart that had brought the
latter to the sick chamber. Any etiquette book would have told
him that a visit of enquiry was due from a host to a guest who
has sprained his ankle by falling down his, the host's, personal
stairs, but he would certainly have ignored this ruling had it
not been for the conviction that, if he did, he would have a
painful interview with Connie. 'Have you been to see Alaric?'
he could hear her saying, and an 'Eh? What? Alaric? Oh, you
mean Alaric. Well, no, as a matter of fact, not yet' would have
the worst results.

He could only hope to be able to make his stay a short one,
and, as it happened, the Duke proposed to make it even
shorter. Talking to Lord Emsworth was one of the many
things that exasperated him.

'Oh, it's you,' he said. 'You can do something for me,
Emsworth. This letter. Most important. Has to go immediately.
Give it to Beach and tell him to take it to Market
Blandings post office and register it. At once.'

The elation Lord Emsworth felt at this early conclusion to
a visit that might have dragged on interminably was mixed
with less agreeable feelings. Wonderful to be in a position to
say to Connie when she questioned him, 'Been to see Alaric?
Of course I've been to see Alaric. We had a long and
interesting talk', but he did not like this reference to Beach and
Market Blandings.

'Ask Beach to walk to Market Blandings? In this weather?'

'Do him good.'

'I don't know what he'll say.'

'If he utters a word of protest, kick his spine up through his
hat.'

'Very well, Alaric.'

'And don't just stand there. Get moving.'

'Yes, Alaric.'

'That letter must go without delay.'

'Yes, Alaric.'

'Oh, and one other thing,' said the Duke. 'I almost forgot to
tell you. I'm suing you for heavy damages for this ankle of
mine. We won't discuss it now, you will hear from my
solicitors in due course.'

Gally, in his hammock, had closed his eyes again and was
thinking once more of John and Linda and the United States
Marines. He was roused from his reverie by a voice bleating his
name, and opening his eyes was annoyed to find his brother
Clarence drooping over him. The interruption had derailed his
train of thought, and though that train had shown no signs of
going anywhere, he resented this.

Annoyance changed quickly to concern as he observed his
visitor's agitation. Unlike the members of the Pelican Club,
Lord Emsworth, when on the receiving end of the slings and
arrows of outrageous fortune, always allowed his doubts and
fears to be visible to the naked eye.

'Something wrong, Clarence?'

'Yes, indeed, Galahad.'

'Connie, I suppose? Don't let her worry you. Get tough.
Talk back at her out of the side of your mouth.'

'It is not Connie, it's Alaric.'

'Pursue the same policy.'

'But he says he is going to bring an action against me
because he sprained his ankle on those stairs.'

Gally uttered a defiant laugh.

'Let him. He hasn't a hope.'

'You really think so?'

'Brief a good counsel for the defence and watch him tear the
man to pieces. He'll go through him like a dose of salts. "Is it
not a fact that you were galloping down those stairs at sixty
miles an hour in order to get at the cocktails?" "Would it be fair
to say that you had been mopping up the stuff like a vacuum
cleaner all the afternoon?" "I suggest that you were as tight as
an owl." He'll have him tied up in knots in the first two
minutes, and the jury will stop the case.'

Lord Emsworth seemed to expand like a balloon. Galahad, he
was thinking, could always be relied on to appreciate one's
difficulties and make valuable suggestions for dealing with them.

'Well, you have relieved me greatly, Galahad. I wish you
could be equally comforting about this letter. Alaric has given
me a letter to give to Beach to take to Market Blandings.'

'And what's your problem?'

'I can't ask Beach to make that long walk on a hot morning
like this.'

'Why not put it on the hall table with the rest of the letters?'

'Alaric made such a point of it that it should go at once. It
has to be registered.'

'I see.'

'I don't suppose Beach will actually give notice if I tell him
to go to Market Blandings, but he won't like it at all. I shall
have to take it myself, and I have an appointment to meet
Banks at the sty.'

Gally's was a feeling heart, and as he had said to his brother
on a previous occasion he did not think it right to leave acts of
kindness entirely to the Boy Scouts. He extricated himself
from the hammock.

