Norbert and Smedley

Norbert and Smedley Index

Smedley rubbed his arm where Penelope had punched him. “Oh, Snow White, it’s you. I didn’t recognize—you’ve made so many changes. You were beautiful before, but now, my dear, I worry that you’ll want a handsomer prince because the “Fairest of the Fair” no longer does you justice.”

“You’re just flattering me,” Penelope said, a lovely pink rising to her cheeks.

“No, dear, I’m not. I can’t wait to go to sleep tonight.”

“What!” Penelope cried, looking crushed.

“No, I didn’t mean it like that. You look so lovely, I shall be dreaming about you all night. Of course, after we’re married, I’ll never sleep again, because I won’t want to close my eyes. I won’t want to take them off you.”

Penelope glowed with pleasure for a moment, before gazing up through her lashes at Smedley. “But how do you know we’re going to get married?”

“Because,” Smedley said, dropping to one knee and ignoring Norbert’s desperate hand signals instructing him otherwise, “I intend to ask you right now. Penelope, my love, Fairest of the Fair and light of my life, would you consent to my hand in marriage, knowing that I will love and cherish you the rest of my life, and do all in my power to make you happy?”

“Yes, Smedley,” Penelope said. She pulled him to his feet and locked him in an embrace, “Oh, yes.”

Then, with a skill Smedley didn’t know she had, Penelope kissed him. The onlookers that remained averted their eyes.

“Jonesy?” Smedley said hoarsely. “Can you see about the car? I think it’s too late for the play, but this gorgeous lady deserves dinner at the finest restaurant we can find, and then perhaps a stroll beneath the stars.” He reluctantly withdrew himself from Penelope’s arms. “Darling Snow, I think I’m a bit underdressed. Let me change into these clothes from Norbert, will you? I won’t be a moment.”

“I will wait for you, my love, if it takes all night,” answered Penelope, stars in her eyes.
“Sir, are you sure you can manage?” asked Jonesy. “The car’s right out front.”

“I’ve been dressing myself all my life, Jonesy,” Smedley said.

“Yes, sir. But it’s my job,” said Jonesy quietly. He looked down at his feet to hide his disappointment.

“I’d be pleased, then, to have your assistance.” Smedley winked at Norbert and Heather before following Margaret towards her room. “Looks like you’re not suffering too greatly, old boy,” he said to Norbert.

Jonesy’s eyes met Norbert’s as he turned to follow Smedley. “Er, Norbert, sir? If you can, er, hold out long enough,” he paused to control his smirk, “I can bring you some clothes after I’ve dropped the two of them for dinner. Do you think you can manage until then, sir?”

“Quite,” Norbert replied, his face burning red. “Though perhaps Margaret will let me wait in her room?”

“Of course, but Jonesy needn’t return,” said Margaret. She eyed Norbert. “I have a few a things left of my father’s. Let’s give them a try, shall we? Perhaps his old smoking jacket? And then we can play cribbage while we wait for a taxi—no need to rush—perhaps enjoy a spot of tea?” She smiled brightly at Norbert. “It’s so romantic what you’ve done for Smedley, you have no idea. I want to hear all about it, and about your dog, too.” She bent down to pet Woofington, who wagged his tail happily. “And Heather says you have a house in the country. Is that true? Do you really have a croquet lawn? I haven’t played since I was a child, but I used to love the game…”

Norbert started to smile.

Margaret shooed Norbert, Smedley and Jonesy through her door, took Woofington by the leash, then grabbed Penelope’s hand and dragged her in the apartment as well. A hush fell over the dwindling crowd in the hallway—only one or two barmaids and the girls in the building remained, but it was clear to Jonesy that they weren’t about to leave until the drama had played itself out. He didn’t blame them. He’d checked the paper, and it hadn’t promised to be an interesting evening on the telly, but so far, Norbert and Smedley had kept him guessing.

“Well, dear boy,” Jonesy said, looking down his long and slightly crooked nose, “shall we get you changed into something more decent? Say these clothes of Norbert’s here, which he seems to think he no longer has use for?” Jonesy raised his eyesbrows disapprovingly and looked askance at his employer’s tousled hair and lipstick-stained cheeks, and at his employer, who was engaged in conversation with another female now, a prettier one, if you asked him, and one that seemed far more sensible.

“Right-o,” said Smedley.

“Penelope,” said Margaret, “Could you come with me, please? I could use a bit of help.” She blushed.

“I could help you,” said Norbert, his eyes wide and dreamy, and fixed on Margaret.

“No, dear,” said Margaret. “You stay right there with Smedley. Make sure he puts his clothes on right.”

“No, miss,” said Jonesy, offended. “That would be my job.”

“Right,” said Margaret. She turned a deeper shade of red. “Well, just the same.”

