Chapter Text
Bertie
It was the end of the whole Gussie-Madeline-Angela-Tuppy tangle, and the young master was tired, half frozen through, and on the downswing from being nigh incensed. Only the relief that I felt upon the occasion of my own engagement to Madeline Bassett having been decidedly called off saved me from saying something regrettable in re. thunderstorms and lengthy bicycle rides. “Your methods, Jeeves, are rather hard,” I remarked piquédly all the same, shivering into my dressing gown and from thence into my hot bath.
I watched as Jeeves turned back the duvet for me and meticulously straightened the sheets, plumping up the pillows in preparation to receive and gently cradle the old onion. It was a routine that had come to signal the most intimate safety to me. I soon found I didn’t have it in me to be angry about the drenching I had taken, admiring rather the deft turn of his hands and the even deft-er turn of Jeevesian intellect which had saved me from the jolly pickle I had put us all in. A wave of leaden exhaustion was rising over me, and I lay my head back, letting my eyes fall shut.
“Not too hard, I hope,” Jeeves said quietly after a time.
I struggled out of the beckoning arms of sleep, having quite forgotten the subject of the conversation at hand. “What?”
“My methods,” Jeeves clarified smoothly. “I hope they were not too hard.”
The poor man looked positively anxious; he was absently polishing, turning over, and repolishing again the same spot on my discarded loafer, which was quite the show, given that Jeeves generally gives away no more emotion than a stuffed frog. I must have looked a sight, to put him in such a state. I tried for a wan smile.
“Not so hard,” I agreed. “You needn’t look so daunted, Jeeves. I’m only tired and a little chilled.”
“I am sorry,” he said. “Though it did expedite my plan, I confess I did not anticipate the volume nor the fervor of the rain.”
“No, it’s probably served me right,” I said. I was aiming for cheerful flippancy, but my heart wasn’t fully in it. The c. f. became a little brittle and the voice wobbled. “I made quite the muddle of things. A good dousing every time I’m wrong will go a long way toward stopping me from putting my foot in every time I think I've brained up a good scheme. Remind me to defer to your wisdom in the future, Jeeves.”
Jeeves frowned abstractedly. “Very good, sir,” he said in that way he has when he doesn’t like what I’ve said and the feudal spirit is only just preventing him from telling me so.
“What is it? No, I know that look. Out with it, Jeeves.”
Jeeves hesitated, then said very gently, “It seems to me that you were far from the only person to ‘make a muddle of things’ as you say, and that in fact Mr. Glossop, Mrs. Travers, Miss Travers, Miss Bassett, and Mr. Fink-Nottle had quite thoroughly muddled their own affairs well before we arrived at Brinkley Court. And while your plans may have been ill-conceived, it is also true that even I cannot anticipate all the outcomes of some course of action until it is in fact undertaken.” He put my shoe neatly at the end of my bed and started on the next one.
And here I thought he would take the opportunity to tell me again how right he’d been and how I ought to listen to all of his opinions in the future. “Jeeves, if you are going to start saying rotten things about my friends and relations just to try and cheer me up, I…” I swallowed around a lump of cheerful flippancy stuck in my throat. “Well, I’d like a warning first.”
“I apologize if I spoke out of turn, sir.”
If he had indeed been trying to make me feel better, it was a valiant attempt, but instead I found myself crumbling. I stood up suddenly, sloshing water in my haste. “Leave off that. I’d like to go to bed now.”
He put down the polishing cloth at once. “Of course, sir.” Taking my arm, he helped me out of the bath. “Are you quite well, sir?” he asked, no doubt noting the tremors that continued to march up and down the Wooster corpus like an invading army.
“I want to go to bed,” I said plaintively by way of answering, and my man got me swiftly installed therein forthwith.
He shimmered away and returned with a worried frown and a hot water bottle and pressed a hand to the y. m.’s weary brow. “I recommend that you get some rest,” he said quietly. “I have overheard some gossip downstairs indicating that Mrs. Travers intends upon the morrow to petition Mr. Travers for the funds to publish a second women’s magazine, and I think it would be expedient if we were to, at the earliest possible convenience, take the car back to London.”
“Right-ho, Jeeves,” I mumbled, working at getting myself thoroughly cocooned. The invading army was winning the match, the set, the battle, and the war.
“I will make the arrangements,” said Jeeves, frightfully efficient as ever. He really is the best valet I have ever known. The thought creeps in quietly that he might be the best person I have ever known. His prodigious intellect never fails to inspire, or to arrange all according to his judgment, which is impeccable, and on top of that he has the patience of a saint, to accept my silly whims most of the time.
