Дживс, вы – гений! / Thank you, Jeeves!

© The Trustees of the P.G. Wodehouse Estate

© Матвеев С.А., адаптация текста, словарь, 2019

© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2019

1
Jeeves Gives Notice

I was perturbed. I was sitting in my old flat, idly touching the strings of my banjolele^[1], an instrument to which I had become greatly addicted.

“Jeeves,” I said, “do you know what?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you know whom I saw last night?”

“No, sir.”

“J. Washburn Stoker^[2] and his daughter, Pauline^[3].”

“Indeed, sir?”

“They must be over here.”

“It would seem so, sir.”

“Awkward, eh?”

“I can conceive that after what occurred in New York it might be distressing for you to encounter Miss Stoker, sir.”

“Jeeves, do you mean that I ought to keep out of her way?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Avoid her?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Moreover, they were accompanied by Sir Roderick Glossop^[4].”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Yes. It was at the Savoy Grill^[5]. And the fourth member of the party was Lord Chuffnell’s aunt, Myrtle^[6]. What was she doing in that gang?”

“Possibly her ladyship is an acquaintance either of Mr Stoker, Miss Stoker, or Sir Roderick, sir.”

“Yes, that may be so. But it surprised me.”

“Did you enter into conversation with them, sir?”

“Who, me? No, Jeeves. I ran out of the room. If there is one man in the world I hope never to exchange speech with again, it is that Glossop.”

“I forgot to mention, sir, that Sir Roderick called to see you this morning^[7].”

“What!”

“Yes, sir.”

“He called to see me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“After what has passed between us?”

“Yes, sir. I informed him that you had not yet risen, and he said that he would return later.”

“He did, did he?” I laughed. “Well, when he does, set the dog on him^[8].”

“We have no dog, sir.”

“Then step down to the flat below and borrow Mrs Tinkler-Moulke’s Pomeranian^[9]. I never heard of such a thing. Good Lord! Good heavens!”

And when I give you the whole story, I think you will agree with me that my heat was justified.

* * *

About three months before, noting a certain liveliness in my Aunt Agatha, I had decided to go to New York to give her time to blow over^[10]. And in a week, at the Sherry-Netherland^[11], I made the acquaintance of Pauline Stoker. Her beauty maddened me like wine.

In New York, I have always found, everything is very fast. This, I believe, is due to something in the air. Two weeks later I proposed to Pauline. She accepted me. But something went wrong.

Sir Roderick Glossop, a nerve specialist, nothing more nor less than a high-priced doctor, he has been standing on my way for years. And it so happened that he was in New York when the announcement of my engagement appeared in the papers.

What brought him there? He was visiting J. Washburn Stoker’s second cousin^[12], George. This George had been a patient of Sir Roderick’s for some years, and it was George’s practice to come to New York every to take a look at him. He arrived on the present occasion just in time to read over the morning coffee and egg the news that Bertram Wooster^[13] and Pauline Stoker were planning to marry. And, I think, he began to ring up the father of the bride-to-be.

Well, what he told J. Washburn about me I cannot, of course, say: but, I imagine, he informed him that I had once been engaged to his daughter, Honoria^[14], and that he had broken off the match because he had decided that I was an idiot. He would have told, no doubt, about the incident of the cats and the fish in my bedroom: possibly, also, on the episode of the stolen hat with a description of the unfortunate affair of the punctured hot-water bottle at Lady Wickham’s^[15].

A close friend of J. Washburn’s and a man on whose judgment J. W. relied, I am sure that he had little difficulty in persuading the latter that I was not the ideal son-in-law^[16]. At any rate^[17], as I say, within a mere forty-eight hours of the holy moment I was notified that it would be unnecessary for me to order the new trousers and flowers, because my nomination had been cancelled.

And it was this man who dared to come at the Wooster home! I thought that he was going to say that he was sorry for his doing wrong.

I was still playing the banjolele when he arrived.

“Ah, Sir Roderick,” I said. “Good morning.”

His only reply was a grunt, and an indubitably unpleasant grunt. I felt that my diagnosis of the situation had been wrong. He was glaring at me with obvious distaste as if I had been the germ of dementia praecox^[18].

My geniality waned. I was just about to say the old to-what-am-I-indebted-for-this-visit, when he began:

“You ought to be certified!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’re a public menace^[19]. For weeks, it appears, you have been making life a hell for all your neighbours with some hideous musical instrument. I see you have it with you now. How dare you play that thing in a respectable block of flats? Infernal din!”

