Beginning, Section II
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Chapter 10
Summoning up as much dignity as I could muster, I walked down into the jaws of death, or at any rate those of an extremely uncomfortable encounter. Bungler and Hurst were among the assembled company, but distracted as I was, Darcy was the only one I noticed. In the last several days since I had been avoiding him, he appeared to have acquired a few additional inches that rendered his already impressive frame rather fearsome, and perhaps it was simply the cut of his sports-coat, but I was made acutely aware of the fact that the thews and sinews had not been neglected while he had been perfecting his other faculties. Although I had no real basis for suspecting him of something so loathsome, he had the air of a man practiced in the black arts of Swedish exercise. And perhaps it was simply a trick of the light, but it seemed to me that strange pangs flashed along his brow, giving the distinct impression that the memory of some deadly feud or disappointed passion lurked below. In my current frame of mind, neither possibility was particularly inviting, and despicable as I would normally consider a creature such as Collins, the only efficable solution appeared to be to step into his shoes, undoubtedly an uncomfortable fit, and become a flatterer of the festal hour.
In keeping with this philosophy, I smiled ingratiatingly as I walked up to him. Darcy reacted immediately, but in a manner which could only send shivers down my spine.
"Ah, Wooster. Wipe that baboonish smirk off your face. You've held us up long enough. Why on earth did you send your man to say that you wanted to join us shooting if you were obviously in no state to leave early?"
I stared blankly for a minute, muttering Judas under my breath.
"A slight miscommunication," I tried to explain, recovering myself, "I was not aware you were planning to leave early."
I allowed Darcy's slanderous insinuation to pass unchallenged, but under the circumstances, taking up cudgels on behalf of the baboons seemed a foolhardy scheme, and whatever Darwin may have had to say on their claims of kinship seemed to apply at that moment more accurately to Darcy himself than to yours truly. There was nothing to be done now except to deliver the message as instructed, and to hope that Jeeves's mental faculties were not suffering from a lapse comparable to that which seemed to have appeared in his concern for the young master's health and happiness. But being, as I was, at a loss as to how I might turn the conversation around to that topic, I thought it best to melt into the crowd, such as it was, and hope that an opening would present itself naturally.
We set off towards the undiscovered country behind Netherfield, but we quickly ascertained that at this hour, there was little hunting to be had. Darcy's countenance grew blacker still, if such a thing were possible, and it seemed to me that he might at a moment's notice draw forth the wrath of the heavens, with me as their unfortunate object. Hoping to forestall the inevitable, I turned to Bungler and suggested that under the circumstances, we might as well call on our neighbors, and ask after Jane Bennet's health. Bungler of course thought it a capital scheme, and sent for the motor-cars immediately. But fortune's vagaries tormented me still further, and it was Darcy who climbed into my two-seater with me.
I have it on good authority that Meryton is but two miles from Netherfield hall, but on that day I would have sworn that the English cartographers had shirked their labours most grievously in thus labelling the distance. Of course, the crux of it was that Darcy left much to be desired as a travelling companion, although for once, it was not on the side of silence that he erred.
"Don't think I don't know what you're about, Wooster," was his opening thrust, and I couldn't help thinking that a straightforward 'en garde' would have been less menacing.
"Eh?" was my pathetic attempt at a parry; my only excuse can be that Jeeves's betrayal had left me rather weak.
"Don't mumble, Wooster. Enunciate like a man!" was his comeback, and I was about to elaborate that mumbling would have involved my trying to formulate actual words, when in fact I had made no such attempt, when he continued himself.
"I know you suggested this little outing because you've been waiting for another opportunity to monopolize Miss Elizabeth again. Look, Wooster, If Caroline won't marry you, that's your business, but that's no reason to be running around after another poor girl. And it's no use pretending that you'll marry her, Wooster. Stop me if I've mentioned this before, but I know a flibbertygibbet when..."
If the thing was to be said, now was the moment, and never let it go down in the annals of history that Bertram W. Wooster squandered the perfect moment when it was at hand.
"Stop."
I said it in the calmest, most measured of tones, but evidently Darcy, despite his words, was entirely confident that he would not be interrupted.
"What?"
"I asked you to stop, Darcy, and I ask once again that you cease and desist in your petty, and I might add, unbecoming, insinuations. I am no flibbertygibbet, and I have heard you hold forth on the theme of flibbertygibbets once too often. You are obviously not as talented in identifying said flibbertygibbets when you see them as you claim to be, and I have no wish to bandy words with you on the subject."
