I
The old inn stood by the banks of Windermere Lake. It was a bed and breakfast affair run by two sisters with the help of two maids and a cook who also doubled up as a handyman. The inn had stood there just over a hundred years in a bit of thick wilderness, two kilometres from the nearby settlement of Ambleside.
The proprietors, Gwendolyn and Sally Wood, were in their sixties now, and they often bickered about who was the head of the establishment. They were twins, but Sally was older by a few minutes.
The inn had the unimaginative name of Woodside Windermere, but its reputation as a well-run establishment had grown over the years by word of mouth. The guest list had some surprising names amidst the usual tourists. Every now and then, the eight-bedroom inn would be completely booked by just one family. This was one such occasion — only this was a group of friends, thick enough to have been family.
There were a handful of couples. The names given had been Bertram Wooster and Lady Roberta Wickham, Harold Pinker and Stiffy Byng, Bingo Little and Rosie Banks, Gussie Fink-Nottle and Emerald Stoker, Tuppy Glossop and Lady Angela Travers. Three individual rooms had been handed over to a Miss Madeline Bassett, a Mr. Reginald Jeeves and an Indian gentleman named Sir Shash.
The guests had arrived on Friday afternoon and would be staying till early Monday morning. An hour after their arrival, once they seemed comfortably settled in their rooms, Gwendolyn and Sally stood at their lobby desk beaming at each other. Everything had been paid for in advance. And what a lovely set of couples! Young, good-looking, and so full of life! They all had rented luxury cars! How odd that there should be two people not yet vouched for! Miss Bassett and the Indian gentleman were singles, apparently. Mr. Reginald Jeeves was the valet of Mr. Bertram Wooster and looked a most well-spoken man.
‘Oh, you bet, there is something between those two single people, Gwen,’ chirped Sally. ‘You can be sure our Woodside will help them seal it. The lake has a way of bringing out feelings of romance even amongst the staid ones.’
‘Staid, Sally? You are reading it all wrong,’ replied Gwendolyn, who believed she was more astute than her twin when it came to reading people. ‘That Miss Bassett is anything but staid. I had only but said a few words to her when she smiled wistfully and hastily penned down a note and handed it over to me. She told me to keep it. See this.’
Sally took a look at the words written in delightfully proportioned cursive. It read:
Ladies of the wood
Blessed thy comforting hearth
Fay day elven noon
Sally bit her lower lip. ‘Well, a most romantic young lady, Gwen. The lakeside may already be working its magic. Perhaps she is already betrothed to someone who, for some reason, is not here. Or perhaps she has a broken heart. Come, my dear, let us see if Cook has got his cooking orders right. Tea and cakes should be ready. I can see Gladys and Mary scurrying about. God bless these girls.’
II
‘I say, chaps,’ began Bertie, biting into his third slice of cake, ‘this is an inspired choice for the weekend. Bingo, you must give Rosie my compliments for picking this place out. I was, to put it mildly, quite nervous about the possibility of finding palatable nourishment this deep into mother nature’s locales, but it seems my fears were unfounded — the baking team here is quite excellent.’
‘Trust Rosie with these things,’ replied Bingo. ‘She found out about this place from a fellow writer friend of hers. I understand these writers have a habit of disappearing into godforsaken places for months at a time and then resurfacing with a bestseller in hand. Apparently, the more remote the hideout, the better the book that emerges from the depths of their minds. I remember Florence telling me once that she lived on beans alone somewhere in Dartmoor with only the hounds to keep her company even as she composed Spindrift.’
‘I agree about the cake, Bertie,’ said Shash. ‘A happy baker created it.’
‘Curious,’ remarked Gussie, ‘Mr. Bingo likes it too. I had not experimented with baked items earlier. Let me try this biscuit.’
Bertie, Shash and Bingo turned to look at Gussie, who had produced a greenish newt and placed it on his left forearm. With his right hand, he placed a tiny fleck of biscuit in front of it and waited. Mr. Bingo, his newt, did not look too impressed.
‘Gussie, I am going to throw a fit if you do not put that creature back where it belongs,’ said a voice. It was his wife, Emerald, who had just come up to the little arrangement of chairs around a tea table where the men were all seated. Gussie looked up, confused. Emerald planted a kiss on his face and took a slice of cake.