I remained cool and dignified.

“Did you say ‘infernal din’?”

“I did.”

“Oh? Well, let me tell you that the man that hath no music in himself…” I stepped to the door. “Jeeves,” I called down the passage, “what was it Shakespeare said the man who hadn’t music in himself was fit for?”

“Treasons, stratagems, and spoils, sir.”

“Thank you, Jeeves. Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils,” I said, returning.

He danced a step or two.

“Are you aware that the occupant of the flat below, Mrs Tinkler-Moulke, is one of my patients, a woman in a highly nervous condition. I have had to give her a sedative.”

I raised a hand.

“Don’t tell me the gossip from the loony-bin^[20],” I said distantly. “Might I inquire, on my side, if you are aware that Mrs Tinkler-Moulke owns a Pomeranian?”

“Don’t drivel.”

“I am not drivelling. This animal yaps all day and night. So Mrs Tinkler-Moulke has had the nerve to complain of my banjolele, has she? Ha! Let her first throw away her dog.”

“I am not here to talk about dogs. Stop annoying this unfortunate woman.”

I shook the head.

“I am sorry she is a cold audience, but my art must come first.”

“That is your final word, is it?”

“It is.”

“Very good. You will hear more of this.”

“And Mrs Tinkler-Moulke will hear more of this,” I replied, taking the banjolele.

I touched the buzzer.

“Jeeves,” I said, “show Sir R. Glossop out!^[21]”

* * *

With a good deal of quiet self-satisfaction I proceeded to play “The Wedding of the Painted Doll”, “Singin’ In the Rain”, “Three Little Words”, “Good-Night, Sweetheart”, “My Love Parade”, “Spring Is Here”, “Whose Baby Are You”, and part of “I Want an Automobile With a Horn That Goes Toot-Toot”, in the order named: and it was as I was approaching the end of this last number that the telephone rang.

I went to the telephone and stood listening. And, as I listened, my face grew hard and set.

“Very good, Mr Manglehoffer^[22],” I said coldly. “You may inform Mrs Tinkler-Moulke and her associates that I choose the latter alternative.”

I touched the bell.

“Jeeves,” I said, “there has been a spot of trouble.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“I have just been talking to the manager of this building on the telephone, and he has delivered an ultimatum. He says I must either stop playing the banjolele or go out.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Complaints have been lodged by the Honourable Mrs Tinkler-Moulke, of C.6; by Lieutenant-Colonel J. J. Bustard, DSO^[23], of B.5; and by Sir Everard and Lady Blennerhassett^[24], of B.7. All right. So be it. I don’t care. We shall be rid of these Tinkler-Moulkes, these Bustards, and these Blennerhassetts. I leave them readily.”

“You are proposing to move, sir?”

I raised the eyebrows.

“Surely, Jeeves, you cannot imagine that I ever considered any other course?”

“But I fear you will encounter a similar hostility elsewhere, sir.”

“Not where I am going. I want to retire to the depths of the country. I shall find a cottage, and there resume my studies.”

“A cottage, sir?”

“A cottage, Jeeves. If possible, honeysuckle-covered^[25].”

There was a brief pause, and then Jeeves gave a sort of cough and there proceeded from his lips these incredible words:

“In that case, I fear I must give my notice^[26].”

There was a tense silence. I stared at the man.

“Jeeves,” I was stunned, “did I hear you correctly?”

“Yes, sir. If it is your intention to play that instrument within a country cottage…”

“You say ‘that instrument’, Jeeves. And you say it in an unpleasant voice. Am I to understand that you dislike this banjolele?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Let me tell you one thing. Are you aware that a certain Bulgarian, Elia Gospodinoff^[27], once played the bagpipes for twenty-four hours without a stop?”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Well, do you suppose Gospodinoff’s personal attendant went away? A laughable idea. Be Bulgarian, Jeeves.”

“No, sir. I fear I cannot.”

“Are you serious, Jeeves?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you are resolved?”

“Yes, sir. If it is really your intention to continue playing that instrument, I have no option but to leave.”

The Wooster blood boiled over. This blighter thinks he is domestic Mussolini^[28]. But what is Jeeves, after all? A valet. A salaried servant!

