Norbert and Smedley
91: Coming Up Roses
The afternoon was headed towards evening when Penelope’s parents could finally be persuaded to say goodbye to their future son-in-law, and even then, only after exacting promises for a return visit the following weekend.
“You must stay with us for the weekend,” urged Penelope’s mother. “We’ve so much to discuss. A Lord in the family! I never imagined, and one so good looking, too!” She fanned her face, giggled, and winked slyly at Penelope at the same time. “Leave it to my darling to find a young man like you, though I’m sure I should love you just as much if you were a pauper!”
“And he wasn’t a Lord when I agreed to marry him, mother. I’d never heard of Nilpaster Manor. He was simply my dear Smedley, and that was good enough for me,” said Penelope.
“As well it should have been,” said Penelope’s father. He came round to clap Smedley on the back.
Jeeves wasn’t surprised when Smedley cleverly stepped out of reach, since the boy received lots of practice dodging Norbert. “Norbert, a word with you if I may? Without the young lady.”
Norbert raised his eyebrows. “Yes. Yes, of course.”
The two stepped around the side of the building. “Now, Jeeves,” said Norbert sternly. “What can be the matter? You’ve been acting a bit odd and staring at me and the young lady all day. Don’t tell me our engagement has put you off—you can’t have expected me to ask your permission beforehand, can you?”
“No, sir. Nothing like that. But it is a bit sudden, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps. But look at her—she’s a darling girl. What more could a man ask for?”
Flustered, Jeeves blurted out what troubled him. “Perhaps a man should ask for a young woman equal to himself in station.”
“What? Of course she’s equal to my station.”
“No, sir. I believe she is not.”
“But her mother—”
“That’s just it, sir. Her mother does like to cook. A lot, sir.” Jeeves proceeded to relate in detail what had happened when they went to Margaret’s home in search of Woofington.
“It can’t be. I refuse to believe it.”
“It is. You’ll see how she’s greeted when we arrive. We’ll go straight away. She’s counting on your love to overlook it all, I’ll warrant, and now that you’ve proposed, she believes she’s won.”
Norbert, visibly pale, said little when they returned to the group, but the change in his demeanor was hardly noticed by the others, so busy were they chatting about Smedley’s successful introduction to Penelope’s parents.
“Yes. It seems my luck has changed,” said Smedley. “All is as right as rain. All that could go wrong has already done so, and from now on, I believe everything is going to come up roses for me. I am truly blessed.”
92: Common Truth
Smedley, Penelope and Margaret were engaged in animated conversation during the hour’s drive to Margaret’s home, but Norbert did not join in. He could not. He was too busy chasing after his racing thoughts.
His Margaret a commoner? Well, so what? Did it matter? No, not really. He’d never cared a whit about station, except that she’d deceived him—intentionally, or so it appeared. Hadn’t she introduced herself as Margaret Butterworth Frembleysmithercup, Margaret Buttercup for short? From Hiccup on the Brey? And said she was related to the Worcestershire-Butterworths? She’d even claimed Lady Worcestershire-Butterworth was her aunt. Norbert rubbed his jaw pensively, and stared out the window. It wasn’t the common part that bothered him, but the feeling that he’d been had, if indeed what Jeeves said turned out to be true. And if it did, the sooner Margaret was out of his life, the better.
Margaret tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and looked into his eyes, her brows knit with worry, when the car slowed in front of the gate to her family home. “Norbert, you aren’t nervous, are you?”
He shook his head.
“That’s good. Because I’m nervous enough for the both of us. Promise me you’ll think the best of my parents, won’t you? Give them a chance? I’m sure they’ll seem a bit odd to you on first meeting, and my brother even more so, but I promise you’ll love them once you get to know them. They’ve got hearts of gold.”
Norbert felt his stomach give a turn. He felt Smedley and Penelope staring at him, yet he said nothing.
“Norbert?” said Margaret, pleading. “I need you to promise. Otherwise, I’ll be too nervous to even say a proper hello, let alone give introductions.”
Norbert crossed his fingers behind his back. “Yes,” he said. If I’m going to lie, he thought, might as well keep it to the minimum.