'I'll take it, if you like.'

'Oh, Galahad! Will you really?'

'I shall enjoy the stroll.'

'Here is the letter.'

'Right.'

'Thank you so much, Galahad.'

'Not at all. Always glad to oblige. Hullo, this is odd. It's
addressed to Vanessa Polk.'

'Banks and I are going to discuss a new vitamin pill for pigs
which I have been reading about. To be taken in a little skim
milk.'

'What would he be writing to her for?'

'Supposed to be wonderful. Thank you again, Galahad. It
really is extremely good of you.'

Gally slipped the letter into his pocket, a thoughtful frown
on his face. He could imagine no reason for this sudden urge
on the Duke's part to become a Vanessa Polk pen pal. And
he was still as far as ever from a solution of the mystery and
was half inclined to go to the length of applying for one to
the Duke, when his meditations were again interrupted by a
voice, and he saw that he had been joined by his sister
Constance.

'Oh, there you are, Galahad,' she said.

There was no trace in her manner of the pique she had felt
a short while before when leaving the garden suite. Two things
had combined to restore her equanimity. The first was the
comforting reflection that her recent critic was a dull clod
temperamentally incapable of recognizing good writing when
it was put before him; the second that she was about to make
Galahad feel extremely foolish, a pleasure she was able only
rarely to enjoy.

'I was looking for you,' she said. 'I wonder if you remember
a conversation we had not long ago.'

'I recollect having a word or two with you about my godson
Johnny Halliday.'

'I was not referring to that. I mean about Alaric.'

'Alaric? Did we have a conversation about him? Ah yes, it's
beginning to come back to me. You said you were hoping he
would marry Vanessa Polk—'

'—And you said he was too self-centred and too fond of his
comforts ever to think of marrying again. Well, it may interest
you to know that he has written a letter to Vanessa, asking her
to be his wife, and Beach is taking it to the post office in
Market Blandings.'

'Good Lord! You're not pulling my leg?'

'No.'

'He's really written to the popsy proposing?'

'Yes.'

'How do you know?'

'He showed me the letter. She's bound to accept him. Any
girl would want to become a Duchess. And it will be an
excellent marriage for Alaric.'

'She being the daughter of J. B. Polk, the loaded tycoon.'

'Exactly. Well, Galahad, it would seem that you were not
such a good judge of character as you thought you were.'

'That would seem, wouldn't it?'

'You have always been much too sure you were right and
everybody else was wrong.'

'Don't rub it in. Would it be premature if I went and
congratulated Dunstable?'

'Considering how improbable it is that Vanessa will refuse
him, I see no objection.'

'I'll go at once. Hark! Can you hear something?'

'No.'

'I can. The tramp-tramp-tramp of marching feet and a
thousand manly voices singing "from the halls of
Montezuma". How right the Polk popsy was. The United
States Marines have arrived.'

Lying on his sofa, watching the shadows flit across the lawn
outside, the Duke was in what practically amounted to a sunny
mood. Serene is perhaps the word one is groping for. He was
feeling serene.

But when some human substance appeared in the french
windows and he saw that it was Gally, his benevolence
noticeably waned. He had never been fond of this companion
of his early days, and his stare was the cold stare of a man
anxious to know to what he is indebted for the honour of this
visit.

'I thought I'd look in,' said Gally.

'Oh?'

'To ask after your ankle.'

'Oh?'

'How is it?'

'Bad.'

'Good. I mean, I'm sorry. What does the doctor say? Any
signs of gangrene? That's what you want to watch out for,
gangrene. Do you remember a fellow in the old days called
Postlethwaite? He was bitten in the leg by a Siamese cat, got
gangrene and as near as a toucher passed beyond the veil. You
will probably argue that you have not been bitten in the leg by
a Siamese cat, and that's of course a good point, but even so you
can't feel safe. Have you a funny burning sensation? High
temperature? Floating spots before the eyes? But, good
heavens,' said Gally, 'I ought not to be talking to you like this.
The great thing when visiting the afflicted is to present a
cheerful front, to be all hearty and jolly and make them forget
their troubles. I should be cheering you up with something
funny. But what? Ha! Of course, yes, the Polk wench. That'll
amuse you. It turns out that she's an impostor. It's an odd thing
about Blandings Castle, it seems to attract impostors as catnip
does cats. They make a bee line for the place. When two or
three impostors are gathered together, it's only a question of
time before they're saying "Let's all go round to Blandings", and
along they come. It shakes one. I've sometimes asked myself if
Connie is really Connie. How can we be certain that she's not
an international spy cunningly made up as Connie? The only
one of the local fauna I feel really sure about is Beach. He seems
to be genuine. Returning to the case of the Polk wench—'