“Then, Jeeves, leave, dash it!^[29]”

“Very good, sir.”

2
Chuffy

I assembled the stick, the hat, and the lemon-coloured gloves and strode out into the streets of London. Though I was afraid what existence would be like without Jeeves, I had no thought of weakening. As I turned the corner into Piccadilly^[30], I observed a familiar form.

This familiar form was none other than that of my boyhood friend, the fifth Baron Chuffnell^[31] —the chap, if you remember, whose Aunt Myrtle I had seen the previous night with the hellhound, Glossop.

The sight of him reminded me that I was looking for a country cottage and that here was the very chap who had one.

I wonder if I have ever told you about Chuffy? Stop me if I have. He’s a fellow I’ve known more or less all my life, he and myself having been at private school, Eton and Oxford^[32] together. Now he spends most of his time down at Chuffnell Regis^[33], where he owns an enormous great place with about a hundred and fifty rooms and miles of parkland.

Don’t think, however, that Chuffy is one of my wealthier friends. He can’t afford to live anywhere else. If somebody came to him and offered to buy the place, he would kiss him on both cheeks. But who wants to buy a house that size in these times? So he lives there most of the year, with nobody to talk to except the local doctor and parson and his Aunt Myrtle and her twelve-year-old son, Seabury^[34], who live at the Dower House^[35] in the park.

Chuffy also owns the village of Chuffnell Regis—not that that does him much good, either. I mean to say, the taxes on the estate and all the expenses of repairs are very high. Still, he is the landlord, and, as such, would have dozens of cottages at his disposal.

“You’re the very chap I wanted to see, Chuffy,” I said accordingly. “Come right along with me to the Drones^[36] for a lunch. I must tell you something.”

He shook his head.

“I’d like it, Bertie, but I’m due at the Carlton^[37] in five minutes. I’m lunching with a man.”

“Well, bring him along, then.”

Chuffy smiled.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy it, Bertie. He’s Sir Roderick Glossop.”

I goggled.

“Sir Roderick Glossop?”

“Yes.”

“But I didn’t know you knew him.”

“I don’t, very well. Just met him a couple of times. He’s a great friend of my Aunt Myrtle.”

“Ah! That explains it. I saw her dining with him last night.”

“Well, if you come to the Carlton, you’ll see me lunching with him today.”

“But, Chuffy, old man, is this wise? Is this prudent?”

“Nothing to do, Bertie. I had an urgent wire^[38] from him yesterday, telling me to come up and see him immediately. So, I shall go, Bertie. But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll dine with you tomorrow night.”

But I had already formed my plans and made my arrangements and they could not be altered.

“I’m sorry, Chuffy. I’m leaving London tomorrow.”

“You are?”

“Yes. The management of the building where I reside has offered me the choice between leaving immediately or ceasing to play the banjolele. I elected to leave. I am going to take a cottage in the country somewhere, and that’s what I meant when I said I wanted to talk to you. Can you let me have a cottage?”

“I can give you your choice of half a dozen.”

“It must be quiet and secluded. I shall be playing the banjolele a lot.”

“There is one. On the edge of the harbour and not a neighbour within a mile except Police Sergeant Voules^[39]. And he plays the harmonium. You could do duets.”

“Fine!”

“And there’s a troupe of negro minstrels down there this year. You could study their technique.”

“Chuffy, it sounds like heaven. And we shall be able to see each other sometimes.”

“By the way, what has Jeeves said about all this? I don’t think he wants to leave London.”

“Jeeves has nothing to say on that or any other subject. We have parted.”

“What!”

“Yes,” I said, “he told me that if I didn’t give up my banjolele he would resign. I accepted his proposal.”

“You’ve really let him go?”

“I have.”

“Well, well, well!”

“These things happen,” I said. “I’m not pretending I’m pleased, of course, but I can live without him. ‘Very good, Jeeves,’ I said to him. ‘So be it. I shall watch your future career with considerable interest.’ And that was that.”

We walked on for a bit in silence.

“So you’ve parted with Jeeves, have you?” said Chuffy. “Well, well, well! Any objection to my looking in and saying good-bye to him?”

“None whatsoever.”

“I’ve always admired his intellect.”

“Me too.”

“I’ll come after lunch.”

“As you wish,” I said.

* * *

I lunched at the Drones and spent the afternoon there. Then I went home. I had much to think of. We Woosters can be honest with ourselves. There never had been anyone like Jeeves.

