Jeeves & The Principal Boy
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Jeeves, who is worth a dozen common or garden family retainers, added a dash of soda. "There's nothing like the cocktail hour," I remarked appreciatively, taking the glass. Christmas was coming and I was filled with tremendous goodwill. I would rest merry at Brinkley Court, surrounded by my loved ones, on a surfeit of superb fare prepared by the hugely talented Anatole.
"No, indeed sir," he agreed. That's the wonderful thing about Jeeves – except in the matter of neckties we're generally sympathique. It was a bond I could only see strengthening down the years.
"It's been a long afternoon, Jeeves."
"Was it busy at the Drones, sir?"
"I only called in for a snifter; which was my mistake," I added, moodily. "I wish I had stayed at the bally Drones." An impromptu darts tournament had been under way but I'd missed the early rounds.
"Indeed?"
The man's tone was encouraging so I expanded; "Who do you suppose I bumped into, right out of the blue?"
"I really couldn't say."
"No, well, she came at me 'out of the sun' - like whojamacallit - in his red plane."
"The late Baron Manfred von Richtofen - known as the Red Baron - the German flying ace?"
"That's the blighter; you're a positive mine of information, Jeeves."
"I do my best, sir."
"Deuced impressive it is too. Anyway, what was I saying? Oh yes – I walked slap into Honoria Glossop. It gave me a nasty shock, I can tell you."
"It certainly must have done."
"It did. Sent shivers down the old spine. She was Christmas shopping and some poor devil in her employ was laden with parcels like a pack mule." I drank, deeply. "She reminded me of – what are those soldiers?"
"Grenadier Guards, perchance, sir?"
"Ah, she reminds you of one too, hey?"
"It would be most improper of me to say so, sir."
"Quite, quite. Anyway, she reminded me of a Grenadier Guard in tight boots, waiting to stick someone with a bayonet."
"Christmas can be a fretful time, sir," the man suggested.
"Not for the Glossop horror;" I didn't hesitate to correct him. "She orders everyone around like a dashed sultan and they do her bidding."
"Well, she does know her own mind, sir."
"That, Jeeves, is quite the understatement. Anyway, she was with young Clytemnestra Marjoribanks, a sort of cousin, on my father's side."
"A most charming young lady, if I may say so, sir."
"You may; charming and a jolly sort too. She had her beastly little brother Rupert in tow," I gave a shudder, for young boys are apt to find me an object of amusement, for obscure reasons of their own. There the matter should have ended but, unbeknownst to Bertram, the sword of Damocles was suspended over me.
Aunt Dahlia is another very good sort, but Christmas was severely curtailed due to the influenza. I was one of the few fortunate enough not to catch the thing. "Idiocy must provide immunity," my loving aunt observed unkindly. Even Anatole was laid up and some sort of junior scullery maid was in charge of the kitchen. The day following the feast of Stephen found me motoring back to the metrop' away from that lazar house. I'd scarcely been home twenty four hours when I had word from cousin Clytemnestra.
"Well, if this isn't the bally icing on the bally Christmas cake," I said having read her telegram.
"Sir?"
"Twenty four Kentish Mansions is yet another house of pestilence. The whole lot of them, except Nessy and that little blister Rupert, are struck down with the influenza. Rupert is desperate to go to the pantomime and young Clytemnestra begs me to take him. It seems I'm the only poor fish left in town with the use of his limbs. Aunt Dahlia has ratted on me." I frowned, darkly, at the malice of one's nearest and dearest.
"That's very unfortunate, sir."
"I expect young boys still eat toffee and bulls eyes. No doubt he'll want to gorge himself throughout the entire entertainment." Being a verray, parfait gentil knyght and all that, I was prepared to take on the unpleasant responsibility, yet felt entitled to gripe about it behind closed doors.
"I should think so, sir."
The following afternoon found Rupert and self at a matinee performance of Cinderella. I have cherished memories of such things at Drury Lane but either pantomime or my tastes have changed. Queuing was bad enough, in a jostle of excitable children, anxious mothers and grim faced fathers. "I should have had a livener first," one muttered to me (and I was much struck by the truth of his statement). The gaudy plaster cherubs in the foyer were possessed of knowing smirks, as if to say 'you're in for it now, Wooster'. I've never heard a volcano explode but, I guess, they can't rival a Pantomime audience for noise. I will say though that the comic songs were rather jolly. I found myself subsequently singing a couple of the better ones. Rupert had, inevitably, been something of a trial at first. He seemed to regard me as an entertainment in myself but, as the show wore on, he became rather dumbstruck. It was a blessed relief, frankly.
