Jeeves and the Act of Faith Part 3
Title: Jeeves and the Act of Faith
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The boys belong to Wodehouse, not to me. More's the pity.
Warnings: None
A/N: I wanted to try writing a pure Wodehousian story, full of humorous misunderstandings, wacky schemes, biting dogs and the like. I am absolutely not comparing myself to the great Plum, who, as we know, stood alone. I am also taking great liberties with how I think the Church of England chooses its rural deans. I could find no information on the process and, short of calling the Archbishop of Canterbury, I decided to make it up. My apologies to the C of E. My grateful thanks, as always, goes to my beta chaoschick13 , the best whipcracker I know. All mistakes belong to me. The story is about 16,000 words split into three takes.
Chapter 5
I usually disregard rummy dreams for two reasons: They’re unpleasant and they aren’t real. But the one I had that night seemed real enough to run it by Jeeves.
“Jeeves,” I said by way of starting the conversation. He had just brought the morning darjeeling and was waiting around for me to take my usual two sips. “I had a dream last night that starred Major Plank front and center.”
Jeeves nodded as if everyone dreamed about Major Plank. Why anyone would want to is beyond my intelligence. He’s a strange old buster, but I think my public has gleaned that over the years.
“I dreamed that he showed up at the church today, took one look at me and punctured my head with one of the many antlers he keeps on display in that room he calls a study.”
“Why do you think Major Plank attempted to deflate you, sir?”
I shrugged. “Who knows, Jeeves? Too much air in my head, perhaps? I can’t see that. Perhaps he thought I was getting above myself, impersonating him, and wanted to bring me back down to size before he had me bunged into chokey.”
“Possibly, sir.”
“So what do you say about it, Jeeves?”
Jeeves topped off my teacup before answering. “Do you remember, sir, when I remarked that the thing we least expect occurs when we least expect it?”
I almost dropped my teacup. “Are you saying Plank might show up in his own house, and furthermore, in his own church today? How is that possible, Jeeves? The old rotter’s in Spain.”
“Perhaps he is, sir.”
“And perhaps he isn’t?”
“That remains to be seen, sir. One cannot always anticipate the movements of men such as Major Plank. And Mrs. Pinker was vague as to his date of return.”
I handed Jeeves the teacup. “Jeeves, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Or funeral, as the case may be. We must clear all traces of ourselves from this manse and then clear out ourselves.”
Jeeves nodded. “A prudent course of action, sir. I have taken the liberty of packing what little we brought with us. All that remains is for you to breakfast, bathe and attire yourself as Major Plank once more.”
“Forget the breakfast, Jeeves. We cannot think of our stomachs at a time like this, no matter how peckish we may be. Draw the bath and get ready to get me ready.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Jeeves had me stuffed into Plank’s coat, the wig and the false eyebrows in almost no time. The way we arranged things was to have Jeeves parked just a ways away with the two-seater’s engine humming. I was to leap aboard after services and we would be off to London. It was a good plan in and of itself, but it didn’t take into account the bishop’s desire to spot me and force me into a pew right next to him.
There was no time for chat except for Old Bird Number Two’s telling me that I was apparently lacking in punctuality because I’d only arrived in time for the opening number. I gritted my teeth and held my tongue, as I was taught to do in trying ecclesiastical circumstances, and waited for Stinker to get on with the show. Ignoring the curious looks being tossed my way, I focused my attention up front only to gasp out loud.
Major Plank, the real one, was seated front row center. How he’d got there ahead of me was more than I could comprehend. He must have reached his house seconds after we left, tossed his bags through the front door and headed straight to the church.
While his zeal to get to the service on time was impressive to say the least, his presence had me in all of a doo-dah. Stiffy had said Plank was going to be away from home and hearth for a bit. I suppose she only supposed this and had no real idea. Her only concern was getting Stinker named rural dean before the old buzzard returned from his Spanish sojourn. That she hadn’t shared this supposition with me shouldn’t have shocked me. I shook my head to halt this bit of alliteration, and the bish elbowed me in the ribs.
“Sit still, Plank. You’re in church.”
I sat still.
Stinker’s sermon was only memorable for its length - very short. Apparently there was a rugby match scheduled after services that everyone knew about except me. While Stinker obligingly offered up prayers for this and that, he also asked that the Hockley-cum-Meston squad be granted the special favor of winning. I eyeballed the bishop at this, thinking his disapproval would radiate from our pew to Stinker’s throat, but nothing doing. The old buzzard had a sporting gleam in his eye that Rupert Steggles would have welcomed like an old friend.