Abruptly, I went into the sitting-room.

“Jeeves,” I said.” A word.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Jeeves,” I said, “about on our conversation this morning.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Jeeves,” I said, “I have been thinking things over. I have come to the conclusion that we have both been hasty. Let us forget the past. You may stay on.”

“It is very kind of you, sir, but… are you still proposing to continue the study of that instrument?”

“Yes, Jeeves, I am.”

“Then I fear, sir—”

It was enough. I nodded haughtily.

“Very good, Jeeves. That is all. I will, of course, give you an excellent recommendation.”

“Thank you, sir. It will not be necessary. This afternoon I entered the employment of Lord Chuffnell.”

I started.

“Did Chuffy come here this afternoon and steal you?”

“Yes, sir. I go with him to Chuffnell Regis in about a week’s time.”

“You do, do you? Well, it may interest you to know that I am going to Chuffnell Regis tomorrow.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Yes. I have taken a cottage there. We shall meet there, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very good, Jeeves.”

“Very good, sir.”

3
Meeting the Past

You know, the longer I live, the more I feel that the greatest thing in life is to be sure what you want and be yourself. When I had announced at the Drones, on my last day in the metropolis, that I was going to the country for an indeterminate period, practically everybody had begged me, with tears in their eyes, not to do such a foolish thing.

But I had acted according to my plan, and here I was, on the fifth morning of my visit, absolutely happy. The sun was shining. The sky was blue. And London seemed miles away—which it was, of course. I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that a great peace enveloped the soul.

As I stood there that morning, there was a nice little garden, containing a bush, a tree, a couple of flower beds^[40], a lily pond with a statue of a nude child, and to the right a hedge. Across this hedge, Brinkley^[41], my new servant, was chatting with our neighbour, Police Sergeant Voules.

There was another hedge straight ahead, with the garden gate in it, and over this the placid waters of the harbour. And of all the objects I noted the yacht. It was white in colour, and in size resembling a young liner.

And at this moment the summer stillness was broken by the horn, and I ran to the gate with all possible speed for fear some fiend in human shape was scratching my paint. I found a small boy in the front seat, and was about to give him a good lesson when I recognized Chuffy’s cousin, Seabury.

“Hallo,” he said.

“Hallo,” I replied.

He was a smallish, freckled kid with aeroplane ears. In my Rogues Gallery of repulsive small boys I suppose he would come about third—not quite so bad as my Aunt Agatha’s son, Young Thos., or Mr Blumenfeld’s Junior.

After staring at me for a moment, he spoke.

“You’re to come to lunch.”

“Is Chuffy back, then?”

“Yes.”

Well, of course, if Chuffy had returned, I was at his disposal. I shouted over the hedge to Brinkley that I would be absent from the midday meal and climbed into the car and we rolled off.

“When did he get back?”

“Last night.”

“Shall we be lunching alone?”

“No.”

“Who’s going to be there?”

“Mother and me and some people.”

“A party? I’d better go back and put on another suit.”

“No.”

“You think this one looks all right?”

“No, I don’t. I think it looks rotten. But there isn’t time.”

Then he gave me some local gossip.

“Mother and I are living at the Hall again.”

“What!”

“Yes. There’s a smell at the Dower House.”

“Even though you’ve left it?”

He was not amused.

“You needn’t try to be funny. If you really want to know, I think it’s my mice.”

“Your what?”

“I’ve started breeding mice and puppies. And, of course, they stink a bit. Can you give me five shillings?”

“Five shillings?”

“Five shillings.”

“What do you mean, five shillings?”

“I mean five shillings.”

“But why? We were discussing mice, and you said about five shillings.”

“I want five shillings.”

“Maybe. But why should I give it to you?”

“For protection.”

“What!”

“Protection.”

“What from?”

“Just protection.”

“You don’t get any five shillings out of me.”

“Oh, all right.”

He sat silent.

“Something happens to guys that don’t give me their protection money,” he said dreamily.

And on this note of mystery the conversation concluded, for we were moving up the drive of the Hall and on the steps I perceived Chuffy standing. I went out.

“Hallo, Bertie,” said Chuffy.

“Welcome to Chuffnell Hall,” I replied. I looked round. The kid had vanished. “I say, Chuffy,” I said, “young blighted Seabury. What about him?”

