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I had realised very early on that today was going to be a day that I dread.
Mr Wooster was quite urgently called to Brinkley Court by his cousin Angela for help with her troubles with her fiancé, so I was staying in my designated quarters. Ordinarily I would have had to share a room with another servant, as servants quarters usually house many in country manors such as Ms Travers’, but Ms Travors had given me a single personal room shortly after I came into Mr Wooster’s employ. I could only thank her, as my own personal space makes these visits less draining on my person, and in turn, Mr Wooster’s.
I awoke at five, as is my usual time, but I found myself unable to stand and dress myself. I wanted to do little but stay in my bed and read a book all day, but again I found no energy to go stand and grab the book of Spinoza in my valise. So instead I stared at the door of my room, watching as shadows of movement danced behind my door. The house was waking, and I should have too.
I knew I could be afforded this luxury, as Mr Wooster rarely wakes before ten, even at Brinkley Court, but as a valet I should always be ready for him to ring his bell and request my aid, no matter the time.
I stared at the door for what seemed like hours, but was more likely only a few minutes, my mind unwilling, stuck in the sluggishness of the first few moments of awakening. That same sluggishness followed my feet as I slid them to the floor, a heavy feeling of sickness settling in my throat.
The sluggishness of my mind did not wear off after standing, and I found that the water pressure in my room was not as it should. It was still usable for my shower, but I still felt unclean under my valeting uniform. I could not help but wash my hands after dressing.
My day did not get better when I left my room. I still only wanted to lay in bed and read, but I was already up, and needed to be. I had made my way into the gardens to watch the sun rise at six, as I am given the liberty to at Brinkley Court. I pulled my cigarettes from my inner pocket, sighing while I took the last one from the case. Today would be an even more difficult day than I had previously realised. At least the weather was pleasant, the breeze just weak enough to not steal my warmth, but strong enough to cause the pleasant sound of the wind through the leaves.
The cigarette did not dissipate the sickness lodged in my throat, much to my dismay. I stamped the cigarette under my heel, and turned to the servant’s quarters for a coffee and breakfast.
I was not expecting that after three bites of my breakfast, that my stomach would lurch so painfully I would bite my tongue to muffle a gasp. I found myself excusing myself from the table, rushing to my personal quarters to expunge my stomach contents in the toilet.
I could feel my sang froid shattering, and it was barely past sunrise.
I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to be dealing with the day ahead of me with both an empty stomach and without the aid of cigarettes to calm my struck nerves, and I longed for nightfall, just so I can be under my bed sheets once more.
When I exited my chambers, I had run into a footman, a young boy by the name of Sebastian, who seems to forget things as soon as they leave his vision, no matter how simple. I once saw him place down a set of keys to the wine cellar, only to turn around and forget where he put them.
Or more specifically, Sebastian had run into me. He profusely apologised, as he is still a pleasant boy to be around, even with his shortcomings, but I was not currently pleasant company to be around today. I closed my eyes and prayed that I could get through the day.
He had explained that he had put down a book that he was reading early this morning and proceeded to forget its whereabouts. It was ‘not a book to be reading in pleasant company, Mr. Jeeves,’ and had asked for my help in finding it.
I had no choice in the matter, as he phrased his plea much in the same way that Mr. Wooster’s friends do, where it is phrased much like an order rather than a question. If I was in better spirits I might have had a pleasant conversation with him regarding his reading, but I found that if I had opened my mouth, I would not be able to stop the scathing remarks currently being formed in my head.
His book was left in his servant quarters, and the news of its location angered me much more than what would have been proper. It burned under my skin, hot and itching.
After the book, Ms. Travers required my presence, to once again try to drag Mr. Wooster into another scheme before our departure in the late afternoon, regarding Angela’s suspicions regarding her fiance, who was one of Mr. Wooster’s friends. I held my tongue, for I was far too close to simply snapping and locking myself away for the remainder of the trip.
If I was more quiet and reserved than what was usual, she made no comment. She did ask me to assist with serving breakfast before I tended to Mr. Wooster, in the same way that all of his friends and relations speak to me.