When Stinker indicated it was time for the congregation to take its leave, I got up, fully intending to make a break for Jeeves and the two-seater. But the bishop grabbed my arm and held on for dear life. I was sure the real Plank was bearing down on me, but couldn’t turn around to see.
“Plank,” the bish said as we filed out into the churchyard. “Why didn’t you tell me Pinker was on the village rugby team? The same Pinker that played for England?”
“I...”
“Well, no matter,” the bishop said in a jovial tone completely at odds with his previous performances. “The match should start at any moment. Let’s find a good place to watch.”
Watch? Watch Pinker play rugby? With the real Plank liable to show up at any moment and reveal the ruse?
“I am sorry, Bishop Charles, but I cannot remain here,” I said in a dignified, Plankian voice.
“Nonsense,” Old Bird Number Two, who was right in front of us, cut in. “What else have you to do on a fine Sunday afternoon? And it’s your own team, Plank. You’ve a duty to be in attendance.”
There was no way of getting free of it. And Jeeves, the poor man, would be waiting with the two-seater, wondering what on earth had happened to the young master.
The field used for rugby matches was handy to the church, a fact I couldn’t appreciate properly since I had to keep my eye out for the real Plank. Fortunately, the old birds had for now ceased and desisted with the use of my faux name, but only because they were so intent on the odds of a Hockley-cum-Meston victory. Apparently, the good churchmen had placed heavy bets on the match and were all in a dither over what they’d do with their spoils. How they knew where or when to place wagers was another mystery I had no time to solve.
Stinker’s team must have either dressed in record time or wore their uniforms under their church attire, because in no time they were on the field and ready to go. The opposing team must not have bothered with church at all because they, too, were ready and waiting, along with what appeared to be their entire village. Yes, it was a big match and for a moment I wished I’d had time to lay a wager myself. The odds were indeed with Stinker’s team, but I was more interested in my odds of getting out of this soup unscathed.
The match began and I found myself being dragged up and down the field like a leashed dog. I spotted Plank in the crowd every now and then and hoped beyond hope that we didn’t run into each other. Every time Stinker’s team did something impressive, the bishop would yell “Plank!” as if I hadn’t seen what he just saw. Every now and then someone would turn around and give the bish a funny look, but his collar protected him from any correction.
To make a long story short, as I’m sure my public knows more about rugby than I ever will, Stinker’s team closed in on victory in short order. I took this as an obvious cue to make a break for it, but I was hemmed in by the crowd and the fact that Old Bird Number Three had a death grip on my arm.
“Plank!” yelled the bishop as the Hockley-cum-Meston fans erupted into raucous screaming. “Plank! We’ve won!”
“Well, of course we won,” said a voice I had hoped to never hear in such close quarters. “Why do you keep yelling my name? Who the blazes are you?”
The old birds and I turned around as one. There stood the one, true Major Plank, back from Spain and ready to do battle.
“What is the meaning of this?” the bishop demanded. “Who are you, sir?”
“I,” Plank said in what I considered to be a self-important fashion, “am Major Plank. And just who are you?”
The bishop looked at me. “You said you were Major Plank.”
“I...”
“An imposter!” Plank shouted. “A ruddy imposter! Who are you, sir, and what are you doing impersonating me?”
“I...”
“Speak up, man,” the bishop said. “Clearly you’re not who you say you are. I demand the truth.”
“May I be of assistance, sirs?”
The owner of that voice has saved my life on countless occasions but I doubt it could save me now. Perhaps he could bring me a file in a cake once I was lodged in the local hoosegow.
“Mr. Wiltshire,” the bishop said and then pointed at me. “Have you any idea who this man is?”
Jeeves, once again in his silvered hair and mustache, appeared to scrutinize me. “I do not, sir. However, I have come to tell you that you have done very well on today’s match. I would advise making your way to the betting tent to collect your winnings. A long queue is beginning to form.”
The bishop appeared to be torn between wanting to see me drawn and quartered and gathering his spoils.
“If you like, sir,” Jeeves said. “I will see to it that this man is arrested.”
The bishop clapped Jeeves on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Mr. Wiltshire. I knew that from the moment you walked into that pub. Didn’t I say,” he said, turned to Old Bird Number Four, “that this was a good pious man, the kind you don’t see every day?”
