Norbert and Smedley
106: On Safari
Lady Frembleysmithercup seated Norbert to her right, and Smedley and Penelope to her left. “Fend for yourselves, darlings,” she said to Margaret and Lord Frembleysmithercup, “and sit where you like. I want the young people by me so they’ll have no trouble hearing my little story.”
Little chance of that, thought Smedley. He’d have a better chance of hearing everyone else afterwards if he were sitting a great deal further from the woman. The more she spoke, the louder her voice grew; now she sounded more like a foghorn than a goose. Would it be impolite, he wondered, to cover his ears?
“We were in Nepal, you see,” said Lady Frembleysmithercup. “Our fathers were both military, and we’d gone on a bit of safari.”
“Oh, my!” exclaimed Penelope. “I can’t think that I would like roughing it like that!”
“Roughing it?” Lord Frembleysmithercup slapped his thigh and laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. “The closest my Carol Ann has ever come to roughing it has been sipping her tea from a mug instead of fine china. Her version of safari consisted of laying about on the verandah, where an amah fanned her while she sipped cool drinks and ate whatever delectables her heart desired. If she wanted to see an animal, her father would have one paraded by in a cage for her, or else he’d bring her binoculars and chase one by the front of the house.”
“But you, Daddy? I thought you were a hunter.”
“Not really, Sweet Pea. My father hunted. I followed and hoped we never met a thing. Don’t care for killing things, myself. Now, though, they go on those photographic safaris. If I knew how to take a decent picture, I could take a fancy to one of those…”
“Oh, Daddy, really?” Margaret leaned over and hugged her father. “Me, too. What about you, Norbert?”
It was clear Norbert hadn’t expected to be drawn into the conversation. He looked startled when spoken to, and gaped at Margaret for a moment or two before summoning his voice. “Me? Oh, well, I hadn’t… but, I don’t… then, again… a man does his safaris, doesn’t he?” He gave her the smile of a little boy proud that he’d worked out a difficult problem.
“Oh, I know! Let’s go on a safari for our honeymoon. Mummy and Daddy could come, too—a second honeymoon for them! Please, Norbert, say yes! It would be such fun!”
Every mouth at the table fell open in response, most in large oh’s of surprise, but Lady Frembleysmithercup’s in an “Oh, yes! Let’s!” which was met with complete silence. Not even the wind dared stir the leaves in the trees outside the open window.
107: Something Borrowed
Smedley was relieved when a serving girl entered the dining room carrying a tureen of soup. “Soup! I love a good soup!” he exclaimed. “What shall we have the pleasure of enjoying this evening, may I ask?”
“Split Pea, sir,” replied the girl. She placed the tureen in front of Lady Foghorn, as Smedley had come to think of Margaret’s mother, curtsied and left the room in a hurry.
When Smedley realized the silence had returned and that Norbert had turned as green as the soup, he pulled his napkin from the ring, fluffed it open with a flourish, let it settle in his lap, then pulled the tureen towards him. “Well, if no one else is willing to go first, then I will. I’m famished and split pea is my favorite! Pea Soup is what got my dear parents into trouble, I might add, though of a different variety. Bloody Americans describe fog that way, you know—”
Norbert spluttered for a moment, then words burst forth. “Blast it, Smedley, will you stop your chattering? You do not have to come to my rescue.” He turned to Margaret. “Margaret, my sweet, I will follow you to the ends of the earth, if it means we are running from that woman. I will not allow her to accompany us on our honeymoon!”
“What? Did he? Thomas! My salts… Oh, the very…”
Smedley was alarmed at first when Lady Frembleysmithercup couldn’t complete a sentence, but her voice remained as powerful as ever, so he decided she had so many things she wanted to say at once, they were getting tangled up at the tip of her tongue, and—thank heavens!—none were making it properly to the forefront.
“Really?” Margaret asked. “You’d stand up to my mother? For me?”
“Certainly,” said Norbert. “If a man’s to keep his sanity, it’s either that or run away.”
“Now, now, my boy,” said Margaret’s father. “Carol Ann is quite tolerable with a stiff drink or two—”
Smedley leaned over and whispered into Penelope’s ear, “For him or for her?” to which Penelope responded with a fit of giggles so severe she began to choke and had to be excused from the table. Smedley went scurrying after her.
