From the diaries of Sir Shash, June 19_
I lay on the floor unable to move. The screwdriver-like throb behind my eyes was so intense I was immobilized. My hands and my legs were refusing to obey my commands. All I could do was move my neck a little. In front of me was the window of the room, open partially and I could make out the dark outside. Was it 2 a.m.? It is usually 2 a.m. when the migraine comes. I was not worried about the pitch dark outside the window. I was worried about the throb in my head and the weight on my chest. My vocal cords were not making any sounds either.
It was then I noticed the light behind my head. Intense brightness, luminous, warm, comforting. I did not remember if I had left any lamp on. It did not matter. The light grew and there was rustle of a familiar saree behind my head. Grandma. I could not look back because my muscles were refusing to respond to me and I was already numb from the pain in my head.
‘Relax now,’ Grandma said. I heard her inside my head. It was the same familiar tone of voice that had been a source of much joy and much comfort for many years. I relaxed immediately. Did my head hurt just a little less? I felt so.
‘You need to sleep. Sleep will make the pain go away.’
‘I cannot sleep because of the pain.’
The warmth in the room was growing. The light was more luminous than before. I could feel myself relaxing and a gentle drift in my brain.
‘Pick up the gun and shoot that thing off your chest,’ she said.
‘I cannot move.’
‘You can.’
I looked to my right. The sawed-off double barrel. Why did I even have it there? I stretched my fingers and grabbed it. It took every effort to point it at whatever was sitting on my chest. All black, no discernible form. I pulled the trigger. It jumped out of the window. Or not. It was gone.
The light at the back of my head grew dimmer almost instantly and then it was gone. The white saree was not there either. The throb in my head seemed to hurt less. Sleep came like a blessing from an ancestor.
I was woken up by sunlight flooding the room. Or by Bobbie Wickham. Lady Roberta Wickham. There was no mistaking that face and that red hair. A thousand ships were launched for Helen by Agamemnon. He would have changed his mind about Helen and sailed for England had he met Bobbie Wickham. She was holding my head in her right hand.
‘Old Chap, this simply will not do,’ said a familiar voice. I turned away from Bobbie’s face to find Bertie Wooster looking down at me, smiling but it was not his usual fatheaded smile.
‘We are taking you back to England right now,’ said Lady Wickham. ‘Now, and there is nothing that you can say to dissuade me. I should have never allowed you to return here to Calcutta.’
‘What are you doing in Calcutta? How did you get in? The door…,’ I trailed off.
‘Jeeves was able to open the door, it was child’s play for him,’ said Bertie. ‘Is that not so Jeeves?’
I spotted Jeeves now who seemed to have materialized behind Bertie.
‘Sir Shash,’ he curtsied gently. I nodded back. I realized I was about to fall asleep again.
‘Bertie, he stays at Brinkley once we reach,’ said Lady Wickham. My old friend nodded.
I have a faint memory of being in the back of a horse carriage and then I was on board the RMS Dileepsinghji. A nice cabin with a view of the ocean. The redhead sat next to my bed often during the journey, holding my hand in hers. Then, when I got better, Bertie and I had livelier conversations on deck of the magnificent ship about the upcoming darts competition at the Drones Club and Angela’s engagement with young Tuppy Glossop.
One evening, on deck, I spoke at length to Lady Wickham. ‘You are something else,’ I said. ‘You just dragged Bertie and Jeeves out here to come and get me? You ought to be locked up somewhere, old menace.’
‘Oh, I suppose, I was to just let you be destroyed in that old mansion. I was a fool to have let you come in the first place. How long have Bertie and I known you? Since you were 14. By the way, did the friend who you came to help, even thank you for cleansing that den of darkness?’
‘That old mansion had too many memories that needed to go into the light. His thanks were not really necessary.’ I replied.
‘Quite the daft Samaritan. As always. What about your well being? Let the epilepsy take its toll?’
I looked at that face. I have seen faces all around the world. Not one lovelier than her. To the old legend in Sussex, Irene Adler had always been The Woman. Lady Roberta Wickham, to me, was The Woman. My old friend Bertie Wooster was lucky to have her. The lads at the Drones knew it. The Daily Mail and the other newspapers knew it. Jeeves, that over protective and clever gentleman’s gentleman with a solution to every problem had made his peace with the fact. He had initially disapproved but eventually he came to the realization that this one was his match.
‘Well, you did come,’ I said.