“You did, bishop. And I believe we all concurred.”
“That’s settled then,” the bishop said.
A Plankian roar issued forth. We all jumped. Well, except for Jeeves. He doesn’t jump at strange noises. Living with me, he rather expects them.
“That does not settle it,” Plank said. “Who knows what this man got up to, pretending he was me. How do I know he hasn’t ruined my reputation?’
“You are Major Plank?” Jeeves said, his voice as smooth as glass.
“I damn well am!”
Jeeves tipped his hat. “Then, sir, I would advise that you also go to the betting tent. I overheard someone say you won a very large wager.”
“Me?” Plank said. “I only placed a modest...well, that is to say I...”
The bishop appeared to be on pins and needles. “I hate to leave like this, Mr. Wiltshire, but we really must get to the betting...we really must be going. You’ll take care of this...person?”
I didn’t care for being referred to in such an offhand fashion, and almost made a brilliant riposte when Jeeves took hold of my arm.
“I will see to it, sir. It will be my pleasure to bring this criminal to justice.”
“Excellent, good sir,” the bishop said. “Come along, Plank, let us collect our winnings.”
Jeeves cleared his throat. “Sir, if I could beg a moment of your time?
“Yes, Mr. Wiltshire?” the bishop said, clearly wishing to get away.
“What have you decided about the Rev. Pinker’s future?”
I waited with baited breath or however one waits without breathing.
“Too young to be rural dean,” the bishop said happily. “The young man has a very bright future, but he needs to have a little age and experience. When his rugby days are over, I will be very happy to give him a higher post. For now, young Pinker should stay where he is. Yes, he’s most useful right where he is. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
This was both good and bad news. It was good for Plank, who could keep his valuable prop forward, but it was bad for me, because Stiffy would now inform Aunt Agatha that I was free to accompany her to Brighton. These wheezes of hers always end up with Bertram on the short end of the stick.
Plank and the four old birds made their way to the betting tent, leaving me behind with Jeeves.
“Jeeves,” I said. “Before I ask how you did it, I want you to know that I regret that we shall be traveling to Brighton instead of Bermuda. Of course, you could simply take yourself off to Bermuda without old Bertram, and I could biff off to Brighton on my own.”
“I do not think that will be necessary, sir. But I do believe it would be prudent if we made our way to the car and out of Hockley-cum-Meston.”
We ambled to the car, divested ourselves of the fungus, jumped in and sped off.
“Now, Jeeves,” I said, by way of opening the conversation. “I have gleaned this much from your movements. After that bally pub luncheon you apparently put some sort of bug in the ears of those churchmen concerning the rugby match and Stinker’s almost-certain victory.”
"I did, sir.”
“How did you know they’d be interested in betting? As to that, how did you know there was a match in the first place?”
“Well, sir,” Jeeves said, “There was a notice concerning the game just outside the pub door. Perhaps you didn't see it. And, sir, it has been my experience that churchmen in many cases have a sporting nature. They enjoy placing wagers, especially on what they consider to be a sure thing. The Rev. Pinker’s prowess on the rugby field is known to many, including the honorable Bishop Charles. At the time, he did not realize that the Rev. Harold Pinker was at one time H.P. Pinker, famed prop forward for England.”
I considered this. Apparently there was nothing in the church rule book that prevented a man of the cloth from making any wager he wished.
“But how did you know Major Plank was in the church, Jeeves? You didn’t even come anywhere near the church.”
“I happened to see Major Plank when he drove past the place we agreed to meet. I thought it prudent to reprise my role as James Wiltshire in case my intervention was needed. I also took the liberty of placing a wager in Major Plank’s name in the event he required placating. I did use your money, sir. I hope I did not overstep my bounds.”
“Overstep? You couldn’t overstep your bounds with seven-league boots, Jeeves,” I said. “How much am I out, anyway?”
“You actually came out ahead, sir.”
I stared at him. I hadn’t placed a wager.
“How can that be, Jeeves?”
Jeeves coughed. “I also took the liberty of placing a wager for you, sir. If you subtract the money used for Major Plank’s wager, you still profit by an admirable sum.”
“That calls for a celebration, and we will have just that after we arrive in London. But there is one thing more, Jeeves. What about Stiffy? Stinker won’t be the rural dean and she’ll run straight to Aunt Agatha and spill the beans.”
“I do not think Mrs. Pinker will do anything of the kind, sir.”
