‘Very good, Sir Watkyn.’
‘Bit out of condition, that chap,’ said Plank, eyeing Butterfield’s retreating back. ‘Wants a few games of Rugger to put him in shape. What are you going to do about this Alpine Joe fellow? You going to charge him?’
‘I certainly am. No doubt he assumed that I would shrink from causing a scandal, but he was wrong. I shall let the law take its course.’
‘Quite right. Soak him to the utmost limit. You’re a Justice of the Peace, aren’t you?’
‘I am, and intend to give him twenty-eight days in the second division.’
‘Or sixty? Nice round number, sixty. You couldn’t make it six months, I suppose?’
‘I fear not.’
‘No, I imagine you have a regular tariff. Ah, well, twenty-eight days is better than nothing.’
‘Police Constable Oates,’ said Butterfield in the doorway.
24
* * *
I DON’T KNOW why it is, but there’s something about being hauled off to a police bin that makes you feel a bit silly. At least, that’s how it always affects me. I mean, there you are, you and the arm of the Law, toddling along side by side, and you feel that in a sense he’s your host and you ought to show an interest and try to draw him out. But it’s so difficult to hit on anything in the nature of an exchange of ideas, and conversation never really flows. I remember at my private school, the one I won a prize for Scripture Knowledge at, the Rev. Aubrey Upjohn, the top brass, used to take us one by one for an educational walk on Sunday afternoons, and I always found it hard to sparkle when my turn came to step out at his side. It was the same on this occasion, when I accompanied Constable Oates to the village coop. It’s no good my pretending the thing went with a swing, because it didn’t.
Probably if I’d been one of the topnotchers, about to do a ten years stretch for burglary or arson or what not, it would have been different, but I was only one of the small fry who get twenty-eight days in the second division, and I couldn’t help thinking the officer was looking down on me. Not actually sneering, perhaps, but aloof in his manner, as if feeling I wasn’t much for a cop to get his teeth into.
And, of course, there was another thing. Speaking of my earlier visit to Totleigh Towers, I mentioned that when Pop Bassett immured me in my room, he stationed the local police force on the lawn below to see that I didn’t nip out of the window. That local police force was this same Oates, and as it was raining like the dickens at the time, no doubt the episode had rankled. Only a very sunny constable can look with an indulgent eye on the fellow responsible for his getting the nastiest cold in the head of his career.
At any rate, he showed himself now a man of few words, though good at locking people up in cells. There was only one at the Totleigh-in-the-Wold emporium, and I had it all to myself, a cosy little apartment with a window, not barred but too small to get out of, a grille in the door, a plank bed and that rather powerful aroma of drunks and disorderlies which you always find in these homes from home. Whether it was superior or inferior to the one they had given me at Bosher Street, I was unable to decide. Not much in it either way, it seemed to me.
To say that when I turned in on the plank bed I fell into a dreamless sleep would be deceiving my public. I passed a somewhat restless night. I could have sworn, indeed, that I didn’t drop off at all, but I suppose I must have done, because the next thing I knew sunlight was coming through the window and mine host was bringing me breakfast.
I got outside it with an appetite unusual with me at such an early hour, and at the conclusion of the meal I fished out an old envelope and did what I have sometimes done before when the bludgeonings of Fate were up and about to any extent – viz. make a list of Credits and Debits, as I believe Robinson Crusoe used to. The idea being to see whether I was ahead of or behind the game at moment of going to press.
The final score worked out as follows:
And the Debit account didn’t utter. I had baffled it.
Yes, I felt, as I hunted around in case there might be a crumb of bread which I had overlooked, that amply compensated me for the vicissitudes I was undergoing. And I had been musing along these lines for a while, getting more and more reconciled to my lot, when a silvery voice spoke, making me jump like a startled grasshopper. I couldn’t think where it was coming from at first, and speculated for a moment on the possibility of it being my guardian angel, though I had always thought of him, I don’t know why, as being of the male sex. Then I saw something not unlike a human face at the grille, and a closer inspection told me that it was Stiffy.
I Hullo-there-ed cordially, and expressed some surprise at finding her on the premises.
‘I wouldn’t have thought Oates would have let you in. It isn’t Visitors Day, is it?’
She explained that the zealous officer had gone up to the house to see her Uncle Watkyn and that she had sneaked in when he had legged it.
‘Oh, Bertie,’ she said, ‘I wish I could slip you in a file.’
‘What would I do with a file?’
‘Saw through the bars, of course, ass.’
‘There aren’t any bars.’
‘Oh, aren’t there? That’s a difficulty. We’ll have to let it go, then. Have you had breakfast?’
‘Just finished.’
‘Was it all right?’
‘Fairly toothsome.’
‘I’m glad to hear that, because I’m weighed down with remorse.’
‘You are? Why?’
‘Use the loaf. If I hadn’t pinched that statuette thing, none of this would have happened.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry.’
‘But I do worry. Shall I tell Uncle Watkyn that you’re innocent, because I was the guilty party? You ought to have your name cleared.’
I put the bee on this suggestion with the greatest promptitude.
‘Certainly not. Don’t dream of it.’