All through this long harangue the Duke had been
struggling to speak, but had failed to do so, partly because he
lacked the special gifts which a man had to have if he hoped to
interrupt Gally, but principally owing to a restriction of his
vocal cords, which seemed to have seized up, preventing
speech. He now contrived to utter. His words came out in a
hoarse whisper, but they emerged.

'What's that?' he said. 'What's that? Are you telling me
Vanessa Polk is not Vanessa Polk?'

'Well, yes and no.'

'What the devil do you mean, Yes and no?'

'It's a bit intricate, but I think I can explain. She's Vanessa
Polk all right, but not, as she gave us to understand, the
daughter of the plutocratic J. B. Polk. She is the offspring or
issue of P. P. Polk, one of the Norfolk Polks. Polk is a good
Norfolk name, so they tell me. He was a valet.'

'What!'

'Or gentleman's personal gentleman, if you prefer it. Her
mother used to be a parlourmaid here. The popsy herself is a
secretary. Makes you laugh, doesn't it, to think of Connie of
all people being taken in. It'll be a lesson to her not to be so
fussy about impostors sponsored by others.'

The Duke was not laughing. The sound that had escaped
him had been more like a death rattle. His jaw had dropped,
and his eyes were threatening to part from their sockets.

'Threepwood!'

'Yes?'

'I . . . I . . .'

'Yes?'

'Threepwood, I have written that woman a letter, proposing
marriage!'

'So Connie told me, and I was thrilled. It's a real Cinderella
story—the humble little secretary marrying the great Duke,'
said Gally. He had been about to say 'the popeyed Duke', but
thought it more tactful to substitute the other adjective. 'You'll
never regret it, Dunstable. You will be getting a prize. One of
the nicest girls I ever met. You couldn't have a better prop for
your declining years.'

The Duke snorted emotionally.

'You don't think I'm going to marry her now, do you?'

'Aren't you?'

'Of course I'm not.'

'How about her suing you for breach of promise?'

'She mustn't get that letter! Ring for Beach.'

'Why?'

'He may not have started yet.'

'With the letter?'

'Yes.'

'But Beach hasn't got it. I have. Clarence was concerned
about asking Beach to go hiking with the sun's ultra-violet rays
so sultry, so I said I would take it. I have it here.'

The Duke expelled a deep breath. His lower jaw resumed its
place, and his eyes returned to their sockets.

'Thank heaven! You might have told me before,' he added
with a venomous glance. 'I was half out of my mind.'

'I know. But it was great fun, wasn't it?'

'Give it to me!'

'Certainly, my dear fellow. It was what I came here to do.
But before the handing-over ceremony I shall have to make
one or two simple conditions. Clarence tells me you are
planning to bring an action against him for having such
slippery stairs. That must be dropped.'

'Of course, of course, of course. To hell with Emsworth and
his stairs. Give me that letter.'

'Just one more article of agreement, if that's the right
expression. You must also jettison these fanciful objections you
have to my godson marrying your niece.'

'What!'

Gally was all sympathy and understanding. His voice was
very gentle.

'I know just how you feel. Every time your ankle gives you a
twinge you think harsh thoughts of him, and I'm not
surprised. But there it is. Nothing to be done about it. You
must bite the bullet. Because, if you don't, this letter goes to La
Polk, registered.'

A silence of the kind usually described as pregnant fell on
the garden suite. It might have been broken by the Duke
calling Gally a low blackmailer and he had every inclination to
do so, but even as his lips started to frame the words, prudence
told him that they were better left unsaid. The thought of that
breach of promise case restrained him.