Norbert and Smedley
81: Turning the Tables
Jeeves followed Jonesy to Norbert and Smedley’s room, his face still distorted in disgust from having swallowed his double dose of cod liver oil. “At least you’ll be the one to tell the boys, right?”
“Me?” said Jonesy. “Of course not. You’re the senior valet in the family. And the oldest. It falls to you on both counts.”
“But you’re Lord Nilpaster’s valet, and so this is your bailiwick. I’d say it falls to you, dear brother. I’m but a guest.”
“Under my orders. So it still falls to you. Or would you rather I involve The Maple?”
Jeeves shuddered. “Fine. I’ll tell them.” Jeeves rapped on the door, opened it hesitantly, glanced inside, then sighed with relief. “They’re alone,” he whispered to Jonesy.
“Very good. Let’s get on with it, then.”
Jeeves cleared his throat and looked nervously from Norbert to Smedley and back again. He cleared his throat a second time.
“What is it?” asked Norbert impatiently. “I haven’t got all day.”
“You mean all night,” laughed Smedley. “We ran out of daylight hours ago.”
“Right. I haven’t got all night.”
“Right, sir. Well, sir, it’s just that—”
“Spit it out, will you?”
“The Maple says we’re to give you cod liver oil, and we’re not to accept any excuses,” blurted Jeeves, his face turning as red as the heavy velvet draperies behind boys. He shrugged apologetically in Norbert’s direction.
“Blast it,” said Norbert. “I will not take cod liver oil.”
“But Maple said—”
“And you shan’t,” said Smedley, folding his arms across his chest confidently.
Jonesy looked at Smedley in surprise. “But sir, The Maple said she required it of you, and you’ve seen how she’s always popping up—how she knows things.”
Smedley shook his head in a knowing fashion. “Oh, I am so sorry, my dear Jonesy, but I have lived in this house off and on since I was a child. “The Maple,” as you call her, has been ordering cod liver oil for just as long, and you know what?”
“What?”
“I have never taken a dose. Not a one.”
“You haven’t?” said Jeeves, Jonesy and Norbert in unison.
“No,” said Smedley, with an evil glint in his eye. “But, I am sad to say, my valet has taken a great many of them. You see, Maple only counts the number of doses that are gone from the bottle. So, my dear Jonesy, I'm afraid it is bottoms up. So sorry, but I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you…” Then Smedley turned to Jeeves, “And, I regret to say, that I must require you to do the same for my good friend Norbert here.”
“Oh, sir,” said Jonesy. “I hardly think that necessary. Perhaps if I were to have a word with the woman, I could change her mind.”
“No,” said Smedley. “It’s no use. She hasn’t listened to reason in a good many years—why she should start now? So which of you will go first?”
“I’ll tell you what,” said Jonesy, rather glumly. “I’ll be a good man, and take the doses for the both of you, and then we’ll be off to see to the ladies.”
“Good man,” said Smedley. “We’ll see you in the morning. Norbert and I were just discussing whether or not we should try to see Margaret’s parents tomorrow, too, or just visit Penelope’s. Margaret suggested that it might be a bit much to accomplish in one day, but I should rather like to meet them. What do you think?”
Jonesy, who was in the middle of swallowing the cod liver oil, could not answer, for suddenly he started on a fit of coughing.
82: Poppycock
While Jonesy, coughed, Jeeves’ eyes grew wide and the color drained from his face.
“Well,” said Norbert impatiently, paying no heed to Smedley, who was patting the coughing Jonesy on the back, “you’ve met her mother. Surely you must have an opinion.”
“Yes, er… I’ve met—”
“Come, come, man. Spit it out. We haven’t got all day.”
“Night,” said Smedley over his shoulder.
“Night.” Norbert glared at Smedley. “Quite right. We haven’t got all night. I’m tired and should like to go to bed.”
“Well, sir, begging your pardon,” said Jonesy, who had recovered from coughing, “the mother isn’t quite what you’d expect.”
“Oh, no. I expect not,” Norbert agreed. “Margaret said her mother wasn’t one to put on airs, that she was as down-to-earth a woman as you’d care to meet and she was good in the kitchen. Preferred to cook the meals herself.”
“Well, Margaret was honest with you there, sir.”
“And I’m anxious to meet Margaret’s brother,” said Smedley. “I gather he’s something of a birder. I rather fancy birds myself, you know.”
“No, Smedley, I didn’t,” said Norbert. “Is this something new?”
“Well, yes. I guess it is. It’s the plumage, you know. All the colors. And I like the idea of teaching one to talk. Do you suppose I could teach one to say ‘Penelope’”?
“Smedley, you fool! I don’t think that’s quite what Margaret meant.”
“I’m certain it is.”
“Isn’t.”
“Is.”
