Norbert and Smedley
96: Customary Conclusion
Jeeves stood in the shadows watching the exchange between Norbert, Margaret and the woman with growing alarm. “Maggie?” he thought. “Maggie, not Peggy?” He opened his mouth to question the name change, but was interrupted by the arrival of a man in rough clothing with bits of straw still clinging to the hem.
“And what is it that you’re approving?” the man asked. His skin was coarse and weathered, with creases around his eyes and mouth giving him the appearance of a perpetual smile. He fixed bright blue eyes on the woman and waited for an answer.
“That our Maggie here will be marrying this gentleman,” she said simply.
Both the man and the woman ignored the others present. “And why should you approve?” he responded, his tone argumentative but his expression one of puzzlement.
Although Jeeves tried to signal him, Norbert could keep his silence no longer. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, bowing his head in deference. “I know it’s the custom to ask for a daughter’s hand first, but, well, I couldn’t help myself.”
With those words, little Tommy began to laugh. The woman and then the man soon followed, with Margaret joining not long after, while Norbert looked about the room in obvious confusion, and neither Smedley nor Penelope offered him any advice or reassurance. And in the midst of the commotion, Jeeves began to wonder if he mightn’t be able to slip unnoticed out the back door and disappear—and if he could, what other sort of job he might be qualified for, because Norbert was almost certainly going to fire him on the spot.
97: Lord and Ladies
Norbert stared at Margaret’s laughing family in bewilderment, trying to figure out what he’d said or done to set them off. He replayed the words in his head, but could find nothing humorous in them. I know it’s the custom to ask for a daughter’s hand first, but, well, I couldn’t help myself. Perhaps they thought he’d taken liberties with their daughter and taken offense. God, he hoped not. Some other cad maybe, but not him. He was a gentleman. “Oh, sir, I hope you don’t think I’m being presumptuous, or that I’ve—” he began, but they only laughed all the harder. Norbert looked to Smedley for advice, but his friend wouldn’t meet his eyes, and Jeeves was nowhere in sight.
“My dear boy,” said the man, struggling to speak without choking on his laughter. “I’m sure you mean well.”
“Oh, I do. I do.”
“But I can’t give you the blessing you seek.”
Norbert felt as flat as the Bentley’s tire had been two nights before. “Wh-why?”
Margaret reached up and kissed him on the cheek, before replying merrily, “Because he’s not my father. Oh, Norbert, you fool. This is Cook and her husband, Tom, who is in charge of the grounds and the stable. And this,” she said, giving the boy’s ear a tweak for which she was rewarded with a glare, “is Tommy. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with Cook while I was growing up, and Tom taught me how to ride. They’re like a second family to me.”
“They’re not your parents?”
“What you want to marry an idiot for?” asked Tommy. “He’s not very quick, is he?”
“Tommy!” said Cook harshly. “No, Mr. Norbert, we’re not her parents, but we couldn’t love her more if we was. Sir Rupert and Lady Helen are her parents. Didn’t you know you was in love with Lady Margaret Frembleysmithercup?”
It was then that Norbert recalled with embarrassing clarity why Margaret’s name had sounded vaguely familiar beyond her kinship to his mother’s friend, Lady Worcestershire-Butterworth. He’d read it in all the papers a few years past when she’d broken off her relationship with the future heir to the throne. In a public statement, she’d said the prince was a wonderful boy from a wonderful family, but she had no desire to live her life in the public eye. Thank you, but no.
Norbert felt the color rise to his cheeks; he didn’t know what to say. What must Margaret think of him, that he could have thought her low born?
Margaret reached up, brushed the hair from his face, and let her hand linger on his cheek, her touch gentle. “Now, Norbert. Don’t be embarrassed. When I saw you were confused, I deliberately misled you to see how you’d react. Your response was quite telling, darling. If you could love me under those circumstances, then how much more can I trust your love now that you know who I really am? Have you any idea the number of fortune hunters who have come knocking at my door?”
“B-b-but you’re a Lady…”
“And you think that matters any more to me than who I was mattered to you? You’ll do just fine. Won’t he, Jeeves?” Margaret called the latter in a slightly louder voice. “Jeeves? Tommy, will you run and find our driver, please? Cook, I would greatly appreciate it if you would make Jeeves at home this evening. The rest of us will dine with my parents, I think. I guess I’d better have a look for them.”
98: Kumquats
The four young people—Norbert and Margaret, and Smedley and Penelope—went off in search of Jeeves, with Tommy following close behind them, and as Smedley suspected, they found him by the Bentley. There, Jeeves was so anxiously pacing and wringing his hands, he didn’t notice the group’s arrival.
“Jeeves, are you quite all right?” asked Penelope. “You look a bit ill.”
“I suppose, but I’m don’t know as I can say the same for me Mum. She depends on the cheques I bring home and I don’t expect I’ll bringing them much longer seeing as I’m the one responsible for embarrassing Mr. Norbert.” The great hulk of a man let out a sob and turned his head from them in shame.
Smedley looked upon him in concern. Although Smedley knew and liked Jonesy better, Jeeves had his fine points as well, and it pained Smedley to think Norbert would be harsh on him. “Oh, come now. Norbert, you can’t mean to fire the man, can you?”
“I ought to,” said Norbert.
“But you won’t,” said Margaret sweetly, placing her hand in Norbert’s.