***

As soon as Margaret got Penelope in to her bedroom, she shut the door. “Why didn’t you ever mention Smedley’s roommate? He’s dreamy!” she whispered. “My heart is about to pound out of my chest and I can hardly breathe, and that’s before I consider what Heather is going to do to me because I have the man she was after in my room—and I think he prefers me!” She did a tap dance of excitement.

“Why should I have told you about him?” asked Penelope. “You have a boyfriend, or did you forget that little complication?”

Margaret looked down, face red, and began to fiddle with the button on her sweater. “Oh, that. Well, actually…”

“Actually, what?”

“Actually, I don’t. Not anymore. We broke it off a few months ago, but he hasn’t told his mum and dad, and I haven’t got a mum and dad to tell, now, have I? As long as his parents think he’s dating me, they keep handing him money, and he can keep on playing billiards and gadding about with the boys, but he doesn’t love me. We don’t plan to get married. He won’t be happy fessing up, but he’ll find another girl soon enough, and well, I can’t stop dating on his account forever, now, can I? Not when there’s a Norbert to be had.”

“Margaret, you fool—you stopped dating to cover for Fitzwilliam?”

“Fitzhugh William. You always forget the ‘Hugh’—everyone does—and he hates that.”

“Whatever,” said Penelope. “I guess you get what you deserve when you do something stupid like that. At least you’ve met Norbert now.”

“Yes. I guess I have.” Margaret opened her closet and pulled out the cribbage set, and then rummaged through her father’s old clothes. “What do you think? The brown smoking jacket, or the burgundy? They both have matching trousers. And here’s a shirt that should work.”

***

Once Margaret gave him her father’s clothes, Jonesy had Norbert dressed in no time. Jonesy turned to Smedley then, and gave a small cough. “Well, sir. Ahem. Do you still plan to go out for the evening?”

“Of course, Jonesy,” said Smedley. “I was just having a small conversation with my future bride.”

Penelope’s lipstick now graced Smedley’s cheeks, and the chignon was no longer quite so neat at the back of her head. Neither Penelope nor Smedley seemed to care.

“Oh,” said Jonesy, coloring. “A conversation is what you’re calling it now, is it? It appears that’s what Norbert has in mind with Miss Margaret.” He inclined his head in the other couple’s direction.

***

“You look so handsome, Norbert, you take my breath away,” said Margaret.

“And I owe it all to you,” he answered. He leaned over and gave her a kiss.

Margaret drew her head back sharply. “Norbert, please. I never kiss a boy on the first date. It gives them ideas. And I most certainly do not kiss a boy until we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Norbert Bennington the Third, of the Wembley on the Snippet Benningtons. And please, charming girl, may we consider this evening a date?”

“Yes, we may. I am Margaret Butterworth Frembleysmithercup. My friends call me Margaret Buttercup—it’s much less of a mouthful.”

“And it suits you,” said Norbert with a smile.

“My family is from Hiccup on the Brey, but I have relations from Wembley.”

“Not the Worcestershire-Butterworths?”

“The very same.”

“My mother plays bridge with Lady Worcestershire-Butterworth. They’ve been chums since childhood. She’ll be so delighted to know that I’ve made the acquaintance of a young lady who is related.”

“Lady Worcestershire-Butterworth is my Aunt.”

“Oh, dear,” said Norbert, fanning himself. “This is a day to celebrate. I think I’ll ring Mummy up right now. Are you busy this weekend? Or would you fancy a drive to the country?”

Episode 28: Time to Reboot

Smedley eyed Norbert and Margaret with a grin on his face, put his arm around Penelope’s shoulders, and turned to Jonesy, “I think, perhaps, we shouldn’t linger any longer. These lovebirds look as if they’d like some time to themselves.”

“What? Us?” Norbert put an insulted look on his face, even as the color rose in his cheeks. “Whatever could you be speaking of? Miss Buttercup is a proper lady. There will be no kissing until after the first date. Isn’t that what you said, my dear?”

“Well,” Margaret answered coquettishly, “No serious kissing. A small kiss, here and there, after we’ve an opportunity for some serious discourse, would be acceptable.”

Norbert raised his eyebrows. “Then, my dear sweet lady, we must certainly be serious. Shall we begin our game of cribbage? I always take my games seriously. And the weather. Can’t get too serious about that, or you risk getting caught out and catching your death, you know.”

“Me? I never worry about the weather,” said Margaret. “I have the constitution of an ox. I think it comes from taking daily exercise. I have ever since…”

“Get me out of here,” said Smedley. He took Penelope’s arm in his and led her into the corridor outside Margaret’s apartment. “Shall we? Oh, and Jonesy, we will definitely be requiring your services all evening. Norbert, I think, will not mind.”

“No problem, sir. My brother, Jeeves, returns tonight. He can look after Mr. Norbert. I must confess, I’m growing rather fond of you.”