‘That man told me to. Mr. Quin. I have seen him with you once. Bertie and I were in Dover, walking along the cliffs. You know the strangest thing…a mist was rolling in and Bertie suggested that we quickly get back to the Bentley and leave. It was then that he seemed to just walk out of the mist toward us. He looked at the both of us and asked me where you were. ‘
I listened without interrupting. She continued, ‘Before I could answer him, he seemed to walk off into mist again. Bertie later asked me if the man seemed to be all colours at once. Of all the descriptions I have heard…’
‘Yes, I seem to have heard that before.’
‘I knew then that I had to find you. A woman’s intuition is usually right!’
I had nothing to say to this. We continued standing on deck watching the indifferent ocean. The sun was setting, a brilliant pink and gold washing over the world.
From the diaries of Sir Shash, June 19_
Brinkley Court heals you. How can it not? Aunt Dahlia’s voice is enough to send any remaining sickness out of your body. Lord Tom Travers, who is unable to tolerate a single guest in that magnificent mansion of his, seems to have a different standard for Bertie Wooster and Bobbie Wickham. Those two he adores as much as he does his daughter Lady Angela and Bonzo – that infernal pest brother of hers. I suppose I seem to have a pass to Brinkley Court too. It is my second time here. This time I am staying a fortnight. Aunt Dahlia would not have it any other way.
I cannot complain. The mansion is a King’s residence. Lush gardens, a lake, enough nature to repair every cell inside a brain and a body.
And Anatole cooks for everyone. He is magnificent. He had a few words with Jeeves about my dietary preferences. This morning at breakfast, he served up Aloo Parathas with imported Indian Mango pickle and made me a Lassi. What a standup guy! Not that I do not enjoy what he serves up from his native France or from his adopted home England. Bertie ended up eating four Aloo Parathas and burped happily. Lady Angela gave him a glare and Bonzo burst into peals of laughter and snorted out milk through his nose. The terrier was under the table and pawed me for a treat. I was happy to oblige. Bobbie was discussing plans of a grand carnival with Aunt Dahlia and Lord Travers. Earlier in the morning I had received a redirected letter from my parents and my sister about how San Francisco was transforming as a city. A carefree morning, I must say.
From the diaries of Sir Shash, June 19_
After breakfast I went up to my room to pen down some thoughts. Bonzo Travers vanished for some tutoring. Lady Angela drove out in the Bentley with Lord Travers. Apparently, there was a new antique piece that Lord Travers wanted to do an in-person verification of. Bertie had told me about the notorious incidents involving a cow creamer and Spode.
Aunt Dahlia got on the phone and by all accounts it appeared, she intended to stay on it. Bobbie and Bertie walked off into the lush gardens. Jeeves came into my room briefly after politely knocking. He handed over a few prescription tablets that Sir Roderick Glossop had suggested after my meeting with him yesterday. Aunt Dahlia had insisted that I meet with him. For all that I know of his irascible nature and his habitual run-ins with Bertie and Bobbie, he is extremely good at his profession.
I went and stood by the window and had a clear view of Bertie and Bobbie exchanging kisses with a passion that would have inspired Keats to pen down a Cinquain or two before breakfast. Bobbie happened to glance up and blew a kiss my way too. Bertie waved and asked me to join them. I grinned at them and told them to finish their romantic walk first and then I went off to explore the library.
Bartholomew, Stiffy Byng’s dog who had been entrusted to Bonzo and Angela’s care while she was overseas with old Harold ‘Stinker’ Pinker, decided to follow me and educate himself in the library as well. We spent a good hour there, me reading up on Dr Watson’s latest work featuring the legendary detective while Bartholomew contented himself by chasing dust particles suspended in the sunlight before eventually plopping down near my chair.
From the diaries of Sir Shash, June 19_
Just after noon, when Bertie and Bobbie had finished their long romantic walk exploring the many nooks and crannies of the lush Brinkley Court estate, I ran into them when I too happened to be stretching my legs on the lawn. Bartholomew had long ditched my company and had followed one of maids, tail wagging no doubt into the kitchen where he was habituated to getting treats even as Anatole cooked up his gastronomical wonders.
‘What Ho,’ said Bertie.
‘Taking in the fresh air, Sire?’ said Bobbie playfully.
‘Aah, my favourite couple returns,’ I replied with some enthusiasm. ‘Do you bring any news or did you spend the whole morning getting lost in each other’s eyes?’