“No. I won’t.” Norbert squeezed Margaret’s hand and gave it a pat. “I never intended to, Jeeves. This has all come as a bit of a shock, though. I never expected to marry a Lady, you know.”
“Well, try to forget that part, will you? Titles aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, with all the protocol and what not. I would much rather be Margaret Bennington than Lady Butterworth-Frembleysmithercup. And some might suggest we become Lord and Lady Butterworth-Frembleysmithercup-Bennington. Can you imagine? It would take an entire pot of ink every time I wrote my name! No, thank you. Society can bloody well keep their proprieties. They aren’t worth the trouble.”
Penelope gasped. “But what will your parents say?”
Margaret shrugged. “I expect Mummy will be horrified and Daddy will pretend to be the same publicly, but privately, he’ll applaud my decision. I think if he had his druthers, he’d run off to a desert island and live on dates and kumquats amongst the natives.”
“Kumquats? Whatever is a kumquat?” asked Smedley. “Some sort of pudding? Or a spiced tea?”
“No,” laughed Penelope. “It’s a fruit. Margaret’s parents sent us a basket of them at Christmas.”
99: Lord Kumquat
“So kumquats are fruits, you say?” Smedley looked skeptically at Penelope. What an odd name. Banana, apple, pear. Those were good names, solid names. Names a tyke could learn to spell. But kumquat? Absolutely not. “You wouldn’t be having a bit of fun with me, would you? Because if you are, I’d say it wasn’t a bit all right. Not after a weekend like this one’s been. I’ve had a bit more stress than I’m used to, what with all the worry about whether or not you’d marry me, and then you kissing Father McMurray, and let’s not forget about Lord Nilly, now—”
Penelope ruffled Smedley’s hair. “Hush, you fool.”
“I knew it!”
“No,” Penelope whispered. “Here come Margaret’s parents.”
Smedley brightened, put on his best smile, wiped his palms on his trousers to make sure they were dry, and strode over to Margaret’s father with all the confidence he could muster. “Hello, Lord Kumquat, I’m Smedley Christopher, the new Lord Nil—” He stopped short at the look of confusion on Margaret’s father’s face and the sound of scarcely concealed laughter behind him.
Penelope stepped forwarded, exuding charm and grace. “He’s had quite a weekend, sir. You see, in the space of twenty four hours, we became engaged and then before we had a chance to tell his family, he learned he’d become Lord Nilpaster. It’s all been a bit much. What he means to say, Lord Frembleysmithercup, is that we’re all exceedingly pleased to make your acquaintance, and we thank you for the kumquats you most graciously sent at Christmas.” She curtsied.
“I say, young man,” said Margaret’s father, “when you land on a stroke of luck, it’s a big one. What a charming young woman.” He took Smedley’s hand in his and pumped it vigorously. “Welcome, welcome, welcome. Glad to have some new blood around here. Now, won’t you young people follow me. Carol Anne will be tickled to meet you. And bring your valet, too. Cook will be delighted to have someone to talk to in the kitchen.” Then Lord Frembleysmithercup locked elbows with Margaret on the one side and Smedley on the other, and set off energetically towards the house. Turning towards he daughter, he whispered confidentially without slowing his stride, “And you? A marriage proposal on the way I hope? I like the looks of the other one. Not as stuffy as the young men your mother finds for you.”
100: Dropping the Bomb
Margaret covered her father’s hand with her own and gave it a squeeze. “Well, Daddy, as a matter of fact, yes. Allow me to introduce—”
“Ah, ah, ah,” said Margaret’s father hastily. “It wouldn’t do to introduce me before your mother’s had a chance to lay eyes on the boy, wouldn’t do at all.” He turned to Smedley, winked and whispered confidentially, “She’d skin us both alive.”
Smedley watched the color drain from Norbert’s face.
“Oh, dear boy,” continued Margaret’s father in a jovial tone, still bouncing along at a brisk pace, “It was just a figure of speech. A figure of speech and no more. My dear Carol Ann wouldn’t harm a church mouse.”
“Blast it, Thomas, where are you?” called a voice from the other side of the parlor door. “Can’t you manage one simple task? I asked you to bring our daughter—without her friends—so that I might ascertain her plans for the upcoming season. I want to be away from their prying eyes and ears in case she intends to have another one of her scenes—” The door flew open, and a rather large woman, with a bust as large as a sofa cushion, or so it seemed to Smedley, sailed into the room. Smedley craned his neck to look up at her rather formidable face. Sadly, the woman had been cursed with an underdeveloped chin; from his perspective, she appeared to be all nose, with a great deal too many nose hairs inside the nostrils. He tried hard not to shudder.
Norbert shrank back on his heels, prepared to inch from the room, but Penelope blocked his exit. Unimpeded, Jeeves had already vanished. Smedley would like to have done the same, but the look in Penelope’s eyes as good as nailed his feet to the floor.
“Oh, Mummy!” said Margaret, with a joy Smedley thought must be faked, then arms open wide, she flew to her mother and hugged her, as if all the love in the world existed between the two of them. “I’ve so been longing to see you and to introduce to you Norbert Bennington the III, my future husband. Smedley, here, the new Lord Nilpaster, will be our best man.”
The room fell silent—so silent Smedley swore he could hear the feathers molting from the caged canary that sat by the window.