“Oh, and one more thing. If Mummy cooks for you, make sure you tell her you love it, whatever it is. She slaves away in the kitchen, and it means so much to her if we all adore whatever she turns out, even if we’re sneaking the contents of our plates into the potted plants around the table and emptying the pots later. If the meal isn’t edible, I promise to find you something wonderful later so you don’t go hungry.” Margaret turned his face towards hers. “Promise?”
Norbert could hardly bear to meet her eyes. He nodded slowly and tried not to wince when she kissed him. With every word, he’d become increasingly convinced that Jeeves had been right, and seconds later, he was absolutely certain.
When the car pulled to a stop, Margaret was out the door before Jeeves could come round to open it for her, arms opened wide and shouting, “Tommy!”
A young boy in rough clothing come running to put his arms around Margaret and clutch her tightly, unmindful of the dirt he transferred to her clothing. Margaret stroked the child’s head and kissed it, “Oh, Tommy,” she said. “How I’ve missed you and how you’ve grown! You’re a young man, now!”
“Come see Mum!” said Tommy. “She’ll be angry if you don’t! She’s in the kitchen.”
93: Tea for Two
Puzzled, Smedley watched the color drain from Norbert’s face. “Norbert, I say. Are you quite well?” Smedley’s alarm grew when Norbert leapt from the car instead of answering, to grab Margaret rather roughly by the arm.
“You haven’t been quite honest with me about your family, have you?” Norbert asked; his voice held an uncharacteristic edge, and the stare he leveled at her would have been enough to send Smedley cowering in fear.
But Margaret returned his gaze, a bland expression on her face. “Well, no. I guess I haven’t.”
“Would you like to explain yourself now, while you’ve still the chance?”
“No. I think my parents are capable of explaining themselves.” With that, Margaret turned primly and set off after Tommy.
***
Meanwhile, Jonesy had been quite occupied in the company of Ms. Maple. He’d hoped to spend the morning engaged in pleasantries over a pot of tea, but Candice had had other ideas. After spending some time discussing household matters and staffing, she’d assigned him a number of chores, not the least of which was attending to the manor’s silver, so that he found himself working steadily until cook called them for dinner. Only then, while dining in Ms. Maple’s private quarters, was he able to enjoy a little conversation.
“So, are you wishing you’d gone on the expedition? I’m guessing you didn’t expect to spend your morning working about the place,” said Candice.
“Not really,” answered Jonesy, somewhat ruefully. “I’m glad to have dinner with you, and, truth be told, I’ll be glad to be anywhere but with those young folks when Mr. Norbert finds out about Miss Margaret.”
“Finds out? Finds out what?”
“That she’s not who he thinks she is.”
“I see.” Ms. Maple paused to pour herself another cup of tea, adding a large portion of cream and a half teaspoon sugar. After enjoying a slow sip, she looked over her cup at Jonesy. “And who does Mr. Norbert think she is?”
“He thinks she’s upper class, a Miss Margaret Butterworth Frembleysmithercup, niece of Lady Worcesterwhire-Butterworth.”
Candice Maple raised her eyebrows in amusement and her eyes twinkled merrily, and Jonesy felt vaguely uncomfortable. “And you have reason to believe she is not?” she asked.
“Yes. We know she isn’t. When we went to look for the dog, we learned she was the cook’s daughter and that her real name is Peggy.”
Jonesy watched Ms. Maple drop her tea cup with a clatter.
94: Smitty's Daughter
“Shocking, isn’t it?” he said, leaning over with his napkin to help wipe up the mess.
“Yes, quite.”
Jonesy looked up from the spilled tea when it dawned on him that the tremor in Ms. Maple’s voice resulted from an attempt on her part to hide a giggle. When his eyes met hers, he saw they twinkled merrily and the grin on her face told him he’d made a fool of himself. Oh, dear God, he thought. I hope Jeeves doesn’t say a word to Norbert and cause trouble for the both of us, or worse still, embarrass the lad in front of the lady. “She’s not Peggy, is she?” he said slowly.
“Good Lord, no. She’s Lady Frembleysmithercup, daughter of Sir Frembleysmithercup, and one of the few young ladies who was considered worthy of marrying the prince, but she refused to consider him. She said she was tired of royalty and putting on airs, tired of living in stuffy old mansions that were full of drafts, and so on and so forth, and that she wanted to live in London where she could be plain old Maggie. The best Sir Smitty could do was talk her into calling herself Margaret instead of Maggie, small comfort.”