Norbert stood in front of Smedley, his chest puffed out and his face scarlet, for all the world looking like a schoolboy about to fight at recess. Jonesy was so busy laughing, he almost didn’t break them up before they came to blows. “Come, come. It hardly matters this evening. We’ll ask the young lady in the morning. And, I think perhaps it would be nice to visit both young ladies’ families tomorrow, as long as Mr. Norbert has been properly prepared by Miss Margaret, and it sounds as if Miss Margaret has been forthcoming in her own way.”
“Thank you,” said Norbert.
“Yes, thank you,” said Smedley. “And good night.”
Once Jonesy and Jeeves were outside the door, Jeeves turned to his brother. “Prepared them? Forthcoming in her own way? What kind of poppycock is that?”
Jonesy sighed. “The young lady must answer for herself, don’t you think?”
“I’m giving up thinking. It makes my head hurt.”
83: Shave, No Haircut
The following morning, Jeeves and Jonesy were awake before the rooster began to crow.
“Couldn’t sleep?” asked Jonesy.
“No. I’m worried about Mr. Norbert meeting Miss Margaret—or should I say Miss Peggy’s?—family. He’s rather taken with the girl, and I’m afraid it’s going to break his heart. She’s the first one that’s caught his eye, you know.” Jeeves stumbled to the washbasin, still in his nightshirt, removed his shaving soap and brush from his kit, and began to work up a thick lather.
“Really.”
“Yes. Really.” Jeeves paused to apply a thick beard of lather to his cheeks and chin. “Norbert’s flirted with lots, and I know he’s got the reputation, but ain’t none of it deserved.” He swiped his razor carefully from cheek to jaw, across his chin, then from cheek to jaw on the other side, pausing briefly between strokes to speak. “The boy’s not as bad as they say he is—mostly he gets into trouble because he won’t play as fast and loose as the girls want him to, but you didn’t hear that from me.” When he was satisfied with the shave, Jeeves rinsed and stood back, admiring his work. “Anyway, he’s just been going through the motions, has our Norbert. This girl is the first as what’s tickled his fancy.”
“Oh, dear. Then he is in for a rude awakening,” said Jonesy, who was waiting his turn at the sink.
“So you mustn’t have slept well, either. Maple give you indigestion?” Jeeves elbowed his brother as he passed on his way to the bed where he’d laid out clothes for the day.
Jonesy felt his bald head glow. “Something like that,” he mumbled. He was grateful that Jeeves seemed not to notice.
Jonesy had just finished shaving his face and the three or four hairs that remained on his head when a knock came at the door.
“Yes?” said Jeeves--rather gruffly if you asked Jonesy.
“It’s Mrs. Matthews, dearies. Maple asked if I’d stop by on my way to the kitchen to tell Jonesy she’d like to have a word with him before breakfast. She’s in her sitting room. Don’t open the door now, unless you’re decent.”
“Thank you, Madam,” said Jeeves.
Jeeves waited until her footsteps departed down the hall. “Now what the devil could Maple want with you this morning? You don’t suppose?”
“The cod liver oil? Quite possibly.” Jonesy smiled to himself as he watched Jeeves face turn gray.
84: Ode to Joy
Jonesy pretended to worry about the summons to Ms. Maple’s sitting room until he’d rounded the curve in the staircase, at which time he hurried his steps and even allowed himself to whistle under his breath. While his heart longed for a cheerful tune, he still worried others might hear, however, so he chose a Bach cantata, instead, one that often served as the foundation for church hymns. Maple had sent for him, then. Might she have liked him as much as he liked her? Perhaps he stood a chance, bald pate and all; perhaps he wasn’t meant to remain a bachelor despite Jeeves’ dire predictions to the contrary. To his embarrassment, Jonesy found himself whistling Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” instead of Bach’s more somber composition. He stopped abruptly, but too late. He stood before Maple’s open door.
“Quite the songbird.” Candace Maple smiled.
“Yes. Well. Ahem,” said Jonesy.
“Come in. I wish you hadn’t stopped. I was quite enjoying the sound of your approach.”
The object of Jonesy’s fancy laughed then, a girlish laugh more beautiful than any music. He felt his face turn red; he looked at his feet.
“Come, come. You mustn’t be shy. We’re old friends, aren’t we?” She placed her hand on his arm. “Would you like some tea?”
Grateful for something to do with his hands—he’d at least be able to wrap them around a cup—Jonesy nodded.
“So, tell me. How did it go with the cod liver oil last night?”
An odd inflection in the young woman’s voice caused Jonesy to raise his eyes to her face. He found her smiling merrily, with a twinkle in her eye. His mouth fell open. She laughed again. He stuttered but found himself unable to form a sentence, which caused her to laugh so hard she began to choke.
“Oh, dear,” said Jonesy, patting her on the back. “I’m sorry Ma’am. I didn’t mean to upset you. Can I get you anything? Water perhaps?”
