It really was incomprehensible how much Bingo spent on telegrams. I read his communication a second time:
I say Bertie old man I really need your help. Things really are extraordinary here at the present and I have no one here with whom I can consult. I simply am getting no sleep whatsoever. Come here at once and bring Jeeves. Oh I say, you know that tobacco shop in Bond street on the left side as you go up? Will you get me a hundred of their special cigarettes and send them to me here? I have run out. I know when you get here you will help me get to the bottom of this affair. Mind you bring Jeeves. And don't forget the cigarettes. -Bingo
"Jeeves? I say, Jeeves?"
"Sir?"
"I've just read this communication you've brought me. It's from Bingo."
"And what has Mr. Little communicated to you, sir?"
"Apparently there is something amiss at Ditteredge Hall and he's requested our presence," I relayed. "More likely than not, he's in love again and wants my opinion on the current candidate."
"The weather in the Lakes District is blooming currently, sir. The Hall's acer campestrae are particularly beautiful at this time of year."
Really, Jeeves was simply a marvel. The man knew everything. I'm sure I could ask him the weather in a small town in some obscure locale in America and he would know the air temperature and the pressure thing.
"If you would, Jeeves, please pack our things. I believe we've plenty of time for the 2:10 train, what ho?"
"Shall I pack those lavender spats, sir?"
I sensed his insubordination. Jeeves fancies himself an expert on the latest sartorial trends, but I feel sometimes he is simply stuck in the past. And besides, the man worked for me, not vice versa.
"Of course. After all, there may be croquet."
Ditteredge Hall is the ancestral abode of one Sir Roderick Glossop, the eminent looney doctor. Apparently, he's cured some of the royals of the crazies, but you have to get quite a bit of port into him before he'll squeal. Anyway, he's married to a great friend of my Aunt Agatha, the Lady Glossop. An accommodating woman, always happy to see me at the Hall, with or without invitation.
Sir and Lady Glossop begat upon our world two offspring, Honoria and her quite younger brother, Oswald, heir to the peerage. A large, brainy girl, Honoria had been in love with me once, but we'd cleared up that unfortunate confusion, thank goodness. And ever since, we'd been pals.
"Bertie!" she screamed, putting her hands up as if to defend herself, most likely a habit picked up from her years boxing varsity at Girton Girls' College. Ah, I say, no. She was attempting to hug me. How very odd. That embarrassing spectacle complete, she threaded her arm through mine and proceeded to walk me among the Hall's famous grounds.
"So how have you been, Bertie?"
"Oh, I don't know. Fine. And you, Honoria?"
"Well, you know Bertie. Difficult time of year, this."
"Right, right," I fumbled. I really couldn't understand what it was about the upcoming Whit Monday holiday that would make anything difficult. But, I avoided religious discussions as a rule. And the last thing I needed right now was a sturdy woman sobbing in my arms.
"I say, have you seen Bingo?"
"He's run into the city with Oswald."
"Really? Whatever for?"
"You do know he's tutoring him, yes?" She laughed her middleweight deep guffaw. A spectre of swifts took to the air at the sound.
"I'm afraid Bingo made no mention of it." How very puzzling. Why call me to the country if you were coming to the city? "How long will he be gone?"
"Just a few days. I'm afraid you'll have to be content with our company, Bertie!"
"I've run your bath, sir. Will there be anything else?"
"Thank you Jeeves, I can carry on from here. See you in the morning. Bright and early!"
"Yes, sir. I will wake you at 10."
The Glossops put me up in the southern wing of the Hall, on the second floor, 'above stairs' as it were. Bingo's bedroom was here somewhere among the other five guest rooms. I got the blue room, its nom de désign due to the deviser's overuse of the hue. Really, it was quite a thing to behold. Although, come to think of it, the color could possibly aid in the manufacture of sleep.
Thankfully, my room was farthest from the bathroom. I'd gone to school with Bingo and, frankly, still cannot get those horrible sounds out of mind, despite the years.
