118: Beseech to Besmirch

Jeeves struggled to put his face to rights before he encountered Norbert, Smedley and Penelope in the front hall. It wouldn’t do for them to start asking questions because they found him laughing—questions demanded answers, and answers meant lying or else giving away his brother’s secret. And to think that after all these years, his brother had a girl. Just fancy that. His mum would be tickled.

As he expected, Jeeves found the young people waiting and eager to begin their trip back to London. They planned to drive straight through, stopping briefly for a meal if their stomachs started growling. Jeeves hurried to load their bags in the boot of the Bentley, then he settled them in the rear seat before taking his place behind the wheel, and in no time they were cruising down the road.

“So Norbert,” said Penelope. “What shall I do to besmirch your reputation?”

“What? Why would you do that?” asked Smedley.

“So Margaret will call off the engagement.”

“Right,” said Smedley. “Got it.” He thought for a minute or two. “I could ring a few girls—”

“Smedley, you’ll do no such thing!” Penelope reproached him.

“No. Hear me out, my dear Snow White. These are girls I know from school. Not girlfriend girls, at least not for me. Chum girls that I helped with their studies. They owe me a favor or two. You know…”

“No, Smedley. I’m afraid I don’t.”

“Snow, don’t pout. Please don’t. There hasn’t been another girl for me since the day I caught sight of you. Ask Norbert.”

“He’s telling the truth, Penelope,” said Norbert in a reassuring voice. Jeeves looked in the rearview mirror and saw Norbert put his hand on Penelope’s arm and give it a pat. “He’s quite smitten.”

“All right then, Smedley, so what’s your plan?” asked Penelope, still not entirely convinced.

“I’ll have them come round to see Norbert and make a scene, claim he’s been a cad toward them. We’ll try to run interference, you see, try to make excuses, but we’ll do it badly, so they’ll only get the angrier and the scene will get bigger, and we’ll make sure there are witnesses. It would be best if Margaret were there to see. The more evidence she has that Norbert can’t be trusted, the better.”

“I don’t know, Smedley. Are you sure about this? Reputations are hard to repair.” The worry in Penelope’s voice echoed Jeeves’ own concerns, and he thought to himself how very much he liked the girl.

“Better to be labeled a cad than married to Margaret, don’t you think?” asked Smedley.

Norbert nodded so emphatically he shook the Bentley, and the hairs on the back of Jeeves’ neck shivered in response.

117: Burning Up

Jonesy turned the corner down the hall and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d pulled it off! Even Jeeves believed he was ill. No one suspected anything with Candice, and even more importantly, no one had reason to ask questions about the garden. When he passed by the mirror in the hallway, he caught sight of his sunburned face, and suddenly he understood—to the unsuspecting, he did look feverished, and his skin must have been hot to the touch, as well. Thank heavens Norbert, Smedley and Penelope were leaving that night, though, or he’d have to explain the blisters he’d no doubt sport by morning. When they returned, he supposed he could explain his tan by saying Ms. Maple had insisted he convalesce on the sun porch.

When he reached the room he shared with Jeeves, he tossed the towel into the wash basin and drew water for a bath. In his earlier hurry, he’d only had time to wash his face and hands. Dirt still streaked his arms, and the smell of his perspiration would keep him tossing and turning if he didn’t bathe before retiring. He’d stripped and was just dipping his toe into the tub to test the water when Jeeves burst through the door.

Jonesy hadn’t minded the lack of privacy afforded by the claw-footed tub, which stood in the corner of their chamber—his mother had been hard-pressed to get her boys to wear clothes for the first years of their lives, and even later, neither had much use for more clothing than necessary unless they were out and about—but just then, he was annoyed. He dropped himself into the water quickly. “Can’t you knock?”

“Good Lord, is that a sunburn?”

“Sunburn? No, of course not.”

“I do believe it’s a sunburn.” Jeeves narrowed his eyes and moved toward the tub for a closer look. “Never saw a fever that stopped in a sharp line mid-arm before, or at the neck either. What sort of lie are you about, Jonesy?” A grin flashed across his face. “She’s in on it, too, isn’t she? Are you sweet on that old bat? Were you having a picnic while I was off with the young ones? Is that it? You were currying favors? You sly dog. I never would have thought you’d stoop. She’d as old as our mother.” Jeeves spat in disgust.

Jonesy felt his chest redden to match his face and arms, and he was torn between saving his reputation and protecting Candice and Smedley. Could he trust Jeeves? Of course, he could, he thought. His brother’s loyalties were unswerving—to Mr. Norbert and Mr. Smedley—and Jeeves was, after all, his brother. “She’s not Sarah Maple. She’s Candice, Sarah Maple’s daughter.”