At his concern, she began to laugh harder. “Oh, no. No. No. No.” Another laugh. “You are a dear man.” She laughed again, and put her hand softly on his arm, sending a shiver up his spine. Jonesy rather hoped she’d leave it there. “Let me explain,” she said. The tea set arrived just then, to Jonesy’s disappointment. Ms. Maple removed her hand to busy herself with making tea, speaking as she did so. “After you left last night, I went in to see my mother, you see, and told her about our evening. When she heard about the cod liver oil, she said, ‘Oh, that poor man. I hope he fancies cod liver oil.’ Then she told me about Smed—, er, Lord Nilpaster.”
“So she knew?”
“She’s been on to him for years and years, said she only sent up the cod liver oil when she wanted punish his valet.”
“Really?”
“Really.” Candace laughed again.
“Well, that’s a good one.” Jonesy laughed along with her. “At least I got my brother good.”
“You did?”
“Yes. I only took one dose, but he had to take three. Mr. Norbert made him.”
“Four!”
“Yes,” said Jonesy with a chuckle. “You see, when I met him in the hall, I told him your mum said he was to take some, too, only on account of the fact he was so big, he needed a double dose.”
“Oh, that’s a good one.”
“I felt bad, though, and offered to take both of the gentlemen’s doses, but Mr. Norbert wouldn’t hear of it. He said that was what he had his own valet for, and so Jeeves had to take Mr. Norberts, too.”
“But what about your dose? And what about the ladies’?” asked Candace Maple in mock surprise.
“No one made mention of either, and I conveniently forgot.”
Candace rapped the back of Jonesy’s hand playfully. “You naughty boy! I shall have to make an example of you at breakfast by announcing that neither you nor the ladies shall have your pudding at mid-day.”
“What? That’s not fair! You wouldn’t have known if I didn’t tell you!”
“Jonesy, my dear,” Candace said, looking at him with violet eyes he hadn’t noticed before, eyes that held his attention so completely he hardly heard—or cared—what followed; he’d have done whatever she asked. “Jonesy, we must keep up the deception. I’m going to need your cooperation in order to pull it off. Can I count on you?”
“Mmmmmm…”
“What?”
“Oh,” he said dreamily. “Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”
85: Thanksgiving
When Norbert, Smedley, Margaret and Penelope had seated themselves at the breakfast table, Jeeves and Jonesy entered carrying rashers of bacon, racks of toast and poached eggs to go with the pots of tea, jams and jellies and clotted cream that already waited for them at the table. Norbert smiled and rubbed his hands together, while eyeing Smedley, deciding, thought Jonesy, whether to have a go at the eggs or the bacon first, and giving no thought to the young ladies. Jonesy sniffed. The more time he spent in company with the two gentlemen side by side, if he was indeed forced to call them gentlemen (and by his estimation, Norbert’s manners were sorely lacking), the more Jonesy was quite glad he was to be called into Mr. Smedley’s service.
Norbert reached for the bacon.
“Not so fast, young man!” said Ms. Maple, appearing out of nowhere to stand at the head of the table.
Norbert’s hand shot back so fast he rapped his knuckles. Jonesy chuckled to himself as he watched Norbert shaking the sting from it beneath the table, where it was out of Ms. Maple’s sight.
“Thank you. Before you begin your meal, it is only appropriate that we give thanks where it is due.”
“By all means, then, thank the cook,” said Norbert.
“No, Norbert,” whispered Margaret. “She means say grace.”
“Good God,” Norbert replied.
“Not that one,” said Penelope, who was seated on Norbert’s other side. “In my house, we’re sent to bed without supper for being cheeky if we try that one.”
Norbert raised his eyes to the ceiling and sighed.
Smedley smiled. “Silent prayer works, but we generally pray out loud. I’ll give it a go. Thank you, Lord, for our food and for our friends. Bless us this day and all our tomorrows. Amen and Amen.”
“Amen,” said Penelope and Margaret.
Norbert looked from friend to friend for a moment, then asked, “Can we eat now?” When Smedley nodded, Norbert’s hand shot out for the bacon again, only to retreat at Ms. Maple’s firm, “No, you may not.”
The four young people looked at her, dumbfounded.
“I have an announcement to make. Last night, I sent Jonesy upstairs with cod liver oil for the four of you. However, neither Jonesy nor the ladies took their doses.”
The color drained from Jeeves’ face, and the girls looked upon Ms. Maple with puzzled expressions.
“Do not think that such disobedience is without consequence. Neither Jonesy nor the young ladies will have pudding today at luncheon.”
The girls laughed. “Oh, that’s quite all right,” Penelope said. “We’re off to see my family, and we’ll be having luncheon with them. None of us will be wanting our pudding here.”
“In that case,” answered Maple, “you’ll not be getting pudding at dinner.”
“Oh, but we want our pudding at dinner,” said Margaret sweetly.
“That may be, but without cod liver oil last night, I’m afraid you won’t be getting any pudding tonight. Enjoy your breakfast,” Ms. Maple said curtly. Then turning, she left the room before any of them could argue.