‘But don’t you want your name cleared?’
‘Not at the expense of you taking the rap.’
‘Uncle Watkyn wouldn’t send me to chokey.’
‘I dare say not, but Stinker would learn all and would be shocked to the core.’
‘Coo! I didn’t think of that.’
‘Think of it now. He wouldn’t be able to help asking himself if it was a prudent move for a vicar to link his lot with yours. Doubts, that’s what he’d have, and qualms. It isn’t as if you were going to be a gangster’s moll. The gangster would be all for you swiping everything in sight and would encourage you with word and gesture, but it’s different with Stinker. When he marries you, he’ll want you to take charge of the parish funds. Apprise him of the facts, and he won’t have an easy moment.’
‘I see what you mean. Yes, you have a point there.’
‘Picture his jumpiness if he found you near the Sunday offertory bag. No, secrecy and silence is the only course.’
She sighed a bit, as if her conscience was troubling her, but she saw the force of my reasoning.
‘I suppose you’re right, but I do hate the idea of you doing time.’
‘There are compensations.’
‘Such as?’
‘I am saved from the scaffold.’
‘The –? Oh, I see what you mean. You get out of marrying Madeline.’
‘Exactly, and, as I remember telling you once, I am implying nothing derogatory to Madeline when I say that the thought of being united to her in bonds of holy wedlock was one that gave your old friend shivers down the spine. The fact is in no way to her discredit. I should feel just the same about marrying many of the world’s noblest women. There are certain females whom one respects, admires, reveres, but only from a distance, and it is to this group that Madeline belongs.’
And I was about to develop this theme, with possibly a reference to those folk songs, when a gruff voice interrupted our tête-à-tête, if you can call a thing a tête-à-tête when the two of you are on opposite sides of an iron grille. It was Constable Oates, returned from his excursion. S
tiffy’s presence displeased him, and he spoke austerely.
‘What’s all this?’ he demanded.
‘What’s all what?’ riposted Stiffy with spirit, and I remember thinking that she rather had him there.
‘It’s against regulations to talk to the prisoner, Miss.’
‘Oates,’ said Stiffy, ‘you’re an ass.’
This was profoundly true, but it seemed to annoy the officer. He resented the charge, and said so, and Stiffy said she didn’t want any back chat from him.
‘You road company rozzers make me sick. I was only trying to cheer him up.’
It seemed to me that the officer gave a bitter snort, and a moment later he revealed why he had done so.
‘It’s me that wants cheering up,’ he said morosely, ‘I’ve just seen Sir Watkyn and he says he isn’t pressing the charge.’
‘What!’ I cried.
‘What!’ yipped Stiffy.
‘That’s what,’ said the constable, and you could see that while there was sunshine above, there was none in his heart. I could sympathize with him, of course. Naturally nothing makes a member of the Force sicker than to have a criminal get away from him. He was in rather the same position as some crocodile on the Zambesi or some puma in Brazil would have been, if it had earmarked Plank for its lunch and seen him shin up a high tree.
‘Shackling the police, that’s what I call it,’ he said, and I think he spat on the floor. I couldn’t see him, of course, but I was aware of a spit-like sound.
Stiffy whooped, well pleased, and I whooped myself, if I remember correctly. For all the bold front I had been putting up, I had never in my heart really liked the idea of rotting for twenty-eight days in a dungeon cell. Prison is all right for a night, but you don’t want to go overdoing the thing.
‘Then what are we waiting for?’ said Stiffy. ‘Get a move on, officer. Fling wide those gates.’
Oates flung them, not attempting to conceal his chagrin and disappointment, and I passed with Stiffy into the great world outside the prison walls.
‘Goodbye, Oates,’ I said as we left, for one always likes to do the courteous thing. ‘It’s been nice meeting you. How are Mrs. Oates and the little ones?’
His only reply was a sound like a hippopotamus taking its foot out of the mud on a river bank, and I saw Stiffy frown, as though his manner offended her.
‘You know,’ she said, as we reached the open spaces, ‘we really ought to do something about Oates, something that would teach him that we’re not put into this world for pleasure alone. I can’t suggest what offhand, but if we put our heads together, we could think of something. You ought to stay on, Bertie, and help me bring his ginger hairs in sorrow to the grave.’
I raised an eyebrow.
‘As the guest of your Uncle Watkyn?’
‘You could muck in with Harold. There’s a spare room at that cottage place of his.’
‘Sorry, no.’
‘You won’t stay on?’
‘I will not. I intend to put as many miles as possible in as short a time as possible between Totleigh-in-the-Wold and myself. And it’s no good your using that expression “lily-livered poltroon”, because I am adamant.’
She made what I believe is called a moue. It’s done by pushing the lips out and drawing them in again.
‘I thought it wouldn’t be any use asking you. No spirit, that’s your trouble, no enterprise. I’ll have to get Harold to do it.’
And as I stood shuddering at the picture her words conjured up, she pushed off, exhibiting dudgeon. And I was still speculating as to what tureen of soup she was planning to land the sainted Pinker in and hoping that he would have enough sense to stay out of it, when Jeeves drove up in the car, a welcome sight.
