November 18, 2025 • 31 mins
Join the absent-minded Earl of Emsworth as he inadvertently misplaces the pride of his scarab collection! American millionaire J. Preston Peters is offering a hefty $5000 reward for its safe return, but discretion is key—especially since Peters daughter is engaged to Emsworths son. Enter Joan Valentine and Ashe Marson, each determined to claim the reward; she as Aline Peters’ ladies maid and he as Mr. Peters’ valet. Their quest leads them to the grand Blandings Castle, where the ever-watchful Efficient Baxter poses a formidable challenge. This delightful caper is, in my humble opinion, one of Wodehouse’s most hilarious works. –Debra Lynn
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Speaker 1 (00:02):
Chapter five, Part two of Something New. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Something New by P. G. Woodhouse, Chapter five, Part two.
(00:27):
Butler's as a class seem to grow less and less
like anything human in proportion to the magnificence of their surroundings.
There is a type of butler employed in the comparatively
modest homes of small country gentlemen, who is practically a
man and a brother, who hobnobs with the local tradesmen,
sings a good comic song at the village inn, and
(00:49):
in times of crisis, will even turn to and work
the pump when the water supply suddenly fails. The greater
the house, the more does the butler diverge. From this time.
Blanding's castle was one of the more important of England's
show places, and beach accordingly, had acquired a dignified inertia
that almost qualified him for inclusion in the vegetable Kingdom.
(01:13):
He moved when he moved it all slowly, he distilled
speech with the air of one measuring out drops of
some precious drug. His heavy lidded eyes had the fixed
expression of a statue's. With an almost imperceptible wave of
a fat white hand, he conveyed to Ashe that he
desired him to sit down. With the stately movement of
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his other hand, he picked up a kettle which simmered
on the hob. With an inclination of his head, he
called Ash's attention to a decanter on the table. In
another moment, ashe was sipping a whiskey toddy with the
feeling that he had been privileged to assist at some
mystic right, mister Beach, posting himself before the fire and
(01:57):
placing his hands behind his back, permitted its speech to
drip from him. I have not the advantage of your name,
mister Ash, introduced himself. Beech acknowledged the information with a
half bow. You must have had a cold ride, mister Marson.
The wind is in the east, ashe said, yes, the
(02:18):
ride had been cold. When the wind is in the east,
continued mister Beach, letting each syllable escape with apparent reluctance.
I suffer from my feet, I beg your pardon. I
suffer from my feet, repeated the butler, measuring out the drops.
You are a young man, mister Marson, Probably you do
(02:40):
not know what it is to suffer from your feet.
He surveyed, Ash, his whisky Toddy and the wall beyond
him with heavy lidded inscrutability corns, he said. Ash said
he was sorry. I suffer extremely from my feet. Not
only corns I have but recently recovered from an in
(03:00):
growing toenail. I suffered greatly from my in growing toenail.
I suffered from swollen joints. Ashe regarded this martyr with
increasing disfavor, it is the flaw in the character of
many excessively healthy young men, that, though kind hearted enough
in most respects, they listen with a regrettable feeling of
(03:21):
impatience to the confessions of those less happily situated. As
regards the ills of the flesh, rightly or wrongly, they
hold that these statements should be reserved for the ear
of the medical profession. And other and more general topics
selected for conversation with Layman. I'm sorry, he said hastily.
You must have had a bad time. Is there a
(03:43):
large house party here just now? We are expecting, said
mister Beach. A number of guests, we shall, in all
probability sit down thirty or more to dinner. A responsibility
for you, said ashe ingratiatingly. Well, please to be quit
of the feet topic. Mister Beach nodded. You are right,
(04:05):
mister Marson. Few persons realize the responsibilities of a man
in my position. Sometimes, I can assure you, it preys
on my mind, and I suffer from nervous headaches. Ash
begin to feel like a man trying to put out
a fire, which, as fast as he checks it at
one point, breaks out at another. Sometimes when I come
(04:25):
off duty, everything gets blurred. The outlines of objects grow
indistinct and misty. I have to sit down in a chair.
The pain is excruciating, but it helps you to forget
the pain in your feet. No, no, I suffer from
my feet. Simultaneously, Ash gave up the struggle. Tell me
(04:46):
all about your feet, he said, and mister Beach told
him all about his feet. The pleasantest functions must come
to an end, And the moment arrived when the final
word on the subject of swollen joints was spoken. Ashe
who had resigned himself to a permanent contemplation of the subject,
could hardly believe he heard correctly, when at the end
(05:07):
of some ten minutes, his companion changed the conversation. You
have been with mister Peters some time, mister Marson. Eh
oh oh, No, only since last Wednesday. Indeed, might I
inquire whom you assisted before that? For a moment, ashe
did what he would not have believed himself capable of doing,
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regretted that the topic of feet was no longer under discussion.
The question placed him in an awkward position. If he
lied and credited himself with a lengthy experience as a valet,
he risked exposing himself. If he told the truth and
confessed that this was his maiden effort in the capacity
of gentlemen's gentlemen, what would the butler think? There were
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objections to each course, but to tell the truth was
the easier of the two, so he told it. Your
first situation, said mister Bach. Indeed, I was or doing
something else before I met mister Peters, said ashe mister
Beach was too well bred to be inquisitive. But his
eyebrows were not. Ah, he said, question mark. Cried his
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eyebrows question mark, question mark, question mark. Ashe ignored the
eyebrows something different, he said. There was an awkward silence
ashe appreciated its awkwardness. He was conscious of a grievance
against mister Peters. Why could not mister Peters have brought
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him down here as his secretary? To be sure, he
had advanced some objection to that course in their conversation
at the offices of main Price, main Price and Boole,
but merely a silly, far fetched objection. He wished he
had had the sense to fight the point while there
was time. But at the moment when they were arranging plans,
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he had been rather tickled by the thought of becoming
a valet. The notion had a pleasing musical comedy touch
about it. Why had he not foreseen the complications that
must ensue? He could tell by the look on his
face that this confounded Butler was waiting for him to
give a full explanation. What would he think if he
withheld it? He would probably suppose that, ashe had been
(07:19):
in prison, well, there was nothing to be done about it.
