Norbert and Smedley
Penelope sat down next to Peter. “Don’t worry. Jeeves has got the fishing pole.” While they waited, she recited for him, the entire sad saga of Smedley’s botched courtship and her fumbled attempt at glamour. Smedley and Jonesy added embellishments from time to time.
“You used Norbert’s cummerbund to clean the window?” Penelope exclaimed. “He’d kill you if he knew.”
“It hardly matters, My Lady,” Jonesy said. “Not after the fish stew.”
“That was fish stew?” Peter said. “No wonder he smelled to high heaven.”
All three turned to Peter. “And what I’d like to know,” said Penelope, “Is how you got involved?”
“That other chap,” said Peter, “the friend of his, was running down the street like a madman, with a dog chasing behind him, and a little boy yells ‘Stop thief! Somebody help him!’ So what was I supposed to do? It’s my job. When I arrives, I find a crowd in the hall, and the man’s got his arm caught in the door. I investigates a bit further and I find a woman crying woman on the other side, and words being exchanged. She lets go and the the door shuts. I’m about to take my leave when it opens again, and in goes the priest, and there’s a bloody scream. Are you telling me I should have left then? Not on your bloody life!”
“But,” Penelope said, “look where it’s landed you.”
“This isn’t so bad, I guess,” said Peter the Bobby, leaning into the pillows Sofia brought for him to rest against. “At least it isn’t now that I’ve got the pillows, and I’ve had me a kiss or two, and a good story to go with them.” He laughed and turned towards Sofia for another. “I wouldn’t mind if that Jeeves fellow takes his time, you know. I’m on the clock, and I’m beginning to like this job. Of course, to complete my report, I’ll be needing Miss Margaret and Mr. Norbert’s sides of the story. I’ll bet they’re good ones, too.”
“You might have to be waiting on them. I think they are pleased to be making each others’ acquaintances, if you know what I mean,” said Jonesy.
“I thought they were having a conversation,” said Smedley. He winked.
“Oh. Right.”
Just then, a knock came at the door.
“Who is it?”
“It’s me,” called a girly voice.
“Me who?”
“Jeevitha.”
“Who!?! I don’t know any Jeevitha’s,” said Sofia.
“I think it’s my brother,” said Jonesy. He opened the door.
“Blimey,” Jeeves said, a stout 6’6” of him hurrying through the door. “You didn’t tell me it was an all-girls building.”
“You didn’t ask,” Jonesy said. “So what’s with the voice?”
“Well, I couldn’t very well call to you in my usual voice, now, could I?” Jeeves said in his rumbly bass. “I think they’d have been right on to me, don’t you?”
“Good point,” said Smedley. He took the fishing pole from Jeeves and turned it over in his hands, eyeing it first with one eye then the other, then both at the same time. He weighed it on one finger. Then he shrugged. “It looks like a good one, but I haven’t got the faintest. Do you, Sofia?”
“Nope. How about you, Heather?”
“Never fished in my life.”
“I have, but I’m afraid I’m not much help,” said Peter.
“Guess we’ll have to go find Norbert, then,” said Smedley. “I didn’t want to do that.”
Penelope stood in the doorway, blocking his exit. “Why are you ignoring me?”
“Because we have to get this done.”
“Right. And I’ve been trying to tell you: I can do it. I am an expert. Give the pole to me.”
“Darling future bride, you do not have to be all-talented for me to love you. Shouldn’t we just get Norbert?”
“Smedley, now would be a very good time for you to shut up and watch your future wife at work,” said Penelope.
Smedley didn’t know much about women, but he was smart enough to know if one used a tone like that, he’d best do as he was told. He didn’t notice Jeeves and Jonesy huddled in a corner behind him, passing an ominous piece of paper between them.
32: The Pink Slip
While Penelope leaned out the window with the fishing pole in her hand, Smedley’s arms around her waist holding her a bit tighter than the situation called for, but no tighter than she wished, Sofia sat with Peter Martin, holding his hand a good deal less tightly than he might have hoped. Jeeves and Jonesy whispered together in the far corner of the room.
“What’s that you’ve got there, Jeeves? A note from Mum, is it?”
“No.”
“No? The handwriting’s as bad.”
“Well, there’s more folk as got’s bad handwriting than our Mum, now, isn’t there?” said Jeeves.
Jonesy made a wild grab for the paper, but Jeeves, who was taller by half of Jonesy’s cue-ball bald head, held it out of reach. “If you’d just be patient, little brother, I’ll be telling you. Why can’t you listen for once?”
“Because you’re only half as smart as me.”
“Half as smart? Was it me that got Mr. Smedley and Mr. Norbert in such a mess? I think not!”
Jonesy's right hand drew back in a fist, and he instinctively feinted against the left hook his brother used to begin every fight before he took a deep breath and stood up tall and elegant, like a proper valet should. He tried to look down his long nose at his brother, but it was nearly impossible given his brother’s height. “Fine, fine. Then what does it say?”
“It says, quite simply, ‘Smedley, Come home at once. Emergency.’”