‘Good morning, sir,’ he said. ‘I trust you slept well.’
‘Fitfully, Jeeves. Those plank beds are not easy on the fleshy parts.’
‘So I would be disposed to imagine, sir. And your disturbed night has left you ruffled, I am sorry to see. You are far from soigné.’
I could, I suppose, have said something about ‘Way down upon the soigné river,’ but I didn’t. My mind was occupied with deeper thoughts. I was in pensive mood.
‘You know, Jeeves,’ I said, ‘one lives and learns.’
‘Sir?’
‘I mean, this episode has been a bit of an eye-opener to me. It has taught me a lesson. I see now what a mistake one makes in labelling someone as a ruddy Gawd-help-us just because he normally behaves like a ruddy Gawd-help-us. Look closely, and we find humanity in the unlikeliest places.’
‘A broadminded view, sir.’
‘Take this Sir W. Bassett. In my haste, I have always pencilled him in as a hellhound without a single redeeming quality. But what do I find? He has this softer side to him. Having got Bertram out on a limb, he does not, as one would have expected, proceed to saw it off, but tempers justice with mercy, declining to press the charge. It has touched me a good deal to discover that under that forbidding exterior there lies a heart of gold. Why are you looking like a stuffed frog, Jeeves? Don’t you agree with me?’
‘Not altogether, sir, when you attribute Sir Watkyn’s leniency to sheer goodness of heart. There were inducements.’
‘I don’t dig you, Jeeves.’
‘I made it a condition that you be set at liberty, sir.’
My inability to dig him became intensified. He seemed to me to be talking through the back of his neck, the last thing you desire in a personal attendant.
‘How do you mean, condition? Condition of what?’
‘Of my entering his employment, sir. I should mention that during my visit to Brinkley Court Sir Watkyn very kindly expressed appreciation of the manner in which I performed my duties and made me an offer to leave your service and enter his. This offer, conditional upon your release, I have accepted.’
The police station at Totleigh-in-the-Wold is situated in the main street of that village, and from where we were standing I had a view of the establishments of a butcher, a baker, a grocer and a publican licensed to sell tobacco, ales and spirits. And as I heard these words, this butcher, this baker, this grocer and this publican seemed to pirouette before my eyes as if afflicted with St. Vitus dance.
‘You’re leaving me?’ I gasped, scarcely able to b. my e.
The corner of his mouth twitched. He seemed to be about to smile, but of course thought better of it.
‘Only temporarily, sir.’
Again I was unable to dig him.
‘Temporarily?’
‘I think it more than possible that after perhaps a week or so differences will arise between Sir Watkyn and myself, compelling me to resign my position. In that event, if you are not already suited, sir, I shall be most happy to return to your employment.’
I saw all. It was a ruse, and by no means the worst of them. His brain enlarged by constant helpings of fish, he had seen the way and found a formula acceptable to all parties. The mists cleared from before my eyes, and the butcher, the baker, the grocer and the publican licensed to sell tobacco, ales and spirits switched back again to what is called the status quo.
A rush of emotion filled me.
‘Jeeves,’ I said, and if my voice shook, what of it? We Woosters are but human, ‘you stand alone. Others abide our question, but you don’t, as the fellow said. I wish there was something I could do to repay you.’
He coughed that sheep-like cough of his.
‘There does chance to be a favour it is within your power to bestow, sir.’
‘Name it, Jeeves. Ask of me what you will, even unto half my kingdom.’
‘If you could see your way to abandoning your Alpine hat, sir.’
I ought to have seen it coming. That cough should have told me. But I hadn’t, and the shock was severe. For an instant I don’t mind admitting that I reeled.
‘You would go as far as that?’ I said, chewing the lower lip.
‘It was merely a suggestion, sir.’
I took the hat o
ff and gazed at it. The morning sunlight played on it, and it had never looked so blue, its feather so pink.
‘I suppose you know you’re breaking my heart?’
‘I am sorry, sir.’
I sighed. But, as I have said, the Woosters can take it.
‘Very well, Jeeves. So be it.’
I gave him the hat. It made me feel like a father reluctantly throwing his child from the sledge to divert the attention of the pursuing wolf pack, as I believe happens all the time in Russia in the winter months, but what would you?
‘You propose to burn this Alpine hat, Jeeves?’
‘No, sir. To present it to Mr. Butterfield. He thinks it will be of assistance to him in his courtship.’
‘His what?’
‘Mr. Butterfield is courting a widowed lady in the village, sir.’
This surprised me.
‘But surely he was a hundred and four last birthday?’
‘He is well stricken in years, yes, sir, but nevertheless –’
‘There’s life in the old dog yet?’
‘Precisely, sir.’
My heart melted. I ceased to think of self. It had just occurred to me that in the circumstances I would be unable to conclude my visit by tipping Butterfield. The hat would fill that gap.
‘All right, Jeeves, give him the lid, and heaven speed his wooing. You might tell him that from me.’
‘I will make a point of doing so. Thank you very much, sir.’
‘Not at all, Jeeves.’
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Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781407071435
First published in this collection 1992