If Beech was suspicious, he must remain suspicious. Fortunately, the
suspicions of a butler did not matter much. Mister Beach's
eyebrows were still mutely urging him to reveal all. But
ashe directed his gaze at that portion of the room
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which mister Beach did not fill, he would be hanged
if he was going to let himself be hypnotized by
a pair of eyebrows into incriminating himself. He glared stolidly
at the pattern of the wallpaper, which represented a number
of birds of an unknown species seated on a corresponding
number of exoticas shrubs. The silence was growing oppressive. Somebody
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had to break it soon, and as mister Beach was
still confining himself to the language of the eyebrow and
apparently intended to fight it out on that line, if
it took all summer, ash himself broke it. It seemed
to him, as he reconstructed the scene in bed that night,
that providence must have suggested the subject of mister Peter's indigestion,
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for the mere mention of his employer's sufferings acted like
magic on the butler. I might have had better luck
while I was looking for a place, said ashe, I
dare say. You know how bad tempered mister Peters is.
He is dyspeptic, so responded mister Beach, I have been informed,
he brooded for a space. I too, he proceeded, suffer
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from my stomach. I have a weak stomach. The lining
of my stomach is not what I could wish the
lining of my stomach to be. Tell me, said ashe gratefully,
leaning forward in an attitude of attention, all about the
lining of your stomach. It was a quarter of an
hour later when mister Beach was checked in his discourse
by the chiming of the little clock on the mantel piece.
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He turned round and gazed at it with surprise, not
unmixed with displeasure. So late, he said, I shall have
to be going about my duties, and you also, mister Marson,
if I may make the suggestion, no doubt, mister Peters
will be wishing to have your assistance in preparing for dinner.
If you go along the passage outside, you will come
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to the door that separates our portion of the house
from the other. I must beg you to excuse me,
I have to go to the cellar. Following his directions,
ashe came, after a walk of a few yards to
a green baized door, which, swinging at his push, gave
him a view of what he correctly took to be
the main hall of the castle, a wide, comfortable space
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ringed with setees and warmed by a log fire burning
in a mammoth fireplace. On the right, a broad staircase
led to the upper regions. It was at this point that,
ashe realized the incompleteness of mister Beach's directions, doubtless the
broad staircase would take him to the floor on which
(10:16):
were the bedrooms. But how was he to ascertain without
the tedious process of knocking and inquiring at each door,
which was the one assigned to mister Peters. It was
too late to go back and ask the butler for
further guidance. Already he was on his way to the
cellar in quest of the evening's wine. As he stood irresolute,
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a door across the hall opened and a man of
his own age came out through the doorway, which the
young man held open for an instant while he answered
a question from somebody within. Ash had a glimpse of
glass topped cases. Could this be the museum his goal?
The next moment, the door opening a few inches more,
(10:58):
revealed the outlying portions of an Egyptian mummy and brought certainty.
It flashed across Ash's mind that the sooner he explored
the museum and located mister Peter's scare of the better,
he decided to ask Beech to take him there as
soon as he had leisure. Meantime, the young man had
closed the museum door and was crossing the hall. He
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was a wiry haired, severe looking young man, with a
sharp nose and eyes that gleamed through rimless spectacles, none other,
in fact, than Lord Emsworth's private secretary, the efficient Baxter.
Ashe hailed him, I say, old man, would you mind
telling me how I get to mister Peter's room. I've
lost my bearings. He did not reflect that this was
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hardly the way in which valets in the best society
addressed their superiors. That is the worst of adopting what
might be called a character part. One can manage the
business well enough. It is the dialogue that provides the pitfalls.
Mister Bad would have accorded a hearty agreement to the
statement that this was not the way in which a
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valet should have spoken to him, but at the moment
he was not aware that, ashe was a valet. From
his easy mode of address, he assumed that he was
one of the numerous guests who had been arriving at
the castle all day. As he had asked for mister Peters,
he fancied that Ash must be the honorable Freddy's American
friend George Emerson, whom he had not yet met. Consequently,
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he replied with much cordiality that mister Peter's room was
the second at the left on the second floor. He said,
ashe could not miss it. Ashe said, he was much obliged,
awfully good of you, said Ash. Not at all, said
mister Baxter. You'll lose your way in a place like this,
said Ash. You certainly do, said mister Baxter. Ash went
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on his upward path, and in a few moments was
knocking at the door indicated, and sure enough it was
mister Peters's voice that invited him to enter. Mister Peters,
partial rayed in the correct garb for gentlemen about to dine,
was standing in front of the mirror, wrestling with his
evening tie. As Ash entered, he removed his fingers and
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anxiously examined his handiwork. It proved unsatisfactory, with a yelp
and an oath. He tore the offending linen from his neck,
damn the thing. It was plain to Ash that his
employer was in no sunny mood. There are few things
less calculated to engender sunniness in a naturally bad tempered
man than a dress tie that will not let itself
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be pulled and twisted into the right shape even when
things went well. Mister Peters hated dressing for dinner. Words
cannot describe his feelings when they went wrong. There is
something to be said in excuse for this impatience. It
is a hollow mockery to be obliged to deck one's
person as for a feast, when that feast is to
(13:53):
consist of a little asparagus and a few nuts. Mister
Peters's eye met ashes in the mirror. Er, Oh it's you?
Is it? Come in then? Don't stand staring close that door, quick, hustle,
don't scrape your feet on the floor, Try to look intelligent.
Don't gate. Where have you been all this while? Why
didn't you come before? Can you tie a tie? All right? Then?
(14:15):
Do it? Somewhat calmed by the snow white butterfly shaped
creation that grew under Ash's fingers. He permitted himself to
be helped into his coat. He picked up the remnant
of a black cigar from the dressing table and re
lit it. I've been thinking about you, he said, Yes,
said Ash. Have you located the Scaub yet? No? What
(14:39):
the devil have you been doing with yourself? Then you've
had time to collar it a dozen times. I have
been talking to the butler. What the devil do you
waste time talking to butler's for? I suppose you haven't
even located the museum yet. Yes, I've done that. Oh
you have, have you? Well that's something. And how do
(14:59):
you setting about the job? The best plan would be
to go there very late at night. Well you didn't
propose to stroll in in the afternoon, did you. How
are you going to find the scaub when you do
get in? Ash had not thought of that. The deeper
he went into this business, the more things did there
seem to be in it of which he had not thought.
(15:22):
I don't know, he confessed, you don't know. Tell me,
young man, are you considered pretty bright as englishmen go?
I am not English. I was born near Boston. Oh
you were? Were you? You? Blank? Bone headed bean eating boob,
cried mister Peters, frothing over quite unexpectedly and waving his
arms in a sudden burst of fury. Then, if you
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are an American, why don't you show a little more enterprise.