“You sly dog. Even better. Let me get my things, then, and I’ll be out of your way. She’s coming with your ‘medicine,’ you know, and she’ll be here soon. I’ll guess she’s just waiting for me to be on my way.” Jeeves grinned merrily, then started laughing—so hard, he didn’t notice Jonesy when he tried to explain the rest.

Jeeves was still laughing when he went out the door, his bags packed for London.

Jonesy could only finish his bath in a hurry, so he’d be ready to greet Candice when she returned with the medicine. He prayed she’d find something besides cod liver oil. God, he hated cod liver oil.

116: Touch of the Flu

Norbert’s voice, and Woofington’s bark in response, were still ringing in Jonesy’s ears when he found himself seated on the ground, Candice Maple having shoved him there in her hurry to stand.

“Sorry, Jonesy. Didn’t mean to unseat you, but you must rush to change. The garden must be kept a secret at all costs. They must not ask questions. I’ll go put them off.” She spun on her heels and disappeared so quickly, Jonesy wondered if she’d been apparition.

He stumbled to his feet and brushed himself off, wiped his feet on the mat, then entered the house through the back, and made haste to the servants’ quarters. How would he explain his day, he wondered, if he wasn’t to mention the garden? Perhaps Norbert and Smedley wouldn’t inquire, but Jeeves was bound to demand a detailed list of his accomplishments.

When Jonesy reached his room, it hit him. Why not behave like the lazy buzzard Jeeves thought he was and play sick?Jonesy tore up his bed clothes, put on his pajamas, dampened a towel and slung it around his shoulder, then half-stumbled toward the front of Nilpaster Manor with the best pained expression on his face he could muster. He only prayed Candice was sharp enough to play along.

Norbert and Smedley, together with Penelope, were in the foyer doing their best to calm an over-excited Woofington. A disapproving Maple looked on. Where, he wondered, was Miss Margaret? Not that he missed her.

“Good Lord, Jonesy, are you ill?” asked Norbert. “You’re sopping wet.”

“I’m afraid so, sir,” said Jonesy in the most nasal of voices. He faked a sneeze. “A touch of the flu, I’m afraid.”

“I’m fine,” said Jeeves. “Perhaps you need more cod liver oil.” He grinned wickedly.

“Too late for that, I’m afraid,” said Jonesy quickly.

“No. It’s never too late, is it Maple? That’s what you used to tell us when we were tots,” said Smedley.

Everyone looked to Ms. Maple, and Jonesy prayed she’d think of some excuse to save him from the torture of downing the awful liquid, but she merely bowed her hooded head, coughed and replied, “Right you are, Lord Nilpaster. I’ll go for the oil myself straight away.”

Jonesy tried to catch sight of Ms. Maple’s face as she passed, but she’d cloaked it well, and it was hidden in shadows. He thought he’d be ill in earnest.

“It’s just as well I aimed to leave you here, then,” Smedley was saying. “Jeeves will return to London tonight with Norbert, Penelope and me. I’ll be gone a few days—a week at the most—while I pack my things to move here. When you’re feeling better, I’d like for you to work with Maple to hire a staff. We’ll base ourselves here, with just a small apartment in London.” Smedley grabbed Penelope’s hand and kissed it.

Jonesy wasn’t certain how he felt about this news. Before he’d spent the day working like a slave for the beautiful Candice, he’d have been elated, but now? He wished he’d never met the woman. She’d captured his heart, and as long as she held it, he feared the rest of him would do her bidding.

“Will you stay for supper?” Jonesy asked.

“No,” Norbert answered. “We started the meal at Miss Margaret’s, but we left before pudding. I wonder if you could put a word in with the cook?”

“Norbert!” said Penelope. “The man is ill.” She turned to Jonesy and spoke to him kindly. “Why don’t you return to your chamber. We’ll tell Maple she may find you there, and I’ll speak to cook. Does that suit you?”

Jonesy nodded. “Why, yes, Miss Penelope. Yes, it does.”

115: White Flag

Jonesy wiped the sweat from his brow, then dried his hands on the front of his uniform. How glad he was Jeeves couldn’t see him at that moment, his trousers smeared with mud and his shirt a rumpled mess—he’d have leaves and twigs in his hair, too, if he had any hair to catch them in—and all because he’d been sent to see to the blasted garden gate. The secret garden gate. The gate he wasn’t to speak about, so he wouldn’t even have the pleasure of complaining about his ill-treatment at the hands of sour old Maple at the end of the day. He didn’t know what he’d been thinking, getting all gormy on the lass, when all she saw in him was a pair of hands to operate her bloody pruning shears.

He looked up at the sun, which steadfastly dodged the clouds that scudded across the sky, insisting instead on blazing down upon his back, a back that remained covered by the butler’s coat he didn’t dare remove for fear of further embarrassing those of his profession. Didn’t the clouds know it was June? In bloody England? The least they could do was let loose with a rain shower or two so he could break for a cup of tea.