But I am a valet, it is my job to answer to orders from the upper classes, I chanted to myself during breakfast, grateful for the fact that I was to be nothing more than a piece of the furniture, invisible to the people breakfasting until I am called upon, as I felt if another pair of eyes would fall upon my person, I would burst into flames.
After clearing the table from breakfast, I had a little over an hour until Mr. Wooster was likely to wake, where I would have to explain to him the boon that his aunt had requested of us.
I finally had more time to myself before I had to make the tea for Mr. Wooster, and I took this time to slink back into my quarters. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror, grasping the edge of the sink with strength I didn’t know I possessed, so sluggish and tired and ill I felt. I didn’t want to gaze at myself in the mirror, for I would notice many things that I knew were wrong, as I already felt them on my person under my skin.
I could feel my tired eyes, the type of tiredness that makes your eyes hurt so vividly you swear that they are bleeding. With each swallow, the uncomfortable lump in my throat makes itself known, and the pangs of hunger in my stomach smarts so severely but I can not stomach a morsel. My hands painfully dry.
I splash my face with the cool water from the tap, planning on making another coffee before making Mr. Wooster’s tea. Surely the coffee will make the day at least somewhat bearable.
I was stopped by one Angela Travers, Mr. Wooster’s cousin. I prayed for the ground to simply swallow me whole.
“Ah, Jeeves! Just the person I needed to see. Look,” She stood on her toes to gaze down the hall, before leaning in close, “Hildebrand is being a complete fathead, and I don’t know why. He’s being an insensitive ass and I need Bertie, and well, you I suppose, to figure out what the deal is.”
“Indeed, madam?” I held my tongue at what I truly wanted to say to her.
“I know you two are leaving this afternoon, but if you two don’t sort this out I’m going to have to try to make him jealous by calling off the engagement and marrying Bertie.”
I grit my teeth before affirming to her that I would sort it out before we left. It seemed to be the same problem troubling Ms. Travers. That was at least a small victory for the day.
While I was making the pot of tea for Mr. Wooster, I noted with disdain that my hands would not cease shaking. I must really be at the end of my tether, and it was barely ten. I prayed that Mr. Wooster would not notice my unseemly appearance, but Mr. Wooster has a way to always read me like an open book, no matter how hard I try to appear closed off.
I dreaded serving him his morning tea.
He was stirring awake as I entered the room, placing his tray of tea in front of him. I was about to tell him the weather when I felt his intense stare on my person.
“I say, Jeeves. You aren’t looking your best, old thing.” His face was etched in deep concern and worry, and I found myself unable to meet his gaze, “Maybe you should take the day off, what?”
“Thank you sir, I will be better directly.”
Mr. Wooster did not seem convinced, wearing that dumb look of despair I am awfully fond of. It may be no secret to the reader that I am awfully fond of Mr. Wooster, even as wholly improper and illegal those thoughts are.
“If you say so, Jeeves.” He took a sip of his tea, “I say, that’s wonderful… what does the day, and the household, bring, Jeeves?”
I opened the curtains, willing my hands to cease their shaking, “the day is pleasant, with a slight breeze and clear skies. Your cousin Angela wishes for some assistance regarding her fiance before we depart in the afternoon.”
“Ah, old Tuppy being himself again, what?”
“It appears so, sir. She noted that he has been quite insensitive these past days, and requested our help in the matter.”
Mr. Wooster smiled, “Well, after my soak, perhaps we should talk to Tuppy, what? And Jeeves?”
I took his tea tray, not being able to meet his gaze, “…Sir?”
“Take care of yourself, old thing.”
“…I will be better directly, sir.”
By early afternoon, the problem was fixed between Mr. Wooster’s cousin and her fiance, but it took a considerable toll on my already poor health for the day. What felt worse is that every time Mr. Wooster would look in my direction, he would have such a deep look of concern etched onto his features.
I was expecting the train ride from Brinkley Court to London to be uneventful, as it always is. I was not expecting the interrogation by Mr. Wooster about my health.