Harsh words, undoubtedly, and many a stronger man than Darcy would have cringed at them. But Darcy, if he cringed, did not show it, and he was evidently good for at least another round. All I could hope for was that until all was said and done according to plan, he would attend to my words, and would not divert his attention to the destruction of my extremities.
"In that case, Wooster, what am I to make of your attentions to Miss Bennet?"
"Who are you to make anything of them, Darcy? I gave you the benefit of the doubt as a friend of Caroline's the last time you attempted to interfere in my affairs, but she and I have parted company amicably, as you are well aware. My business is my own, and Miss Bennet's is no concern of yours."
This, I could see, touched the spot, but I was by no means done.
"And let me stop you before you attempt to convince me that it is fraternal concern that prompts you to speak, because I have already told you that that is my own interest in her. Why you are bent on thinking that I intend to trifle with Lizzy when she is all but engaged already is a matter I shall leave between you and your creator, Darcy, but I cannot refrain from pointing out that you seem entirely too reluctant to take the same course with me."
But I could see that I had baited the hook well, and that the poor fish had bitten.
"What did you just say?"
"I was pointing out, Darcy, that you seem entirely too involved in my affairs..."
"Not that!"
"What then?"
"About... Elizabeth Bennet?"
"I seem to recall that she has been the principal subject under debate these past several minutes."
"Wooster, did you just say that she was engaged?"
"All but."
"To whom?"
"Her cousin, William Collins. He's the rector of Hunsford, in Kent. He is currently visiting with his cousins, and it is generally supposed that the preliminaries will be agreed upon during the visit. If you would only attend to your neighbours, Darcy, you would not be so grievously behind the news."
"Hmm."
I was tempted to remind him at this juncture that conversation might be best furthered were he to refrain from mumbling and to enunciate like a man, but I decided that would be pushing the envelope a bit. I proceeded therefore simply to make my point and hope for the best.
"It should be patently obvious to you, Darcy, that I have nothing other than a friendly interest in the young lady, and I should advise you to fight this unhealthy fixation I see growing in you. Unless, of course, you have an interest of your own in the matter," I finished, with a pointed hint for him to go do the right thing by her. The response, although conducive to my own bodily integrity, was distinctly disappointing from Jeeves's perspective.
"I? No, of course not. I'm, uh, grateful to you for enlightening me, Wooster. Not that I, uh, but, uh, I was concerned that she might think more than you intended."
I was tempted to tell him that if this was his idea of indifference, then he might as well give up and head out for the Rocky Mountains to shoot grizzlies right away, skipping all intermediate steps. But for the moment, I let the matter rest, knowing that a further acquaintance with the Reverend Collins would, apart from sadly undermining whatever faith Darcy might have had in the Church of England, ensure that nature take its course when it came to matters involving Lizzy.
It was at this point that we rolled into Meryton, and we would have gone on further to Longbourn, but I saw Bingley's car parked some distance down High Street, and across the road, I could see the reason why. The Misses Bennet, complete with the Reverend Collins, had come visiting to Meryton, and Bingley had stopped to ask after them. Even at that distance, Collins's absurd mannerisms were quite apparent to the well-trained eye, and even Darcy, who had apparently never seen the man before in his life, seemed rather affected. I could only imagine how he'd respond to hearing the man speak.
"Is that the man, Wooster?"
"The very one," I replied.
"Hmm," was the best he could come up with once again, and I, well trained under years of Jeeves's tutelage, could see the train of his thoughts as though they were writ large upon the sky. I could not answer for Lizzy, but I would have wagered a considerable sum that Darcy, at least, was limed. But it is for the best that there were no book-makers willing to offer me odds on the proposition, because like so many other sure-things, it came unraveled before my very eyes under the influence of circumstances entirely unforeseen. By the time we reached Bingley, another motorist appeared entirely out of the blue, honking cheerfully as she put man and beast in the fear of God. I was left staring into the dust she left in her wake, and would have continued on my own merry way, had it not been for the distinct awareness of ominous words ringing in my ears.
"Hello there, Bertie! Whatever on earth are you doing here?"
Words, rather, though singularly lacking in offensive content at face value, which when enunciated with that particular lilt, and combined with a sharp impression of a particularly vivid shade of red hair, could not but strike terror through a strong man's heart. Or at any rate through my heart, because when it came to considerations of sheer physique, at any rate, there sat a considerably more impressive specimen of the sex by my side, and his reaction was markedly different.
"Drive on, Wooster," was all he said, with admirable brevity, and I as a man hypnotized, obeyed, and made my way back to Netherfield entirely mystified.
