A Pretty Mouth (3 page)

“I am not unacquainted with those unique characteristics of the cephalopodan mollusks of the order octopoda, m’lord,” I said. “What in particular, may I ask, has piqued your curiosity?”

The Lord Calipash was smoking a cigarette, and before answering took a drag on it in a languid, idle manner that might have been pleasing in a gentleman with a more affable expression—but his contemptuous mien made his affections appear more dissolute than elegant.

“What I want to know is what the deuce is so fascinating about the little blighters,” he said, exhaling twin blue plumes through his nostrils.

“I could not say, m’lord. I am sure to octopodean enthusiasts, the creatures are possessed of many interesting attributes. Take, for example,
amphioctopus marginatus,
sometimes called the ‘coconut octopus.’ This unusual specimen from the Pacific Ocean has been seen using shells or discarded coconut husks as a form of shelter. Additionally, it—”

“Never mind your ruddy coconut husks, Jeeves.”

“No, m’lord.”

“I don’t care a jot for this or that sort and what they do with their time.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

“What I want to know is why anyone would travel to Dolor-on-the-Downs to see one, and then choose to remain here for the whole of the spring and summer months, declining any and all invitations to do anything other than laze about and be close to it.”

“That
would
be curious behavior, m’lord.”

The Lord Calipash looked peeved. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“No, m’lord.”

“Good. For such a thing has happened, Jeeves. In fact, it’s happening right now. Do you know, no less than
eighteen
chaps and fillies of my acquaintance have come here to this benighted hamlet to see the bally thing?”

“I have noted several members of the noblesse staying at this establishment, m’lord.”

“And they’re all jolly queer, aren’t they? Got to get a pry bar to get them out of their deck chairs, or even eat proper meals, much less have a sociable drink. Like that rotter Tolbert, you know, they’re all like that. Even Roger—Roger Winthrop—he who sent me a wire saying I simply had to come and see the thing. I should have known, I suppose. His telegram was rather … odd. Full of strange weirdnesses.”

“I was not aware Mr. Winthrop was staying at the Vivarium, m’lord.”

“Roger? Oh yes.”

This struck me as curious. Mr. Winthrop, as his valet will confirm I am sure, is a social gentleman; when he is out and about, one knows it. Yet something else concerned me more.

“May I enquire what you meant by ‘strange weirdnesses,’ m’lord?”

The Lord Calipash slunk over to his escritoire and pulled open the top drawer, then, after rifling through a messy stack of papers, withdrew a single piece of stationary.

“Well go on. See for yourself.”

DEAR FIZZY YOU MUST COME TO STAY AT THE VIVARIUM HERE AT DOLOR-ON-THE-DOWNS STOP THERE IS A FELLOW YOU SIMPLY MUST MEET STOP HE HAS EIGHT LEGS AND BLUE SPOTS STOP HAVE YOU GUESSED THE SECRET STOP IF YOU HAVENT HERES ANOTHER CLUE ITS BETTER THAN THOSE BOTTLES OF TOOTHACHE REMEDY WE USED TO GUZZLE AT SCHOOL STOP REALLY STOP

“Well?” asked the Lord Calipash, when I looked up at him.

“It is certainly perplexing, m’lord. You obviously guessed the octopus part of the riddle—but whatever do you think he means by
toothache remedy
?”

“Heroin,” said the Lord Calipash shortly. “Bayer used to sell it, but it all got rather rum at Oxford when the lads started to really, I don’t know, crave it at all hours. So old Boffo stopped importing it and now it’s much harder to come by.”

“I see. And have you … seen this octopus? Or sampled its …”

“Yes to the first, no to the second. Alethea took a suck—my sister—but not me.”

“And what was the lady’s opinion?” I asked, though I was more curious about the verbal action described by the Lord Calipash.

This question seemed to sour the Lord Calipash’s mood significantly.

“It’s hard to say,” he snapped. “Well, I suppose you should come and see. It’s part of my—our—conundrum.”