Once the two were out of earshot, Penelope pulled him into an embrace. “Oh, my Prince, how brave of you to mention your family in the hopes of distracting them from what that awful woman said. Promise me you’ll tell me the story some day.”
“Oh, it’s not important. You don’t want to hear it.”
“Is it that bad?”
“Worse.”
Penelope covered him in kisses then, and was still kissing him when Norbert came to look for them.
“Might have known I’d find you snogging Penelope,” he said. “Hey, can I borrow an embarrassing relative?”
“Sure,” said Smedley. “I’ve plenty to spare. There’s Uncle Bertrand—he’s usually free on Saturdays—and Aunt Meretricia is always free because no one likes her. Whatever for?”
Norbert colored, looked hastily over his shoulder, then whispered, “No, no, I didn’t mean literally. I meant you have to help me come up with a story so Lady Frembleysmithercup forbids Margaret to marry me. I thought if I insulted the woman, it would do the trick, but apparently not.”
“You don’t want to marry Margaret?” said Smedley.
“Smedley, not so loud or they’ll hear you,” said Penelope.
“Sorry,” Smedley whispered. “But I don’t understand. What’s wrong with the girl? She’s so sweet.”
“Of course she’s sweet,” said Norbert. “But that mother? I can’t. What if Margaret turns into her after the wedding? And you saw how many trunks Margaret packed. Oh, Smedley, I’m having more than second thoughts. I think I’m on to ninth and tenth thoughts now.”
“Good Lord,” said Penelope. “Given Margaret’s behavior, I should think you’d have been on to 99th and 100! There’s a reason she hasn’t got a roommate, you know. I could have warned you, Norbert—”
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Did you ask? You were too busy trying to ‘help’ me—”
Norbert put his hand on Penelope’s arm and gave it a squeeze. “Please? That’s water under the bridge, and I said I was sorry. We’ve got to think of something.”
“I know,” said Smedley. “Let’s ask Jeeves. He and Jonesy always seem to know what to do.”
“Jeeves! I’d forgotten about him. Now where the devil do you suppose he’s gotten off to?”
The trio had no chance to look, however, for just then, Margaret’s voice came sweetly from the dining room, “Oh, Norbert, darling? Did you find the lovebirds? Or should we send a search party? Your meal is getting cold, and I’m getting lonely here without you.”
108: Holy Batsman, Norbert
Norbert groaned at the sound of Margaret’s voice. “Do you hear that? She’s after me already. Sure, she’s saying please right now and being sweet about it, but ten pounds says her voice drops an octave every year and by the time we reach our fifth anniversary—provided I don’t commit suicide first—she’ll be a foghorn just like her mother!”
“So that’s how the honking goose did it,” said Smedley, eyes wide in admiration. “Good show, Norbert. I was a bit puzzled on that account.”
“What account? What the devil are you going on about, Smedley?” Penelope shot him a look of exasperation.
“Well, I say, I rather like Lord Kumquat, you know.”
“Lord Kumquat?”
“Aren’t you any good with names, either?” Smedley patted Penelope’s hand. “I thought it was just Norbert that had a time with them. Margaret’s father, of course. Anyway, I like Kumquat and I couldn’t figure how he allowed himself to get tangled with the ghastly woman. She makes Sour Maple seem quite a peach, doesn’t she?”
Penelope rolled her eyes.
Meanwhile, Norbert had paced in the corner, mumbling under his breath. Then, without warning, he snapped his fingers and smiled broadly.
“What is it, my friend?” asked Smedley. “I haven’t seen you this happy since the Wembley Cricket Club elevated you to batsman.”
“I think I’ve come up with something.” Norbert turned to Penelope. “Do the ladies still think I’m a cad?”
Penelope nodded. “Yes, you’ve got that reputation.”
“And does Margaret know all of your friends?”
“No. She hardly knows any of them. She’s new in town.”
“Perfect. Just perfect.”
109: A Hasty Retreat
Norbert pulled Penelope and Smedley close. “Find Jeeves and have him pull the car round, all right? I’ll meet you out front in two shakes,” he whispered.
“What? You can’t mean to ditch the poor girl,” said Smedley. “Besides, I haven’t had my pudding. I believe I saw an angel cake on the sideboard.”