So back to Netherfield it was. When I say that this leg of the trip was markedly different from other, you, my careful and attentive reader, cannot but surmise that given the vast scope for improvement that the other held, this must have been an altogether pleasant experience. It is with the greatest of regret, therefore, that I shatter your gentle illusions, and place before you the incontrovertible fact that in thinking silence preferable to the act of bandying words with F. Darcy, I had been sorely mistaken. He sat there with the air of a man upon whose very soul agony gnawed, and while it is all well and good to say that a cold shoulder would have adequately met the demands of the moment, I maintain that it is no small feat to continue blithe and bonny sitting next to a creature of Goliathesque proportions whose soul is apparently undergoing a pretty stiff overhaul. Still, our recent conversation had drained me, and I was in no condition to suggest that he convert his sounds of woe, or more accurately, his silent look of woe, into hey nonny, nonny. Without the benefit of my potentially uplifting advice, Darcy continued to look like a stick in the mud, while I, reeling on the one hand from Darcy's less than exhilarating company, and on the other from the ominous ringing in my ear, was no a beacon of sweetness and light myself.
As we made our way back to Netherfield I was increasingly conscious of the sensation that all of my hopes and dreams had officially taken an extended leave of absence, leaving doom and despair to hold sway in their stead. There, in the driveway, was parked a motor-car that looked oddly familiar. The very one, in fact, that had just passed us earlier in Meryton. Seeing it now unaccessorized with a cloud of dust it rang other bells, in the rusty recesses of the brain. But it was not until I walked into the house and was presented with incontrovertible proof that I accepted the fact that best laid plans of any mice or men in the nice vicinity were practically guaranteed to go astray.
Bobbie Wikham was at Netherfield Hall.
Chapter 11
I confess I had been counting on that heart-cheering beverage, well-brewed tea, to unwrinkle my furrowed brow, and lend me some measure of calm, but with Roberta Wikham present, I could tell that such an eventuality was well nigh impossible. Not that I was actually unhappy to see the little pill once again. There had been a time, now shrouded in the mists of antiquity, when the Wooster heart had been hers to command, but she having cast it aside as being no more serviceable than an old tube of toothpaste, it now kicked away once more at the old stand, acknowledging no other master than yours truly. Nevertheless, I continued to take a friendly interest in her affairs, and no one had been more delighted to see that the path of true love, after pulling a few nasty ones, had taken on the semblance of a straight and narrow for her and my bosom buddy Reginald 'Kipper' Herring. The banns had been read, and by my calculations the wedding bells were to ring out in less than a fortnight. The initial shock of having found her at the doorstep having subsided, I had had occasion to recall that in classifying her as out of the picture because she was parked at Skeldings Hall I had committed a blooper. The small print clearly advertised that that stately homestead was located in Herts, and was in all probability no more than ten miles from Netherfield. Nor was her presence at Netherfield particularly mysterious, since it was revealed that she and Caroline Bingley had infested the same girls school, not entirely coincidentally the very same one that I had had the misfortune to address some years after their departure. But in supposing that she had come to extend a hearty invitation to our party to join in the upcoming festivities, I was proven mistaken, and perhaps I was morbid but it seemed to me that that for one who intended to be a blushing bride in under two weeks she was mysteriously silent on the subject of her betrothed. When last I had seen this Roberta, her eyes like twin stars had twinkled at every mention of her Kipper, and her conversation, when not rained by more immediate concerns, had tended to dwell almost exclusively on that theme. And yet, here was this same Bobbie, gallivanting around the country and conversing well and fluently with considerable vivacity on every theme save love, as though no such Kipper existed on the face of the planet. More than once I attempted to introduce the subject, exercising considerable tact in refraining from any direct suggestion, but each time she refused to take me up on the hint. There was a dark history behind it all, and dark histories involving Bobbie Wikham have a way of broadsiding yours truly in their wake. And her refusal to spill the beans only strengthened my resolve to hang on to her as a limpet, attempting to extract all particulars.
After we had drained the last pailful of tea I skillfully persuaded Bobbie to join me for a walk in the gardens. Caroline watched us leave with narrowed eyes, but I could have told her that her suspicions were for naught. Darcy, for his part, was suspiciously limpet-like himself, and though he did not join us, he declared his intention of likewise walking, and seemed to follow us about at a not too generous distance. My mission, however, was too vital to be bogged down by such trifles, and the moment we were out of the house I put the question to her in the clearest possible terms.
"Why the mysterious silence, young Bobbie? Am I to infer that the wedding bells are not to ring out?"
"You may jolly well say that the wedding bells will not ring out, young Bertie, and if they do your friend Mr. Herring will be miles away, with his foot in his mouth. Then he'll say he's sorry!"