Why don't you put something over? Why do you loaf
about the place as though you were supposed to be
an ornament. I want results, and I want them quick.
I'll tell you how you can recognize miss Scarub when
you get into the museum. That shameless old green goods
man who sneaked it from me has had the gall
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the nerve to put it all by itself, with a
notice as big as a circus poster alongside of it,
saying that it is the Cheops of the Fourth Dynasty,
presented mister Peters choked, presented by J. Preston. Peters esquire,
that's how you're going to recognize it? Ashe did not laugh,
but he nearly dislocated a rib in his effort to
(16:29):
abstain from doing so. It seemed to him that this
act on Lord Emsworth's part effectually disposed of the theory
that Britons have no sense of humor. To rob a
man of his choicest possession, and then thank him publicly
for letting you have it, appealed to ashe as excellent comedy.
The thing isn't even in a glass case, continued mister Peters.
(16:51):
It's lying on an open tray on top of a
cabinet of Roman coins. Anybody who was left alone for
two minutes in the place could take it. It's criminal
carelessness to leave a valuable scare of about like that.
If Lord Jesse James was going to steal my cheops,
he might at least have had the decency to treat
it as though it was worth something. But it makes
(17:12):
it easier for me to get it, said Ash consolingly.
It's got to be made easy if you were to
get it snapped. Mister Peters. Here's another thing. You say
you are going to try for it late at night. Well,
what are you going to do if anyone catches you
prowling round at that time? Have you considered that? No,
you would have to say something, wouldn't you. You wouldn't
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chat about the weather, would you. You wouldn't discuss the
latest play. You would have to think up some mighty
good reason for being out of bed at that time.
Wouldn't you. I suppose so, Oh, you do admit that,
do you well? What you would say is this, You
would explain that I had rung for you to come
and read me to sleep. You understand, you think that
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would be a satisfactory explanation of my being in the museum. Idiot,
I don't mean that. You're to say it if you're
caught actually in the museum. If you're caught in the museum,
the best thing you can do is say nothing and
hope that the judge will let you off light. Because
it's your first offense. You're to say it if you're
found wandering about on your way there. It sounds thin
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to me, does it. Well, let me tell you that
it isn't so thin as you suppose, for it's what
you will actually have to do most nights. Two nights
out of three, I have to be read to sleep.
My indigestion gives me insomnia. As though to push this
fact home, mister Peters suddenly bent double ugh. He said, wow.
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He removed the cigar from his mouth and inserted a
digestive tabloid. The lining of my stomach is all wrong,
he added. It is curious how trivial are the immediate
causes that produce revolutions. If mister Peters had worded his
complaint differently, ashe would, in all probability have borne it
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without active protest. He had been growing more and more
annoyed with this little person who buzzed and barked and
bit at him. Yet the idea of definite revolt had
not occurred to him, But his sufferings at the hands
of Beach the Butler had reduced him to a state
where he could endure no further mention of stomachic linings.
There comes a time when our capacity for listening to
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detailed data about the linings of other people's stomachs is exhausted.
He looked at mister Peters sternly. He had ceased to
be intimidated by the fiery little man and regarded him
simply as a hypochondriac who needed to be told a
few useful facts. How do you expect not to have indigestion?
You take no exercise in your smoke all day long.
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The novel sensation of being criticized and by a beardless
youth at that held mister Peter silent. He started convulsive
liberty did not speak ash on his pet subject became
eloquent in his opinion, dyspeptics come the earth to his mind,
they had the choice between health and sickness, and they
deliberately chose the latter. Your sort of man makes me angry.
(20:08):
I know your type inside out. You overwork and shirk exercise,
and let your temper run away with you, and smoke
strong cigars on an empty stomach. And when you get
indigestion as a natural result, to look on yourself as
a martyr, nourish a perpetual grouch, and make the lives
of everybody you meet miserable. If you would put yourself
into my hands for a month, I would have you
(20:30):
eating bricks and thriving on them. Up in the morning,
Larson exercises, cold bath, a brisk rubbed down, sharp walk.
Who the devil asked your opinion? You impertinent young hound,
inquired mister Peters. Don't interrupt, confound you, shouted ashe Now
you have made me forget what I was going to say.
(20:50):
There was a tense silence, then mister Peters began to speak,
You infernal impudent, don't talk to me like that. I'll
talk to you, just ashe took a step toward the door.
Very well, then he said, I'll quit. I'm through. You
can get somebody else to do this job of yours
for you. The sudden sagging of mister Peter's jaw, the
(21:13):
look of consternation that flashed on his face told Ash
he had found the right weapon, that the game was
in his hands. He continued, with a feeling of confidence.
If I had known what being your valet involved, I
wouldn't have undertaken the thing for a hundred thousand dollars
just because you had some idiotic prejudice against letting me
come down here as your secretary, which would have been
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the simple and obvious thing. I find myself in a
position where at any moment I may be publicly rebuked
by the butler and have the head still room made
looking at me as though I were something the cat
had brought in. His voice trembled with self pity. Do
you realize a fraction of the awful things you have
let me in? For? How on earth am I to
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remember whether I go in before the chef or after
the third footman. I shan't have I have a peaceful
minute while I'm in this place, I've got to sit
and listen by the hour to a bore of a
butler who seems to be a sort of walking hospital.
I've got to steer my way through a complicated system
of etiquette. And on top of all that, you have
the nerve the insolence to imagine that you can use
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me as a punching bag to work your bad temper off.
You have the immortal rind to suppose that I will
stand for being nagged and bullied by you whenever your
suicidal way of living brings on an attack of indigestion.
You have the supreme gall to fancy that you can
talk as you please to me. Very well, I've had
enough of it. I resign. If you want the scab
(22:39):
of yours recovered, let somebody else do it. I've retired
from business. He took another step toward the door, a
shaking hand clutched at his sleeve. My boy, my dear boy,
be reasonable. Ashe was intoxicated with his own oratory, the
sensation of bully ragging a genuine millionaire was new in
(22:59):
the exhilarating. He expanded his chest and spread his feet
like a colossus. That's all very well, he said, coldly,
disentangling himself from the hand. You can't get out of
it like that. We have got to come to an understanding.
The point is that if I am to be subjected
to your your senile malevolence every time you have a
(23:21):
twinge of indigestion, no amount of money could pay me
to stop. On, my dear boy, it shall not occur again.
