Work Text:
Bertie Wooster Takes the Plunge TITLE: Bertie Wooster Takes the Plunge
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Belongs to P.G. Wodehouse and so forth and so on.
NOTES: A ficlet for Adbaculum--unfortunately, I cannot drabble Jeeves and Wooster. Bertie objects to having his lines cut down to that extent. Apologies for mistakes; I had no beta and no spell check. : ( (Also, being at work limited my ability to research the life and times and all that.) ETA: Thank you to Cara Chapel for a couple of important corrections.
SUMMARY: Bertie gets stuck in a laundry chute and it's up to Jeeves to extricate him.
It all happened when Aunt Dahlia had a laundry chute installed at Brinkley Court. I know, it sounds ridiculous--what would Aunt Dahlia want with a laundry chute? But Anatole seen one somewhere-or-other and got it in his head that it was a marvellous thing, and as everyone knows, Aunt Dahlia will go to great lengths to keep Anatole happy.
Now, I didn't expect to have anything to do with the laundry chute. She'd shown it to me, of course, in passing, but it's hardly the sort of thing to keep a man's attention.
I wouldn't have had any dealings with the thing at all if it hadn't been for that blasted green trilby. It's quite true that the thing was hideous, even if I say so myself, but I'd won nearly fifty quid at the Cambridgshire wearing it, and it was quite plain the thing was the luckiest article of clothing ever to grace my head.
Unfortunately, Jeeves is quite immune to miracles wrought by sartorial serendipity. When I pulled the thing out and set it on my head at a jaunty angle on that first day visiting Brinkley, I thought the man was going to fall over. He went white as a sheet and made a fish face at me for several moments--really, valets these days. So delicate.
"Sir," he said, in his most taken-aback voice, "if you would be so kind, you have a bit of mildew on your head. Here, just let me brush it off."
"Nonsense, Jeeves," I said firmly. "This is my luckiest hat, and on my noggin it shall stay." I swept from the room grandly, knowing to stay in Jeeves' sight would only allow the man more time to scheme to get the thing off my head and into the nearest garbage bin. No, retreat was the better part of valour.
Jeeves was hot on my heels, though, his brain cooking furiously. "If you'd only let me take it to have the brim re-shaped," he said silkily, but I brushed off his attempt at underhanded hat-theivery.
"Absolutely not. First it would be, 'I'm sure they'll have it ready very soon, sir,' then 'I took it in days ago, I don't know what's keeping them,' then it would turn to, 'I'm afraid the hatter's lost your trilby, sir. It's a tragedy, yes, but you have the spirit to endure.' No, Jeeves; I know that trick."
Jeeves sighed. "Well, perhaps I might clean it for you?"
"What if you cleaned all the luck out of it?"
"I assure you, sir--"
"No, this hat shall not leave Brinkley Court unless it is on my head."
Jeeves smiled crisply at my shoulder. "I'm sure we could arranged to have it cleaned in situ, should you be unbending on this point," he said.
"Really?"
Before I could utter another word, Jeeves had whipped the thing off my head, leaving my bewildered curls bobbing forlornly. Then the man tossed the thing down the laundry chute without another word.
"Jeeves!" I yelped.
"Yes, sir?"
"Jeeves!"
"You seem to be rather excited, sir. Perhaps I should mix you a drink."
I was not to be distracted. "You threw my hat down the laundry chute! Of course I'm excited! One might almost say I was dismayed! I am indeed, you know! I'm jolly dismayed at you!"
"I'm sorry, sir. I thought that was the purpose of the chute."
"What if someone throws something down atop it and it gets crushed?"
"It can hardly make a difference to the shape of that hat, sir."
"What a dastardly--!" There was nothing for it. I threw myself into the chute after the hat and stuck halfway.
"Sir?"
"Jeeves!"
"Sir?"
"Jeeves, blast it--I'm wedged!"
"What was that, sir? I'm afraid I can't comprehend you. You seem to be wedged in the laundry chute."
"GET ME OUT!"
Jeeves tugged at my legs in a rather perfunctory way, in my opinion, and announced me well and truly inextricable. "I'm sorry, sir," he said. "But you really shouldn't have leapt head-first into the chute."
"You think I might have done better legs down?"
"No, sir. I mean the chute is primarily for laundry. It isn't meant to accommadate a man of your size."
"Well, blast it, is there nothing you can do?"
"I'm certain there would be no way to pull you back up again," he said soberly.
I began to panic. If even Jeeves' towering intellect couldn't extract me, what hope was left? "Oh, god! I'm going to die stuffed in a laundry chute like an incredibly large wad of Uncle Tom's socks. This is intolerable! A Wooster should not succumb to such a thing! What an undignified way to leave this world!" My blood began to bubble as fear flooded me. Stuffed like a Christmas goose! I started to have trouble breathing, gulping down each gasp of air as if it were my last.
Jeeves sighed. "I'm afraid, sir, that even if you did make it down the chute, it would completely flatten your prized trilby."
"Damn the trilby, Jeeves!" I howled. "Damn all the trilbies ever made! A hat is an awfully small price to pay for one's life, you know."
"Indeed," Jeeves said seriously.
A booming voice was making its way up the corridor, describing the strategies employed at baccarat. "Jeeves!" I hissed. "It's Aunt Dahlia."
"She does have an unmistakable voice, sir."
"If she catches me like this, I'm in for it." I wiggled my legs feebly, but nothing happened.
"That's probable, sir."
"She'll take my dinner priveledges away," I said glumly. To come all the way to Brinkley and miss one of Anatole's dinners! The thought wasn't to be borne. "Do something, Jeeves," I pleaded.
Jeeves took a deep breath. "Very well sir, but if you should land on that hat, I want your solemn word that you will not try to revive the thing."
I whimpered and squirmed, but alas, sometimes being a man--and a Wooster--means making sacrifices. "Oh, very well, Jeeves. Now work your magic, would you?"
"Yes, sir."
There was a moment of silence, and I wasn't sure Jeeves hadn't left, but then there was a hand on my bum. "J--Jeeves?" I choked.
"It's the only way, sir. Sometimes liberties have to be taken."
A pair of surprisingly skilled fingers pinched one of my cheeks. I yelped, flailing, and unwedged myself to fall, howling, down to the laundry basket awaiting me one floor below. Still squawking at intervals, I twisted round until I could fish out the tribly trapped beneath me. I had, at some point, put a foot straight through the crown. I looked at it sadly until Jeeves shimmered in, looking serene.
"Well? What's the verdict?"
"Your aunt asked, as I passed her in the hall, why you were making, and I quote, 'such an awful racket.' I informed her you had taken up yodeling. She requests that you cease the hobby."
"Very well. At least she didn't catch me, nether ends protruding from a hole in the wall," I said, endevoring to get to my feet. Jeeves assisted. He also removed a rather shocking lace pair of undergarments from atop my head. "Oops," I said, feeling my face heat.
Jeeves smiled a little. "I still prefer them to the trilby," he informed me gravely. "A pale pink quite suits you, sir."
I tilted my head and, after a few moments to get up the courage, leaned forward and gave Jeeves a kiss. "There," I said.
He raised his eye brows. "Sir?"
"Sometimes liberites have to be taken."
Jeeves smiled slightly. "The hat, sir?" he said, holding out a hand.
"Understood." I handed him the remains of my hat and asked that he find a suitable way of memorializing them. "I still want to keep the thing, even if I can't wear it."
"Sir?" he said, looking at the battered, fallen soldier who had given his all at the call of duty.
I touched the felt with some affection, thinking about the events of the day. "It is, after all, my lucky hat."