“Jeeves?” Candice Maple’s voice called sweetly from the house.

He cringed. Every time he'd seen her, she’d added to his list. She'd been sweet about it, but behind the lilt in her voice and the twinkle in her eyes, and that sweet way she had of looking at him that made his heart go pittery-pat, was a taskmaster who made the principal at the boys' school pale in comparison. Even as his pulse quickened in a show of affection, his muscles threatened to go on the warpath, sending his heart plummeting to the depths of his stomach and his stomach belly-flopping to the ground in front of her.

“Jeeves? Oh, you poor man! What are you doing in that jacket? Come, sit down, and remove it at once. I’ve brought you afternoon tea. I thought I’d join you, out here where it’s private.” She put her arm around him, and to his alarm, his muscles surrendered and followed her docilely, with more strength and energy than he thought possible. He wanted to be angry with her, but his brain wouldn't cooperate, either. It had stumbled over a single word and kept repeating it, over and over. Private. She'd said the word private.

Before he knew it, his jacket was off, he was seated next to Candice Maple and his arm rested on the back of her chair. Then it slipped forward. He couldn’t quite explain how—perhaps he was weak from exertion—but it came to rest gently against her waist and he found himself leaning slightly toward her. And perhaps she thought he needed propping, because she leaned into him and placed her head against his chest. His started to pound so hard, he was afraid her head would bounce away from him, and so he put his hand tenderly across her cheek. She turned and wrapped her arms around him, and then…

The Bentley pulled into the drive and Jonesy heard Norbert's voice calling out.

“Woofington! Where are you?” called Norbert. “Get that Jonesy to let you out. I’ve missed you boy!”

114: Moving House

When Smedley dismissed the townspeople’s claims of turbaned Africans coming and going through the garden gates in the dead of night as the talk of drunkards, saying he expected to hear they’d been riding pink elephants, Jeeves knew Smedley was trying to distract Norbert from the truth—whatever the truth might be. However, loyal valet that he was, he didn’t question Smedley’s motives. “No, sir. They made no mention of pink elephants. It was lions, sir. For the men, that was. The women rode tigers wearing collars made of emeralds. Sounded like quite the magnificent sight, if you ask me.” He glanced in the rearview mirror and saw the color slowly return to Smedley’s face, and the worry lines around Penelope’s eyes relax. Norbert glared back at him. “I’d like to have seen that,” he added.

Well, so what, Jeeves thought. I may be Mr. Norbert’s valet, but my brother works for Mr. Smedley, and Mr. Smedley needs my help right now. Norbert crossed the line when he pressed him for information. ‘Tis not fitting of a gentleman, and he knows better.

“So what sort of trouble do you think Jonesy’s gotten himself into while we’ve been gone?” Smedley asked. “You think he’ll be begging to return to London, or can I get him to stay on at Nilpaster? I do hope he can learn to put up with old Maple.”

Jeeves coughed so hard he nearly ran the Bentley off the road. He pulled over for a minute until he recovered. “I expect Jonesy will manage,” he said. “Better him than me.”

“What are you thinking, Smedley?” asked Norbert.

“I thought perhaps I would leave Jonesy at Nilpaster to sort out a staff and such with Maple while I accompany Penelope back to London. I need to make arrangements for moving to the country.”

“Moving! You’re moving?” said Penelope.

“Of course, darling. There’s nothing to keep me in London, now. I’ll need to come to speed on Old Willy Nilly’s business interests, but I can oversee them just as easily from Nilpaster as I can in London, and the country life is ever so much nicer. You’ll see. We’ll keep a flat in London for when we need a bit of excitement.” He smiled to himself and nodded. “But I must have a dog. Walks aren’t much fun without one. Don’t suppose you’d part with Woofington, would you, Norbert? I think he’d fancy life at Nilpaster, and you’d be welcome to visit him as often as you like as long as you don’t bring Margaret’s mother.”

“Seeing as how I intend to show Margaret my “true” self so she breaks off our engagement, I can’t imagine that will be a problem. But I’ll have to think about the dog.”

113: Where We Are

Thank you for your patience in waiting for the return of Norbert and Smedley. After making the TOP TEN in the Hawaiian Islands' (formerly Maui) Writers' Conference Rupert Hughes Prose Writing Competition, The Learner's Permit went through one final revision. I'm in the process now of sending it out to agents, saying prayers and doing my best not to bite my fingernails while I wait to hear an answer. My muse was also busy, and I completed the first draft on my second full-length novel this past month and sketched out ideas for a third. I don't know where the creative energy is coming from, but I could hardly type fast enough... I would like to get back to regular publication of N&S, but if the muse continues to work fast and furious on the novels, that may be where life takes me for the time being.

