Norbert and Smedley
"Sorry, Aunt Cloris," said Smedley, returning to her side. "Now, what is it that has you so upset?"
"You remember your Uncle Wilberforce Nilpaster?"
"Lord Willy Nilly? Of course. Been ill for ages, hasn't he? Beastly man," said Smedley.
"Well," said Aunt Cloris. "He's passed. They read the will yesterday, and he made you the sole beneficiary. Smedley, you're to be the new Lord Nilpaster." She blew her nose into her handkerchief and sobbed anew.
47: Rags to Riches
Norbert clapped Smedley on the back, doubling him over. “Why Smedley, that’s rich. Or you’re rich, I should say! The old coot was loaded. His fortunes are legendary! Tea, I believe, or was it silks? Well, never mind. A favorite with the royals, anyway. Do you know what this means?” Norbert could hardly speak he was so excited, one word racing the other past his tongue.
Smedley glared at Norbert. “It means something terrible, I gather, judging from my Aunt. Now, Aunt Cloris. Please, can you tell me what has you so upset? You didn’t change your opinion of Uncle Willy at the end did you?”
“Heavens, no! Hated the man, always have, always will, bless his poor dead soul! Hate him even more now for what he’s done to you!”
“To me? Hasn’t he made me Lord Nilly?”
“Yes!” Aunt Cloris broke down in tears again and looked as if she would faint.
Smedley rang the bell frantically. When the maid came running, he said, “Prudence, a glass of water and smelling salts. Hurry. And my Uncle Robynne, if you can find him.”
“Robynne? Did you say Robynne?” Margaret giggled and turned to Norbert. “Their last name is Christopher, isn’t it?”
“Hush,” whispered Norbert. “Smedley’s Great Aunt Hortense worshipped Winnie the Pooh. It’s a sore spot in the family. Odd family, Smedley’s. I’ll have to tell you about the Lighthouse Incident sometime.”
When Aunt Cloris had pulled herself back together, Smedley tried again. “Now do you think you can tell me what the problem is?”
“I’ll try. You’d better sit down.” Aunt Cloris swallowed and patted the ottoman next to her. “You see, dear boy, there are stipulations—stipulations that I wouldn’t wish on my enemy, much less a child I love as my own.”
“Stipulations?”
“First, you must marry within the half-year.”
Smedley grinned.
“Second, you must hire and manage a staff within the month.”
Norbert grinned.
“And third, Mrs. Maple is to remain the housekeeper for the rest of her life, to be replaced by her daughter upon her retirement.”
Norbert clapped Smedley on the back, knocking him off the ottoman. “Tell your dear aunt to dry her tears, dear boy. Your problems are solved. You were on your way here to announce your engagement when you received the message, so the first stipulation is easy, and I’m guessing that Jonesy here will be happy to answer for the—”
“Oh no, I won’t, sir,” said Jonesy.
It was the first he’d spoken since Smedley returned to the room.
“And why is that?” asked Norbert.
“Yes, Jonesy,” said Smedley. “Why is that?”
48: Nilpaster Manor
Norbert, Smedley and the others turned to stare at Jonesy. Jeeves was particularly affronted. “What do you mean you won’t be happy to answer for the third stipulation, you no-account git? My aunt always complained that mum didn’t know what she was doing when she married your dad, and apparently auntie was right. It’s not many as has a chance to work for a lordship, and Lord Nilpaster is received at court. Think, man. Are you crazy?”
“No, not crazy,” said Jonesy. “But I’ve got a wish to live to see my next birthday. That’s what I’ve got.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” asked Norbert.
“It means he’s met Mrs. Maple, that’s what it means.” Smedley shook his head sadly. “I always suspected Uncle Willy Nilly lost his marbles from having to live with the likes of her. ‘Sour Maple,’ we called her. Meanest woman in England. It was more than a game hiding in the halls of Nilpaster Manor to avoid her when I was a child; our survival depended upon it. Jonesy, I’m afraid, has good sense.”
“Come, come, dear boy. The woman must be ancient by now. She can’t be that bad, can she?”
“I don’t know about that,” said Smedley. “I’m not getting my hopes up.”