I noticed Bertie gaping at something. I turned around and I was nonplussed myself. Lady Florence Craye and D’Arcy “Stilton” Cheesewright seemed to have manifested on the Brinkley Court lawn. Florence looked red with anger. Stilton appeared to be alternately pleading and sulking. I believe I overheard references to a ‘Lily-livered fustilarian’ and an ‘Envious Fathead.’
Stilton seemed to freeze when he noticed the three of us. Florence did not. She greeted Bobbie politely, said a sweet hullo to Bertie, and gave me a curious glance. Then she took Bobbie by the arm and vanished with her into the confines of Brinkley no doubt to unburden herself in the living room over a gin and tonic.
Stilton, began to show signs of unfreezing and looked at both me and Bertie suspiciously. ‘I knew it,’ he began. ‘Where Florence decides to visit, this snake in the grass is already bound to be present,’ he half shouted looking at Bertie. Then he turned his attention to me and came up with ‘What, What, What, What?’
Bertie was unusually calm. He said ‘Hullo Stilton, nice to see you are still your charming self. You know Sir Shash, certainly?’
Stilton stopped saying ‘What’ and moved on to ‘I know who he is. What is he doing here? How is he here? I thought he had left England for good. He is another snake in the grass. Your companion snake. The one who helps you do your snake in the grassing.’
At that exchange of pleasantries Jeeves appeared and reminded us that the lunch gong had already been sounded and that Lord Travers would expect everyone at the table.
As we walked into the dining room, Jeeves had discreetly informed me and Bobbie that Lady Florence Craye had dumped Stilton again for being too envious and creating a scene at her latest book launch where he apparently shoved a young man who appeared to be a fan of her writing. Bertie and I both nodded at this. This was only to be expected.
The worry for me began when at lunch, I noticed Florence giving me the expectant eye. Bertie has often said that she has a rather striking profile and I am not one to disagree with that. I also know that she as a person loves to improve other people’s minds and their lives. Bertie gave me a poke under the table and I understood. He was safe. Florence knew that he and Bobbie were firmly together. She would hunt for new people to make miserable. That could put me in her sights. Almost immediately, I noticed Stilton glaring away at me.
Bobbie was the next to give me a look. I knew that look. She grinned and began, ‘Florence, did you know that Sir Shash is a big fan of Spindrift, your acclaimed novel? He has often confided in me about wanting to meet the author of such sensitive and intellectually stimulating writing. Now that you are here, his wish has been fulfilled. Surely, as dear Madeline would say, the skies, they listen to our most fervent wishes, and the air carries the whispers of our heart to the skies where the sky fairies work to grant these wishes to the deserving.’
I gave an audible groan. Angela snorted. Bertie was grinning ear to ear. Lord Tom Travers and Aunt Dahlia looked at Bobbie with some bewilderment. And Stilton, he was turning orange at the moment.
From the diaries of Sir Shash, June 19_
Lunches end. That is occasionally the trouble with them. Lady Florence Craye had a gleam in her eye as the last spoonful of dessert went into her mouth. By this time, I suppose she had sized me up completely in the way a potter has sized up a fresh batch of clay. Vase or cup?
‘Jeeves,’ I muttered under my breath. He must have known the foul plan that Bobbie had hatched over lunch of turning me over to Lady Florence for improvements. He materialized at my elbow and asked if I needed something. I stated gravely that I wished to confer with him in the kitchen. He nodded slightly.
‘Excuse me, I shall be but a moment,’ I said and legged it as fast as it was permissible without running. Lady Florence stared after me. So did Stilton Cheesewright. I was reminded of childhood stories that I heard from my grandmother about tigers hunting in pairs. Unfortunately, I now understood the predicament of the deer who has realized that it is about to be cornered.
I shot an accusatory glance at Lady Wickham who smiled a sweet smile at me. She went to speak.
‘Why Lady Florence, I hope that you shall tell Sir Shash all about the new novel you are working on and the books he must first read in order to improve his mind in a manner that allows him to appreciate your visionary new work about the conflicts inherent in ethical theories of the medieval era.’
To this Lady Florence Craye said, ‘Roberta, I can already see that Sir Shash has the right approach and enthusiasms for someone who aspires to a higher intellectual level. Moulded and guided, in the right hands, a young man, so smart and with so much potential could perhaps even one day run an important administrative secretarial post for my father, Percival Craye, the Earl of Worplesdon.’
I heard a gagging noise from Lady Angela Travers. She excused herself and ran off.