I remarked that in the position she had described he would find such an acknowledgement rather beyond his powers, but she seemed to take this observation in entirely the wrong spirit. Turning on me with narrowed eyes she told me to stop blathering.
"I am not in the habit of blathering," I said, coldly.
"Then for someone who's just starting out you do it exceedingly well," was her come-back, and I was tempted to inquire if she were at all acquainted with a certain fish faced young poop by the name of Augustus Fink-Nottle, who in one of his more inspired moments had made just such a comment about the former embryo dictator Spode, who now goes under the alias of Sidcup. But it occurred to me that in her present mood Bobbie was likely to resent such a question. I returned, therefore, to the matter at hand.
"May I inquire as to the nature of the tragedy that prevented your impending nuptials?"
"I'll tell you the nature of the tragedy. The nature of the tragedy is that your friend is as stubborn as Balaam's ass, which I doubt you've ever heard of." I drew myself up to my full height.
"You are mistaken. I am fully acquainted with the history of the creature in question. You appear to forget that I was the recipient of the Scripture Knowledge prize at the primary school which Kipper and I had the misfortune of attending together."
"Oh, yes, I'd forgotten about that. I won't inquire into how that came about just now. At any rate, your friend is determined to sabotage his own future, and I'm just happy I found out before the wedding so that he can't take me down with him."
"Come, come, Bobbie! To say nothing of the slanderous imputations you cast on old friends, is this the spirit of free and frank exchange?" But I need not have spoken. She had hit her stride, and was now frank, forthright, and fearless, as reviewers of novels such as her mother's or Rosie M. Bank's, the wife of a dear friend of mine, Bingo Little whom I had once had the misfortune of impersonating before his uncle. Long story. You will find it elsewhere in the archives.
"You know how mother felt about the engagement. She only agreed to it because it meant that I wouldn't be marrying you." I nodded. This was incontrovertible fact. I have it on good authority that that lady referred to me habitually as "guffin" or "gaby" - epithets which reveal her literary bent, and her superior mastery over the language than my own, since other than the general disagreeable bent, I have not the pleasure of understanding them. Sheer error, of course, the whole thing was, but there you have it. And it was unquestionably true that the publication of the engagement between Bobbie and myself, other than causing a great deal of consternation in other quarters, had undoubtedly brought about the desired result.
"Well, you faded from the horizon, and Reginald's prospects weren't really getting any better, and mother was none too thrilled about the upcoming nuptials. Well, I wasn't just going to run off and get married in some registry office, which is apparently what your friend had in mind, when I could stick it out for a big wedding with full choral effects and a bishop, and a full colour spread in the illustrated papers, and I knew exactly how to get what I wanted. Mother was working on another novel, you see. It came out two weeks ago. I don't suppose an undiscerning philistine like you knows anything about it, but it was very anticipated in some circles."
Here I might have contradicted her. I had never actually waded through the literary progeny of Bobbie's mother, I had it on excellent authority that they belonged in the genre of literature, to stretch the term absurdly, whose entire purpose was to depict the series of incredible coincidences required to unite in matrimony the Hero, a young man of doubtful disposition but exalted birth, and his Heroine, whose credentials were established by her possession of just the opposite characteristics. In other words, they were the sort of sentimental tripe that the literati would hesitate to come into physical contact with, even if any such contact were to be mediated by the means of a bargepole of considerable length. But Bobbie, though an excellent girl, does not take kindly to interruption. Jeeves, who has considered the matter scientifically, claims that it has something to do with the colour of her hair, which, as previously noted, is a particularly vivid shade of red, and on the whole I see no reason to doubt him. And in my eagerness to have the entirety of the facts in my possession, I allowed her to proceed.
"For some reason, although it sells so very well, mother's work has been most neglectfully ignored by the literary press. And although she never says anything about it, I know she wants nothing more than the notice of some of the more respectable periodicals. So of course I told Reginald what he needed to do. If a favourable review of her work had appeared in his journal, it would have improved mother's opinion of him no end. But can you guess what he said to that?"
"I would venture to guess that he pointed out that his journal, and he personally, wouldn't touch your mother's novels with a bargepole." She started.
"Those very words! I should have guessed you were in cahoots with him all along! Well, you can tell him that I wouldn't bring him bread and water to ease his suffering if he were starving in a ditch!"
"Now, now, young Bobbie!"
"Don't you 'now, now, young Bobbie' me, Bertie!"
"You won't take the charitable view of the matter and attribute his ill-considered words to the heat of the moment? It isn't strained, you know."
"What isn't? What are you babbling about now?"
"The quality of mercy."
"What about it?"
"It isn't strained."