“Smedley! How can you think of food at a time like this?” said Penelope.
“Time? Is it a time?” Smedley looked blankly at Norbert.
“Hush, darling,” said Penelope. “We’ll find you a pudding later—I’ll even brave that old Sour Maple if I have to tonight. Now, Norbert, what did you have in mind? We can’t just make a run for it, but I’ve had enough of that monstrous mother of hers, just like you.”
“No, we can’t. But we can tell them Smedley needs to dash back to London because he suddenly remembered a family obligation—and since it’s my car, I feel obligated to accompany him. However, as the kind and sensible gentleman that I am, I can not possibly tear Miss Margaret away from her parents, so I’ll leave her to enjoy their company this evening, and send the car around for her tomorrow afternoon.”
“But I don’t want to return to London tonight,” whined Smedley. “I wanted to spend another night at Nilpaster Manor.” He paced the hallway, his heels clacking on the hardwood floor. At each end, he did an about-face beneath the portrait of a military general, unconsciously tapping his heels together and saluting.
It was all Norbert could do not to laugh; he let Smedley take a turn or two before interrupting. “Smedley, you must. For me? We can return next weekend—without Margaret. And we’ll put my plan into action.”
“What plan might that be?” asked Penelope.
“The one involving the girls.”
110: Tongue-Tied
Penelope grabbed Smedley by the hand. “Come on, darling.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m in the mood for a good laugh,” said Penelope.
“Laugh? Who said anything about laughing?” Smedley looked over his shoulder at Norbert, who’d disappeared back into the dining room.
Penelope stopped dragging Smedley down the hall long enough to eye him with exasperation. “My dear Prince, nobody said anything about laughing—they didn’t have to—but if Norbert has a plan, and it involves girls, it’s bound to be rich.”
“Oh. Right,” said Smedley, though he looked as confused as ever. “So where are you taking me?”
“To find Jeeves, of course. I thought I saw him slip into a room off the back of the kitchen. It was around here somewhere.”
Smedley dug his heels in, then went into birdsong, first whistling like a parakeet, then honking like a duck and finally ending with the song of a whippoorwill.
Penelope put her hand to his forehead. “Have you lost your mind? Do you have a fever? Whatever are you doing?”
“Calling Jeeves, of course.”
“Bloody hell, you are. Why do you insist on teasing me at a—”
“Did you need something, sir?” asked Jeeves.
When Penelope heard the deep voice behind her, she nearly fainted dead away. “My God, Jeeves, do you have to sneak up like that?”
“Sneak up, Miss? But Lord Smedley called me.”
“As I was trying to explain, Snow, when Norbert was a tyke, he thought it would be fun to have a way of summoning his valet without his parents’ knowledge, so he used the birdsong. He taught me. I wasn’t sure it would work, but it did seem worth a try.” Smedley grinned at Jeeves. “Yes, Jeeves. We require the car. Immediately, before we lose our hearing.”
“I see, sir.” Jeeves bowed, a grin on his face in return. “And will Norbert and the other young lady be joining us.?”
“With any luck, only Norbert.”
“We’ll pray for luck then, won’t we? I’ll drive the car around front for you and have it waiting.” Jeeves set off at rather a more brisk pace than usual.
“I rather like that man,” said Penelope.
“I dunno,” said Smedley. “He’s all right, but you’ll like his brother even better. And I’ll tell you one thing—I will not return to London without stopping by to pick up Jonesy.”
“I don’t expect we’ll have much choice, will we? Or have you forgotten Woofington?”
“I expect I rather had. It might be nice not to find him under my covers when I return from the bathroom in the middle of the night. There are some things a man likes to do alone, and sleep is one of them.”
Penelope snuggled up close to Smedley as they walked towards the front of Margaret’s house. “Oh, Smedley, I don’t think you mean that, do you? Because you’ll be trading in Woofington for a different bed partner after we’re married. I’d hate to think I wasn’t welcome.”
“No. Of course… well, I… dogs, you know… and cats…” Smedley’s face was redder than Penelope had ever seen it, and his tongue was so tied in knots he could scarcely put two words together before he had to swallow hard and gulp for air.
Penelope laughed and gave him a great big kiss. Smedley was adorable when he was flustered.