I should have expected it, however. Mr. Wooster is well trained in reading my expressions of emotions.
“Jeeves, I do wish you would tell me what the problem is.”
“I could not say, sir.”
“Would not, is more like.” Mr. Wooster mumbled into his book, “Really Jeeves, I know you’re bound by the feudal spirit or what have you, but please, talk to the young master about what ails you.” He looked out the window, with a solemn expression on his face, “It wounds me to see you like this, Jeeves.”
I stared into my own book, ruminating. Truth be told I did not think about why I awoke with the gnawing feeling to not face the day, and I could not explain it. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes.
“I shall be better directly, sir.”
“…Jeeves—“ he sighed.
“I said, I shall be better directly.”
We did not speak the entire train ride home, or during the cab ride to the flat. How I longed for a cigarette to calm my nerves, for a meal that I could stomach, to simply be home and in my bed so this freakish day would end.
I was in the middle of unpacking Mr. Wooster’s things, while he played the piano, when the doorbell rang with such ferocity that I knew the problem that Mr. Wooster’s friends bring will be what breaks me tonight.
I opened the door to Mr. Little, who stormed in and immediately started shouting, cutting off Mr. Wooster from speaking.
I simply could not take it anymore. My skin burned and itched, like painful pins and needles, my head screamed, my hands shook so much I had to dig my nails into my palms to get them to stop. I could feel bile rising in my throat, even though I had not eaten or drank anything since this morning. My eyes stung, my vision swimming. I locked eyes with Mr. Wooster briefly before turning and heading into the kitchen before I crumbled in the sitting room. It would not be proper to do so in front of one’s employer, let alone in company.
I stumbled to the kitchen sink, finding myself gripping onto its lip with white knuckles, leaning over and retching into it. I spat and coughed wetly, biting my other hand’s knuckles to stop Mr. Wooster and Mr. Little from hearing. My vision swam, so harshly I feared I would lose consciousness. I could not hold a breath. Blood pounded so loudly in my ears that I did not notice Mr. Wooster entering the kitchen until I felt his hand splayed on my back.
I continued to retch into the sink, vaguely feeling the hot wetness of tears running down my face. Mr. Wooster dabbed at the trails of tears with the handkerchief from his breast pocket, his other hand rubbing up and down my spine. Bile burned my throat, but only a mouthful was expelled from all my retching. I could not breathe.
Mr. Wooster held onto my wrists, turning mine in his hands so I rather gripped onto his arms instead of the sink, and took me to the chesterfield back in the sitting room, whispering to me all the while.
I pushed myself into the corner between the backrest and the arm of the chesterfield, pulling my legs up against my chest. I still could not hold a breath. My vision still swam dangerously, and I shook like a leaf in a storm.
I felt such weakness in my bones, and a gnawing feeling that I should not appear as so in front of one’s employer.
It took me a couple seconds before realising Mr. Wooster’s mouth was against my ear, his cheek against mine, his body wrapped around mine in embrace.
I could hear him clearly, despite the ringing and blood rushing in my ears.
“Come on, in and out. Come on, you can do it, Jeeves.”
“I— I—“
“Shh, shh. I’ve got you.”
Being surrounded by his warmth, his scent, his breath, it calmed me more than I expected. It still took some time to calm myself down, so worked up I was. Mr. Wooster still rubbed up and down my spine.
His presence was a comfort. I took a deep breath, still shaky from my exertions.
“S-Sir…” My throat was sore, my body exhausted.
“There you are, Jeeves. Gave me a real good scare, what? Feeling better?”
I buried my head in his shoulder, taking another shaking breath.
“I—“ I swallowed around the lump in my throat, “I apologise, s-sir. I—I shall…” I was startled by Mr. Wooster resting his forehead against mine, cupping my cheek.
“What are you bally well apologising for, old thing? You’ve done nothing wrong.” He rubbed the underside of my eye, “Don’t give me the stuffed frog look, because the young master is not blind. Today’s been bally awful on you, Jeeves.”
