Geoffrey shook Sir Charles’s hand politely like a pupil meeting his master.
‘Now, Geoffrey, in accordance with the rules of the Guild of Plumbers and Dunnakin Divers you need to wash your hands, and I shall do the same.’ Sir Charles pointed to a long line of shiny sinks along one wall, many in constant use as one plumber greeted another. The air had the deliciously sharp smell of lye soap.
Ablutions completed, Sir Charles then led Geoffrey and Grand-mama into a lounge where a number of other gentlemen were seated together in small groups.
‘Sir Charles,’ said Geoffrey. ‘Do you mind if I ask whether you like having the name of Lavatory?’
For a moment the hubbub of noise from conversations around them fell silent as the whole room listened. Every eye was watching Sir Charles, whose face was at first blank and then all smiles.
‘What an excellent question!’ he cried. ‘To tell you the truth, young man, as you may expect, I was teased a lot when I went to school, but as they say, that which does not kill you makes you stronger. And so, as soon as I could, with the help of my late father, I set to work to make the Lavatory the marble marvel of the age and a boon and blessing to all mankind. I can truly say that I have ended up flushed with pride, now knowing that the name is associated with satisfaction and ease.’ To his surprise, Geoffrey saw a small tear form in the corner of Sir Charles’s eye as he continued: ‘There are times of an evening when I go down to the workshops, all silent, and look at the work that’s going on on this year’s model, with the seat-warmer and the patented straining bars, and I can’t help thinking that I’ve done my best for mankind. I wonder how many men with hands cleaner than mine can say that.’
Every seat in the house was vacated as the plumbers got to their feet and clapped their scrupulously clean hands together until the echoes piled up. When it had all died away and conversations around the room restarted, Sir Charles took Geoffrey by the hand and said, ‘Now, come with me, Geoffrey, there is someone here whom I know you would like to meet and who, I think, would very much like to meet you as well.’
They walked into the large dining room which was filled with tables laid ready for lunch. Already sitting at one was a large, red-faced man with short, wiry grey hair and a grizzled beard. Geoffrey couldn’t help noticing the big golden rings on every finger and the large golden chain around his neck. ‘I’d like to introduce you, young man, to Sir Harry King,’ said Sir Charles.
Geoffrey was speechless with delight and awe.
‘It’s not like you to have nothing to say,’ said Grand-mama, chivvying him forward. ‘I must tell you, Sir Harry, Geoffrey has a very keen interest in something dear to your heart, that is to say, muck in all its various ramifications.’
‘Then come and sit beside me, young Geoffrey, and tell me all about it,’ said Sir Harry, in a gruff voice. Sir Harry was a man with daughters and granddaughters, none of whom really wanted to know anything about the source of the family fortune that they enjoyed.
‘Well,’ began Geoffrey, ‘I am very interested in poo and I’ve got this museum in Grand-mama’s garden with thirty-seven different sorts of poo and I’m trying to collect specimens from every animal in the world so that people will come and visit and they’ll be able to see rare and unusual poo.’
‘Well,’ said Sir Harry, ‘I am so pleased to find a young man like you keen to make his way in the world, seeing that so many young men are skivers and slackers. But I have to tell you, Geoffrey, that I’m not sure there’s a living to be made out of simply collecting poo samples. I made my money in the bulk market by collecting poo from people who simply wanted to get rid of it – even paid me to take it away – and then selling it on to other people who could find a use for it.’
‘Do you collect from the Royal College of Heralds?’
‘I expect so,’ said Sir Harry, who had an instinct for when a question was more than just a polite enquiry. ‘Was there something in particular you wanted?’
‘Well, I need wyvern poo and hippo poo. Mister Pontoon said that only sirs and lords and nobs can get in there, and sometimes the vet is allowed in when they need help with the wyvern.’
‘I think I can help you there,’ said Sir Harry with a smile. ‘In fact, I have an appointment to visit them this afternoon to discuss my coat of arms. And if your Grand-mama allows it, you could always come with me.’ He winked at Grand-mama.
‘May I go, Grand-mama, may I?’ asked Geoffrey. ‘Please? Please? Please?’
‘If you promise to behave yourself and do what Sir Harry tells you and not bother the staff too much, then I think it would be fine.’
At this point large tureens of soup were brought to the table, shaped very much like outsize chamber pots emblazoned with the guild’s coat of arms. For the first time Geoffrey looked properly around the room. A large sideboard ran along one wall with great silver candlesticks and buckets and strange-shaped bowls and platters laid upon it. More pictures of serious men with forbidding beards lined the wall and there was a list of names painted in gold paint under the heading ‘Presidents of the Guild’.
A magnificent pie, that was served in a very deep dish reminiscent of a bucket, with lots of good gravy, followed the soup. But for Geoffrey the real treat was a huge trifle, just like Cook made, but presented here in a crystal glass dish modelled on one of Sir Charles’s recent creations.
‘Now, Geoffrey, before you go off with Sir Harry,’ Grand-mama warned, ‘I think you ought to visit the cloakroom.’ Geoffrey went in the direction indicated and found a large mahogany door with brass handles and a sign saying ‘Gentlemen’. Inside, shining white tiles covered the walls, floor and ceiling. Geoffrey felt as though he were in a giant upturned sink. A row of hand-basins decorated with flowers ran along one wall, and opposite them stood a row of cubicles. Inside these were water closets grander even than Grand-mama’s, with huge brass cisterns above flowery china bowls and polished copper pipes.
Geoffrey washed his hands with the soap provided, noticing that even that had the guild coat of arms on it, then dried them on the spotless white fluffy towel.
‘That’s a very grand cloakroom,’ he said to Sir Harry as he emerged.
‘I’ll tell you this, young man,’ said Sir Harry. ‘The men who do the dirtiest jobs are always the cleanest whenever that is possible, and it is only right they should have the very best for themselves.’
‘Goodness!’ said Geoffrey. ‘I expect that means that you must have an even grander cloakroom.’
‘Personally, I’m not too worried,’ said Harry, ‘but Lady King has what she calls her en suites and I’m not allowed in the house without walking through a tray of disinfectant. Now, it’s coming up to the time of my appointment at the Royal Coll
ege of Heralds,’ he said, turning to Grand-mama. ‘I’ll drop your boy home when we’re done, if that’s all right, ma’am. It’s just around the corner from you.’
They travelled in Sir Harry’s coach, which was painted a dark and glossy green with the letters H and K in shiny gold leaf on the doors. Fortunately for Geoffrey there was enough ventilation for him to escape the very worst of Harry King’s very large cigar.2
As they turned the corner by the Palace Sir Harry remarked, ‘See that, Geoffrey? My lads collect not far short of a tonne a week there. Not much paperwork to speak of because his lordship expects his employees to bring their own – and he expects me to do the collecting pro bono.’