Jeeves didn’t know Stiffy.
“You don’t know Stiffy, Jeeves, which surprises me after all this time. She has been thwarted and being thwarted does not sit well with her.”
“The bishop has promised to promote the Rev. Pinker in due time. Mrs. Pinker, I am sure, will see that it will be in her best interests to curb her enthusiasm for an immediate promotion.”
“But that won’t stop her from blabbing to Aunt Agatha.”
“I believe it will, sir.”
I chanced a glance at Jeeves who chanced one back.
“How do you know, Jeeves?”
“I told the bishop that Mrs. Pinker had an unfortunate tendency to orchestrate her husband’s affairs but that thus far he has been firm enough to resist her efforts. I further told the bishop that you, as Mr. Wooster, would be glad to let him know if Mrs. Pinker’s behavior reflected badly on her husband. The bishop said he would discuss this matter with Mrs. Pinker, if only to remind her not to risk her husband’s chances at a promotion.”
"But what about Stinker? Won't he be more than a little confused when the bishop tells him he's not getting a post he never applied for in the first place?"
"I have no doubt Mrs. Pinker will deal with his confusion, sir."
I had to hand it to him. It was a good thing Jeeves was good at baiting a hook because he’d fished me out of the soup yet again.
“Jeeves,” I said, “you are a unmitigated marvel and a model of modesty. And if there’s anything I can do for you, you must tell me.”
“There is one thing, sir.”
“And that is?”
“Your alliteration, sir. I would appreciate your giving it up.”
“That?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve worked hard to perfect that skill.”
“Your efforts are obvious, sir.”
“It’s not easy coming up with them, Jeeves.”
“I understand, sir. Relinquishing the habit will no doubt make conversation much easier.”
I sighed. I had given up so many things in recent years - my Alpine hat, my plus fours, my purple socks and my favorite ties. But my duty lay clear. What was one more thing? If Jeeves hadn’t intervened I’d either be in chokey or in Brighton. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
“All right, Jeeves. You have my word. I won’t alliterate.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You are aware that it’s a lot to ask.”
“I appreciate the sacrifice, sir.”
*~*Part One*~*||*~*Part Two*~*
Rating: G
Disclaimer: The boys belong to Wodehouse, not to me. More's the pity.
Warnings: None
A/N: I wanted to try writing a pure Wodehousian story, full of humorous misunderstandings, wacky schemes, biting dogs and the like. I am absolutely not comparing myself to the great Plum, who, as we know, stood alone. I am also taking great liberties with how I think the Church of England chooses its rural deans. I could find no information on the process and, short of calling the Archbishop of Canterbury, I decided to make it up. My apologies to the C of E. My grateful thanks, as always, goes to my beta chaoschick13 , the best whipcracker I know. All mistakes belong to me. The story is about 16,000 words split into three takes.
Chapter 5
I usually disregard rummy dreams for two reasons: They’re unpleasant and they aren’t real. But the one I had that night seemed real enough to run it by Jeeves.
“Jeeves,” I said by way of starting the conversation. He had just brought the morning darjeeling and was waiting around for me to take my usual two sips. “I had a dream last night that starred Major Plank front and center.”
Jeeves nodded as if everyone dreamed about Major Plank. Why anyone would want to is beyond my intelligence. He’s a strange old buster, but I think my public has gleaned that over the years.
“I dreamed that he showed up at the church today, took one look at me and punctured my head with one of the many antlers he keeps on display in that room he calls a study.”
“Why do you think Major Plank attempted to deflate you, sir?”
I shrugged. “Who knows, Jeeves? Too much air in my head, perhaps? I can’t see that. Perhaps he thought I was getting above myself, impersonating him, and wanted to bring me back down to size before he had me bunged into chokey.”
“Possibly, sir.”
“So what do you say about it, Jeeves?”
Jeeves topped off my teacup before answering. “Do you remember, sir, when I remarked that the thing we least expect occurs when we least expect it?”
I almost dropped my teacup. “Are you saying Plank might show up in his own house, and furthermore, in his own church today? How is that possible, Jeeves? The old rotter’s in Spain.”
“Perhaps he is, sir.”
“And perhaps he isn’t?”
“That remains to be seen, sir. One cannot always anticipate the movements of men such as Major Plank. And Mrs. Pinker was vague as to his date of return.”