“A wise thing, indeed.” Aunt Cloris took his hand. “But tell me about this beautiful girl here, Smedley. You plan to marry her?”
“Yes, Aunt Cloris, just as soon as I’ve spoken with her family, and we’ve had time to plan a wedding and make it proper. I want everything to be proper; my Penelope deserves it. May I formally introduce to you Miss Penelope Wainscoting, soon to be Mrs. Smedley Christopher? Penelope, this is my Aunt Cloris Christopher.”
Smedley introduced the rest of the party, as well. “So, let’s give Nilpaster Manor a ring on the old phone, then, and take a look at my new home. Perhaps I can convince Jonesy, after all. Please, Jonesy? I’ve grown rather fond of you in the last day, you know.”
Jonesy blushed, so that even his bald pate turned fiery red.
Jeeves drove to Nilpaster Manor, which, as it turned out, wasn’t far from Penelope’s family home, and parked the car on the road, the gravel drive having become overgrown with weeds.
“Well,” clucked Jonesy, “this doesn’t bode well. A bit gothic, if you ask me. I half expect a bell to toll, or a creeking door, or perhaps a bony hand to reach out and grab us.”
“Been reading horror again by candlelight, have you?” Jeeves laughed and winked at Smedley.
They stumbled through the overgrowth and made their way to the front door, ignoring the spiderwebs and the wind that sighed through the trees and showered them with leaves even though it was an early summer morning. Gothic indeed, thought Jonesy. Windy places like this are always haunted.
49: Sour Maple
Smedley brushed the leaves from his hair and searched for the doorbell. Bending closer, he felt along the wall on either side of the door, then puzzled, he looked at Jonesy, “Must not have liked visitors, I guess.”
“Why do you say that, sir?” asked Jonesy.
“I don’t see a bell. Do you?”
“Perhaps we’re meant to use the knocker.” Eye-level with Smedley was a brass knocker the size of Jonesy’s bald pate, it’s polished surface gleaming as if lit from within. “Shall I knock, sir?”
Smedley nodded.
Before Jonesy’s fingers could smudge the knocker’s surface, however, the door creaked open. “Hallo?” said Jonesy.
“You’re expected,” said a voice from behind the door.
They stood, open-mouthed, waiting for the speaker to appear.
In a moment, the voice spoke again. “Well, did you come to see Nilpaster Manor, or did you not?”
“Er, we did,” said Smedley.
“Then wipe your feet and come in. I’ll show you around. Will you be staying?”
“I-I’m not s-s-sure.”
“We will,” said Norbert, his voice confident.
“Very well, then. I’ll have fires lit in your rooms. And how many rooms will you be needing?” The voice was low and quiet, neither young nor old. It was, however, very firm and confident. A hooded figure, a few inches over five feet tall with very upright posture, stepped out from behind the door.
“One for the ladies, I think,” said Jeeves. “And one for the gentlemen, and if there are servants’ quarters for my brother and me, that would be sufficient. We can take care of ourselves and the gentlemen, Miss—”
“Maple. Sarah Maple. You may call Ms. Maple. I’m well aware of what name the young man has used.”
Smedley felt the heat rise to his face.
“Nilpaster Manor has been my family’s home for generations,” Ms. Maple continued. “It means more to my family than its owners. We treat it with respect. There will be no running in the halls and no yelling at any time. Laughter of course, is permitted, but there is a time and place. Decorum is the watchword. Decorum. Meals are served promptly at seven, eleven, tea at two and dinner at five. If you miss a meal, you’ll go without. There will be no fixing for yourself in my kitchen, and if you don’t care for what’s served, you’ll likewise go hungry. Also, you’ll eat your vegetables, or you’ll do without your dessert.” She turned towards Jeeves, who was smirking. “That goes for you, too. Understood?”
Jeeves gulped. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Lord Nilpaster lived to a rich old age. I aim to see that the next Lord Nilpaster does the same. Now, which of you is to be Lord Nilpaster.”
“I-I-I am,” stuttered Smedley.
“We’ll need to fatten you up a bit, I see. But you’ll do. And the others?”
Smedley introduced Penelope, Norbert and Margaret, Jonesy and Jeeves.