I watched sleepily as he flitted about, packing things into suitcases. (Normally when we had to flee the scene in such a hurry I might offer to help with the packing, but I rather felt I had paid my dues and then some with the bicycle business.) There was a sort of fluid beauty to his movements. It might surprise you to hear me say it, but in fact, much about Jeeves is beautiful. The perfectly-formed hands: delicate, strong, and perfectly steady as they smoothed out the creases in my dinner jacket. The full lips, frequently pursed with their distinguishing cupid’s bow. He isn’t showy, but he is just a little bit vain, I think, and he likes to keep himself neatly pulled together. He is always one powerful line of motion or of stillness, the contours of his profile sketched as ably as those of any marble statue.
I had no right to think these things about him, not in the least after I had made such a bungled mess of things earlier. Not only was he my valet, but he already had the unenviable task of continually fishing me out of the soup. It was utterly unfair of me to presume anything more, even in the privacy of my own mind. But still, there I was.
My feelings toward the rougher sex were just one more bungled thing about me that no aged A. had ever managed to straighten out. I wished I could bring them before Jeeves and let him do it in the flick of a wrist, as simple as ironing out my trouser cuff. But of course, that wouldn’t do at all. I swallowed my shame and watched him set out the shaving brushes for the morrow, feeling fully the simple intimacy of every little motion until he turned and caught me staring.
“Sleep, sir,” he said pointedly.
I closed my eyes, but I did not sleep.
Jeeves
I kept my eye on Mr. Wooster as we extricated ourselves from Brinkley Court, worry and guilt gnawing quietly at my heart. He had taken the humbling I arranged for him rather harder than expected, and I was beginning to wonder whether I hadn’t miscalculated ever so slightly. I know what kind of man I am. From my youth, I have been proud of my intellectual abilities and prone to becoming overzealous in my scheming. I had felt my intellect challenged by Mr. Wooster’s unguarded remarks and responded in kind, allowing myself to indulge my Machiavellian inclinations more than was perhaps strictly appropriate. I only hoped I hadn’t taken the matter too far. For despite his unfortunate proclivities in clothing and his occasional flights of folly, Mr. Wooster is by far the best employer I have ever known. In all the time that I have served him, I have never known his good heart or his generous nature to falter. I have, indeed, stood at his side and watched as this kindness is at times taken advantage of by certain others, try as I might to guard him against such indiscretions. I have no desire to be counted among that ruthless number.
He was quiet on the journey home, seeming tired and lost in thought–not unusual, nor unexpected given our late night, but I was accustomed to hear him occasionally burst out with some clue as to what he was turning over in his mind: a sudden observation about the picturesqueness of the weather perhaps, or a query as to which was the correct definition of this adverb or the proper attribution of that poet.
When at last we reached the flat, he attempted to slink away, but I stopped him with a query about luncheon.
“Oh, no thanks, Jeeves,” he said.
“Do you have a lunch-time engagement, then?”
“Engagement!” Mr. Wooster shuddered. “Speak not the word, Jeeves! No, I’m afraid I'm still a little bit chilled.”
I frowned. “Should I call for a doctor, sir?”
“No, no, I'm not taking ill. Just not really in the mood.” He offered me a rueful smile. “I am knackered after all of that excitement. I think I’ll just take a lie down.”
“Very good, sir. Would you like a cup of tea, sir?”
“That's the ticket,” he said with some evident relief. He added a hurried, “Ah, Jeeves, you always know just what to do.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said doubtfully. It was unusual for me to be wholly in the dark when it came to my employer’s thoughts; I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character and have had much time to observe his habits. “Is there anything else–”
“That will be all, Jeeves,” he interrupted. I rather got the feeling of being shoved out the metaphorical door.
“Very good, sir.”
Very well. If I could not fish it out of him, I would have to come at the matter in a more round-about way.
While I pondered how best to proceed with such a delicate matter, I prepared the tea and laid it out on a tray for him. I took the liberty of adding a warm blanket to the arrangement, as Mr. Wooster had complained of a chill.
I had not yet come to any firm conclusion on how to continue my subtle investigations when I reopened the bedroom door; however, I found that a decision on that front was not yet needed. Mr. Wooster had fallen asleep in his chair, the long night having finally caught up with him.
I have cultivated a talent which I find very useful in my profession; that is, for moving about near-silently when I wish to. I covered the tray and set it down by his elbow, and my charge slept peacefully all the while. His head of light-colored curls lay back, haloed by the weak sunlight coming in from from the window, and he looked very young, with his expressive face softened by sleep and his willowy body all akimbo.
I am almost overcome, sometimes, with the strength of my affection towards him. He makes me understand why it was that Daedalus's son, equipped with wax-sealed wings, would choose to fly still higher, for hope of touching, even for a second, the fleeting rays of Apollo.
It is not to be, however, no matter how much his sprightly form and his sparkling wit endear him to me. In short, he is a bright young thing, and my employer, and it would be highly improper, even were it not illegal, to take what I so ardently desire.
I lay the blanket over his lap and he did not stir.
There is no danger of my ever doing something untoward. As I have said, I have no intention of being among those who abuse his kindness. It is enough to simply look, to be by his side. I know my place.