‘We shall all be going for a walk now. Come on, lads, join us,’ said Emerald.
‘Emerald, we only just got here,’ replied Bertie. ‘Don’t tell me it is time for exercise already. And it would be most unfair to the cook, you know. Such fine food, made with obvious care.’
‘Where are Harold and Tuppy? I thought they were at this table just a few moments ago,’ asked Shash.
‘They ran off like puppies called by their mistresses,’ snorted Bingo, turning to Shash. ‘Stiffy called out “Harold” and off he went. For a reverend, he seems to be doing a lot of following and very little shepherding. Hmm… young Tuppy is probably plucking flowers for Angela or something. She waved and he ran instantly. Ho! Where is the stamping of authority on the household? Where is the gesture that shows who really is in charge?’
Shash was thinking of something to say to this when he noticed that the newt was now on his shoulder. He shuddered involuntarily. His body wanted to break out into a form of dance. He summoned every ounce of dignity and said ‘Gussie!’ in a low voice.
Emerald came over and calmly picked up the newt with a quick swoop of her hand, and said, ‘Gussie, let us get Mr. Bingo to his terrarium.’ She looked around the table and added, ‘We must be the only couple in the world who travel with a terrarium.’
‘Yes, right, my dear. Yes, excuse me, boys, I must return him to his home. The cake is making him act funny,’ said Gussie, and scuttled off. Emerald accompanied him.
‘Bingo, Bertie, Shash, will you all stop eating and join us for a walk?’ shouted Rosie from a distance.
‘Yes, dear, in a moment,’ shouted Bingo.
In the kitchen of the inn at that moment, the cook, the maids and Jeeves were enjoying strong cups of tea. Jeeves was speaking of the tallest construction in London, and he was rather pleased at the awe he commanded at the moment.
‘Fourteen storeys, no less, it is to be called 55 Broadway,’ he said, lingering on the name for impact.
‘I should get giddy just looking out,’ said Mary, looking at her friend Gladys.
‘The city, aye, the city would be well reminded to look down and not upward to the heavens,’ remarked Gladys. ‘It ain’t right for man to reach too high, my mum says.’
Jeeves scratched his bald head.
‘There they go for a walk, Gwen,’ said Sally, looking out of an upstairs window. ‘I told you it would happen. Miss Bassett has slipped her arm into the Indian gentleman’s.’
Her sister peered out. ‘It is only etiquette, my dear Sally,’ said she. ‘Why don’t you remember young Jack Dawson? He let you take his arm several times. You did not understand it then either.’
‘Watch it, young woman,’ retorted Sally, ‘there is no need for such backtalk. It is not like you were setting the Ambleside ballroom on fire either. Why, I remember Mother saying you should have settled with Old Thomas. For you, he was the perfect prospect.’
‘Pah!’
‘Pah yourself!’
III
A gentle evening sun scattered hues of pink and gold across the English sky. A breeze had picked up pace and was caressing the faces of all it touched.
‘Oh, this is good enough to make you want to burst into song,’ remarked Madeline to Shash, and let rip:
Wild Walks Friends arm in arm Almost floating on breeze Sylphs and Faeries wistfully stare And sigh
Shash looked at her and said sincerely, ‘Cinquain, yes? Erm… well done, Miss. Very profound. Yes. And in the moment.’
‘Aw, aren’t you sweet?’ said Madeline gleefully.
Harold and Stiffy were just behind them. Harold suppressed a snort and said, ‘Stiffy, Shash is in the soup. The deep end of soup. He’s had it.’
Stiffy looked at her husband. ‘Stop being mean to Madeline, Harold. She means well. She is a sister to me, you goof. Granted, she is a little loopy, but so am I.’
‘Loopy, you? When?’ said Harold.
‘My dear scripture man, haven’t you lectured me enough on my impetuousness and recklessness behind closed doors?’
‘Aah, don’t talk like that here, Stiffy.’
‘Let us go over behind those trees, priest.’
‘Stop it, Stiffy.’
‘Come on. Now, Harold. Now. Before I change my mind.’
‘Stiffy has no self-control,’ said Angela to Tuppy. She noticed that Tuppy was combing his hair and not really listening. She said sharply, ‘You preening peacock, look at me when I am talking to you.’
‘Angela, I was paying full attention. Why must you feel otherwise?’ protested Tuppy.