I was hasty, mister Peters, with agitated fingers, relet the
stump of his cigar. Throw away that cigar, my boy,
throw it away. You say you were hasty. Of course
you were hasty, and as long as you abuse your digestion,
(23:42):
you will go on being hasty. I want something better
than apologies. If I am to stop here, we must
get to the root of things. You must put yourself
in my hands as though I were your doctor. No
more cigars every morning, Regular exercises, no, no, very well,
no stop stop. What sort of exercises I'll show you
(24:03):
tomorrow morning? Brisk walks? I hate walking. Cold baths no, no,
very well, no stop. A cold bath would kill me
at my age. It would put new life into you.
Do you consent to the cold baths? No? Very well, yes, yes, yes,
you promise, yes, yes, all right. Then the distant sound
(24:28):
of the dinner gong floated in. We settled that just
in time, said Ash. Mister Peters regarded him fixedly, young man,
he said, slowly. If after all this you fail to
recover my chea aps for me, I'll I'll by George,
I'll skin you. Don't talk like that, said Ash. That's
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another thing you have got to remember. If my treatment
is to be successful, you must not let yourself think
in that way. You must exercise self control mentally. You
must think beautiful thoughts. The idea of skinning you is
a beautiful thought, said mister Peters wistfully. In order that
their gayety might not be diminished and the food turned
(25:10):
to ashes in their mouths. By the absence from the
festive board of mister Beach, it was the custom for
the upper servants at Blandings to postpone the start of
their evening meal until dinner was nearly over above stairs.
This enabled the butler to take his place at the
head of the table without fear of interruption, except for
the few moments when coffee was being served every night
(25:33):
shortly before half past eight, at which hour mister Beach
felt that he might safely withdraw from the dining room
and leave Lord Emsworth and his guests to the care
of Merid the under Butler, and James and Alfred the Footman,
returning only for a few minutes to lend tone and
distinction to the distribution of cigars and liqueurs. Those whose
(25:54):
rank entitled them to do so made their way to
the housekeeper's room to pass in desultory condress the interval
before mister Beach should arrive, and a kitchen maid, with
the appearance of one who has been straining at the
leash and has at last managed to get free, opened
the door with the announcement mister Beach, if you please
dinner is served, on which mister Beach, extending a crooked
(26:18):
elbow toward the housekeeper, would say, missus twemlow and lead
the way high and disposedly down. The passage followed in
order of rank, by the rest of the company in
couples to the steward's room for blandings. Was not one
of those houses, or shall we say, hovels, where the
upper servants are expected not only to feed, but to
(26:40):
congregate before feeding. In the steward's room, under the auspices
of mister Beach and of Missus Twemlow, who saw eye
to eye with him in these matters. Things were done
properly at the castle, with the correct solemnity to mister
Beach and Missus Twemlow. The suggestion that they and their
peers should gather together in the same room in which
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they were to dine would have been as repellent as
an announcement from Lady Anne Warblington, the Chatelaine, that the
house party would eat in the drawing room. When, ashe
returning from his interview with mister Peters, was intercepted by
a respectful small boy and conducted to the housekeeper's room,
he was conscious of a sensation of shrinking inferiority, akin
(27:23):
to his emotions on his first day at school. The
room was full and apparently on very cordial terms with itself.
Everybody seemed to know everybody, and conversation was proceeding in
a manner reminiscent of an old home week. As a
matter of fact, the house party at Blandings being in
the main and gathering together of the Emsworth clan by
(27:45):
way of honor and as a means of introduction to
mister Peters and his daughter, the bride of the house
to be. Most of the occupants of the housekeeper's room
were old acquaintances and were renewing interrupted friendships at the
top of their voices. A lull followed ashe's arrival, and
all eyes, to his great discomfort, were turned in his direction.
(28:07):
His embarrassment was relieved by Missus Twemlow, who advanced to
do the honors of Missus Twemlow. Little need be attempted
in the way of pen portraiture. Beyond the statement that
she went as harmoniously with mister Beach as one of
a pair of vases, or one of a brace of
pheasants goes with its fellow, She had the same appearance
(28:28):
of imminent apoplexy, the same air of belonging to some
dignified and haughty branch of the vegetable kingdom. Mister Marsham
welcome to Blandings Castle, ashe had been waiting for somebody
to say this, and had been a little surprised that
mister Beach had not done so. He was also surprised
(28:49):
at the housekeeper's ready recognition of his identity, until he
saw Joan in the throng and deduced that she must
have been the source of information. He envied Joan in
some amazing way, she contrived to look not out of
place in this gathering. He himself, he felt, had imposters
stamped in large characters all over him. Missus Twemlow began
(29:12):
to make the introductions, a long and tedious process which
she performed relentlessly, without haste and without scamping her work
with each member of the aristocracy of his new profession.
Ashe shook hands and on each member, he smiled until
his facial and dorsal muscles were liked to crack under
the strain. It was amazing that so many high class
(29:35):
domestics could be collected into one moderate sized room, Miss Simpson,
you know, said Missus Twemlow, and ashe was about to
deny the charge, when he perceived that Joan was the
individual referred to mister Judson, mister Marson, mister Judson is
the honorable Frederick's gentleman. You have not the pleasure of
(29:57):
our Freddy's acquaintance as yet, I take it, Miss mister
Marson observed mister Judson genially a smooth faced, lazy looking
young man. Freddie Repay's inspection. Mister Marson, permit me to
introduce you to mister Ferris, Lord Stockheath's gentleman. Mister Ferris,
a dark cynical man with a high forehead, shook ash
(30:18):
by the hand, happy to meet you, mister Marson. Miss Willoughby,
this is mister Marson who will take you in to dinner.
Miss Willoughby is Lady Mildred Mant's lady. As of course
you are aware, Lady Mildred, our eldest daughter, married Colonel
Horace Mant of the Scots Guards. Ashe was not aware,
(30:39):
and he was rather surprised that missus Twemlow should have
a daughter whose name was Lady Mildred, but reason coming
to his rescue, suggested that by hour she meant the
offspring of the Earl of Emsworth and his late Countess.
Miss Willoughby was a light hearted damsel with a smiling
face and chestnut hair done low over her forehead. Since
(31:00):
etiquette forbade that he should take Joan in to dinner,
ashe was glad that at least an apparently pleasant substitute
had been provided. He had just been introduced to an
appallingly statuesque lady of the name of Chester Lady Anne
Warblington's own maid, and his somewhat hazy recollections of Joan's
lecture on below stairs precedence had left him with the
(31:22):
impression that this was his destined partner. He had frankly
quailed at the prospect of being linked to so much
aristocratic hatteire. End of Chapter five, Part two,
Chapter five, Part two of Something New. This is a
LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain.