"What does that mean, anyway?"
I persevered, refusing to allow her to distract me from my purpose by drawing me into a round of literary analysis.
"It is twice blessed. It blesseth him that gives and him that receives."
"You can take the quality of mercy and stuff it, for all I care, Bertie. I would be only too happy to attribute Reginald's words to the heat of the moment. He knows my terms. He can still publish that review anytime he wants to." I was forced to change tactics.
"Oh, come, come, Bobbie."
"Don't 'come, come' me, young Bertie. Say your piece if you have one."
"You won't reconsider your terms? One sees his point, you know. The sanctity of his art, and all that."
"One does no such thing! The sanctity of his art indeed! I didn't see you talking about the sanctity of his art when he took it upon himself to demolish the reputation of the Reverend Aubrey Upjohn to serve his own childish purposes!"
She was alluding to the occasion on which Kipper had used his anonymous pulpit to take to task the principal of the primary school to which I have alluded, for misrepresenting said school as a haven for flowering youth rather than the grim introduction to the miseries of life's struggle it really was, and though my intention was to conciliate and to attempt to reconcile, I could not but contradict her here.
"On the contrary, my dear Bobbie, I can think of no more shining act of courage for the sake of his art. It puts him in the light of some knight of yore. Is this the honest man whose love you scorn?"
"Bertie, it's no use. Mr. Herring is fully aware of what I require. There is no reason why a review of mother's novel cannot appear in the next issue of his magazine. If he is so reluctant to oblige me now then I consider I've had a lucky escape."
"You refuse absolutely to soften your stance?"
"I refuse absolutely. I'm not asking for much, Bertie, just the sort of wedding of which any girl would be justifiably proud." And with that she turned back to the house, and there was nothing to do but to follow her back in. Darcy, it seemed, had lingered behind us all this while, and now I caught a look in his eye before which few men would not have quailed. I was at a loss to say how I had offended him on this instance, but the truce between us had been shaky at best, and I was never sanguine about his skulking presence. It was with some comfort that I rejoined the rest of our party in the drawing room, but if ever there were a night when the company of the Netherfield party had failed to touch the spot then this was it. To be sure, Bungler and Caroline were as bright and cheery as they could have been, the Hursts were less vegetative than usual, and Bobbie's high spirits were a sparkling addition to the party. Darcy for his part, remained constant to his Trappist vows, and the look that sunk a thousand ships was directed for the night not at me but at Bobbie Wikham. Jeeves has had much to say about maidens, like moths, being ever susceptible to glare, but if Darcy expected such a glare as that to do anything in his favour, he was most grievously mistaken. At least superficially it had the air of being specifically designed to accomplish the sort of transmutation into a pillar of salt which has been so justly celebrated by a certain someone who had a hand in transcribing the word of God for all of his children, and whose name escapes me at the present moment. And yet, I was not cheered. I gambolled, making vain pretence of gladness, with an awful sense of one mute shadow watching all.
Chapter 12
The day's events had left me with a rummy sort of feeling, and when Jeeves came by with a nightly restorative, I decided to have it out with him, to the satisfaction of all concerned.
"Whatever did you mean, Jeeves, by throwing me to the lions this morning? Darcy armed and dangerous is a sight that I would happily have avoided, as you well know. He almost bit my head off."
"I am sorry to hear it, sir. Am I to understand that Mr. Darcy did not take kindly to your information?"
"I wouldn't say that. I was referring to his reception of me this morning. When I told him about Collins he gave me a rummy sort of look and brooded about it for a while."
"He was not inclined to strike up an acquaintance with that gentleman, sir?"
"When have you ever known Darcy ready and eager to strike up an acquaintance with anyone, Jeeves? We did see him with the Bennets on the street, but Darcy seemed rather keen to move along."
"Indeed, sir? And you did not stop of your own inclination?"
"You seem to think, Jeeves, that I am eager willing and able to forward this scheme of yours, when the fact of the matter is that you gained my unwilling cooperation in the present instance through sheer chicanery. You knew that nothing would have suited me better than infesting the house and gardens today, and you sent me forth on false pretences to face Darcy's ire. The matter has ended well, and we will speak no more of it, but I will ask you once again to recall that I form no part of your little plot."
"That is very kind of you, sir. I will endeavour to avoid drawing you into the affair any further, sir."
"I'm not nearly as convinced as you are that it'll work in any case, Jeeves. I'm beginning to think Darcy only stared at Lizzy because he couldn't always be staring out the window. He stared quite as much at Bobbie Wikham today."
"If I may say so, sir, I see no cause for despair in your observation. Miss Wikham bears a strong resemblance to Miss Bennet, both in person and in manners."