After the event, I took him to a café and stuffed him full of teacakes. He was a little silent but had apparently derived deep satisfaction from the whole affair. I hailed a taxi and bunged him through his own front door, thankful that the thing had passed off without disaster. It was four days before I was brought crashing down to earth.
"Bertie! I must talk to you!" Cousin Clytemnestra bobbed about on the doormat like a small but angry mine, liable to explode at any moment.
"Nessy! Come in, come in. You interest me strangely."
"Did Rupert say anything to you?" The girl tugged at her gloves – agitated but ineffectual.
"I did most of the talking, to be honest. Young Rupert regarded me with a glassy eye and a smile of contempt much of the time."
"It's about this wretched girl, Bertie, Miss Pimlico."
"Come again, old stick?" I hadn't the least clue what my cousin was talking about.
"Miss Pimlico – you know – from that wretched pantomime."
"Miss… Oh, the whatjamacallit, principal boy? Beribboned stick – tights – powdered hair?"
"Yes; that's the siren. Well, did Rupert say much?"
"Not that I recall, why?"
"Because he's in love, Bertie."
I laughed heartily, until I saw that Cousin Clytemnestra was likely to pop with annoyance. "Sorry. Well, he's a young lad; the excitement of the theatre, boys get carried away."
"He's sloped off twice already to see her; he even admitted that he's been at the stage door."
"Golly; he's quick off the mark. Those stage door Johnnie types are usually of a more mature age."
Clytemnestra lowered her voice, "You remember old Laurence Carnaby… Maybe it runs in the family?"
"Dash it all, Clytemnestra, Carnaby is such a distant relative I don't think there's even a name for it. He's a connection – at best. Young Rupert is in the first throes of his first romance; I wouldn't worry."
"Well, it seems to me that this Pimlico bird is encouraging him."
"No, really? She does know that he's a snotty little schoolboy doesn't she? He's not exactly in his toga virilis yet."
"He'll be seventeen soon. Mummy is worried about… Gretna Green." Clytemnestra's voice lowered to an awful whisper.
"Oh, surely not?" Nobody in the family had ever married over the anvil.
"Anyway; he's gone again. You must find him Bertie and bring him back. Impress upon him that he'll be in all sorts of trouble if Daddy finds out."
"Still laid up, is he?"
"He is. Well, will you go?" The poor kid was clearly at her wits end so I could hardly refuse.
As Clytemnestra predicted, I found Rupert loitering about the stage door. The alleyway was shady and the dustbins smelled strongly. "Hullo, young Rupert," I said (keeping it airy).
"Oh, it's you," the youth replied, without enthusiasm.
"Your sister wants you home."
"The shows not over yet," he fretted.
Now, there are plenty of tried and tested methods for dealing with unruly little ticks (I learned many of them at the old school). Rupert was however getting to be a bit of a big lad and I didn't much fancy trying them. I resorted to blackmail. "If you aren't back within the hour, your unhappy father will be informed." To my relief, that did the trick.
"Oh very well," he agreed, his face like a wet weekend in Hove.
Upon our arrival, Clytemnestra flung open the door faster than any well trained butler. "There you are, you little beast." She clamped a hand firmly upon his shoulder in a manner that reminded me uncomfortably of a policeman.
"Yes, here I am," the boy said glumly.
"You'll bring down my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave," his loving sister told him. "Now go and tidy yourself up, for heaven's sake. Thanks awfully, Bertie!" She gave me an impulsive peck on the cheek by way of recompense.
Have you ever had a premonition? I have. I knew that wasn't the end of the matter. There was a determined gleam in Rupert's eyes, that reminded me of Bingo Little in his most lovelorn of states. Over the next week love deepened and Clytemnestra turned to me once more. "You must do something, Bertie."
"I'm at a loss," I admitted. "I suppose I could talk to Jeeves."
"Are you a man or a jellyfish?"
That stung; I can't deny it. "Well, according to Aunt Agatha, that is a moot point, but I am most definitely a man." I paced the room (as the moment seemed to call for it). "Jeeves is the most sagacious – if that's the word – fellow I know".
"You must talk to this wretched girl and tell her to leave Rupert alone," my cousin decided.
"Won't she draw herself up to her full four feet eleven inches and give me a withering stare?"
"You must make it plain that he is sixteen and hasn't a penny. If he makes a mesalliance Daddy will cast him into outer darkness."
"Where there's wailing and a gnashing of teeth? Surely it's not come to that, old top?"
"I rather think it has Bertie. Now, I suggest you go this afternoon, to buttonhole the girl after the matinee." Clytemnestra left me, gulping for air, like a flounder floundering on a dry riverbed.
