right to be,
but now she turned scarlet.
‘Galahad!’
she cried.
‘Smith’s
a friend of his. It was he who arranged for him to come to the castle. I had
been trying with no success to get Royal Academicians and people like that to
paint the Empress, but Galahad said No, what I wanted was an eager young
enthusiastic chap like Smith. So he sounded him about coming here, and
fortunately he was at liberty. So he came. But I mustn’t keep you up. You’re
anxious to turn in. Is that mud you’ve got on your face? How very peculiar. I
always say you never know what women will be up to next. Well, good night,
Florence, good night,’ said Lord Emsworth, and he trotted off to renew his
interrupted study of Whiffle.
If he
had supposed that on his departure Florence would curl up and go to sleep, he
erred. Late though the hour was, nothing was further from her thoughts than
slumber. She sat in a chair, her powerful brain working like a dynamo.
It was
of Galahad that she was thinking. It seemed incredible that even he could have
had the audacity to introduce into Blandings Castle the infamous Bennison at the
thought of whom she had been shuddering for weeks, but he might well have done
so. Long association with him had told her that the slogan that ruled his life
was Anything Goes.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
BRENDA PIPER, one of those
hardy women who do not mind getting up early, caught the 8.30 express to Market
Blandings [45] on the following morning, and Jno Robinson took her to the castle in his taxi.
The
last time Jno and his taxi appeared in this chronicle was when he had Gally as
a passenger and then, it will be remembered, there was a complete fusion of
soul between employer and employed and the most delightful harmony prevailed.
It was very different on this occasion. Briefness of acquaintance never
deterred Brenda from becoming personal and speaking her mind. If in her opinion
someone she had only just met required criticism, criticism was what he got.
Jno
Robinson had not yet shaved. She mentioned this. His costume was informal, of
the Lord Emsworth school rather than that of Beau Brummell. This too, was
touched on. She also thought poorly of his skill as a driver, and said so. The
result was that when they drew up at the front door of Blandings Castle it
needed only the discovery that she did not approve of tipping to round out the
ruin of Jno Robinson’s day.
Before
going in search of her brother James, Brenda presented herself to her hostess
and was concerned to see how pale she was. Florence, as has been indicated, had
slept badly.
‘Good
gracious,’ she exclaimed. ‘What ever is the matter, Florence? Are you ill? If
it’s a cold coming on, take two aspirins and go to bed.’
Florence
shook her head. It was not medical advice she needed.
‘I had
a bad night, but I’m perfectly well. It’s Victoria. You know the trouble I am
having with her. That man of hers.’
‘Surely
not now that she is at the castle?’
‘But he
is here, too.’
‘Here?’
‘Galahad
sneaked him in. Clarence wanted someone to paint his pig, and Galahad produced
this man.’
‘You’re
sure he’s the one?’
‘Quite
sure.’
‘Then—’
‘Why
don’t I turn him out? Because I have no proof. You know how often you hear that
the police are certain that somebody has done some crime, but they cannot make
an arrest until they have proof. It’s the same here.’
‘I’d
kick him out and chance it.’
‘It
would mean trouble with Clarence. Of course if I had proof there would be no
difficulty. Even Clarence could not object then.’
Privately
Brenda did not attach much importance to any possible objections on Lord
Emsworth’s part, but she abstained from her customary candour because she was
thinking. The trend of her thoughts became evident a moment later.
‘I know
what you can do,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you tell me that Victoria told you that
this man Bennison had been employed as a drawing instructor
but now she turned scarlet.
‘Galahad!’
she cried.
‘Smith’s
a friend of his. It was he who arranged for him to come to the castle. I had
been trying with no success to get Royal Academicians and people like that to
paint the Empress, but Galahad said No, what I wanted was an eager young
enthusiastic chap like Smith. So he sounded him about coming here, and
fortunately he was at liberty. So he came. But I mustn’t keep you up. You’re
anxious to turn in. Is that mud you’ve got on your face? How very peculiar. I
always say you never know what women will be up to next. Well, good night,
Florence, good night,’ said Lord Emsworth, and he trotted off to renew his
interrupted study of Whiffle.
If he
had supposed that on his departure Florence would curl up and go to sleep, he
erred. Late though the hour was, nothing was further from her thoughts than
slumber. She sat in a chair, her powerful brain working like a dynamo.
It was
of Galahad that she was thinking. It seemed incredible that even he could have
had the audacity to introduce into Blandings Castle the infamous Bennison at the
thought of whom she had been shuddering for weeks, but he might well have done
so. Long association with him had told her that the slogan that ruled his life
was Anything Goes.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
BRENDA PIPER, one of those
hardy women who do not mind getting up early, caught the 8.30 express to Market
Blandings [45] on the following morning, and Jno Robinson took her to the castle in his taxi.
The
last time Jno and his taxi appeared in this chronicle was when he had Gally as
a passenger and then, it will be remembered, there was a complete fusion of
soul between employer and employed and the most delightful harmony prevailed.
It was very different on this occasion. Briefness of acquaintance never
deterred Brenda from becoming personal and speaking her mind. If in her opinion
someone she had only just met required criticism, criticism was what he got.
Jno
Robinson had not yet shaved. She mentioned this. His costume was informal, of
the Lord Emsworth school rather than that of Beau Brummell. This too, was
touched on. She also thought poorly of his skill as a driver, and said so. The
result was that when they drew up at the front door of Blandings Castle it
needed only the discovery that she did not approve of tipping to round out the
ruin of Jno Robinson’s day.
Before
going in search of her brother James, Brenda presented herself to her hostess
and was concerned to see how pale she was. Florence, as has been indicated, had
slept badly.
‘Good
gracious,’ she exclaimed. ‘What ever is the matter, Florence? Are you ill? If
it’s a cold coming on, take two aspirins and go to bed.’
Florence
shook her head. It was not medical advice she needed.
‘I had
a bad night, but I’m perfectly well. It’s Victoria. You know the trouble I am
having with her. That man of hers.’
‘Surely
not now that she is at the castle?’
‘But he
is here, too.’
‘Here?’
‘Galahad
sneaked him in. Clarence wanted someone to paint his pig, and Galahad produced
this man.’
‘You’re
sure he’s the one?’
‘Quite
sure.’
‘Then—’
‘Why
don’t I turn him out? Because I have no proof. You know how often you hear that
the police are certain that somebody has done some crime, but they cannot make
an arrest until they have proof. It’s the same here.’
‘I’d
kick him out and chance it.’
‘It
would mean trouble with Clarence. Of course if I had proof there would be no
difficulty. Even Clarence could not object then.’
Privately
Brenda did not attach much importance to any possible objections on Lord
Emsworth’s part, but she abstained from her customary candour because she was
thinking. The trend of her thoughts became evident a moment later.
‘I know
what you can do,’ she said. ‘Didn’t you tell me that Victoria told you that
this man Bennison had been employed as a drawing instructor
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