For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org.
Something New by P. G. Woodhouse, Chapter five, Part two.
(00:27):
Butler's as a class seem to grow less and less
like anything human in proportion to the magnificence of their surroundings.
There is a type of butler employed in the comparatively
modest homes of small country gentlemen, who is practically a
man and a brother, who hobnobs with the local tradesmen,
sings a good comic song at the village inn, and
(00:49):
in times of crisis, will even turn to and work
the pump when the water supply suddenly fails. The greater
the house, the more does the butler diverge. From this time.
Blanding's castle was one of the more important of England's
show places, and beach accordingly, had acquired a dignified inertia
that almost qualified him for inclusion in the vegetable Kingdom.
(01:13):
He moved when he moved it all slowly, he distilled
speech with the air of one measuring out drops of
some precious drug. His heavy lidded eyes had the fixed
expression of a statue's. With an almost imperceptible wave of
a fat white hand, he conveyed to Ashe that he
desired him to sit down. With the stately movement of
(01:35):
his other hand, he picked up a kettle which simmered
on the hob. With an inclination of his head, he
called Ash's attention to a decanter on the table. In
another moment, ashe was sipping a whiskey toddy with the
feeling that he had been privileged to assist at some
mystic right, mister Beach, posting himself before the fire and
(01:57):
placing his hands behind his back, permitted its speech to
drip from him. I have not the advantage of your name,
mister Ash, introduced himself. Beech acknowledged the information with a
half bow. You must have had a cold ride, mister Marson.
The wind is in the east, ashe said, yes, the
(02:18):
ride had been cold. When the wind is in the east,
continued mister Beach, letting each syllable escape with apparent reluctance.
I suffer from my feet, I beg your pardon. I
suffer from my feet, repeated the butler, measuring out the drops.
You are a young man, mister Marson, Probably you do
(02:40):
not know what it is to suffer from your feet.
He surveyed, Ash, his whisky Toddy and the wall beyond
him with heavy lidded inscrutability corns, he said. Ash said
he was sorry. I suffer extremely from my feet. Not
only corns I have but recently recovered from an in
(03:00):
growing toenail. I suffered greatly from my in growing toenail.
I suffered from swollen joints. Ashe regarded this martyr with
increasing disfavor, it is the flaw in the character of
many excessively healthy young men, that, though kind hearted enough
in most respects, they listen with a regrettable feeling of
(03:21):
impatience to the confessions of those less happily situated. As
regards the ills of the flesh, rightly or wrongly, they
hold that these statements should be reserved for the ear
of the medical profession. And other and more general topics
selected for conversation with Layman. I'm sorry, he said hastily.
You must have had a bad time. Is there a
(03:43):
large house party here just now? We are expecting, said
mister Beach. A number of guests, we shall, in all
probability sit down thirty or more to dinner. A responsibility
for you, said ashe ingratiatingly. Well, please to be quit
of the feet topic. Mister Beach nodded. You are right,
(04:05):
mister Marson. Few persons realize the responsibilities of a man
in my position. Sometimes, I can assure you, it preys
on my mind, and I suffer from nervous headaches. Ash
begin to feel like a man trying to put out
a fire, which, as fast as he checks it at
one point, breaks out at another. Sometimes when I come
(04:25):
off duty, everything gets blurred. The outlines of objects grow
indistinct and misty. I have to sit down in a chair.
The pain is excruciating, but it helps you to forget
the pain in your feet. No, no, I suffer from
my feet. Simultaneously, Ash gave up the struggle. Tell me
(04:46):
all about your feet, he said, and mister Beach told
him all about his feet. The pleasantest functions must come
to an end, And the moment arrived when the final
word on the subject of swollen joints was spoken. Ashe
who had resigned himself to a permanent contemplation of the subject,
could hardly believe he heard correctly, when at the end
(05:07):
of some ten minutes, his companion changed the conversation. You
have been with mister Peters some time, mister Marson. Eh
oh oh, No, only since last Wednesday. Indeed, might I
inquire whom you assisted before that? For a moment, ashe
did what he would not have believed himself capable of doing,
(05:28):
regretted that the topic of feet was no longer under discussion.
The question placed him in an awkward position. If he
lied and credited himself with a lengthy experience as a valet,
he risked exposing himself. If he told the truth and
confessed that this was his maiden effort in the capacity
of gentlemen's gentlemen, what would the butler think? There were
(05:51):
objections to each course, but to tell the truth was
the easier of the two, so he told it. Your
first situation, said mister Bach. Indeed, I was or doing
something else before I met mister Peters, said ashe mister
Beach was too well bred to be inquisitive. But his
eyebrows were not. Ah, he said, question mark. Cried his
(06:16):
eyebrows question mark, question mark, question mark. Ashe ignored the
eyebrows something different, he said. There was an awkward silence
ashe appreciated its awkwardness. He was conscious of a grievance
against mister Peters. Why could not mister Peters have brought
(06:38):
him down here as his secretary? To be sure, he
had advanced some objection to that course in their conversation
at the offices of main Price, main Price and Boole,
but merely a silly, far fetched objection. He wished he
had had the sense to fight the point while there
was time. But at the moment when they were arranging plans,
(06:58):
he had been rather tickled by the thought of becoming
a valet. The notion had a pleasing musical comedy touch
about it. Why had he not foreseen the complications that
must ensue? He could tell by the look on his
face that this confounded Butler was waiting for him to
give a full explanation. What would he think if he
withheld it? He would probably suppose that, ashe had been
(07:19):
in prison, well, there was nothing to be done about it.
If Beech was suspicious, he must remain suspicious. Fortunately, the
suspicions of a butler did not matter much. Mister Beach's
eyebrows were still mutely urging him to reveal all. But
ashe directed his gaze at that portion of the room
(07:40):
which mister Beach did not fill, he would be hanged
if he was going to let himself be hypnotized by
a pair of eyebrows into incriminating himself. He glared stolidly
at the pattern of the wallpaper, which represented a number
of birds of an unknown species seated on a corresponding
number of exoticas shrubs. The silence was growing oppressive. Somebody
(08:04):
had to break it soon, and as mister Beach was
still confining himself to the language of the eyebrow and
apparently intended to fight it out on that line, if
it took all summer, ash himself broke it. It seemed
to him, as he reconstructed the scene in bed that night,
that providence must have suggested the subject of mister Peter's indigestion,
(08:26):
for the mere mention of his employer's sufferings acted like
magic on the butler. I might have had better luck
while I was looking for a place, said ashe, I
dare say. You know how bad tempered mister Peters is.