If you've ever confronted a girl to say that love is impossible then you'll know what an absolute rotter one feels. A complete and utter stinker, in fact. I gathered that Rupert was under house arrest so I was spared his reproaches at least. I gave some stagehand chappie ten bob to take Miss Pimlico my card and requested an interview.
"Come through, squire," he said, guiding me backstage. We came to a door hung with a crooked silver star and he rapped; "Gentleman to see you, Lizzy."
In tones that owed more to South London than Mayfair, the principal boy cheerfully told me to enter. "Ah, what-ho, Miss Pimlico," I said.
The dressing room was cramped and smelt faintly of fried fish (mainly because the lady was eating said fish). There was also an air of mould. The mirror was tarnished and the dressing table was new (during the early reign of the old Queen). Miss Pimlico had shed her principal boy outfit - except for the tights - and was wrapped in a voluminous robe. She had her feet up on the dressing table and was sipping delicately from a bottle of stout. "Mr Wooster," she said, reading from my card.
"At your service."
"Much obliged. What can I do for you? You liked the show?"
"Um, yes, very much, of course," I lied. "Actually, I'm here on a rather delicate matter."
"Oh yes," she said, now eyeing me askance. "You chaps usually wait at the stage door after dark."
"No, no, goodness me," I hastened to correct her. "It's a funny thing really – you'll probably laugh - if you'll let me explain."
"Alright then," she replied good naturedly. "Mind if I eat? I'm pretty ravenous."
"No, not at all, you carry on."
Miss Pimlico swallowed another piece of fish. She had a hungry look about her that reminded me irresistibly of Tuppy Glossop at mete. "Much obliged. Well, tell your story then, I could do with a laugh."
I told the lady my tale and she listened with a sympathetic, if amused, ear. "The poor boy," she said as I concluded. "I hope you don't think I've encouraged him? I've hardly seen him - although I've been told that he's been hanging about like the smell of kippers."
"Perish the thought," I assured her.
The actress lowered her voice (even though no one else was present); "I aren't a cradle snatcher. Anyway, I have – let's say – high hopes of Lord Carnaby."
"Carnaby, hey? Well, I wish you both well." Old Carnaby – 'Larry Limelight' - was still up to his tricks, was he? I suppose one has to admire his determination.
"Oh, nothing's settled," Miss Pimlico added, with a slight frown, chewing thoughtfully.
"So, you don't mind sending the lad on his way with a flea in his ear?"
"Not at all," she said generously, "I feel for his poor sister."
"Well, quite. He needs to be studying hard, with his nose in an improving book." I'm a great believer in education - look what it has done for Jeeves; a mind like a steel trap.
"You can rely on me, Mr Wooster."
Who was that Greek chap that had the world on his back? Well, as you can imagine, I felt like that fellow given an unexpected, but welcome, half day holiday. The weight of the world had been lifted from my shoulders. I biffed off to Kentish Mansions to give Nessy the good news.
Another day or two went by and – like a tardy bird – I was thinking of leaving this land of fog and rain for warmer climes. I could see Jeeves' blood quickening at the prospect of winter sun. He'd just poured me the evening libation when there was an agitated thump on the door. Clytemnestra exploded into the room like a cork out of a bottle. "Bertie; you must help me!"
I regarded my cousin politely whilst, inwardly, lacking a certain enthusiasm. "Anything," I told her recklessly.
"It's that infernal Rupert."
"I rather thought it might be."
"Daddy's back on his feet but that young bounder is likely to put him in his grave."
"Dying of love, hey?"
"He's forbidden to see that actress on pain of death. He's got out of the house twice – quite how, when he's been locked in his bedroom – is a mystery."
"A locked room mystery," I jested.
"This is not the time for humour, Bertie. He's refusing to go back to school."
"Well, bung him in a car and take him."
"He says that even if we do he'll only run away and come back to town."
"Hm; it's a tricky one. Mind if I ask Jeeves?"
"Well, if you think it would help?"
"Amazing fellow – Jeeves. Would you bend your powerful mind to the problem?"
"Of course, sir."
It's always a pleasure to watch that great brain at work. How privileged was Doctor Watson to experience similar? "Good man; any ideas?"
"Possibly, sir. We need to approach this from the boy's point of view, rather than Miss Pimlico's."
"The old psychology of the individual again?" It's always one of his best wheezes.
"Precisely, sir. It's Sunday tomorrow so the theatre will be dark. If you can manage without me, I will endeavour to find Miss Pimlico and see what I can do."
"Excellent stuff, Jeeves. Don't hesitate to draw the usual per diem; whatever it takes!"
Miss Pimlico apparently left the tights and greasepaint behind on Wednesday afternoons. "The lady has kindly agreed to see us at a Lyons corner house - I will meet her there if you would be so good as to pick up Master Rupert?"
