most truly fascinating? Does a livelier iris, winter weather notwithstanding, shine upon the burnished Bunter? Have you got that sort of conquering feeling? The Don Juan touch, so to speak?”
Bunter, balancing the breakfast tray on his fingers, coughed deprecatingly.
“You have a good, upstanding, impressive figure, if I may say so,” pursued Wimsey, “a bold and roving eye when off duty, a ready tongue, Bunter – and, I am persuaded, you have a way with you. What more should any cook or house-parlourmaid want?”
“I am always happy,” replied Bunter, “to exert myself to the best of my capacity in your lordship’s service.”
“I am aware of it,” admitted his lordship. “Again and again I say to myself, Wimsey, this cannot last. One of these days this worthy man will cast off the yoke of servitude and settle down in a pub. or something, but nothing happens. Still, morning by morning, my coffee is brought, my bath is prepared, my razor laid out, my ties and socks sorted and my bacon and eggs brought to me in a lordly dish. No matter. This time I demand a more perilous devotion – perilous for us both, my Bunter, for if you were to be carried away a helpless martyr to matrimony, who then would bring my coffee, prepare my bath, lay out my razor and perform all those other sacrificial rites? And yet -”
“Who is the party, my lord?”
“There are two of them, Bunter, two ladies lived in a bower, Binnorie, O Binnorie! The parlourmaid you have seen. Her name is Hannah Westlock. A woman in her thirties, I fancy, and not ill-favored. The other, the cook – I cannot lisp the tender syllables of her name, for I do not know it, but doubtless it is Gertrude, Cecily, Magdalen, Margaret, Rosalys or some other sweet symphonious sound – a fine woman, Bunter, on the mature side, perhaps, but none the worse for that.”
“Certainly not, my lord. If I may say so, the woman of ripe years and queenly figure is frequently more susceptible to delicate attentions than the giddy and thoughtless young beauty.”
“True. Let us suppose, Bunter, that you were to be the bearer of a courteous missive to one Mr. Norman Urquhart of Woburn Square. Could you, in the short space of time at your disposal, insinuate yourself, snakelike, as it were, into the bosom of the household?”
“If you desire it, my lord, I will endeavour to insinuate myself to your lordship’s satisfaction.”
“Noble fellow. In case of an action for breach, or any consequence of that description, the charges will, of course, be borne by the management.”
“I am obliged to your lordship. When would your lordship wish me to commence?”
“As soon as I have written a note to Mr. Urquhart. I will ring.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Wimsey moved over to the writing-desk. After a few moments he looked up, a little peevishly.
“Bunter, I have a sensation of being hovered over. I do not like it. It is unusual and it unnerves me. I implore you not to hover. Is the proposition distasteful, or do you want me to get a new hat? What is troubling your conscience?”
“I beg your lordship’s pardon. It had occurred to my mind to ask your lordship, with every respect -”
“Oh, God, Bunter – don’t break it gently. I can’t bear it. Stab and end the creature – to the heft! What is it?”
“I wished to ask you, my lord, whether your lordship thought of making any changes in your establishment?”
Wimsey laid down his pen and stared at the man.
“Changes, Bunter? When I have just so eloquently expressed to you my undying attachment to the loved routine of coffee, bath, razor, socks, eggs and bacon and the old, familiar faces? You’re not giving me warning, are you?”
“No, indeed, my lord. I should be very sorry to leave your lordship’s service. But I had thought it possible that, if your lordship was about to contract new ties -”
“I knew it was something in the haberdashery line! By all means, Bunter, if you think it necessary. Had
Bunter, balancing the breakfast tray on his fingers, coughed deprecatingly.
“You have a good, upstanding, impressive figure, if I may say so,” pursued Wimsey, “a bold and roving eye when off duty, a ready tongue, Bunter – and, I am persuaded, you have a way with you. What more should any cook or house-parlourmaid want?”
“I am always happy,” replied Bunter, “to exert myself to the best of my capacity in your lordship’s service.”
“I am aware of it,” admitted his lordship. “Again and again I say to myself, Wimsey, this cannot last. One of these days this worthy man will cast off the yoke of servitude and settle down in a pub. or something, but nothing happens. Still, morning by morning, my coffee is brought, my bath is prepared, my razor laid out, my ties and socks sorted and my bacon and eggs brought to me in a lordly dish. No matter. This time I demand a more perilous devotion – perilous for us both, my Bunter, for if you were to be carried away a helpless martyr to matrimony, who then would bring my coffee, prepare my bath, lay out my razor and perform all those other sacrificial rites? And yet -”
“Who is the party, my lord?”
“There are two of them, Bunter, two ladies lived in a bower, Binnorie, O Binnorie! The parlourmaid you have seen. Her name is Hannah Westlock. A woman in her thirties, I fancy, and not ill-favored. The other, the cook – I cannot lisp the tender syllables of her name, for I do not know it, but doubtless it is Gertrude, Cecily, Magdalen, Margaret, Rosalys or some other sweet symphonious sound – a fine woman, Bunter, on the mature side, perhaps, but none the worse for that.”
“Certainly not, my lord. If I may say so, the woman of ripe years and queenly figure is frequently more susceptible to delicate attentions than the giddy and thoughtless young beauty.”
“True. Let us suppose, Bunter, that you were to be the bearer of a courteous missive to one Mr. Norman Urquhart of Woburn Square. Could you, in the short space of time at your disposal, insinuate yourself, snakelike, as it were, into the bosom of the household?”
“If you desire it, my lord, I will endeavour to insinuate myself to your lordship’s satisfaction.”
“Noble fellow. In case of an action for breach, or any consequence of that description, the charges will, of course, be borne by the management.”
“I am obliged to your lordship. When would your lordship wish me to commence?”
“As soon as I have written a note to Mr. Urquhart. I will ring.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Wimsey moved over to the writing-desk. After a few moments he looked up, a little peevishly.
“Bunter, I have a sensation of being hovered over. I do not like it. It is unusual and it unnerves me. I implore you not to hover. Is the proposition distasteful, or do you want me to get a new hat? What is troubling your conscience?”
“I beg your lordship’s pardon. It had occurred to my mind to ask your lordship, with every respect -”
“Oh, God, Bunter – don’t break it gently. I can’t bear it. Stab and end the creature – to the heft! What is it?”
“I wished to ask you, my lord, whether your lordship thought of making any changes in your establishment?”
Wimsey laid down his pen and stared at the man.
“Changes, Bunter? When I have just so eloquently expressed to you my undying attachment to the loved routine of coffee, bath, razor, socks, eggs and bacon and the old, familiar faces? You’re not giving me warning, are you?”
“No, indeed, my lord. I should be very sorry to leave your lordship’s service. But I had thought it possible that, if your lordship was about to contract new ties -”
“I knew it was something in the haberdashery line! By all means, Bunter, if you think it necessary. Had
Similar Books