“What about him?”

“Well, if you ask me, he’s just been trying to get five shillings out of me and babbling about protection.”

Chuffy laughed heartily.

“Oh, that. That’s his latest idea.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s been seeing gangster films.”

“He thinks he is a racketeer?”

“Yes. Rather amusing. He goes round collecting protection money from everybody. Makes a good profit. I’d pay up^[42] if I were you. As for me, I gave him some coins.”

I was shocked. Chuffy was exhibiting this attitude of tolerance! Strange. Usually, when you meet him, he is talking about his poor financial situation. I sensed a mystery.

“How is your Aunt Myrtle?”

“She’s fine.”

“Living at the Hall now, I hear.”

“Yes.”

It was enough.

One of the things, I must mention, which have always made poor old Chuffy’s life so hard is his aunt’s attitude towards him. Seabury, you see, was not the son of Chuffy’s late uncle, the fourth Baron: she got him in the course of a former marriage. Consequently, when the fourth Baron died, it was Chuffy who inherited the title and estates. And Chuffy’s aunt would clasp Seabury in her arms and look reproachfully at Chuffy as if he had robbed her and her child. She looked like a woman who had been the victim of a swindler.

So Lady Chuffnell was not one of Chuffy’s best friends. Their relations had always been definitely strained, and when you mention her name, a look of pain comes into Chuffy’s face and he winces a little.

Now he was actually smiling. Even that remark of mine about her living at the Hall had not jarred him. Obviously, there were mysteries here.

“Chuffy,” I said, “what does this mean?”

“What does what mean?”

“This cheeriness. You can’t deceive me. Not old Wooster. What is all the happiness about?”

He hesitated.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“No.”

“Well, it doesn’t much matter, because it’ll be in the Morning Post^[43] in a day or two. Bertie,” said Chuffy, in a hushed voice, “do you know what’s happened? Aunt Myrtle will leave me this season.”

“You mean somebody wants to marry her?”

“I do.”

“Who is this half-wit^[44]?”

“Your old friend, Sir Roderick Glossop.”

I was stupefied.

“What!”

“I was surprised, too.”

“But old Glossop can’t marry!”

“Why not? He’s been a widower more than two years.”

“Well, I’m dashed!”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s one thing, Chuffy, old man. This means that little Seabury will get a devilish stepfather and old Glossop is just the stepson I could have wished him!”

“You know, this Glossop is not very bad, Bertie.”

I could not accept this.

“But would you really say there was good in the old pest? Remember all the stories I’ve told you about him from time to time. They show him in a very dubious light.”

“Well, he’s doing me a bit of good, anyway. Do you know what it was he wanted to see me about so urgently that day in London?”

“What?”

“He’s found an American he thinks he can sell the Hall to.”

“Really?”

“Yes. If all goes well, I shall at last get rid of it and have a bit of money in my pocket. Thanks to Uncle Roderick, as I like to think of him. So Bertie, you must learn to love Uncle Roddie for my sake^[45].”

I shook my head.

“No, Chuffy, I fear I can’t.”

“Well, go to hell, then,” said Chuffy agreeably. “Personally, I regard him as a life-saver.”

“But are you sure this thing is going to be? What would this fellow do with the Hall?”

“Oh, it is simple enough. He’s a great pal of old Glossop’s and the idea is that he will let Glossop run the house as a sort of country club for his nerve patients.”

“Why doesn’t old Glossop simply rent it from you?”

“What sort of state do you suppose the place is in these days? Most of the rooms haven’t been used for forty years. I need at least fifteen thousand to put it in repair. Besides new furniture, fittings and so on.”

“Oh, he’s a millionaire, is he?”

“Yes. All I’m worrying about is getting his signature. Well, he’s coming to lunch today, and it’s going to be a good one too. He will like it.”

“Unless he’s got dyspepsia. Many American millionaires have. This man of yours may be one of those fellows who can’t get outside more than a glass of milk and a dog biscuit^[46].”

Chuffy laughed jovially.

“Not much. Not old Stoker.” He suddenly began to leap about like a lamb in the springtime. “Hallo-hallo-hallo!”

A car had drawn up at the steps. Passenger A was J. Washburn Stoker. Passenger B was his daughter, Pauline. Passenger C was his young son, Dwight^[47]. And Passenger D was Sir Roderick Glossop.