I handed Jeeves the teacup. “Jeeves, now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party. Or funeral, as the case may be. We must clear all traces of ourselves from this manse and then clear out ourselves.”
Jeeves nodded. “A prudent course of action, sir. I have taken the liberty of packing what little we brought with us. All that remains is for you to breakfast, bathe and attire yourself as Major Plank once more.”
“Forget the breakfast, Jeeves. We cannot think of our stomachs at a time like this, no matter how peckish we may be. Draw the bath and get ready to get me ready.”
“As you wish, sir.”
Jeeves had me stuffed into Plank’s coat, the wig and the false eyebrows in almost no time. The way we arranged things was to have Jeeves parked just a ways away with the two-seater’s engine humming. I was to leap aboard after services and we would be off to London. It was a good plan in and of itself, but it didn’t take into account the bishop’s desire to spot me and force me into a pew right next to him.
There was no time for chat except for Old Bird Number Two’s telling me that I was apparently lacking in punctuality because I’d only arrived in time for the opening number. I gritted my teeth and held my tongue, as I was taught to do in trying ecclesiastical circumstances, and waited for Stinker to get on with the show. Ignoring the curious looks being tossed my way, I focused my attention up front only to gasp out loud.
Major Plank, the real one, was seated front row center. How he’d got there ahead of me was more than I could comprehend. He must have reached his house seconds after we left, tossed his bags through the front door and headed straight to the church.
While his zeal to get to the service on time was impressive to say the least, his presence had me in all of a doo-dah. Stiffy had said Plank was going to be away from home and hearth for a bit. I suppose she only supposed this and had no real idea. Her only concern was getting Stinker named rural dean before the old buzzard returned from his Spanish sojourn. That she hadn’t shared this supposition with me shouldn’t have shocked me. I shook my head to halt this bit of alliteration, and the bish elbowed me in the ribs.
“Sit still, Plank. You’re in church.”
I sat still.
Stinker’s sermon was only memorable for its length - very short. Apparently there was a rugby match scheduled after services that everyone knew about except me. While Stinker obligingly offered up prayers for this and that, he also asked that the Hockley-cum-Meston squad be granted the special favor of winning. I eyeballed the bishop at this, thinking his disapproval would radiate from our pew to Stinker’s throat, but nothing doing. The old buzzard had a sporting gleam in his eye that Rupert Steggles would have welcomed like an old friend.
When Stinker indicated it was time for the congregation to take its leave, I got up, fully intending to make a break for Jeeves and the two-seater. But the bishop grabbed my arm and held on for dear life. I was sure the real Plank was bearing down on me, but couldn’t turn around to see.
“Plank,” the bish said as we filed out into the churchyard. “Why didn’t you tell me Pinker was on the village rugby team? The same Pinker that played for England?”
“I...”
“Well, no matter,” the bishop said in a jovial tone completely at odds with his previous performances. “The match should start at any moment. Let’s find a good place to watch.”
Watch? Watch Pinker play rugby? With the real Plank liable to show up at any moment and reveal the ruse?
“I am sorry, Bishop Charles, but I cannot remain here,” I said in a dignified, Plankian voice.
“Nonsense,” Old Bird Number Two, who was right in front of us, cut in. “What else have you to do on a fine Sunday afternoon? And it’s your own team, Plank. You’ve a duty to be in attendance.”
There was no way of getting free of it. And Jeeves, the poor man, would be waiting with the two-seater, wondering what on earth had happened to the young master.
The field used for rugby matches was handy to the church, a fact I couldn’t appreciate properly since I had to keep my eye out for the real Plank. Fortunately, the old birds had for now ceased and desisted with the use of my faux name, but only because they were so intent on the odds of a Hockley-cum-Meston victory. Apparently, the good churchmen had placed heavy bets on the match and were all in a dither over what they’d do with their spoils. How they knew where or when to place wagers was another mystery I had no time to solve.
Stinker’s team must have either dressed in record time or wore their uniforms under their church attire, because in no time they were on the field and ready to go. The opposing team must not have bothered with church at all because they, too, were ready and waiting, along with what appeared to be their entire village. Yes, it was a big match and for a moment I wished I’d had time to lay a wager myself. The odds were indeed with Stinker’s team, but I was more interested in my odds of getting out of this soup unscathed.