"In any case, what do you make of the business between Bobbie and Kipper, Jeeves? Rum, what?"
"I was not aware of any recent developments on that front, sir."
"Falling behind the news, are you, Jeeves? It seems that wedding bells will not be ringing out. Bobbie's mother, as you know, thought of Kipper as only a small improvement on me, so Bobbie came up with the scheme of softening her with a good review for her latest novel. Kipper refused, and you can guess the rest."
"Indeed, sir? I am sorry to hear it."
"As am I, Jeeves. This Kipper has often had occasion to play Damon to my Pythias. He was among the few, the unhappy few, the band of brothers with whom I shared my earliest miseries of childhood on the playing fields of Aubrey Upjohn's prep school. One feels his anguish. I pleaded his cause with Bobbie in no uncertain manner, and no one could be sorrier than I that she held firm and steadfast to her purpose. Still, there it is."
"I am, of course, sympathetic to Mr. Herring's plight, sir, but it was not that to which I alluded. I had in mind Mr. Darcy."
"What does Darcy have to do with any of this?"
"You yourself alluded to the fact that Mr. Darcy was attracted to Miss Wikham, sir. I confess I had anticipated some such eventuality, but I was under the impression that Miss Wikham's being engaged would prove a sufficient deterrent. Mr. Darcy is a honourable man. But if Miss Wikham's engagement is at an end, it is likely that Mr. Darcy will be tempted to make disclosures which might prove imprudent."
"Whatever gives you that idea, Jeeves? He's been staring at Lizzy for weeks now, and he's been as silent as the tomb."
"Mr. Darcy is likely to view Miss Wikham's situation as considerably more suitable than Miss Bennet's, sir. He does not approve of her family."
"You mean to say that's why he's been acting like this? This Darcy sinks daily in my estimation, Jeeves. I can't begin to understand what possesses you to be so interested in his affairs."
"It is not merely the matter of Miss Bennet's distant connections. Mr. Darcy is a gentleman of retiring disposition, and he does not take kindly to Mrs. Bennet's volubility, or to that of the youngest Misses Bennet. If you will permit me to remind you, you have yourself often expressed a similar opinion, sir."
"That's all very well, Jeeves, but what price Lady Wikham?"
"Notwithstanding her violent antipathy to you, sir, I think it likely that Lady Wikham will make a favourable impression on Mr. Darcy, and vice versa. You will remember the party you encountered when we were previously at Skeldings Hall."
"I'd forgotten about that ghastly gaggle of MPs and such, or rather, you may say that I had blotted the recollection from my mind, Jeeves. It's not an occasion that I dwell upon very frequently."
"I appreciate your motives, sir. But nonetheless you will see my point. Such considerations are unlikely to deter Mr. Darcy in this case."
"Even so, Jeeves, why is this such a calamity? The heart bleeds for Kipper, of course, but if Bobbie will cast a good man's love away then he is well out of it. And you've said yourself that Bobbie needs a firm hand to take charge of her. They don't come much firmer than Darcy."
"In personality, sir, Miss Wikham and Mr. Darcy are not entirely unsuited to one another, although I would consider Miss Bennet a superior match. But Miss Wikham's affections being already engaged, it is likely that should she learn of his attraction to her, she will attempt to use it to gain her point with Mr. Herring."
"You think there's still hope for Kipper, then?"
"Undoubtedly, sir. If Miss Wikham has not yet rejected the possibility of capitulation on his part then I would confidently assert that she looks forward to a reconciliation."
"Do you know how we might hurry it along, Jeeves?"
"I am at present content to let matters take their natural course. Should I come up with any alternate arrangements I will certainly keep you informed, sir."
"Very well, Jeeves. Good night."
"Good night, sir."
He drew out, and as I reflected on our pleasant and instructive conference, the Darcy menace faded somewhat from my mind. I drew the covers about me, and let nature's sweet restorer, sleep, do the rest.