“I see.” Jonesy felt dizzy at the thought. “Then who is Peggy? The boy, the cook’s son, thought we’d come about a Peggy.”
“Oh, Tommy that would be. Peggy is his sister. A real tramp, that one. Worked here for a time, until I fired her for seeing to stable boy instead of doing her chores, if you catch my drift. But the rest of the family is as right as rain.”
“Well, that’s as may be, but my dear brother is about to warn Norbert off of Miss Margaret because she isn’t of his station.”
“She isn’t.”
“Yes, but…”
“We haven’t a way for you to phone and there’s not a thing you can do about it. If the boy’s heart is where it should be, it won’t matter anyway, will it?”
“I don’t know, Ma’am. He’s been taught by his family to believe that it should.”
“But not all children remember—or believe—what they’re taught. Smedley didn’t. Perhaps his friend won’t either. Now, Jonesy, I’ve made a list of things for you to attend to this afternoon. I’m afraid it’s a long one.”
Jonesy eyed the list Ms. Maple handed him and tried to decide how he felt about her. On the one hand, she held a certain attraction, but on the other, she was the most infuriatingly bossy women he’d ever known—and until his position at Nilpaster Manor was solidified, he couldn’t even argue with her or tell her what he thought about her behavior.
95: Maggie
Norbert ran after Margaret, keeping up with her the best he could; he was vaguely aware that Smedley, Penelope and Jeeves followed.
When Margaret reached the mansion’s kitchen, Tommy was tugging on the apron of a woman who was busy stirring a pot on the stove. “Look, Ma! Look who I found in the driveway!”
The woman turned, a scowl on her coarse face. “If it’s another of your friends, I haven’t the time,” she said. “The mistress will be wanting her supper soon.”
But then the woman’s eyes caught sight of Margaret, and her face immediately brightened. It was, Norbert thought, as if he looked upon a whole different person.
“Oh, Mags!” she said. “You’ve come home, have you? That blasted city hasn’t gone and swallowed you up like an ever-lovin’ Gomorrah after all! Tommy, run and get your father! And have him bring me another chicken, will you? We’ll be feasting tonight!” That said, she opened her arms to Margaret and hugged the girl with such obvious joy Norbert felt obliged to look away until he heard the woman—Margaret’s mother, he reminded himself—say, “And who are your friends, Maggie? Will you be introducing us?”
“Certainly. This is Jeeves, our driver.”
“Yes, I’ve met him.”
“And my good friend Penelope—she lives down the hall from me in London—and her fiancée Smedley. He’s the new Lord Nilpaster. We just found that out yesterday, can you imagine? And this, this is my dear Norbert. We’re to be married. He’s only just proposed.”
When Norbert heard Margaret say the word “married,” he felt a queer sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He’d fallen for Margaret in a big way; she was a lovely girl, so kind and beautiful—everything about her attracted him. The issue wasn’t with her station. If that bothered him, he’d never have saddled himself with Smedley as a roommate. It was the question of honesty and truthfulness, virtues that he treasured. He tried to remember exactly what Margaret had told him, to compare it with the reality now before him. He desperately wanted to believe that he’d misunderstood—perhaps Lady Worcestershire-Butterworth’s brother had married common and she really was Margaret’s aunt. Or maybe Margaret’s family had once been as well off as Lady Worcestershire-Butterworth but had scandalously fallen from grace and now Margaret was holding her head up as best she could. He eyed his beloved, whose face was without artifice, and decided she deserved the opportunity to explain herself, no matter how awkward that explaining might prove to be. He would ask her at the first opportunity. “Yes, Ma’am,” he nodded. “It’s a recent proposal. Just this morning. I apologize for not speaking with you and your husband first.”
The woman raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“It’s only proper.”
“No, it doesn’t matter,” said Margaret quickly. “That’s so old fashioned.” She smiled at the woman, then at Norbert. “What does matter is that I’m to be marrying a wonderful man, I have wonderful friends, and I am deliriously happy.”
“In that case, I can do nothing but approve.”