The match began and I found myself being dragged up and down the field like a leashed dog. I spotted Plank in the crowd every now and then and hoped beyond hope that we didn’t run into each other. Every time Stinker’s team did something impressive, the bishop would yell “Plank!” as if I hadn’t seen what he just saw. Every now and then someone would turn around and give the bish a funny look, but his collar protected him from any correction.
To make a long story short, as I’m sure my public knows more about rugby than I ever will, Stinker’s team closed in on victory in short order. I took this as an obvious cue to make a break for it, but I was hemmed in by the crowd and the fact that Old Bird Number Three had a death grip on my arm.
“Plank!” yelled the bishop as the Hockley-cum-Meston fans erupted into raucous screaming. “Plank! We’ve won!”
“Well, of course we won,” said a voice I had hoped to never hear in such close quarters. “Why do you keep yelling my name? Who the blazes are you?”
The old birds and I turned around as one. There stood the one, true Major Plank, back from Spain and ready to do battle.
“What is the meaning of this?” the bishop demanded. “Who are you, sir?”
“I,” Plank said in what I considered to be a self-important fashion, “am Major Plank. And just who are you?”
The bishop looked at me. “You said you were Major Plank.”
“I...”
“An imposter!” Plank shouted. “A ruddy imposter! Who are you, sir, and what are you doing impersonating me?”
“I...”
“Speak up, man,” the bishop said. “Clearly you’re not who you say you are. I demand the truth.”
“May I be of assistance, sirs?”
The owner of that voice has saved my life on countless occasions but I doubt it could save me now. Perhaps he could bring me a file in a cake once I was lodged in the local hoosegow.
“Mr. Wiltshire,” the bishop said and then pointed at me. “Have you any idea who this man is?”
Jeeves, once again in his silvered hair and mustache, appeared to scrutinize me. “I do not, sir. However, I have come to tell you that you have done very well on today’s match. I would advise making your way to the betting tent to collect your winnings. A long queue is beginning to form.”
The bishop appeared to be torn between wanting to see me drawn and quartered and gathering his spoils.
“If you like, sir,” Jeeves said. “I will see to it that this man is arrested.”
The bishop clapped Jeeves on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, Mr. Wiltshire. I knew that from the moment you walked into that pub. Didn’t I say,” he said, turned to Old Bird Number Four, “that this was a good pious man, the kind you don’t see every day?”
“You did, bishop. And I believe we all concurred.”
“That’s settled then,” the bishop said.
A Plankian roar issued forth. We all jumped. Well, except for Jeeves. He doesn’t jump at strange noises. Living with me, he rather expects them.
“That does not settle it,” Plank said. “Who knows what this man got up to, pretending he was me. How do I know he hasn’t ruined my reputation?’
“You are Major Plank?” Jeeves said, his voice as smooth as glass.
“I damn well am!”
Jeeves tipped his hat. “Then, sir, I would advise that you also go to the betting tent. I overheard someone say you won a very large wager.”
“Me?” Plank said. “I only placed a modest...well, that is to say I...”
The bishop appeared to be on pins and needles. “I hate to leave like this, Mr. Wiltshire, but we really must get to the betting...we really must be going. You’ll take care of this...person?”
I didn’t care for being referred to in such an offhand fashion, and almost made a brilliant riposte when Jeeves took hold of my arm.
“I will see to it, sir. It will be my pleasure to bring this criminal to justice.”
“Excellent, good sir,” the bishop said. “Come along, Plank, let us collect our winnings.”
Jeeves cleared his throat. “Sir, if I could beg a moment of your time?
“Yes, Mr. Wiltshire?” the bishop said, clearly wishing to get away.
“What have you decided about the Rev. Pinker’s future?”
I waited with baited breath or however one waits without breathing.
“Too young to be rural dean,” the bishop said happily. “The young man has a very bright future, but he needs to have a little age and experience. When his rugby days are over, I will be very happy to give him a higher post. For now, young Pinker should stay where he is. Yes, he’s most useful right where he is. I’m sure he’ll understand.”
This was both good and bad news. It was good for Plank, who could keep his valuable prop forward, but it was bad for me, because Stiffy would now inform Aunt Agatha that I was free to accompany her to Brighton. These wheezes of hers always end up with Bertram on the short end of the stick.
Plank and the four old birds made their way to the betting tent, leaving me behind with Jeeves.
“Jeeves,” I said. “Before I ask how you did it, I want you to know that I regret that we shall be traveling to Brighton instead of Bermuda. Of course, you could simply take yourself off to Bermuda without old Bertram, and I could biff off to Brighton on my own.”