Much later in the evening, deep in the Land of Nod, I was woken by a horrible ruckus, like a clap of giant cymbals played by an orchestra conducted by the Devil himself.
"Bloody hell, what was that?" Of course, no one was in my room with me, or the entire floor for that matter, so this question was rhetorical. But, the question remained: Who else is in this hallway if I'm the only current resident? Surely the Glossops hadn't received a visitor after dinner tonight?
I donned my silk robe and pair of Burton's wool slippers, a gift from my Aunt Dahlia last Christmas, and creeped out into the hallway. It was dark, except for the moonlight issuing from the window at the end of the hall by the bathroom. No evidence of life from the other rooms in the hallway, all their doors shut.
I headed toward the bathroom at the end of the hall, no reason to waste a wake-up. Suddenly, one of the doors opened and issued forth a little tyke, midget-like, pudgy, and quite unexpectedly wearing a newsboy hat, some sort of woolen sweater, short pants with braces and knee-socks. Strange things to wear in the middle of the night.
"I say, child. What in the blazes are you doing up here? Go away!" The mongrel jumped a yard at my voice, then entered the bedroom he'd come from, slamming the door with an earsplitting clap. Wooster men are not such to shirk from the duty of disciplining a naughty child. My obligation foremost in my mind, I hurried after the brute.
I tried the door knob, but the little monster locked it from the inside. "What? You! Open this door right this instant!" But my importunate command fell on deaf ears, or impertinent ones. Really, I believe I may have to paddle the contemptuous little swine when I catch him. I tried everything I could think of, to no avail. One final decree to the pertinacious monster to keep himself in his room without further slamming of doors or windows, then I repaired to my room, forgetting completely my plan for a midnight constitutional.
"Jeeves, the strangest thing occurred last night."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Quite, quite" I parried. I gave him a review of my midnight meeting with the churlish child.
"Sir, I can assure you Master Oswald is still in the city with Mr. Little."
"Yes, Jeeves, that I know. But this creature was not Oswald. This one was about half the height, pudgy and wearing short pants with braces. Really quite a queer encounter."
"I see, sir. Shall I make enquiries of the staff? Perhaps find the youth's parents, determine why he was out of bed at such an hour?"
"Jolly good, Jeeves! Sounds just the right step to take, thank you."
Jeeves and I spent a great part of a lovely early summer Sunday on the lawns of Ditteredge Hall, including a spirited game of croquet with Honoria as my partner. Despite Jeeves's derisive sneers at my wonderfully appropriate lavender spats, I held strong; My pal and I overcame her parents' efforts and won three games to two.
I excused myself early from after-supper brandy and cigars. Throughout the day I'd seen no other guests at the Hall, so I didn't ask any of the Glossops for information on my midnight visitor. What could they have thought of me, dreaming up such an encounter? For that matter, maybe I had dreamt the entire affair? No, certainly not.
"Sir, I've asked the staff and none reports any children of the description you've given me currently presiding at Ditteredge Hall. Actually, sir, there are no children here at all save for young Master Oswald, who is of course currently in the city with Mr. Little."
"But that's not possible Jeeves. I'd seen the blighter with my own eyes. Yay tall, pudgy, wearing braces with his short pants, terrible haircut."
"I recall your description, sir, yet I must report that none of the staff here has seen such a creature." He stood stiff for a moment, as if ready for something distasteful. "Perhaps it was simply a nightmare. Sir."
I dismissed Jeeves disdainfully. Was the man a mind-reader now?
Several hours later found me creeping along my hallway, trying all the doors. Contrary to the previous night's discovery, the door the little blighter slammed in front of me was unlocked. I entered and switched on a small lamp on a dresser by the door.
"Must be Oswald's room," I guessed. Typical adolescent space, complete with small desk, with books strewn on it; a closet against the far wall; dresser; and small bed. A quick look through the clothing and I was struck by the sizes. Too small for 13-year old Oswald. This must be the room of that little monster.