Smedley looked up at the butler/chauffeur, whose polished bald head (except for the greying fringe of hair around the edges), network of wrinkles around his eyes, and snowy white mustache, neatly trimmed (of course), placed him in his ageless middle years, and smiled. “And I, you, Jonesy. I’m glad we’ve got Norbert to keep us connected.”

***

Penelope watched the exchange with raised eyebrows, but said only, “Oh, thank heavens. They’ve all gone home.” She was only partially correct. The hallway was empty.

The residents had followed Heather to the curb.

“Yes,” said Heather to the Bobby. “That’s right. It’s been illegally parked like that for well over an hour now. Quite a sight isn’t it? I’d liked to have it towed immediately.”

This Bobby, an older man with a belly no longer taut as it had been in his girl-chasing years, blushed at Heather’s attention. “Are you sure, Miss? I don’t think the owner can afford the ticket.” He walked around Smedley’s multi-hued Mini-Cooper, shaking his head. “The poor bloke is probably visiting one of the girls in your apartment. You sure you don’t know him?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, we’ll put the boot on her for now, and the driver will be around to give her a tow as soon as he can. How’s that?” The officer smiled at her sweetly, but received only a pout in return.

“I guess that will have to do,” said Heather. She parked herself on Sofia’s bench to wait. She looked forward to seeing the looks Smedley and Penelope’s faces. This would teach them to help Margaret steal Norbert from her—Penelope knew she’d been after Norbert for months! It wasn’t as if she’d been subtle.

***

When the trio—Smedley, Penelope and Jonesy—exited the building, they were surprised to see the crowd had gathered anew on the street outside.

“What’s that, do you think?” asked Smedley.

“Probably a street performer using your car as a backdrop,” said Penelope. “You have to admit, it is rather colorful.”

“That it is,” said Jonesy. “And it’s even more colorful now.” He pointed at the boot. “All dressed up, I’m afraid, by Norbert’s friend over there.”

***

When Heather saw Penelope’s face, the smile brighter than sunshine, and Smedley’s joy when he beamed back at her, she regretted her action. Norbert was the one to blame. Norbert had kissed her, then spurned her, and Norbert was not who she had punished. “You know,” she said. “I seem to recall Sofia has a policeman in her room. I do believe he can unlock this thing for you. Perhaps we can ask him and just forget all about it?”

“And what if he won’t?” asked Penelope.

“You underestimate Sofia,” said Heather.

Heather, Jonesy, Penelope and Smedley entered the lift together, while some of the more energetic of the onlookers took the stairs, meeting them in the hallway outside Sofia’s room. Heather knocked loudly.

“Sofia, open up. It’s me. Heather.”

“Oh, Heather. I’m in big trouble,” wailed Sofia. “What do you suppose the penalty is for kidnapping an officer?”

“Kidnapping?” Heather giggled. “He followed you willingly.” She pushed past Sofia to enter the apartment, but stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the red-faced, handsome young bobby handcuffed to Sofia’s bannister. “Oh. Oh, my.” She slammed the door shut in Jonesy, Smedley and Penelope’s faces, locking them outside.

“Heather? Sofia? You let me in right this minute. I should be part of this!” yelled Penelope. She pounded on the door with both fists.

“Trust me,” said Heather. “You are far better off out there. Far better.” She pulled Sofia to the side, out of earshot of the bobby. “Now what did you do?” she demanded.

“Well, he was chasing me,” said Sofia, “and trying to get his handcuffs back, and he was cute, and I was thinking about kissing him, and I don’t know, well, it just sort of happened.”

“Locking him up just happened?”

“Well… yes.”

“So, why didn’t unlocking him happen?” asked Heather, her voice loud enough even those waiting outside the apartment could hear it. “You could have after you kissed him.”

“Locked? Who’s locked?” called Penelope. “It’s the car, Heather. Stick to the subject.”

“Are you going to tell her?” said the angry man. “You didn’t kiss me, either.”

“I suppose you’d like me to now?” retorted Sofia.

“I can’t say that I’d mind, seeing as how I’m stuck here.”

“Yeah, right. You’d probably beat me senseless with those cuffs,” said Sofia.

A hurt expression clouded the young man’s face. “Never. I may be angry, but I’m still a gentleman.”

“Fine.”

“Fine,” he said.

“Pardon me for interrupting,” said Heather, exasperated with Sofia, who it appeared did fully intend to kiss the bobby. “But where are the keys? We need them.”

Sofia began to wail anew. “That’s just the problem,” she said. “I wish I knew. He was reaching for them on his belt, so I grabbed them and dangled them in front of him, and then I tossed them behind me. I never heard them hit the ground. I can’t find them in my apartment.”

“And you didn’t see them?” Heather asked, turning to the policeman.

“How could I? My face was filled with her.”