Let me say that I know this next part of my narrative strains credulity, but it is wholly true. The Lord Calipash beckoned to me, bidding me follow him into the private bathroom off his suite. It was with some discomfort that I followed, saying that if the lady were occupied in some indiscreet manner I would not have intruded for all the world, but the Lord Calipash laughed unpleasantly and said that she certainly was, and that was the problem.

The Lady Alethea was … in the bath. And when I say in the bath, I do not mean that she was laving herself in a tub full of frothy suds and rubber ducks. She was in the nude and fully submerged under the surface of the water, which trickled into the large basin out of the faucet, and though I did not like to look upon her so indisposed, when I noticed some, let us call them
physical peculiarities
, I could not help but stare.

“It’s hereditary,” said the Lord Calipash. “Happens sometimes to Calipash females. Dunno what ancestor’s fault it is, but it’s a damn nuisance. Worse than the monthlies if you know what I mean.”

“M’lord, I—”

“No need to be polite about it, Jeeves, I know you can see the gills as well as I. To say nothing of the webbing between her fingers.” He leaned in to me and said behind his hand, “She gets it between the toes, too, but don’t tell her I told you.”

I confess I was at a loss. I had no notion of what to say. I had never seen anything so strange during the whole of my life. Her condition baffled me—as did the Lord Calipash’s insouciance about it. For her part, Lady Alethea wriggled under the surface of the water and blew bubbles at us.

Alastair lit another cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke back at his sister. “Well, what should we do about it?”

“M’lord?”

“How do we get her to change back?!” He seemed annoyed. “Bertie said you could solve any problem. Well?”

“I—I believe I require further insight into the situation, m’lord,” I said. “Are you implying the, ah, octopus induced some sort of, ah …”

“Well, we don’t know, do we?” The Lord Calipash sighed. “Usually it just happens during the dark of the moon. She goes all froggy for a night, so we bung her in a handy pond or tub or water-barrel and fish her out again in the morning and that’s that. But the dark of the moon was
ages
ago. Sucking on that blasted tentacle, I dunno, caused it, and ever since then she’s been like this. Is it permanent, do you think?”

“I could not say, m’lord. Certainly I could call a doctor if you—”

The Lord Calipash backhanded me across the mouth.

“You will not speak of this to anyone,” he said softly, cracking his knuckles one-handed. “If you do I shall personally see to it that the rest of your natural life is as unpleasant and painful as possible. Do you understand me?”

The Lord Calipash was several inches shorter than me and I had at least a stone on him, but it seemed ill-advised to champion myself in that moment. I decided to wait—little did he know he could not so easily bully Reginald Jeeves.

“My discretion is absolute, m’lord,” I said, withdrawing a handkerchief from my pocket and dabbing at the side of my mouth, where I felt the blood trickling down. “I merely thought if Lady Alethea was in some discomfort, then perhaps some medicine might aid her.”

There was a splash, and the lady sat up in her tub. She was attractive in a nervous, lean way, like an overbred whippet. Her wet hair, cut into a ‘bob’ as they call it, streamed water all over her face. I tried not to look anywhere else, but I am only human.

“If you don’t know how to deal with my condition yet, you can think about it more later. The first thing we need you to do is figure out how best we can snatch and then smuggle that stupid octopus back with us to London,” she said, in a gasping, breathy sort of voice. “I’m fine. I can even get up, but people notice, and my skin dries out terrible quick.”

Most valets have, at some time or another, engaged in acts outside the guidelines of local law—it is part of our job, if our gentlemen require such, of course. I bowed to the lady.

“I did not realize you desired to possess the cephalopod that induced your unfortunate condition, Lady Alethea,” I said. “I am sure it could be managed—but if I may,
why
? I only ask as your particular needs may affect my planning. Do you suspect a study of its venom would produce an antidote, perhaps?”

“Never thought a moment about it,” said Lady Alethea. She swept her sodden hair out of her eyes with a webbed hand. I held back a shudder.