He is dyspeptic, so responded mister Beach, I have been informed,
he brooded for a space. I too, he proceeded, suffer
(08:48):
from my stomach. I have a weak stomach. The lining
of my stomach is not what I could wish the
lining of my stomach to be. Tell me, said ashe gratefully,
leaning forward in an attitude of attention, all about the
lining of your stomach. It was a quarter of an
hour later when mister Beach was checked in his discourse
by the chiming of the little clock on the mantel piece.
(09:11):
He turned round and gazed at it with surprise, not
unmixed with displeasure. So late, he said, I shall have
to be going about my duties, and you also, mister Marson,
if I may make the suggestion, no doubt, mister Peters
will be wishing to have your assistance in preparing for dinner.
If you go along the passage outside, you will come
(09:33):
to the door that separates our portion of the house
from the other. I must beg you to excuse me,
I have to go to the cellar. Following his directions,
ashe came, after a walk of a few yards to
a green baized door, which, swinging at his push, gave
him a view of what he correctly took to be
the main hall of the castle, a wide, comfortable space
(09:56):
ringed with setees and warmed by a log fire burning
in a mammoth fireplace. On the right, a broad staircase
led to the upper regions. It was at this point that,
ashe realized the incompleteness of mister Beach's directions, doubtless the
broad staircase would take him to the floor on which
(10:16):
were the bedrooms. But how was he to ascertain without
the tedious process of knocking and inquiring at each door,
which was the one assigned to mister Peters. It was
too late to go back and ask the butler for
further guidance. Already he was on his way to the
cellar in quest of the evening's wine. As he stood irresolute,
(10:37):
a door across the hall opened and a man of
his own age came out through the doorway, which the
young man held open for an instant while he answered
a question from somebody within. Ash had a glimpse of
glass topped cases. Could this be the museum his goal?
The next moment, the door opening a few inches more,
(10:58):
revealed the outlying portions of an Egyptian mummy and brought certainty.
It flashed across Ash's mind that the sooner he explored
the museum and located mister Peter's scare of the better,
he decided to ask Beech to take him there as
soon as he had leisure. Meantime, the young man had
closed the museum door and was crossing the hall. He
(11:20):
was a wiry haired, severe looking young man, with a
sharp nose and eyes that gleamed through rimless spectacles, none other,
in fact, than Lord Emsworth's private secretary, the efficient Baxter.
Ashe hailed him, I say, old man, would you mind
telling me how I get to mister Peter's room. I've
lost my bearings. He did not reflect that this was
(11:43):
hardly the way in which valets in the best society
addressed their superiors. That is the worst of adopting what
might be called a character part. One can manage the
business well enough. It is the dialogue that provides the pitfalls.
Mister Bad would have accorded a hearty agreement to the
statement that this was not the way in which a
(12:04):
valet should have spoken to him, but at the moment
he was not aware that, ashe was a valet. From
his easy mode of address, he assumed that he was
one of the numerous guests who had been arriving at
the castle all day. As he had asked for mister Peters,
he fancied that Ash must be the honorable Freddy's American
friend George Emerson, whom he had not yet met. Consequently,
(12:27):
he replied with much cordiality that mister Peter's room was
the second at the left on the second floor. He said,
ashe could not miss it. Ashe said, he was much obliged,
awfully good of you, said Ash. Not at all, said
mister Baxter. You'll lose your way in a place like this,
said Ash. You certainly do, said mister Baxter. Ash went
(12:49):
on his upward path, and in a few moments was
knocking at the door indicated, and sure enough it was
mister Peters's voice that invited him to enter. Mister Peters,
partial rayed in the correct garb for gentlemen about to dine,
was standing in front of the mirror, wrestling with his
evening tie. As Ash entered, he removed his fingers and
(13:10):
anxiously examined his handiwork. It proved unsatisfactory, with a yelp
and an oath. He tore the offending linen from his neck,
damn the thing. It was plain to Ash that his
employer was in no sunny mood. There are few things
less calculated to engender sunniness in a naturally bad tempered
man than a dress tie that will not let itself
(13:32):
be pulled and twisted into the right shape even when
things went well. Mister Peters hated dressing for dinner. Words
cannot describe his feelings when they went wrong. There is
something to be said in excuse for this impatience. It
is a hollow mockery to be obliged to deck one's
person as for a feast, when that feast is to
(13:53):
consist of a little asparagus and a few nuts. Mister
Peters's eye met ashes in the mirror. Er, Oh it's you?
Is it? Come in then? Don't stand staring close that door, quick, hustle,
don't scrape your feet on the floor, Try to look intelligent.
Don't gate. Where have you been all this while? Why
didn't you come before? Can you tie a tie? All right? Then?
(14:15):
Do it? Somewhat calmed by the snow white butterfly shaped
creation that grew under Ash's fingers. He permitted himself to
be helped into his coat. He picked up the remnant
of a black cigar from the dressing table and re
lit it. I've been thinking about you, he said, Yes,
said Ash. Have you located the Scaub yet? No? What
(14:39):
the devil have you been doing with yourself? Then you've
had time to collar it a dozen times. I have
been talking to the butler. What the devil do you
waste time talking to butler's for? I suppose you haven't
even located the museum yet. Yes, I've done that. Oh
you have, have you? Well that's something. And how do
(14:59):
you setting about the job? The best plan would be
to go there very late at night. Well you didn't
propose to stroll in in the afternoon, did you. How
are you going to find the scaub when you do
get in? Ash had not thought of that. The deeper
he went into this business, the more things did there
seem to be in it of which he had not thought.
(15:22):
I don't know, he confessed, you don't know. Tell me,
young man, are you considered pretty bright as englishmen go?
I am not English. I was born near Boston. Oh
you were? Were you? You? Blank? Bone headed bean eating boob,
cried mister Peters, frothing over quite unexpectedly and waving his
arms in a sudden burst of fury. Then, if you
(15:46):
are an American, why don't you show a little more enterprise.
Why don't you put something over? Why do you loaf
about the place as though you were supposed to be
an ornament. I want results, and I want them quick.