Lord Tom Travers had not paid any attention to anything yet. With Lady Angela running off, he finally wondered if the food was not too spicy. Aunt Dahlia informed him that the party being planned by Lady Wickham would require spending liberally, he fell silent with a stoic expression on his face. Bertie had told me many times that Uncle Tom, while rolling in the good stuff was loathe to part with a single penny unless it was for an ancient collectible and the uglier the collectible, the more he was likely to part with his treasure.
I made it to the kitchen and said, ‘Jeeves, I understand that you are effectively in the employ of that scheming red headed vixen out there, now that she is effectively running the Wooster household, but you have to be a good man and rescue me from Lady Florence’s inevitable tutoring. Seeing that I am at Brinkley till Aunt Dahlia shoos me off in the direction of London, and that Lady Florence tends to have long visits, you will appreciate the spot I am in.’
‘I understand the predicament Sir. You also have to deal with Mr. Cheesewright, Sir. Master Bertie has escaped the attention of Lady Craye now that he is firmly linked with Lady Wickham. Mr. Glossop is engaged by Lady Travers. I fear that you may have to shield yourself from Lady Craye’s fancies of the moment. I can however reassure you that she can always change her fancies at a moment’s notice, particularly if you prove to be an unworthy student with puerile taste in literature.’
‘That does give me possibilities Jeeves. What do you suggest?’
‘Let me think over it, Sir,’ said the man and vanished into some corner of the kitchen.
I went back to the dining table. Lunch hour was over. Bobbie, Bertie, Aunt Dahlia and Lady Angela were discussing the finer points of sweet corn chicken soup as a novelty as against Minestrone. Lord Tom Travers was smoking a cigar and reading some business correspondence. Stilton seemed to be pacing up and down in the hall and Lady Florence Craye was looking straight at me.
I gulped and made a sound similar to ‘Hullo’.
The next hour passed slowly. A forced reading of Vanity Fair would have been preferable. I was instructed on how to approach an initial study of The Phenomenology of Spirit and Middlemarch. The length and the denseness of the prose would inculcate a sense of patience and test my brain’s attentiveness. I was about to yawn loudly when she grabbed my hand and said, ‘Your hands, they are so firm, unlike your gentle face.’ She said it loudly enough for Stilton to overhear.
There was a sudden loud sound. I wondered if Stilton had spontaneously combusted but it was merely Bonzo Travers knocking over a vase and escaping Aunt Dahlia’s rebuke by jumping out of a window and legging it over the lawn, Bartholomew in tow.
Tired by the sound of her own voice, Lady Craye retired momentarily for an afternoon siesta. Most of the residents of Brinkley followed except Bobbie Wickham. She came and sat next to me and said mischievously, ‘She is pretty, is she not?’
‘Bobbie,’ I began but I could not finish.
Stilton suddenly charged towards me from the hall at great speed and grabbed me by the shoulders.
‘Adder, Equatorial Viper, I shall tear you from limb to limb.’
‘Old chap,’ I said ‘violence in front of Lady Wickham?’
He looked mortified and immediately released me and said, ‘I beg your pardon, Lady Roberta Wickham, in my passion, I forgot your presence. I pray that you will forgive me.’ Then turning to me he said, ‘Come out to the lawn and let us exchange words.’
He marched off. The first contestant to arrive at the duel.
I looked at Bobbie.
‘Look at what you have done, young lady.’
‘I suppose you could always make a run for it, Sire,’ she said with a twinkle and added, ‘That would be best for you.’
‘What,’ I said, ‘you of all people think it would be best for me? After all we have done together?’
She made an impatient gesture.
‘You silly ass, are you going to knock him out in Brinkley Court? Do you wish to draw attention?’
‘I suppose you have a point.’
Stilton called out. ‘Shash, I am waiting. Be a man.’
Bobbie gave my palm and affectionate squeeze and said, ‘Have fun running.’
I ran. Like Bonzo had earlier. Across the lawn. In a waistcoat and trousers. Not the easiest thing to do after lunch that Anatole had served out. I stopped momentarily to look back. Stilton was gaining on me. At great speed. I ran towards the lake. He ran faster. At the lake’s edge, I managed to duck suddenly. He had not anticipated that and tripped over me. This annoyed a few swans who were possibly enjoying a family picnic. They made for him and one of them made for me. I ran again. Stilton ran in the other direction.