Sarah Maple eyed them, her hood hiding her face from them. “I must say, young Smedley, that I approve of your choice. Lady Penelope here seems a sensible woman. We’ll have to work on her a bit, too, before she’s ready, but she has the marks of a lady. Not like the flighty Margaret.”
Margaret’s quick intake of air was audible. She was about to let it out with a flurry of words when Norbert whispered, “Ssshhh. Sour Maple, remember. There must be a story. Ignore her.”
“And Norbert here, he’s got the look of trouble all around. I’ll have my eye on him, yes I will.”
Norbert’s quick intake of air was next, followed by Margaret’s giggle. “Sour Maple, eh?” she whispered.
“And I like this Jonesy,” Ms. Maple continued. “Solid and true. Are you sure he won’t stay?”
“Yes,” said Smedley.
“No,” said Jonesy. “I mean, I will stay, if Smedley will still have me.”
“What?” said Norbert, Smedley and Jeeves all at once.
“I mean, I’ve changed my mind.”
50: Grand Tour
The group stared at Jonesy in surprise.
“What? Can’t a bloke change his mind?”
“Certainly,” said Norbert. “But why?”
Why? I’m not sure myself, except I’ve got a feeling about this Maple. She ain’t what she seems. “I’ve a feeling Smedley will be needing me, and sir, I like being needed. You’ll still have Jeeves.”
Smedley blushed. “Why, thank you, Jonesy.”
“Come, come. Let me show you the place, then. We haven’t got all day. It will be time for our elevenses soon.” She clapped her hands and strode out of the hallway without looking back to see if they followed. “This is the drawing room,” she said. “We’ll have our tea here, and it’s the best room for reading. You do read, I hope.” The last was a statement, not a question. She didn’t pause for the group to examine the room. “This next is the formal dining room, and beyond is the breakfast room. We take our meals in these rooms.” Again, she did not pause for the group to take the rooms in. “And next, we have Lord Nilpaster’s study.”
“But I’m done with school,” said Smedley.
“It’s for looking over the Lordship’s holdings, Smedley,” said Norbert. “I can see we have a few things to teach you.”
Jeeves winced and whispered to Jonesy, “Perhaps I’d better keep an eye on Norbert. There’s no telling what oddities Smedley will learn otherwise.”
“Holdings? What am I to hold?” asked Smedley.
“See what I mean?” said Jeeves.
The tour continued, without pause, until the group had seen the billiard room, the nursery, the card room, the ladies’ parlour, scores of bedrooms plus a great many other rooms, the names for which Smedley could not remember. “My, but it’s a big house,” he said.
“Yes, my lord, it is. We keep most of it shut up, since we’ve so few staff. Just me, cook, and the gardener from town.”
“I should think that would be enough,” said Smedley.
“Good gracious, no. Cook will need an assistant, you’ll need to hire at least two ladies’ maids, we’ll need a house maid, a butler or two, and at least one, perhaps two gardeners. And if you should like to keep horses, we’ll need a man for that, too.”
“That sounds horribly expensive.”
“Smedley, dear boy,” said Norbert. “You’re horribly rich.”
“You are,” said Ms. Maple. “The manor’s income will allow you to hire the staff and live quite handsomely, and if you are an intelligent boy, put some aside for the future.”
“But if he’s so horribly rich,” whispered Margaret to Penelope, “then why are there no modern conveniences? Did you see a television? A radio? A stereo? I feel as if I’ve travelled back in time by a century or more.”
“I don’t know,” Penelope whispered back. “But I rather like it. The grandness of it all compensates, don’t you think?” She turned to Ms. Maple and spoke out loud. “I couldn’t help but notice, however, that there was one set of rooms you didn’t show us. What, pray tell, is behind those doors?” She indicated an ornate set of double doors to their left, partially hidden behind a heavy burgundy drapery edged with golden tassels.
Ms. Maple paled. “Those rooms are private. They are never to be entered by order of Lord Wilberforce Nilpaster.”
“What? Never?” said Norbert. “But he’s dead.”
“Never,” said Ms. Maple. “The house is large. Leave them be. Now, I’ll leave you to your unpacking. We’ll dine at eleven.”