Chapter 13
By the next morning, all my dark forebodings had fallen from me as if disjoined by soft-handed slumber. I had no longer any reason to suppose that Darcy represented any longer a sharp bodily threat to me and mine. Judicious hints had convinced Caroline to seek her fortunes in another quarter, and if this had caused Darcy's cup of sorrows to run over then I must confess that the thought caused no particular pangs in my bosom. And my cup of tea, made as only Jeeves can, was the perfect prelude to a day of dappled seaborne clouds, which though borne, admittedly, some distance away from the sea, were nevertheless dappled enough to satisfy the most fastidious critic. True, the spanner bunged in the works of the love-suit of the friend of my bosom, Reginald "Kipper" Herring, did not escape the Wooster eye, but I asked myself if Kipper might not be better off without a woman whose considerable oomph was not only packaged a soul with all the disadvantages inherent in the possession of a certain vivid shade of red hair, but who also required her future lord and master to sacrifice his professional integrity to provide her with an officiating bishop and full choral effects. Many a strong man would have objected to these excesses on the sheer principal of the thing, and I confess that Caroline's blithe discussion on the subject had sent shivers down my spine, but Kipper, far from showing so craven a spirit, had made known his moral objection and behaved in every particular as a pillar of strength. Such sterling qualities go seldom unappreciated, and who was to say that these present misfortune would lead Kipper to his bonafide soul-mate. Which is not to say that I would write off all possibility of reconciliation. On the contrary, as long as Bobbie stayed with us, and an invitation had been extracted until after Bungler's upcoming ball, I intended to strain every nerve and fibre to obtain the desired result. Jeeves' words had given me hope, and I had no doubt that if there were any such possibility, then the collaboration of two such minds would see the matter to a satisfactory conclusion.
Accordingly, my first move on heading downstairs was to seek out the young blister, and being reliably informed that I would find her in the library, I made a beeline in that direction.
"What ho, young Bobbie!"
"'Morning, Wooster."
I now realized the tactical blunder in the bent of my questioning. In my eagerness to press Kipper's suit, I had taken it for granted that I would find Bobbie alone, and in a position to receive my addresses on his behalf. I now saw that she was closeted in close quarters with Darcy, and began to entertain serious misgivings as to her taste.
"'Morning, Darcy," I returned, with as much cordiality as I was able to summon. Darcy, for his part, looked noticeably peevish, and his gloom deepened as I took a seat, and thus announced that my stay would be of some duration.
"Oh, hello, Bertie. We were just talking about you."
"Indeed?"
I confess I was more than a little surprised. Under the best of circumstances I did not expect Darcy to derive great pleasure from a lengthy discussion of my peculiarities, and I supposed even Bobbie might have something better to discourse on.
"Yes, I was wondering just how late you'd be coming down, and Mr. Darcy mentioned that never once during your stay at Netherfield has he known you to come down a minute before lunch was served. He assured me that you kept him waiting for several hours yesterday, and quite upset the shooting expedition."
"There was a slight misunderstanding on that occasion," I returned coldly, "and I must ask you, Bobbie, to refrain from inquiring into my mornings. You will permit me to point out that I make no attempt to ascertain the manner in which you occupy yourself at the like hour."
"You needn't worry. I know perfectly well there aren't many morning hours for me to inquire into."
People holding widely differing views on many subjects have united in the conviction that I am slow on the uptake, and you will find this erroneous notion almost universally held. But a careful perusal of the family archives will prove that the facts are quite the reverse, and for the record, I mention here that I did not hesitate for a moment after I realized that there was little profit in prolonging the interview at the present moment, and my only thought was to retreat with dignity. Fortunately, the blood of my ancestors, and the training of my earliest years, stood me in good stead.
"Let us," I said, "preserve the decencies of debate. I see no reason for us to descend to personal slander."
"Run along, young Bertie. I'm not going to put up with you pulling the old Etonian on me."
I would not stoop to debate the point with her.
"Pip-pip, young Bobbie. We shall meet at Phillipi."
"Pip-pip, Bertie."
As I passed through the doorway, I noticed Darcy leaning in closer as he and Bobbie continued their tête- à-tête, and I could have sworn I spotted that certain something in Bobbie's eyes that ought to make any prudent man sit up and take notice. A shiver ran through me, and for a moment I wondered that the sun could shine so brightly at such a moment. It was bitter cold, and I was sick at heart.
And my misgivings were not misplaced. For the next few days, I never saw Bobbie without finding Darcy in the near vicinity. And it was not as though I saw Bobbie rarely. I am a conscientious man, and the plight of my friend Reginald "Kipper" Herring weighed heavily on me. If there was anything to be done on his behalf, and if Bobbie retained any of that old feeling that had once animated her very features, I would not let it be said that I had failed to rekindle the spark. I sought Bobbie out constantly, and constantly, Darcy glowered at me. Many a weaker man would have thrown in the towel at such determined opposition, but not I. I was determined to have a word with Bobbie, and I would have faced with impunity a hundred of his scowls. Had it been accompanied by a verbal threat, as had some other of his previous expressions of disapproval, I might have thought differently, but as long as Darcy remained silent, I was not to be dissuaded.