I eventually made it to Brinkley, swan still in pursuit. By this time Bartholomew had decided to join in the fun of the chase. As I ran past a large window, I saw Bobbie Wickham, eyes wide in surprise and grinning like an imp. Thankfully, one of the maids distracted Bartholomew with a sudden whistle. The swan seemed to have given up the chase having established its authority.
At tea time, I was inclined to give Lady Roberta the cold treatment. Unfortunately for me, she appeared once more arm in arm with Lady Florence Craye. I mentioned something about having dropped my favourite fountain pen in the lawn and vanished from sight. I stayed vanished till supper, hiding out in the rather large grounds of Brinkley. At one point Bertie found me and asked me what I was hiding from. I told him of the events post lunch. He understood everything immediately and started chortling good-heartedly. I glared at him.
‘Some friend you are.’
He said, ‘Hahahaha’
‘Much fun, I see.’
‘Hahahaha’
I said, ‘laugh again, I dare you.’
‘Hehehehehe’
He was now rolling around on the grass. In due course, he found his composure and said, ‘Leave it to Jeeves.’
Much as he used to do.
From the diaries of Sir Shash, June 19_
Just before supper, Jeeves knocked on my door. I welcomed the man with the enthusiasm with which a youngster may welcome a monied uncle who is about to lend him five pounds for an evening out in town. He had some books in his hands. I was puzzled. In his hands lay, The Sheik by E.M. Hull, Lady Chatterley’s Lover by D.H. Lawrence, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, Claudine at School by Colette and The Monk by Matthew Lewis.
‘What, what, what?’ I began and realized I was beginning to imbibe some of Stilton’s stupefying vocabulary.
‘Sir,’ Jeeves said clearing his throat. ‘These will save you from much discomfort in the future. Please keep them on your study table, Sir.’
‘Jeeves, are you trying to make sure that Aunt Dahlia has me banished from Brinkley Court? Have you completely joined hands with Lady Wickham? Did she put you up to this?’
‘Not at all Sir, you see it is Lady Florence who you have to worry about. These books are the solution. The rest, as you shall witness will be resolved in time.’
He turned and left the room. I was holding the books. Leave it to Jeeves, that is what Bertie had said. I decided to trust his judgement and put the books on my study table.
The supper gong had sounded. Bertie caught me coming out of the room. There was red lipstick on his cheek.
‘Good grief man,’ I said, ‘at least wipe that off.’ I gave him a handkerchief.
He glanced at a mirror on the corridor wall and immediately did the said cheek cleaning.
‘Thanks, old chap. Lord Tom Travers would have given me an earful.’
‘If that redhead is done with her affections, could you kindly tell her not to keep pushing Florence in my path?’
‘Sure thing, old salt.’
We landed at the supper table. For some reason there stood Stilton Cheesewright in a suit with a violin, looking more serious and angrier than usual. Bertie was gaping at him like a fish. I must say, I have seen many sights in my life. This was not a sight; I would have bet on ever seeing. Aunt Dahlia, Lord Tom Travers, Lady Angela, Lady Florence and Lady Roberta, also known as the redheaded menace, waltzed into the dining area. One look at Stilton and they were bewildered.
Lord Tom Travers began, ‘Good heavens, is there to be musical performance?’
Stilton said with an air of importance, ‘Yes, Good Sir.’
Aunt Dahlia boomed, ‘Oh Tom, I am sure Stilton is good at music.’
Stilton managed half a smile at this. Then he caught sight of me and started glaring.
Florence said, ‘Stilton, what tomfoolery is this?’
Bobbie looked at Florence, then at me and spoke. She had to, I am sure.
‘Oh Florence, what a romantic gesture. Why I am sure, it is a sad and sweet tune at the same time that dear Stilton will play. Perhaps it is to express regret, perhaps it is to express his admiration for you or perhaps it is an open challenge to Sir Shash to a battle of violin virtuosity. As our dearest Madeline used to say, music is but the true language of the angels, the violin sounds their deepest sorrows and unsaid joys. Oh, my heart delights at what this evening holds.’
I made a sound between a laugh and a groan. It came out strange.
‘Indigestion, Sir Shash?’ enquired Lady Roberta.
I gave her a look that I sometimes give to Pongo at the Drones. Or to Gussie when he tries to introduce me to a new species of newt. I had noticed that Bertie had moved closer to Jeeves who was standing at some distance and may have gone behind the man.