“I do not think that will be necessary, sir. But I do believe it would be prudent if we made our way to the car and out of Hockley-cum-Meston.”
We ambled to the car, divested ourselves of the fungus, jumped in and sped off.
“Now, Jeeves,” I said, by way of opening the conversation. “I have gleaned this much from your movements. After that bally pub luncheon you apparently put some sort of bug in the ears of those churchmen concerning the rugby match and Stinker’s almost-certain victory.”
"I did, sir.”
“How did you know they’d be interested in betting? As to that, how did you know there was a match in the first place?”
“Well, sir,” Jeeves said, “There was a notice concerning the game just outside the pub door. Perhaps you didn't see it. And, sir, it has been my experience that churchmen in many cases have a sporting nature. They enjoy placing wagers, especially on what they consider to be a sure thing. The Rev. Pinker’s prowess on the rugby field is known to many, including the honorable Bishop Charles. At the time, he did not realize that the Rev. Harold Pinker was at one time H.P. Pinker, famed prop forward for England.”
I considered this. Apparently there was nothing in the church rule book that prevented a man of the cloth from making any wager he wished.
“But how did you know Major Plank was in the church, Jeeves? You didn’t even come anywhere near the church.”
“I happened to see Major Plank when he drove past the place we agreed to meet. I thought it prudent to reprise my role as James Wiltshire in case my intervention was needed. I also took the liberty of placing a wager in Major Plank’s name in the event he required placating. I did use your money, sir. I hope I did not overstep my bounds.”
“Overstep? You couldn’t overstep your bounds with seven-league boots, Jeeves,” I said. “How much am I out, anyway?”
“You actually came out ahead, sir.”
I stared at him. I hadn’t placed a wager.
“How can that be, Jeeves?”
Jeeves coughed. “I also took the liberty of placing a wager for you, sir. If you subtract the money used for Major Plank’s wager, you still profit by an admirable sum.”
“That calls for a celebration, and we will have just that after we arrive in London. But there is one thing more, Jeeves. What about Stiffy? Stinker won’t be the rural dean and she’ll run straight to Aunt Agatha and spill the beans.”
“I do not think Mrs. Pinker will do anything of the kind, sir.”
Jeeves didn’t know Stiffy.
“You don’t know Stiffy, Jeeves, which surprises me after all this time. She has been thwarted and being thwarted does not sit well with her.”
“The bishop has promised to promote the Rev. Pinker in due time. Mrs. Pinker, I am sure, will see that it will be in her best interests to curb her enthusiasm for an immediate promotion.”
“But that won’t stop her from blabbing to Aunt Agatha.”
“I believe it will, sir.”
I chanced a glance at Jeeves who chanced one back.
“How do you know, Jeeves?”
“I told the bishop that Mrs. Pinker had an unfortunate tendency to orchestrate her husband’s affairs but that thus far he has been firm enough to resist her efforts. I further told the bishop that you, as Mr. Wooster, would be glad to let him know if Mrs. Pinker’s behavior reflected badly on her husband. The bishop said he would discuss this matter with Mrs. Pinker, if only to remind her not to risk her husband’s chances at a promotion.”
"But what about Stinker? Won't he be more than a little confused when the bishop tells him he's not getting a post he never applied for in the first place?"
"I have no doubt Mrs. Pinker will deal with his confusion, sir."
I had to hand it to him. It was a good thing Jeeves was good at baiting a hook because he’d fished me out of the soup yet again.
“Jeeves,” I said, “you are a unmitigated marvel and a model of modesty. And if there’s anything I can do for you, you must tell me.”
“There is one thing, sir.”
“And that is?”
“Your alliteration, sir. I would appreciate your giving it up.”
“That?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ve worked hard to perfect that skill.”
“Your efforts are obvious, sir.”
“It’s not easy coming up with them, Jeeves.”
“I understand, sir. Relinquishing the habit will no doubt make conversation much easier.”
I sighed. I had given up so many things in recent years - my Alpine hat, my plus fours, my purple socks and my favorite ties. But my duty lay clear. What was one more thing? If Jeeves hadn’t intervened I’d either be in chokey or in Brighton. I wasn’t sure which was worse.
“All right, Jeeves. You have my word. I won’t alliterate.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You are aware that it’s a lot to ask.”
“I appreciate the sacrifice, sir.”
*~*Part One*~*||*~*Part Two*~*