A Damsel in Distress P. G. Wodehouse (sad books to read txt) 📖

quietly and unobtrusively dressed in some black stuff that at first he had scarcely recognized her. She was talking to the Bishop⁠ ⁠…

The voice of Keggs at his elbow broke in on his reverie.

“Sherry or ’ock, sir?”

George could not have explained why this reminder of the butler’s presence should have made him feel better, but it did. There was something solid and tranquilizing about Keggs. He had noticed it before. For the first time the sensation of having been smitten over the head with some blunt instrument began to abate. It was as if Keggs by the mere intonation of his voice had said, “All this no doubt seems very strange and unusual to you, but feel no alarm! I am here!”

George began to sit up and take notice. A cloud seemed to have cleared from his brain. He found himself looking on his fellow-diners as individuals rather than as a confused mass. The prophet Daniel, after the initial embarrassment of finding himself in the society of the lions had passed away, must have experienced a somewhat similar sensation.

He began to sort these people out and label them. There had been introductions in the drawing-room, but they had left him with a bewildered sense of having heard somebody recite a page from Burke’s peerage. Not since that day in the free library in London, when he had dived into that fascinating volume in order to discover Maud’s identity, had he undergone such a rain of titles. He now took stock, to ascertain how many of these people he could identify.

The stocktaking was an absolute failure. Of all those present the only individuals he could swear to were his own personal little playmates with whom he had sported in other surroundings. There was Lord Belpher, for instance, eyeing him with a hostility that could hardly be called veiled. There was Lord Marshmoreton at the head of the table, listening glumly to the conversation of a stout woman with a pearl necklace, but who was that woman? Was it Lady Jane Allenby or Lady Edith Wade-Beverly or Lady Patricia Fowles? And who, above all, was the pie-faced fellow with the moustache talking to Maud?

He sought assistance from the girl he had taken in to dinner. She appeared, as far as he could ascertain from a short acquaintance, to be an amiable little thing. She was small and young and fluffy, and he had caught enough of her name at the moment of introduction to gather that she was plain “Miss” Something⁠—a fact which seemed to him to draw them together.

“I wish you would tell me who some of these people are,” he said, as she turned from talking to the man on her other-side. “Who is the man over there?”

“Which man?”

“The one talking to Lady Maud. The fellow whose face ought to be shuffled and dealt again.”

“That’s my brother.”

That held George during the soup.

“I’m sorry about your brother,” he said rallying with the fish.

“That’s very sweet of you.”

“It was the light that deceived me. Now that I look again, I see that his face has great charm.”

The girl giggled. George began to feel better.

“Who are some of the others? I didn’t get your name, for instance. They shot it at me so quick that it had whizzed by before I could catch it.”

“My name is Plummer.”

George was electrified. He looked across the table with more vivid interest. The amorous Plummer had been just a Voice to him till now. It was exciting to see him in the flesh.

“And who are the rest of them?”

“They are all members of the family. I thought you knew them.”

“I know Lord Marshmoreton. And Lady Maud. And, of course, Lord Belpher.” He caught Percy’s eye as it surveyed him coldly from the other side of the table, and nodded cheerfully. “Great pal of mine, Lord Belpher.”

The fluffy Miss Plummer twisted her pretty face into a grimace of disapproval.

“I don’t like Percy.”

“No!”

“I think he’s conceited.”

“Surely not? What could he have to be conceited about?”

“He’s stiff.”

“Yes, of course, that’s how he strikes people at first. The first time I met him, I thought he was an awful stiff. But you should see him in his moments of relaxation. He’s one of those fellows you have to get to know. He grows on you.”

“Yes, but look at that affair with the policeman in London. Everybody in the county is talking about it.”

“Young blood!” sighed George. “Young blood! Of course, Percy is wild.”

“He must have been intoxicated.”

“Oh, undoubtedly,” said George.

Miss Plummer glanced across the table.

“Do look at Edwin!”

“Which is Edwin?”

“My brother, I mean. Look at the way he keeps staring at Maud. Edwin’s awfully in love with Maud,” she rattled on with engaging frankness. “At least, he thinks he is. He’s been in love with a different girl every season since I came out. And now that Reggie Byng has gone and married Alice Faraday, he thinks he has a chance. You heard about that, I suppose?”

“Yes, I did hear something about it.”

“Of course, Edwin’s wasting his time, really. I happen to know”⁠—Miss Plummer sank her voice to a whisper⁠—“I happen to know that Maud’s awfully in love with some man she met in Wales last year, but the family won’t hear of it.”

“Families are like that,” agreed George.

“Nobody knows who he is, but everybody in the county knows all about it. Those things get about, you know. Of course, it’s out of the question. Maud will have to marry somebody awfully rich or with a title. Her family’s one of the oldest in England, you know.”

“So I understand.”

“It isn’t as if she were the daughter of Lord Peebles, somebody like that.”

“Why Lord Peebles?”

“Well, what I mean to say is,” said Miss Plummer, with a silvery echo of Reggie Byng, “he made his money in whisky.”

“That’s better than spending it that way,” argued George.

Miss Plummer looked puzzled. “I see what you mean,” she said a little vaguely. “Lord Marshmoreton is so different.”

“Haughty nobleman stuff, eh?”

“Yes.”

“So you think this mysterious man in Wales