It was to be a musical performance. Stilton insisted that he be allowed to say his piece and play his instrument and only then he would join us at the supper table. Aunt Dahlia looked like she was about to tell him who made the rules in Brinkley Court but I noticed that she was nudged by Bobbie and said nothing.
The violin started making sounds. Stilton was displaying the talent of a school boy who has been forced to take a music lesson in order to build character. Twice, I noticed Lord Travers drop his spoon in the soup bowl. Lady Angela had buried her face into Lady Roberta’s shoulder and was silently shaking. Bobbie was patting her head and looking thoughtful. Aunt Dahlia was looking increasingly alarmed. Bertie was staring at Stilton much as I was with multiple emotions fleeting in mere seconds through our brains and reflecting on our faces. Lady Florence was looking on thoughtfully. Stilton then produced this out of his vocal cords:
Oh, learner of ethical theories,
Oh, writer of literary glories,
Oh, upon your wind-swept hair,
Oh, upon that profile fair,
I sing but humbly true,
My heart beats for you
He ended by giving me a triumphant look. Then he looked around the whole table expecting I am sure, thunderous applause. Bobbie Wickham was the first to clap. Then Lady Angela. Aunt Dahlia and Lord Travers nodded their heads. Lady Florence suddenly got up from the table, saying, ‘Pardon me’ in a choked voice and rushed off. The table was silent for a couple of minutes when she returned. The rest of supper passed off without surprises though I noticed Lady Florence give me a look and then give Stilton a longer look. Stilton sat with his chin up.
After supper and the odd card game, we retired to our chambers.
There was once again a knock on my door. I opened it. It was Lady Florence looking rather agitated. With her was Bobbie Wickham. I was puzzled.
‘Oh, Sir Shash,’ she began, ‘I am afraid, I am very much afraid that I may have misled you by bestowing my assiduous attention on you today. I could notice the looks you gave me when I was instructing you on tasteful literature. I do not wish you to be disappointed in any manner. I know how much you admire me. Roberta has told me that you have read my work not once, not twice but on four occasions. That Sir, is an affection, I may not be able to return. I may cultivate your mind and your character but I feel that I shall lead you on despite my attempts to not do so. I wanted Lady Roberta to hear me say this. One good woman standing witness to another. My heart this afternoon had thought one thing but after supper it made a turn. I, am now in the oldest dilemma of all.’
The best I could come up with was ‘Right Ho.’ I have been spending too much time with Bertie.
Suddenly, she glanced at my table and stopped. She hurried to it. Bobbie followed. They both gave a gasp simultaneously. Bobbie turned and looked at me with a knowing grin and said ‘Why, you clever…’. She stopped. Lady Florence was quivering, her face red, her expression one of disbelief and shock. I was faintly reminded of my father’s expression when in middle school I had failed a mathematics test.
She was holding Claudine at School by Colette in her left hand and The Monk by Matthew Lewis in her right hand.
‘Is this what you read? Is this who you are? Are these your preferences? And to think, I believed that you are worthy of my attention, of my tutoring in matters of the mind and character? To think, that I was ignoring Stilton and talking to you. You may have fooled Lady Roberta with your pretentious flattery of me. Not me. Oh, my precious Stilton, the loyal innocent boy!’
She ran past me, out of the room in dramatic fashion.
With her gone, Roberta turned to me. ‘Sir Shash! Well played indeed. I see what you did there.’
‘Aah my dear menace,’ I replied, ‘I wish I could take credit for this. It was Jeeves. He got me the books. He said it would produce a certain result.’
‘No wonder,’ said Bobbie, ‘This has Jeeves’s handwriting all over it. I should have known.’
A polite cough and Jeeves entered the room with Bertie.
‘Thank You, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Bertie was right, leave it to Jeeves, he told me.’
‘I endeavour to give satisfaction Sir. Mr. Wooster told me that I should help you out in whatever way I could.’
Bobbie addressed Jeeves. ‘Was it you who put Stilton up to the musical performance?’
Jeeves replied very politely. ‘Yes, my Lady. I composed those lines for him as well. If I may take the liberty of saying so, those lines are something that he could believably have come up with himself.’
Bertie and I looked beamingly at him. He gave a nod and vanished.
I turned to Bobbie and said, ‘Saved by a worthy opponent to your scheming mind, eh troublemaker?’
‘I must admit, Jeeves can always be relied upon. Well, I bid you good night!’
Bobbie left the room. Bertie shook my hand and smiled. He followed Bobbie out. I grabbed an Agatha Christie and then I slept well.
THE END
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