Jonesy felt icy fingers work their way from the back of his neck on down his spine. His heart began to pound. Come home? Emergency? The message could only have one meaning. The world, as Smedley knew it, was about to come to an end. But hadn’t that already happened once? Wasn’t Smedley already an orphan? Jonesy paused to think. Oh, no. That was right. Smedley had only claimed to be an orphan. His parents were in hiding… the Lighthouse Incident and all. Jonesy saw an image of Smedley’s mother, wearing sunglasses like a celebrity of ages past, enigmatic and beautiful. Sophia Loren, Jackie-O, Grace Kelly. But those women were gone now. Had the same fate befallen Smedley’s mum? The poor boy; he might might truly be an orphan now. “Wh-where did you get this message?” Jonesy asked, stalling for time.
“I found it tacked to Mr. Norbert’s door.”
“Good Lord, what shall we do?”
“Only one thing to do,” said Jeeves.
“We tell him?”
“Good God, no!” said Jeeves. “We tell Norbert.” The two valets slipped quietly out of the apartment and headed down the hall towards Margaret’s apartment.
33: Catch of the Day
On the first try, Penelope snagged the branch and jingled the keys. Smedley gripped her tighter. She coughed and spluttered. “Please, my darling, but I think I’ll perform the task better if I don’t black out from lack of oxygen, don’t you?”
“Oh. Oh, yes.”
Smedley turned a lovely shade of pink, exactly the shade Penelope thought she’d like to see her bridesmaids wearing on their wedding day. She turned towards him, kissed him and forgot, momentarily, the fishing pole and the keys.
Sofia and Peter Martin did not have similar memory lapses. “Oh, Penelope?” called Sofia sweetly. “I would love to kiss my dear Peter, here, and have him wrap though strong hands of his around my waist, but he can’t. Not until you get those keys!” Her voice had lost its sweetness by end of the final sentence.
Penelope cast an annoyed look in Sofia’s direction. “And who, pray tell, locked his hands up in the first place and then was stupid enough to throw away the key? It would serve you right if I left those keys right where they are—might teach you a lesson that needs teaching.” She caught sight of Peter’s face. “But I will get them,” she added hastily, “because Peter, at least, has been nice to me.” She extracted herself from Smedley’s embrace and tried again. This time she succeeded not in hooking the keys, but in knocking them to the ground, which as she considered it, was just as good. “There. They’re in the garden. I’d suggest you go get them, Sofia.”
“Me!”
“You. He’s your beau, or you’d like him to be, anyway. You locked him up, and you’re the one who’ll have big problems if you don’t unlock him. You go get them. I’d suggest you go quickly, too. I see Annabelle Pedersen’s got the triplets out again—her mother must have left them with her for the weekend. If they find the keys first, I don’t want to think what might become of them.”
Sofia’s eyes grew wide with terror. She sprinted from the room.
“I don’t see Annabelle Pedersen out there,” said Smedley.
“She’s not, my Prince,” said Penelope, pulling him closer. “But Sofia doesn’t know that.” She looked over at Peter. “I’m so sorry, Peter, for all the trouble we’ve been. What a horrible evening for you.”
“Oh, it’s not so horrible. You all are an interesting lot for a single chap like me. I may want to get to know Sofia better, though I believe I’ll take my time. She seems a fiery one… could be a bit much for me to handle. But it might be fun trying.” He winked. “I think next time I see her, though, it’ll be when I’m off duty, so I can leave my cuffs at home.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” said Smedley with a grin. “I’m marrying this one, so she might not be around to save you.”
Sofia ran back to the room, gasping for breath, and went straight to Peter to unlock the handcuffs. Then she turned on Penelope. “There was no sign of Annabelle or anyone else. You lied to me.”
Penelope smiled. “It worked.”
“It did,” said Peter Martin. He reached for Sofia and pulled her towards him, placed his hands around her waist and kissed her. “I’m off work in an hour. Would you like to come out with me?” he asked. “Maybe get a bite to eat? I can’t offer you anything fancy on what I make, but it’s about the company, now, isn’t it?”
Sofia smiled her answer and handed Peter’s keys to Smedley.
“Come on, Snow, let’s go rescue my car,” said Smedley. “We need Jonesy. Where do you think those brothers have gone?”
34: Serious Cribbage
Margaret played the five of hearts, kissed Norbert and crowed, “That’s better than a pair royale, my dear. Six points and another kiss for me!”
“I thought you didn’t kiss a boy on the first date,” Norbert said, grinning wickedly.
“First of all,” said Margaret, “you’re not a boy. You’re a man, and a gentleman at that.” She tweaked his nose. “And second of all, I thought we agreed that the first date ended when I beat you at the first game.”
“And what happened when I beat you at the second?”
“Absolutely nothing. That’s why I decided you were a gentleman. You were a gracious winner.”
“Why is it that when you win, there are consequences, but when I win, there are not?”
“Because you are also a gracious loser.” Margaret smiled prettily. “You know, Norbert, I think I may be falling in love. Perhaps you should check back with me in a week or two.”