I'll tell you how you can recognize miss Scarub when
you get into the museum. That shameless old green goods
man who sneaked it from me has had the gall
(16:06):
the nerve to put it all by itself, with a
notice as big as a circus poster alongside of it,
saying that it is the Cheops of the Fourth Dynasty,
presented mister Peters choked, presented by J. Preston. Peters esquire,
that's how you're going to recognize it? Ashe did not laugh,
but he nearly dislocated a rib in his effort to
(16:29):
abstain from doing so. It seemed to him that this
act on Lord Emsworth's part effectually disposed of the theory
that Britons have no sense of humor. To rob a
man of his choicest possession, and then thank him publicly
for letting you have it, appealed to ashe as excellent comedy.
The thing isn't even in a glass case, continued mister Peters.
(16:51):
It's lying on an open tray on top of a
cabinet of Roman coins. Anybody who was left alone for
two minutes in the place could take it. It's criminal
carelessness to leave a valuable scare of about like that.
If Lord Jesse James was going to steal my cheops,
he might at least have had the decency to treat
it as though it was worth something. But it makes
(17:12):
it easier for me to get it, said Ash consolingly.
It's got to be made easy if you were to
get it snapped. Mister Peters. Here's another thing. You say
you are going to try for it late at night. Well,
what are you going to do if anyone catches you
prowling round at that time? Have you considered that? No,
you would have to say something, wouldn't you. You wouldn't
(17:34):
chat about the weather, would you. You wouldn't discuss the
latest play. You would have to think up some mighty
good reason for being out of bed at that time.
Wouldn't you. I suppose so, Oh, you do admit that,
do you well? What you would say is this, You
would explain that I had rung for you to come
and read me to sleep. You understand, you think that
(17:56):
would be a satisfactory explanation of my being in the museum. Idiot,
I don't mean that. You're to say it if you're
caught actually in the museum. If you're caught in the museum,
the best thing you can do is say nothing and
hope that the judge will let you off light. Because
it's your first offense. You're to say it if you're
found wandering about on your way there. It sounds thin
(18:18):
to me, does it. Well, let me tell you that
it isn't so thin as you suppose, for it's what
you will actually have to do most nights. Two nights
out of three, I have to be read to sleep.
My indigestion gives me insomnia. As though to push this
fact home, mister Peters suddenly bent double ugh. He said, wow.
(18:39):
He removed the cigar from his mouth and inserted a
digestive tabloid. The lining of my stomach is all wrong,
he added. It is curious how trivial are the immediate
causes that produce revolutions. If mister Peters had worded his
complaint differently, ashe would, in all probability have borne it
(18:59):
without active protest. He had been growing more and more
annoyed with this little person who buzzed and barked and
bit at him. Yet the idea of definite revolt had
not occurred to him, But his sufferings at the hands
of Beach the Butler had reduced him to a state
where he could endure no further mention of stomachic linings.
There comes a time when our capacity for listening to
(19:21):
detailed data about the linings of other people's stomachs is exhausted.
He looked at mister Peters sternly. He had ceased to
be intimidated by the fiery little man and regarded him
simply as a hypochondriac who needed to be told a
few useful facts. How do you expect not to have indigestion?
You take no exercise in your smoke all day long.
(19:44):
The novel sensation of being criticized and by a beardless
youth at that held mister Peter silent. He started convulsive
liberty did not speak ash on his pet subject became
eloquent in his opinion, dyspeptics come the earth to his mind,
they had the choice between health and sickness, and they
deliberately chose the latter. Your sort of man makes me angry.
(20:08):
I know your type inside out. You overwork and shirk exercise,
and let your temper run away with you, and smoke
strong cigars on an empty stomach. And when you get
indigestion as a natural result, to look on yourself as
a martyr, nourish a perpetual grouch, and make the lives
of everybody you meet miserable. If you would put yourself
into my hands for a month, I would have you
(20:30):
eating bricks and thriving on them. Up in the morning,
Larson exercises, cold bath, a brisk rubbed down, sharp walk.
Who the devil asked your opinion? You impertinent young hound,
inquired mister Peters. Don't interrupt, confound you, shouted ashe Now
you have made me forget what I was going to say.
(20:50):
There was a tense silence, then mister Peters began to speak,
You infernal impudent, don't talk to me like that. I'll
talk to you, just ashe took a step toward the door.
Very well, then he said, I'll quit. I'm through. You
can get somebody else to do this job of yours
for you. The sudden sagging of mister Peter's jaw, the
(21:13):
look of consternation that flashed on his face told Ash
he had found the right weapon, that the game was
in his hands. He continued, with a feeling of confidence.
If I had known what being your valet involved, I
wouldn't have undertaken the thing for a hundred thousand dollars
just because you had some idiotic prejudice against letting me
come down here as your secretary, which would have been
(21:35):
the simple and obvious thing. I find myself in a
position where at any moment I may be publicly rebuked
by the butler and have the head still room made
looking at me as though I were something the cat
had brought in. His voice trembled with self pity. Do
you realize a fraction of the awful things you have
let me in? For? How on earth am I to
(21:55):
remember whether I go in before the chef or after
the third footman. I shan't have I have a peaceful
minute while I'm in this place, I've got to sit
and listen by the hour to a bore of a
butler who seems to be a sort of walking hospital.
I've got to steer my way through a complicated system
of etiquette. And on top of all that, you have
the nerve the insolence to imagine that you can use
(22:17):
me as a punching bag to work your bad temper off.
You have the immortal rind to suppose that I will
stand for being nagged and bullied by you whenever your
suicidal way of living brings on an attack of indigestion.
You have the supreme gall to fancy that you can
talk as you please to me. Very well, I've had
enough of it. I resign. If you want the scab
(22:39):
of yours recovered, let somebody else do it. I've retired
from business. He took another step toward the door, a
shaking hand clutched at his sleeve. My boy, my dear boy,
be reasonable. Ashe was intoxicated with his own oratory, the
sensation of bully ragging a genuine millionaire was new in
(22:59):
the exhilarating. He expanded his chest and spread his feet
like a colossus. That's all very well, he said, coldly,
disentangling himself from the hand. You can't get out of
it like that. We have got to come to an understanding.
The point is that if I am to be subjected
to your your senile malevolence every time you have a
(23:21):
twinge of indigestion, no amount of money could pay me
to stop. On, my dear boy, it shall not occur again.
