Usual Disclaimer.

Thanks to Ethelflaed, for Hildebrand. That has eased my mind.

Chapter Twenty

The aged relative stood up, gave my shoulder a squeeze, and walked silently out.

I don't know how long I sat there. The sun was going down when I had made up my mind what to do. I stood up, and began making myself respectable again.

Eventually, I looked ready to go out into the wide world again. Which was good, because that was exactly what I intended to do. It may be said of Bertram Wooster, that he is a chump. But it will never be said that when he is down, he is out. I was going to jolly well rise on the stepping-stones of my dead self to higher things.

I walked slowly down the stairs, and over to a small note pad on an occasional table by the door. It was obviously used for taking telephone calls and such. I scribbled a hasty note to my good Aunt, and legged it.

I was halfway to London by the time the full realisation of what I was doing got to me. I was going to London, to remove the girl of my heart from the clutches of her rabid father, some large chappie called Edward, and the fiend in sheep's clothing Glossop.

It was about sevenish when I got to my flat. I dropped the car off at the garage, and jumped in the lift. The flat was, as always, immaculate. I looked around sadly. There was change in the air. Even a chump like myself could sense it.

I poured myself a quick whiskey and soda, before returning to the garage, and driving round to Emily's. It was dark as I knocked on the door.

I was expecting Mr Cooper. Instead, the man Binsley appeared. He reached forward in a deliberate manner, and took me by my shirt collar. Lifting me inside, he slammed me against a convenient wall, before stating;

"You're here to see Emily, aren't you?"

I couldn't do much. But what I could do, I did quickly. I biffed the bloke hard in the region of his stomach. It didn't agree with him. He dropped me, and curled up in a ball on the floor.

It didn't agree with my fist either. The man was made of steel, surely. I crept further along the corridor, feeling like one of those secret agents you read about.

The next obstacle was Mr Cooper himself. He was walking from the washroom to the sitting room, a journey I had previously made backwards.

He only noticed me as he entered the s.room. He turned a tad sharp and caught his nose on the doorframe. He waved his arms frantically at me, and got a hold on my sleeve. I rushed for the sitting room, and there was a nasty tearing sound. The cost, they say, for true love can be quite a big amount. I felt I had got off lightly with the loss of a coat sleeve.

I shot in, and banged the door home. There was a handy sofa or something nearby, which I pulled across like a barrier. It struck me then that Emily might not be in this particular room. Rather sticky, if this was so.

I spun on my axis, and there the girl was. Looking angelic, as always, framed by the tall glass doors behind, with the light streaming in.

However, my eyes were caught by the look on her face. She was looking at me like a cat looks at a faraway fish; longing, is the word I want.

"Emily, I . . ."

Then I saw the blighter. Hildebrand Glossop in person. He was kneeling down in front of the heavenly vision. Proposing. Dash him, he was actually proposing. He sends round the letter to father, and when he gets the nod, there he is rubbing it in on the poor girl. Pretty thick.

"Wooster! What in the blazes are you doing here?"

"Glossop, I've come to claim what is rightfully mine."

"Oh? Do I owe you a fiver or something?"

I drew myself up at that. He couldn't possibly be so blind to my feelings. Or Emily's for that matter. She looked positively forlorn.

"No, Glossop. I've come to take Emily's hand in marriage."

Glossop got up. He marched over to me, and glowered at me.

"Look, Wooster, I've settled it with Emily's father that we'll get married. He doesn't want you to marry Emily, and neither does she . . ."

"Actually, Mr Glossop, you've never asked me. No one has ever asked me about wanting to marry you."

"Oh. Well, you do of course."

Emily got all huffy at that straight from the stable. Emily, although on first meeting may seem like the 'Madeline Basset' sort, is actually one of those modern girls you read about. All cold eyed, and made of chilled steel. It amazed me I had fallen for her like this, but then I suppose love works in mysterious ways.

She grabbed Glossop by the ear, and tugged. The effect was immediate. He made a sound like a dog being trodden on. Emily added twist to the assault on the man's ear, and he was as good as finished with. Emily let go, and began to execute the joyful bound into her lovers arms, when she was prevented from doing so by the entrance of another bimbo through the French doors.

I had had my arms out, ready to scoop the joyfully bounding female up, preparatory to making a speedy getaway. It never looks good when the girl b.joyfully, and the male half of the sketch drops her.

I quickly dropped the arms, however, when I got a good view of our visitor. It was Jeeves.

"Oh, good evening Mr Wooster. Miss Cooper."

"Hello uncle. Bertie was just saying hello."

There came a gurgle from the region of the carpet. Glossop was trying to get up. Emily kicked him. Jeeves took strong views on this in an instant. He looked dis-pleased.

"If you may allow me to say so, Miss Emily, I would not advocate the provoking of Mr Glossop. He was wishing to marry you, and may not feel so inclined if you kick him."

Emily seemed brightened by this news. She kicked the fiend again.

"Good show, light of my life. Give him one from Bertram while you're about it, and then we'll be off."

Emily duly complied, and started off toward the French windows. I followed suit, casting an aloof glance at Jeeves as I did.

Once outside, we scooted for the two-seater. Emily and self hopped in, and were off pretty quickish. We drove along in silence for quite a while, until Emily dropped a bomb on the proceedings;

"Bertie, you realise what we're doing is pretty frightful."

"No, I don't dearest one, how are you thinking?"

"Well, technically it's eloping, isn't it?"

Here my emotion was such that we nearly never lived to see another church, let alone get married in one. My hands jerked the steering wheel so hard that the car almost nose dived into a local hedge.

There was a frosty silence, until I couldn't stand it any longer;

"Emily, I don't care what it's called, we're getting married. And if Binsley, Jeeves, Glossop and your father don't like it, well tough for them."

Emily attempted to hug me at this point, but thought it beneficial to both her and me that we not finish up in a car crash in a field.

We got to Aunt Dahlia's place pretty late. Yawning and stretching, we staggered to the front door. The Butler opened it again, and appeared to have the beginnings of a heart attack on the doorstep. Luckily, he recognised me, and let us in.

Aunt Dahlia was up and wandering round the house with Angela. Uncle Tom had gone to bed, but the women of the house were worrying. Quite touching. Upon seeing me and Emily amble up the stairs, Aunt Dahlia and the good cousin did their very best lemon-squeezer impressions on us. After much protesting for the right to breathe, we were allowed out of the clinch.

"Oh, Bertie! I'm glad you back. I know you're a chump nephew, but really . . ."

Angela seemed all gooey-eyed and sweetness. She kept looking at me as if I was some sort of knight in shining armour. And she kept saying things like; "How romantic!" and "Oh, wonderful!" as I related the tale. Most disconcerting.

Emily just stood there looking like a damsel, blushing regularly and beaming. Angela's over awed enthusiasm for the entire thing didn't bother her. Aunt Dahlia was viewing me with a new glint in her eye. After the retelling had ended, she said sweetly;

"Well, it was all very brave of you, darling nephew. I just hope your other nice Aunty Agatha sees it that way."