‘You should be a girl; you are so absorbed in your own looks.’
‘Hey, Angela, that is not true. I just plucked these flowers for you. They look so lovely in your cute headband. Hold on, where is Harold leading Stiffy? They are breaking away from the group.’
‘That’s what I said, fathead, but you weren’t listening,’ said Angela. ‘I was mentioning that Stiffy has no self-control.’
‘It seems to have its benefits… I mean… you are absolutely right, Angela. She is in control.’
‘That is not what I said, Tuppy… hey, hey, are you even listening?’
‘Looks like Tuppy is getting an earful from Angela,’ said Bobbie to Bertie.
‘Serves the blot absolutely right,’ said Bertie, ‘the man has no honour. Did you know he is yet to fork out the tenner he owes me for distracting Constable Oates with a cigar while he made off with his helmet? Oates realized what we had done, and I was the one who was hauled off and had to pay a ten-pound fine for an innocent repeat offence. The legal system in this country has got its priorities absolutely wrong, my dear. Let me tell you of the other time Pongo and I had a bet…’
‘Bertie, dearest!’
‘Yes, my sweet?’
‘What in all that is good are you babbling about? I was talking about Angela and Tuppy.’
‘Angela is the best. Tuppy is lucky to even have someone like her within five feet of his loathsome self. He owes a good man money and he does not pay up despite two reminders. I ask you this — is it gentlemanly?’
‘Here, my dearest, I was carrying this sweet muffin that I had saved up from teatime.’
‘Bobbie, you are the best.’
‘I know. I am intelligent, caring and the best-looking girl in all of England.’
‘That sounds like something Shash would say.’
‘And…?’
‘Oh, that old boy is always right.’
‘Come here.’
‘Right, a gentleman cannot refuse…’
‘Gussie, you haven’t said a word yet. Are you worried about Mr. Bingo?’ asked Emerald.
‘No, he is all right, I suppose,’ said Gussie Fink-Nottle, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.
‘Then why are you a silent monk?’
‘If I tell you, you will just get upset.’
‘Tell me, I won’t.’
‘On the tree back there, Lacerta agilis, a rare sight in these parts. Did you know that the males have finer markings?’
‘No, Gussie, I did not. You will have a few fine marks soon if you keep this up. All this beautiful weather, this fine scenery, and you are waxing eloquent about some agile lizard?’
‘Not agile, Lacerta agilis. I…’ Gussie stopped when he saw Emerald’s eyes sparkle. He knew that look.
He quickly said, ‘Come, my dear, look, there is the lake. See how the light reflects off it.’
‘Is it true, Bingo?’ asked Rosie. ‘Is it true that Florence actually hid out in Dartmoor in complete seclusion to write Spindrift, and she attributes that isolation to her success? And here I am, typing out in completely laborious fashion in the middle of all that London noise. No wonder I have hit a creative wall with my labour of love, The Silent Admirer of Plain Jane. I need to get away, Bingo. We need to get away. Would you mind terribly?’
‘Florence might have exaggerated, Rosie,’ explained Bingo, ‘she is used to living in luxury. I cannot see her too far away from the city. She likes having people to order about, particularly able-bodied and empty-headed oafs like Stilton.’
‘That may be, but I think we really ought to at least go to a seaside town for a while.’
‘OK, my dear… what, what, what, what?’
A young couple just ran past them at great speed. The man tripped over a branch and fell. The girl who was holding his hand tumbled over as well.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Bingo, running over to them.
Rosie went to check on the girl. She was breathing heavily.
In a matter of seconds, everyone had gathered around the man and woman who lay on the ground, not moving, just breathing heavily.
The man could not have been more than twenty-one or twenty-two. The girl looked about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger. Both of them looked astonishing even in their dishevelled state. The young man had clear blue eyes, curly blonde hair. He was dressed in a frilly white shirt and dark trousers. He was thin and tall. The girl had startling green eyes. Her hair was a shade of orange. Her face and clothes betrayed an aristocratic upbringing, though it was evident that she was not a local.
Harold and Shash helped the young man up. Bertie offered a water bottle to the young woman.
‘Are you hurt, Mister?’ asked Harold.
He shook his head and immediately helped the young woman to her feet.
‘Svetlana, are you hurt?’
‘Nyet,’ she said.
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