Catching up with our story:

We find Smedley, his beautiful (to him) Penelope and Norbert, driven by Jeeves in the Bentley on their way back to Nilpaster Manor. They have just (narrowly) escaped from Margaret's childhood home, where they met Margaret's domineering foghorn-voiced mother and incompetent henpecked father, and now Norbert has begged them to help him break off his engagement.

Smedley and Penelope are eager to help, because Margaret's mother wants to make it a double wedding (to ride on the coattails of the Smedley--Lord Nilpaster's--social standing) and they want to stay as far from the woman as possible.

Norbert has recalled gossip he heard about Nilpaster Manor and the former Lord Nilpaster (fondly known as Willy Nilly), but Smedley, if he knows anything, isn't willing to divulge the secrets.

Meanwhile, we've left Smedley's valet, Jonesy, back at Nilpaster Manor with Ms. Maple, whom the others think is the elderly housekeeper that has been in the family for years. Smedley refers to her as Sour Maple behind her back. Jonesy knows it is really Maple's beautiful daughter, Candace, and he is quite sweet on her--she hides behind a cloak, afraid she'll lose her position if the truth is discovered. Her mother is ill and confined to bed.

Right now, Smedley wants to know what's been going on around Nilpaster Manor, because he has a feeling that there are secrets he's not meant to discover--and he wants to find them out before Norbert does. He also wants to keep his bride-to-be happy, and get rid of Margaret (or at least make sure he doesn't have to share his wedding with her); and if his best friend, Norbert, is certain he doesn't want to marry the girl (and why shouldn't he be, he's only known her for 48 hours and proposed on a whim without good reason?) then Smedley will do his best to help him get out of the situation.

112: The Secret Garden

My apologies, but Norbert & Smedley may be published somewhat irregularly (I will try for at least once a week) until after Labor Day Weekend because of extra work I have to get done in order to prepare for the Maui Writers' Conference. If you want to be notified of each episode as it comes out, instead of having to check back, be sure to sign up for either the RSS Feed or an e-mail subscription. You will NOT receive any e-mail except for N&S episodes, and your e-mail address will not be shared in any way.

Episodes 1 - 110

Penelope took Smedley’s hand and held it tenderly in hers. “My prince, if you don’t wish to speak of the garden, then you shouldn’t; the manor is, after all, your private home.”

Smedley smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Snow White.” He leaned against her affectionately. “It’s an awkward subject, you see. I suppose all families have their skeletons in the closet. Wouldn’t you say that’s true, Norbert?”

Norbert eyed Smedley, eager to hear more. “Why certainly. Our family’s got one or two skeletons wandering about, maybe a few more when my father’s been in his cups.” He gave a wink. “But your family’s a good sort, well-respected and all that, so what’s the problem old chap? What have you to be concerned about? You can tell your friends here. It’s just me, your best buddy in the world, who wishes nothing but the best for you; your future bride, who will share in all your cares and concerns from now until eternity; and Jeeves, who is sworn to secrecy by the oath of all valets—and I think Jeeves already proved his honor, hasn’t he?”

Jeeves looked upon the group in the rearview mirror, and saw that Penelope was worried for Smedley. The way she’s got her lips pursed, she’s trying to keep Smedley’s shut for him, he thought.

“Well,” said Smedley, and he paused to draw in a deep breath. Norbert and Penelope drew in deep breaths with him, and Jeeves was certain the atmospheric pressure in the car dropped enough to make his ears pop. “Well, my family’s got enough for a bloody cemetery, and we keep them all in the bloody garden. To cut down on gossip, Lord Nilly has sealed it off from the world. No one’s to go in or out, including me. And that’s the long and the short of it!”

Penelope let out a sigh of relief, and with her, Jeeves did, too.

Norbert was not to be dissuaded, however, and his memory for gossip was far better than it had ever been for sums and figures. If he’d retained information this well at school, thought Jeeves, he’d have been at the top of his term. “But Jeeves and Jonesy overheard the townsfolk talking about turbaned Africans coming and going through the garden gate in the dead of night.”

“Impossible,” said Smedley. “I’ve never heard of such of thing, nor do I know of such a gate. The valets did hear about it in an inn, over pints. I suspect the reporter might have been in his cups at the time, and if allowed to continue, might next have said the people arrived on pink elephants.”

“Right,” said Norbert, unconvinced.

Jeeves didn’t blame Norbert. The stories he and Jonesy’d heard weren’t the tales of drunken revelers. Something was going on, something Smedley didn’t wish to share. He only hoped it wasn’t anything likely to get Smedley into trouble. Given the expense of running an estate these days, who knew what lengths Lord Nilpaster had gone to in order to make ends meet? It would pay to keep an eye out for the boy’s interests, of that he was certain, because the boy certainly couldn’t be trusted to look out for himself.