I was hasty, mister Peters, with agitated fingers, relet the
stump of his cigar. Throw away that cigar, my boy,
throw it away. You say you were hasty. Of course
you were hasty, and as long as you abuse your digestion,
(23:42):
you will go on being hasty. I want something better
than apologies. If I am to stop here, we must
get to the root of things. You must put yourself
in my hands as though I were your doctor. No
more cigars every morning, Regular exercises, no, no, very well,
no stop stop. What sort of exercises I'll show you
(24:03):
tomorrow morning? Brisk walks? I hate walking. Cold baths no, no,
very well, no stop. A cold bath would kill me
at my age. It would put new life into you.
Do you consent to the cold baths? No? Very well, yes, yes, yes,
you promise, yes, yes, all right. Then the distant sound
(24:28):
of the dinner gong floated in. We settled that just
in time, said Ash. Mister Peters regarded him fixedly, young man,
he said, slowly. If after all this you fail to
recover my chea aps for me, I'll I'll by George,
I'll skin you. Don't talk like that, said Ash. That's
(24:48):
another thing you have got to remember. If my treatment
is to be successful, you must not let yourself think
in that way. You must exercise self control mentally. You
must think beautiful thoughts. The idea of skinning you is
a beautiful thought, said mister Peters wistfully. In order that
their gayety might not be diminished and the food turned
(25:10):
to ashes in their mouths. By the absence from the
festive board of mister Beach, it was the custom for
the upper servants at Blandings to postpone the start of
their evening meal until dinner was nearly over above stairs.
This enabled the butler to take his place at the
head of the table without fear of interruption, except for
the few moments when coffee was being served every night
(25:33):
shortly before half past eight, at which hour mister Beach
felt that he might safely withdraw from the dining room
and leave Lord Emsworth and his guests to the care
of Merid the under Butler, and James and Alfred the Footman,
returning only for a few minutes to lend tone and
distinction to the distribution of cigars and liqueurs. Those whose
(25:54):
rank entitled them to do so made their way to
the housekeeper's room to pass in desultory condress the interval
before mister Beach should arrive, and a kitchen maid, with
the appearance of one who has been straining at the
leash and has at last managed to get free, opened
the door with the announcement mister Beach, if you please
dinner is served, on which mister Beach, extending a crooked
(26:18):
elbow toward the housekeeper, would say, missus twemlow and lead
the way high and disposedly down. The passage followed in
order of rank, by the rest of the company in
couples to the steward's room for blandings. Was not one
of those houses, or shall we say, hovels, where the
upper servants are expected not only to feed, but to
(26:40):
congregate before feeding. In the steward's room, under the auspices
of mister Beach and of Missus Twemlow, who saw eye
to eye with him in these matters. Things were done
properly at the castle, with the correct solemnity to mister
Beach and Missus Twemlow. The suggestion that they and their
peers should gather together in the same room in which
(27:01):
they were to dine would have been as repellent as
an announcement from Lady Anne Warblington, the Chatelaine, that the
house party would eat in the drawing room. When, ashe
returning from his interview with mister Peters, was intercepted by
a respectful small boy and conducted to the housekeeper's room,
he was conscious of a sensation of shrinking inferiority, akin
(27:23):
to his emotions on his first day at school. The
room was full and apparently on very cordial terms with itself.
Everybody seemed to know everybody, and conversation was proceeding in
a manner reminiscent of an old home week. As a
matter of fact, the house party at Blandings being in
the main and gathering together of the Emsworth clan by
(27:45):
way of honor and as a means of introduction to
mister Peters and his daughter, the bride of the house
to be. Most of the occupants of the housekeeper's room
were old acquaintances and were renewing interrupted friendships at the
top of their voices. A lull followed ashe's arrival, and
all eyes, to his great discomfort, were turned in his direction.
(28:07):
His embarrassment was relieved by Missus Twemlow, who advanced to
do the honors of Missus Twemlow. Little need be attempted
in the way of pen portraiture. Beyond the statement that
she went as harmoniously with mister Beach as one of
a pair of vases, or one of a brace of
pheasants goes with its fellow, She had the same appearance
(28:28):
of imminent apoplexy, the same air of belonging to some
dignified and haughty branch of the vegetable kingdom. Mister Marsham
welcome to Blandings Castle, ashe had been waiting for somebody
to say this, and had been a little surprised that
mister Beach had not done so. He was also surprised
(28:49):
at the housekeeper's ready recognition of his identity, until he
saw Joan in the throng and deduced that she must
have been the source of information. He envied Joan in
some amazing way, she contrived to look not out of
place in this gathering. He himself, he felt, had imposters
stamped in large characters all over him. Missus Twemlow began
(29:12):
to make the introductions, a long and tedious process which
she performed relentlessly, without haste and without scamping her work
with each member of the aristocracy of his new profession.
Ashe shook hands and on each member, he smiled until
his facial and dorsal muscles were liked to crack under
the strain. It was amazing that so many high class
(29:35):
domestics could be collected into one moderate sized room, Miss Simpson,
you know, said Missus Twemlow, and ashe was about to
deny the charge, when he perceived that Joan was the
individual referred to mister Judson, mister Marson, mister Judson is
the honorable Frederick's gentleman. You have not the pleasure of
(29:57):
our Freddy's acquaintance as yet, I take it, Miss mister
Marson observed mister Judson genially a smooth faced, lazy looking
young man. Freddie Repay's inspection. Mister Marson, permit me to
introduce you to mister Ferris, Lord Stockheath's gentleman. Mister Ferris,
a dark cynical man with a high forehead, shook ash
(30:18):
by the hand, happy to meet you, mister Marson. Miss Willoughby,
this is mister Marson who will take you in to dinner.
Miss Willoughby is Lady Mildred Mant's lady. As of course
you are aware, Lady Mildred, our eldest daughter, married Colonel
Horace Mant of the Scots Guards. Ashe was not aware,
(30:39):
and he was rather surprised that missus Twemlow should have
a daughter whose name was Lady Mildred, but reason coming
to his rescue, suggested that by hour she meant the
offspring of the Earl of Emsworth and his late Countess.
Miss Willoughby was a light hearted damsel with a smiling
face and chestnut hair done low over her forehead. Since
(31:00):
etiquette forbade that he should take Joan in to dinner,
ashe was glad that at least an apparently pleasant substitute
had been provided. He had just been introduced to an
appallingly statuesque lady of the name of Chester Lady Anne
Warblington's own maid, and his somewhat hazy recollections of Joan's
lecture on below stairs precedence had left him with the
(31:22):
impression that this was his destined partner. He had frankly
quailed at the prospect of being linked to so much
aristocratic hatteire. End of Chapter five, Part two,
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