Lord Emsworth went to the window and looked out. The sun was shining brightly, the birds were chirping along merrily, the hollyhocks, carnations and Canterbury bells were swaying in a gentle breeze and bees, ants and butterflies were going about their business with vigour and vim. In short, God appeared to be in heaven.
But Lord Emsworth was in one of his melancholic moods. What weighed on his conscience was not the loss of his glasses, which were perched firmly on his nose and he could see all things clearly. Baxter, the world’s most efficient secretary, had just parted company with him owing to a difference of opinion in respect of the former hurling flower pots at the window of the latter. He suspected he will have a tough time finding another secretary as capable as Baxter.
However, this melancholy was short-lived. Psmith had just joined him and had successfully managed to secure for himself the vacancy that had arisen. Even though Psmith had confessed to having no prior experience of being a secretary, what went in his favour was the self-confidence with which he proposed his candidature, the fact that he was a member of the Senior Conservative Club and that he was the son of Smith, the owner of the Corfby Hall, who had won a prize for tulips at the Shrewsbury Flower Show the year Lord Emsworth had won the prize for roses.
Psmith announced that he was about to be married to Ms Eve Halliday, probably the finest library-cataloguist in the United Kingdom.
‘She is a nice girl,’ said Lord Emsworth.
‘I quite agree with you.’
‘Congratulations are in order, my dear fellow, to both of you.’
‘I am extremely obliged,’ said Psmith. ‘But we are planning to go in for a slimmer, trimmer and smarter marriage, unlike one of those bigger and fatter marriages which take place elsewhere, like in Greece or India.’
‘Eh?’ said his lordship. ‘Is there anything which is causing any problem?’
Psmith patted the shoulder of his employer reassuringly. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘You might have heard of the Corona Virus which is catching up like wild fire across our planet these days.’
‘Cyrus….do you refer to George Cyrill Wellbeloved?’, enquired his lordship, shaking like an aspen. A dark cloud appeared to be casting a shadow on his visage.
‘No. I allude to a deadly virus which kicked off its journey in China and has rapidly spread across very many countries,’ responded Psmith. ‘It causes fever, cough and breathing difficulties. Human contact must be kept to a minimum to avoid its further spread.’
‘Do you think the Empress could contract this as well,’ cried his lordship, starting like a war horse at the sound of the bugle.
‘I would not venture a guess. Perhaps we need to consult a vet immediately.’
‘Let us do this right away,’ responded his lordship, peering sharply through his glasses. ‘The next Shropshire Show is not too far off, and we need to provide her all the protection she deserves.’
‘Absolutely’, said Psmith. ‘But allow me first to update you on the marriage plans without further delay.’
‘Marriage, eh? But who is marrying whom?’, queried his lordship.
‘Eve and I have plans of walking down the aisle pretty soon.’
‘Oh, yes, yes….quite, quite. Capital. Capital.’
‘As I said, we plan this to be a slimmer, trimmer and smarter affair. If you permit me, I wish to share some details with you.’
‘My dear fellow, you may do so quickly and then rush to arrange my meeting with an eminent vet.’
‘Obliged. We are working on a short video invite which would get delivered on the smart phones of our relatives and close friends. The invitation will request them to be available on their phones at the prescribed time. The marriage will take place only in the presence of our parents. The ceremony will be shown live to all invitees on their phones, thereby minimizing the chances of the virus becoming a contagion of sorts.’
Lord Emsworth drew himself up. But beneath the solemn friendliness of Psmith’s gaze hauteur was not easy to sustain. He sagged again, resigning to the situation.
‘So no wedding cake for all those invited?’ he commented dryly.
‘Far from it. To all those who are virtually present, we plan to send them return gifts comprising yoga manuals, some delectable chocolate figurines showing a marked likeness to the bride and the groom striking a Charleston pose and, of course, hand sanitizer tissues with which they might wipe all the contents before touching the same. If the epidemic is already under control by then, we would send them gift coupons from famous restaurants located in their city of residence. This way, the carbon footprint of our marriage would be minimal and we shall make a modest contribution towards protecting our near and dear ones from the kind of exotic viruses which Nature keeps unleashing upon us at frequent intervals. Nature is calling upon humanity to change its polluting lifestyles and we need to heed the same. When Nature starts healing itself, all of us shall benefit. Roses, hollyhocks and others of their ilk would be happier. Birds would chirp more merrily. Bees and butterflies would go about doing whatever they do with renewed enthusiasm. Blandings Castle would thus be a happier place.’
Lord Emsworth perked up. ‘A novel idea, my dear fellow,’ he said.
‘We do believe so. It would be a win-win situation because all would get a bird’s eye view of the ceremony, avoiding travel, free of security bottlenecks due to VVIP attendees, no fat charges for hiring large venues, minimizing catering and other incidental costs.’
‘But the warmth of personal contact would be missing, don’t you think?’ commented his lordship.
‘Yes. Many of us would be missing the back-slapping, bonhomie and networking which entails at a traditional wedding. But social distancing is the key idea these days. One has to make tough choices in tougher times.’
Eve passed by on the terrace below. Psmith waved at her. She waved back at both of them and continued with her stroll.
Psmith continued with his tirade.
‘There are many other benefits of a smarter marriage of this kind. One, parents are spared the trauma of plastic smiles they have to put on so they may appear to be fair and polite to all those who land up in flesh and blood. Two, one does not need to hire detectives so as to ensure that all valuables remain safe. Three, with lesser number of those who keep firing instructions at the bride and the groom, both breathe easy and enjoy the proceedings better. Four, elaborate arrangements invariably make our income tax sleuths sit up and take notice. Such obnoxious occurrences are best avoided.’
‘Income tax!’ cried Lord Emsworth. Income tax and pigs were the only two subjects which really stirred him. ‘Let me tell you that the more you speak of a marriage of this kind, better sense you appear to make. Do please go ahead with your commendable plans. I hope you have drawn these up in consultation with Ms Halliday!’
‘Yes, indeed. Many of these happen to be her ideas,’ said Psmith graciously.
‘God bless you both.’
‘Permit me also to point out that under such circumstances when close encounters with others are best avoided, you could even exercise the option of cancelling the August Bank Holiday this year.’
‘Oh, that would be nice, indeed. The invaders would then not be able to trample over my flower beds, and I do not have to wear stiff collars and make infernal speeches!’
‘I thought you might like the idea,’ said Psmith.
‘Er, now about that vet…..’
‘Yes. I am just rushing off to enable a meeting of the kind desired by you. Meanwhile, may I suggest that you persuade Ms Monica Simmons to keep a strict watch on the Empress’ diet? Any large deviation therein could indicate her indisposition. If you consider it proper, you may even spread a rumour about her having attracted a contagious disease. This would keep pig-stealers of all hues, sizes and shapes under check for some time.’
‘Splendid. I shall attend to it right away’, said his lordship.
With a slight bow, Psmith withdrew.
(With due apologies to Plum; Inspired by https://ashokbhatia.wordpress.com/2020/03/20/jeeves-deals-with-croronavirus-guest-post-by-eduardo-garcia)
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