A door slamming from outside the room made me jump so high I most certainly would have made the Malvern House high jump record. Evidently, the infant has returned.
I snuck out of the blighter's room, the better to silently creep up and grab him. He was at the end of the hall, dangerously close to my room, doing something at one of the side tables, his back to me. Years of slinking around the school halls in my youth had prepared me for the coming capture. Halfway to the tiny miscreant...
I heard the sound of a door opening behind me, so I took my eye off the target but for a second. Yes, the door to the room I was just in was slowly opening. I returned to the task at hand and heavens, I couldn't believe it. The little devil was gone.
A slamming door from behind made me jump yet again, and God Himself alone knows how, but he had gotten behind me. He was looking right at me and began to laugh. That tiny infant mouth produced a cackle that, I must confess, chilled my spine. My only thought at that moment was to return to my room, cover my ears with pillows, and try to survive till morning.
But before I could turn back to my room, the little criminal slammed the door he'd just opened, and was gone. I decided to not bother with checking the doorknob, and returned to my room, praying for sleep. Or a quick death.
I woke to Jeeves cleaning up my typical bedroom detritus. Just in time, it turns out. He was grasping my lovely spats with a supercilious air. Whatever was he planning? I can never be sure. I commanded my contumacious valet to drop them, as I would need them for the day's activities. I considered telling him of my night time encounter, then thought better of it. He wasn't the most supportive the previous day. He'd probably think Bertram Wilberforce Wooster off his rocker.
Breakfast was a lonely affair; none of the family was in attendance. Odd is what I'd call it. I filled myself with some excellent black pudding and baked beans, quaffed my English Breakfast tea, tightened my spats, and proceeded to the Hall's lawns, intent on some croquet practice.
Sir and Lady Glossop were sitting on their porch off what I must presume is their bedroom. Both were adorned in all black; a strange choice for such a sunny and warm day. As I strolled the grounds, I noticed that the croquet mallets, hoops and balls all had been removed. What the devil? But what would the party do all day without croquet? Talk to one another?
My mind did some wanderings, as did my feet. It really was quite a breath-taking day, the sun glorious, the weather warm. I must have traveled the equivalent of the entire High Street by the time I came upon Honoria, in a hidden, secret enclosure I never knew existed here at Ditteredge. An ancient-looking sign on the wrought-iron gate informed visitors of the curtilage's name: Misselthwaite Garden.
Honoria hadn't heard me coming. Rather, I heard her first, sobbing slightly, her massive shoulders bobbing up and down. I really don't remember ever seeing her in such a state, her usual demeanor po-faced and staid.
"I say, Honoria, whatever is the matter?" I probably should have given her a warning prior to my query, as she jumped a bit, turned her head somewhat, then resumed a quiet weeping. I approached carefully and put my arm around her shoulder, breaking my usual rule about such public displays.
"Oh Bertie, such a grey day," she proclaimed. I looked about us, squinting against the sun. Had the poor girl lost her sight? What was she talking about, grey?
"Well…" I started, ready to debate her prognosis on the day.
"He was a mischievous little git sometimes, you know? Always running in and out of my room, slamming the door as if he were afraid of a draught. Still, I miss the little bug. Can't believe it's been 10 years he's gone."
The day turned cold, the warmth of the sun so recently heating up my flannels forgotten, goose flesh sprouting on my extremities. Honoria was standing in front of a small marble tombstone, with inscribed dates of birth and death for whom it turns out was her unknown-to-me first brother, one Henry Merrywether Glossop. The memorial was complete with an etched portrait of the young blighter who'd been haunting my recent nights, the pudgy spirit complete with short pants and braces. I don't remember much after that; I'm told I fainted. According to Jeeves, Honoria carried me all the way back to the Hall and put me to bed. And most mysterious of all, I do believe that ghost stole my lavender spats!