“Our grand scheme is to harvest whatever comes out of it and
sell
it, Jeeves. We’ll make a mint!” The Lord Calipash rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “We can bottle it as a cure-all or tonic or whatever to idiots keen on health clubs and sanatoriums and things, and we can sell it on the black market to opium addicts, maybe promote it as a cure for morphine addiction, like they did with that heroin stuff.”

“M’lord, I know a little of that scandal, and researchers discovered that heroin was metabolized as morphine, and, as it was faster acting, it was thusly more addictive than—”

“Jeeves—
Jeeves
. Silence,” urged the Lord Calipash, withdrawing a small switchblade knife from his pocket and, after releasing the blade, fingering it in a manner I can only assume was meant to impress upon me that I should take him seriously. “You don’t need to worry about the, I dunno,
ethics
or whatnot. I promise you, if you aid us, then we will telegraph you the name of the product so you need never worry about purchasing it. Of course, if you tell anyone about what it really is, my earlier threats stand. Neither Alethea nor I have any wish to end up like our American cousins, the Mortlows. Humiliated, shamed, imprisoned. Bally depressing.”

“But be assured, as a reward for your assistance, we’ll make sure you can look out for number one. That’s what we’re doing, after all,” added Lady Alethea.

“My lady?”

“We’re broke,” said the Lord Calipash. “Bankrupt. Glad Bertie didn’t win that little wager, Calipash Manor’s been seized by our creditors. A Swiss family lives there now, and much good may it do them. We made off with the most valuable things and have been hawking them at various jewelers and what have you. Infernal mess. Most of what we own is in this room, frankly.”

“You’re being hyperbolic,” wheezed Lady Alethea. “We still have the flat in London, you know.”

“For now.”

“Anyways who is this fellow, Alastair?” asked Lady Alethea. “Never seen him before. Wherever did you find him?”

“He’s Bertie Wooster’s valet, if you can imagine. Supposed to be brainy.”

“Good thing. We need someone with more than a few kippers in the jug. Lord knows you’re not fit for thinking.”

“And what are you fit for? Malt vinegar and brown paper?”

This aspersion seemed to agitate the Lady Alethea, and I feared I might be party to a row. Fortunately, I was there to intercede. I did not do this on their behalf, however—merely that I discerned that they were both rather flighty and given to intellectual wandering; I wished to aid them so I could get away from them as quickly as possible afterwards.

“Perhaps we would do best to plan this caper, m’lord, Lady Alethea,” I said, nodding to each in turn. “Tell me of where the beast is kept, and your vision for how you would best like this to all work out. I shall make my recommendations directly.”

I know this account is longer than many of my others in this book, but it does contain the foibles of not one, but two gentlemen who might at some point require a valet. The purpose of this tome is to educate and warn, so I feel being more specific rather than less is the right thing to do. But, out of consideration for my peers, I will try to be brief in my recounting the conclusion of this affair.

Lady Alethea and the Lord Calipash told me this tale about their initial encounter with the octopus: After receiving the telegram from Mr. Winthrop, they had sought him here only to be informed by Miss Cirrina Prideaux that he was not staying at the Vivarium. After they showed her the missive, however, she apparently conceded that he was indeed her guest, but was disinclined to see any visitors at this time. But would they like to see the reason for his summoning them?

They agreed, and the young lady somewhat unexpectedly escorted them down into the basement of her hotel. There, she kicked open a grate and had them descend a ladder, whereupon they walked for a time down a tunnel. According to them, it was quite dark and damp—one of the pair of the Lord Calipash’s best brogues apparently suffered substantial water damage—but after persevering for a time, they perceived a dim light. Eventually they ascertained that it emanated from a strange, blue-spotted octopus kept in an elaborate tank that opened via grate or grill to the ocean proper, so the fellow’s water-supply was always fresh and clean I suppose.

Though both Fitzroys expressed some curiosity over the iridescence of the creature, Cirrina Prideaux told them not to worry about it. She then began, according to the Fitzroys, to sing to the creature in a strange language. The octopus apparently responded with some enthusiasm, emitting a keening in a similar key, and then rose to the surface of the tank and extended an arm over the edge of the tank.