“No,” said Norbert. “I think I shall check back right now. Just as soon as I’ve moved your peg.”
Margaret didn’t wait for Norbert to finish moving her peg on the cribbage board—she leaned right into him, and took care to eye his cards in the process. It was not that she wanted to cheat, but this was serious business. She was playing Norbert for visitation rights. The winner would have the privilege of introducing the other to his or her parents first—and Norbert would never ask her out again if he got even a whiff of Cook Snore’s roast duck. Far better that they lunched with Mummy, did the cucumber sandwich thing, and had done with it. Mummy would love Norbert, she was sure. She’d forget all about what’s-his-name. Margaret certainly had.
Norbert had just begun to examine his cards when a knock came at the door.
“Now who do you suppose can that be?” Norbert asked.
“One of the girls, I’m sure, probably wanting to gossip. If we ignore them, they’ll go away.”
“Oh. Right. Where were we?” Norbert started to kiss Margaret again, but she stopped him. “You already did that. You were on to actually playing a card, remember? I played the third five in a row.”
“Yes. Right. Bloody hell, I’ve only got one play. Well, the four it is, then, for twenty-seven. Can you play?”
“Yes, I can! Four for thirty-one. That’s a GO, and a pair and I’ve got you skunked this game.” Margaret beamed. “Oh, Bert-ums. Will a kiss make you feel better?”
“It’s going to take more than one—”
The knocking grew louder.
“Blast it!” said Norbert. “I’m coming.” He opened the door. “Oh, Jeeves. My good man, come in. And Jonesy, too? You let Smedley out of your sight? Is that safe? My God, man, what are you—”
Norbert’s mouth fell open and his face grew pale when he read the piece of paper that was thrust in his hands, then he paced back and forth for a few moments.
“Jeeves, which car have you brought?”
“The large one, sir. Your father’s.”
“Good choice. Margaret, pack your things. We’ll be leaving tonight, but we’ll be detouring by way of Smedley’s.”
“But the message is for Smedley, sir,” said Jonesy.
“I know,” said Norbert. “But I can’t let him face an emergency alone, not when I could be of assistance. Look what I’ve been able to do for him so far. His bride-to-be is happily by his side, is she not?”
35: Serious Cribbage
Jonesy and Jeeves looked at Norbert with dismay. Jonesy knew what he wanted to say, but Jonesy also liked his job and he was quite sure he’d be in the market for a new one if he said it. He decided he’d best say nothing.
Jeeves, on the other hand, was a conscientious,well-trained valet. He regularly told Jonesy that discretion was more than the better part of valor; there were times in the valet’s code of ethics where discretion replaced valor entirely. Jonesy was not surprised when his older brother spoke up. “Yes, sir. Smedley could not have managed his engagement to Penelope without you, I’m quite sure.”
Jonesy snorted. He tried not to, but he could not help it.
“What, Jonesy?” said Norbert. “Did you say something?”
“No, sir. Just choked on me own spit. It’s getting late, and I must be getting tired. Do you think Jeeves here could do the first bit of driving?”
“Certainly.”
“Now,” said Jonesy. He paused and coughed, remembering he was supposed to be choking. “When, er, do you suppose we ought to tell Mr. Smedley?”
“I don’t.”
Jonesy choked, a real choke this time. Jeeves clapped him on the back. “You don’t?”
“No. I don’t.”
“Then how will we get him home? The message says he’s needed at home.” He shot Norbert a look of incredulity. “You can’t be thinking of going home in his place, can you?” Jonesy prayed Norbert wasn’t that presumptuous, but knowing his employer as he did, he wasn’t quite certain.
“No. No, of course not. But it’s too late for Smedley and Penelope to go out on the town tonight isn’t it? Unless, of course, they’ve already stepped out for the evening. Have they stepped out for the evening, Jonesy?”
“No. Not yet. They’re unlocking the policeman in Miss Sofia’s apartment.”
“Unlocking the policeman?” Margaret covered her ears. “No. Don’t tell me. I am absolutely certain I don’t want to know.”
Norbert led Margaret to the couch, pushed a snoring Woofington to the side, and sat her down. “You’ll get used to Smedley, darling. Honest you will. He keeps life interesting, give him that much credit.”
“But sir, if I may trouble you to complete your explanation,” prodded Jonesy.
“It’s quite obvious, don’t you think, Jeeves?”
“No, sir. I’m sorry. Perhaps I’m dense.”
“We take them to the country for the weekend to celebrate their engagement and suggest they announce it to Smedley’s Aunt Cloris and Uncle Robynne in person. He needn’t find out there’s an emergency until he gets there. That way, he won’t fret and get himself all worked up, and it will seem as natural as can be that he’s surrounded by his friends. Isn’t that brilliant?”
“Brilliant, sir,” said Jeeves.
I had no idea my brother was such a kiss up. It’s the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard. What if Mr. Smedley needs time to adjust? What if he wants to be alone? What if he’d like to handle something without Norbert to screw it up for him? Oh, dear. I do believe I’m getting fond of that boy.