Free Jeeves and the Wedding Bells by Sebastian Faulks Page B

pleased to hear it. Some visitors find the bed takes a day or two to get used to.’
    ‘Not me, Bick … Mr Bicknell. Quite used to roughing it. Officer cadet corps at school and all that. Absolute lap of luxury.’
    I sensed that I hadn’t quite got the hang of this dialogue and thought it best to say as little as possible for the time being.
    ‘We’re at full stretch this weekend,’ said Bicknell. ‘We lost a footman last week. Liddle.’
    ‘Oh dear. An accident?’
    ‘No. Liddle was what you might call a shirker. Bone idle. I don’t like shirkers, Mr Wilberforce.’
    ‘Nor do I. No time for them at all.’
    ‘And then he was caught with a dozen Georgian forks in his coat pocket when he went home on Saturday night. Sir Henry is very particular about his silver.’
    ‘What a scoundrel. Was he hauled up before the bench?’
    ‘Sir Henry is the bench, in a manner of speaking. He didn’t want to take it any further.’
    ‘But Liddle was shown the door.’
    ‘Yes. The next morning. We have a new man called Hoad who’s come to help out while we’re full up.’
    ‘Hoad?’
    ‘Yes, he’s from the village. He used to work in the stables.’
    ‘I see. And does that complete the picture?’
    ‘There’s also Mrs Tilman – and Mrs Padgett, the cook. And the women who come in to clean.’
    ‘Well, if I can help at all, just let me know. Always happy to oblige, don’t you know.’
    ‘That’s most thoughtful of you, Mr … Wilberforce. As a matter of fact there is something you could do. Sir Henry has asked me to have the telephone line mended. I’ve written to the company but that may take a day or two. If you were in the village you could perhaps go into one of the public houses and make a telephone call to report the fault. I shan’t have the time myself. I would recommend the Hare and Hounds over the Red Lion.’
    ‘Consider it done, Mr Bicknell. I shall see you later, no doubt.’
    So saying, I left the impressive fellow in his den and headed to the kitchen garden for a well-earned gasper. On my return to the house, I found breakfast under way in the kitchen. This meal consisted of what had been brought back from the dining room with a fresh pot of tea plonked down by the cook. This Mrs Padgett was a red-faced old party whose way of speaking indicated that she came from somewhere in the northern wilds – possibly this side of Hadrian’s Wall, but not by much.
    ‘Come and sit yourself down, Mr Wilberforce. Don’t be a stranger,’ said Mrs Tilman.
    I did as I was told, and found myself between some sort of charwoman and a short, stumpy fellow with a face like a church gargoyle whom I took to be Hoad, the emergency footman.
    ‘I wouldn’t eat them kidneys if I was you,’ he said. ‘Filthy stuff that is.’
    This view being widely shared, I was the only taker. I have always been partial to the dish, though it’s one I only seem to come across when staying with people. Mrs Padgett’s had plenty of devil to them.
    ‘What’s Lord Etringham’s plans today, then?’ said Mrs Tilman. ‘Keeping you busy, is he?’
    ‘His lordship has told me he will be spending a quiet day reading,’ I said. Then, thinking this sounded rather feeble, I added, ‘But he may need me to accompany him to the bookmaker this afternoon.’
    ‘You’ll be needing to go to Dorchester then. He’s quite a one for the gee-gees, isn’t he?’ said Mrs Tilman.
    ‘Oh, rather, yes. Never happier than when he’s standing by the rail with a pair of bins clamped to his face.’
    ‘He’ll be putting some money on for Sir Henry, I expect.’
    ‘Yes, I shouldn’t wonder. Don’t change a winning team, what.’
    While the table was being cleared, I saw an opportunity and turned to Mrs Tilman. ‘If Lord Etringham wanted a private word with Miss Hackwood at some point today, have you any idea when and where might be suitable?’
    Mrs Tilman smiled. ‘She’s a bundle of energy, Miss Amelia. You never quite know where she’s