Heather looked around the tiny apartment, trying to think where keys could have landed. “And what did these keys look like? Big? Small? What kind of key ring?"

“They were just keys. On a four centimeter ring with a clip. They were attached to my belt until she got hold of them.”

In the lampshade? Behind the couch? Under a cushion? Heather searched, but didn’t find them. That was when she noticed the open window. Her heart sank like a stone. “Sofia, darling, how long has this window been open?”

“Days and days. I love a breeze, and the weather has been so nice lately.”

“And, by any chance, were you in front of it—”

“You don’t think—”

Heather nodded.

Both young women ran to the window and looked down. Caught in the top most branch of a tree, level with a window of the second floor apartment, was a set of keys.

“We found your keys,” said Heather.

“Great,” said the policeman. “What are you waiting for? Why don’t you go get them, while she comes over here and makes it up to me by giving me a kiss?”

“They’re stuck in the top of a tree.”

The young man’s face grew ashen white. “How am I going to explain this to the boys at the precinct? Do you know what kind of teasing I’ll have to go through, when they find out I was handcuffed by a group of women in an all women’s building, and that you all nicked my keys? You have to get those keys. I’ll do whatever you say, kiss whoever you want, but please get those keys. I’ll never live it down if the boys found out I was overpowered by women. They’ll either think I’m a pansy or a liar. I’m not sure which is worse.”

“You think you’ve got problems,” said Heather. “We’ve got Norbert and Smedley.”

Heather opened the door to Sofia’s room wide enough to pull Smedley, Penelope and Jonesy inside, then she slammed it shut again. They were clamoring at her for an explanation until they saw the Bobby—then there was immediate, slack-jawed silence.

“I told you, Penelope, you were better off outside.”

“Who is he?” asked Penelope.

“I don’t believe we’ve gotten that far,” said Sofia. She blushed.

The young man smiled. “Peter Martin. I’d say I’m at your service, young lady, but clearly I’m not. If you come over here, however, I can offer you a shake of the hand. I’m pleased to meet your acquaintance, if not that of your friends here. From the snippets of conversation I’ve heard this evening, I gather you’re the root of this evening’s disturbance, and I should like to hear the story sometime, but right now, if you can, I’m a bit more interested in having my hands back.”

“Okay,” said Penelope. “Where’s the key?” She looked at his belt.

“Out there,” said Peter. He nodded at the window.

“Out where?”

“There. In the tree.”

“Why would you hide your keys in our tree? Do the Bobby’s do that often? I mean, I keep an extra key to my apartment under the third root—if you dig a bit you can find it—but I wouldn’t think anybody but the girls would use the tree. Which root is yours?”

“No. UP in the tree.”

“You climb for it?” Penelope looked him over. “Well, I guess you’re athletic enough, and it would cut down on the members of the criminal element who could get at them if they were to torture you. I’m pretty fit—tell me where it is. I could probably climb anything you can.”

Peter started to laugh. “You are a darling girl, and so very kind. But you can’t climb for them. Look out the window. They were thrown into the tree. By Sofia. I haven’t seen them, of course, but I gather getting them is going to be tricky.”

Penelope ran to the window. “Oh, no it won’t. Just need a fishing pole. I play that game at carnivals all the time.”

***

Penelope walked over to Smedley, who was conferring with Jonesy, Heather and Sofia, and tugged on his sleeve.

“Prince, darling,” she whispered.

“Not now, Snow. We’re trying to figure out how to help the policeman.”

“Peter.”

“No, I’m Smedley.”

“His name is Peter. Peter Martin.”

“Oh. Well, we’re trying to figure out how to help him.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you interrupting?” asked Smedley, putting his arm around her and kissing the top of her head while he tried to listen. He wasn’t adding anything to the conversation, because he knew little about keys and less about trees, and he still had his fear of heights to contend with, but at least he appeared to be listening in a helpful manner, or so he thought.

Penelope wasn’t going to give up. “But I know how to get the keys,” she said. “I just need a fishing pole.”

“A fishing pole?” said Smedley.

“What a brilliant idea,” said Heather. “Smedley, you’re a genius.”

“Why, thank you,” said Smedley.

Penelope elbowed him and at the same time wondered if any of them were skilled enough to use it. After all, she was the one who had been the champion at the fair.

“Jonesy, I’ve a question for you. Does Norbert have a fishing pole, and if so, and how can we get it?” Penelope asked.

“Have your twitterbox, sir?” Jonesy asked Smedley.

“Twitterbox?” said Penelope, Sofia and Heather in unison.

“Phone,” said Smedley. “In my pocket. Norbert left it there.” He pulled it out and handed it to Jonesy.

“I’ll just call Jeeves, sir. He can pick it up at the apartment and bring it to us. He’s due back here soon.”

“Right,” said Smedley. “And Jonesy? Do tell him to be careful how he parks.”