"Dash it, Jeeves, putting the smitten young idiot and his idol together seems bad policy!" I objected.
"I have studied the – um – psychology of the individual, as you put it."
I sighed, "I hope you know what you are doing. Clytemnestra is likely to go barmy."
"I haven't told the lady the entire plan sir; merely that you are taking the boy out."
"That's probably wise, because her faith would surely waver!"
I will say that Rupert's attitude is much improved when in love. I told him that we were meeting his beloved and he became positively civil. When we arrived at the teashop the heavens were weeping (which seemed a pretty heavy handed metaphor). The place was full of elderly ladies and middle aged clerks wolfing down comestibles as an astonishing rate. I could see Jeeves in a distant corner but his companion had her back to us.
"Ah, Miss Pimlico – how do you do - a pleasure – Jeeves," I said, removing my hat.
"Ow d' you do, Mr Wooster? So, who is this?" she asked in an arch tone.
"May I have the honour of introducing young Rupert?"
"How do you do, Miss Pimlico,"
"Oh, not bad, you know," she replied.
It's a funny thing, seeing actors and actresses in 'the real world'. Without clever lighting and make up – and lacking a hairpiece – Miss Pimlico looked very different. Even in her dressing room, she'd been made up and had sported the kind of locks Rapunzel might have envied. With a beret like a squashed mushroom on her head, the lady looked very different.
"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm famished. So kind of you to invite me to tea," she said.
"Not at all; it's a pleasure. I was sure that Rupert here would enjoy it."
Miss Pimlico can certainly steam through an impressive amount of food. Tongue sandwiches, sardine sandwiches, a bath bun, macaroons and a slice of Dundee cake all went down the little red lane. It seemed as if she hadn't been fed for a fortnight. She had a good figure of course but nothing like as svelte as when strait laced. Rupert listened to her ample fund of stories with a slightly dazed look on his physog.
"Well, I told my friend, Betty, that Mr Jeeves had promised me a good blow out, and you've done us handsomely," the actress conceded, as the last morsel disappeared. She gave a broad smile, flashing her cigarette stained teeth. It's odd but she looked nearer thirty five than eighteen.
"You're very welcome," I said.
When it was time to part, Rupert's eyes were distinctly glassy. Jeeves helped Miss Pimlico back into her coat and suggested that I might see her onto her omnibus. Assuming this to be some part of his Machiavellian plan, I agreed. "It seems a shame to take Master Rupert back so early," he said to me.
"Oh, erm, quite," I replied (not really knowing where he was going with this).
"I understand that the local picture house is showing a film starring Miss Clara Bow – the 'It Girl' – perhaps Master Rupert would like to see it? I would gladly accompany him."
"Really? You, at the cinema, Jeeves? Well, if that's your idea of a good time, be my guest. I'll see Miss Pimlico safely onto her 'bus."
"That's very good of you, Mr Wooster."
"I will of course see Master Rupert home afterwards."
I made my own cocktail and sat mulling over the day's events. Certainly Rupert had comported himself like a gentleman even if he seemed rather overwhelmed at meeting the object of his desire. I admit that I was fighting sleep when the door opened; it was Jeeves. "Master Rupert is back in the bosom of his family, sir."
"Good; well, Jeeves, what great lessons should we draw from the day?"
Jeeves removed his hat and unbuttoned his overcoat. "I must inform you sir that the boy is in love."
"Well, we all know that. The question is: have you come to any conclusion as to how to deal with it?"
"If you'll forgive me sir, I should explain that the boy is in love with Miss Clara Bow."
"What: the motion picture actress?"
"Yes sir; I understand that this new passion hit him this afternoon, somewhat like a thunderbolt."
"The fickleness of youth," I marvelled, "But what about Miss Pimlico?"
"What indeed, sir? It seems that nature failed to imitate art."
"Huh? Oh, meaning that when he met her in real life the jolly old scales fell from his eyes?"
"Precisely sir. When young Lochinvar has seen his lady in an unbecoming hat, eating cakes at a rate of knots, love is seldom blind."
"Jeeves, you are an absolute marvel. What gave you the idea?"
"You will of course remember young Master Sebastian Moon?"
I shuddered. "Golden curls and perfectly cherubic? Arouses strong emotions in any right minded fellow that comes across him?"
"The very same. Well, if you remember, he had a very pronounced passion for Miss Clara Bow."
"Well, I have to hand it to you, you've done it again. I must give cousin Nessy the good news."
"If you pardon the liberty, sir, I have already discussed the matter with her."
"Then there is nothing more to be said. Now, about that jaunt – should it be France or Italy?"
"Italy, I fancy sir. Italy.
The end