Finally, my perseverance was rewarded, and I caught young Bobbie one night in the rose garden. To be perfectly accurate, I had found her, as always, in the presence of Darcy, who had apparently escorted her to the site, but as I had been about to make my exit, Jeeves had appeared on the scene and notified Darcy of a telegram from his sister. If there was one thing that could have torn Darcy away from the scene it was the news of his sister, and he was off like a flash. Temporarily abandoned, Bobbie sauntered by herself, and almost started when she saw me.
"Hello, Bertie! I didn't see you arrive."
"No. You looked like you were otherwise occupied," I said, trying to sound grim.
"What? You're not jealous, are you, Bertie? I don't see why you'd be, considering that you'd rather brave your Aunt Agatha's wrath than marry me."
"Are you planning on marrying Darcy, then?"
"Since when have my matrimonial intentions been your concern, Bertie?"
"Well, there were all the times I proposed to you, and then there was the time you inserted an announcement of our engagement in the Times."
"You know perfectly well that that didn't mean anything."
"I was simply pointing out that I have more than a casual interest in your matrimonial intentions."
"Oh, very well. No, he hasn't asked me yet."
"Does that mean that you intend to accept him?"
"I might remind you, Bertie, that whatever engagement once existed between your friend and myself has come to an end by mutual agreement. I am perfectly at liberty to engage myself to whom I like as and when I like to do it."
"You don't expect me to believe that you're going to marry Darcy."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Oh, come on, Bobbie. Why do you tread the primrose path of dalliance if you're not planning to marry him?"
"For the same reason that I said I was engaged to you, of course."
"But without going into her misconceptions about me, suffice it to say that your mother's going to love Darcy. It would never work."
"Sometimes I think you were dropped on your head as a baby, Bertie. Forget Mother. What do you think Reginald would make of this announcement in the Times?"
"You're going to blackmail Kipper by getting engaged to Darcy?"
"I prefer to think of it as persuasion."
"But you can't do that?"
"Why ever not? It's bound to work. I don't know if you've ever noticed this, but Reginald is extremely jealous. It's quite adorable. He won't take this well at all, the poor dear. When the announcement is put in, I expect I'll have a telegram from him within the hour."
"Has it never occurred to you that Kipper might do the honourable thing and assume that all was over, and that you had moved on with your life?"
"Of course not. He knows me. He knows that I could never love someone else. Besides, your man Jeeves agrees with me. He said that it was bound to work."
I couldn't help feeling a little bit miffed. Here I was, putting in a bit of tense brainwork, and exerting all my powers of persuasion because Jeeves appeared for once to have come up short, and all the while he had been scheming under my very nose, derailing my plans in the process. I began to appreciate what those blighters who had come up with the Naval Treaty had felt like when one of their own sneaked it out right before their blighted eyes.
"Jeeves said that?"
"Yes, he did. Very intelligent man, your Jeeves. I don't know what you'd do without him."
"Postponing the paean on Jeeves to a more suitable moment, you can't do that!"
"Why ever not?"
She had me there. I couldn't very well tell her that I didn't want her putting the heart of the friend of my bosom on the frying pan, since that was exactly her intention. I floundered, and improvised.
"What about Darcy?"
"I didn't think you particularly liked Darcy, Bertie. And in any case, your concern is entirely misplaced. I have a feeling Darcy would like nothing better than to throttle you. So there."
"Well, it isn't Darcy, exactly."
"Then what is it?"
"It's... it's Lizzy. She's in love with him. You can't do this to her."
"Who is this Lizzy you've suddenly thrown into the mix?"
"Elizabeth Bennet. I expect you'll meet her quite soon. Bungler's in love with her sister."
"And you say she's in love with Darcy?"
"Enamoured. And I would have guessed before you came that he was in a fair way of falling in love with her himself. She'll be heart-broken if she sees that he's in love with you now."
"Hmmm."
That was all she said then, and I was unable to extract any promises out of her. Shortly afterward, Darcy returned, rather annoyed. It seemed that the only thing requiring his attention had been a bill from his tailor, rather than the telegram from his sister as had been advertised. And being, like any gentleman in his right mind, in no particular hurry to clear his accounts with his tailor, he was most seriously displeased. I left them together, having directed a meaningful glance at young Bobbie, but I was by no means easy at heart. Darcy was staring at her, like stout Cortez (or as Jeeves assures me, Balboa) when with eagle eyes he stared at the Pacific, and though Darcy was a man much given to staring I do not think I was too paranoid to suspect that there was something in it. As he said something to her, she smiled. And one may smile and be a villain. At least I've been told it may be so in Denmark, and I saw no reason to suppose that the same might not apply on this sceptred isle.