I swallowed again, sighing. I would have to be honest with him, as much as I wished to simply rise to my feet, apologise, and find a mindless task to complete. I was sure the dusting could have been done.
“When… When I woke up this morning I felt like I could not leave… and felt ill when I had to… I—“ I squeezed my eyes shut, “I could not stomach breakfast and struggled to get through the morning.”
“Oh, you poor, poor thing. Is the young master being too harsh on you?”
“No, sir. I find my work extremely fulfilling. I just… I—I can not explain what occurred today. I have never felt such raw emotion before. I… I felt as if everything was buzzing under my skin… I tried to not break down in front of you, but I could not.”
Mr. Wooster ran his fingers through my hair, spreading the brilliantine down my neck, “You’ve seen me at my worst, Jeeves. I think it’s rather fair for me to see you at yours, what?”
I exhaled shakily, wrapping my arms around my employer. I could not help but feel restless over the impropriety. I pressed my face in the crook of his neck, trembling.
“Come now, lay down with me, Jeeves.” He attempted to pull me to lay on the chesterfield.
“There… there is work I need to—“
“You aren’t working right now Jeeves, you’re as tense as a whatsit under the young master’s hands. You’re dismissed for the evening.”
I nodded, reluctant to leave my chores but I knew that Mr. Wooster would not be deterred. I found myself sandwiched between the back of the chesterfield and Mr. Wooster, his thin body pressed up against mine. It sent a fission through me. I prayed that he did not notice.
He pressed his own cheek against mine, “Is this alright, Jeeves?”
“Very much so, sir.”
I felt him smile, “Jolly good.”
My exhaustion seeped out of my bones, and I struggled to keep my eyes open.
“I… I should retire to my own quarters, sir.”
Mr. Wooster scoffed, “What rot. No, I would much prefer it if I kept an eye on you, what? I will not stand for it.”
“…Very good, sir.” I sighed.
“Oh, drop the stuffed frog for a mo, what? I just, you gave me an awful fright, Jeeves. I’ve never seen you so rattled. I worry, you know.” He cupped my jaw, rubbing circles.
“…My apologies, sir.”
Mr. Wooster nuzzled his nose into my cheek, “Would you like some tea, old thing? I’m aware it probably will not be any good, for I can’t seem to make anything in the kitchen if you biffed me over the head with the instructions, but you surely need something in your system, what?”
He went to pull himself away from me, and I found myself gripping his waist. I peeled my eyes open to see the look of concern etched across his features.
“Jeeves?”
I sat up then, I was aware that I still looked quite ill, but I felt that I had to do what I was burning for else I simply wither away where I sat.
I cupped his own cheek with my trembling hand, and pulled him down into a kiss. His hands quickly cupped my face, and he smiled against my lips.
“…oh you’re so…” he mumbled into the kiss, playing with the hair at the nape of my neck.
It felt like an eternity but still not long enough when I pulled back for air.
“Finally…” Mr. Wooster whispered into my neck, “Do you even know how long I’ve been pining like a tree for you?”
I could not help my smile, “Perhaps as long as I have, sir.”
“Not sir, not now.” Mr. Wooster —no, not Mr. Wooster, not anymore— frowned.
I took in a sharp breath, “…Bertram.” I wrapped my arms around his waist, and a wave of exhaustion settled deep in my soul. I let my head fall onto his shoulder.
“Oh I say… Tired, old thing?”
I held him tighter, “Extremely.”
“Let’s head to bed then, Jeeves. Just for a little while, before we strap on the old nosebag, what?”
“Certainly, s— Bertram.”
Bertram led me to his bedroom, undressing himself down to his shirtsleeves and taking off his shoes. I did the same, before laying down over his bedclothes. Bertram left for just a moment, mumbling that he would return.
I closed my eyes and felt the sluggishness in my body drip away.
“Comfortable, what?”
I hummed in agreement, feeling a cold glass pressed into my hand. I opened my eyes to Bertram’s bright smile, and I felt myself longing to see it every time I did so.
“I thought you might want a drink, old thing.”
“Thank you.”
I sat up to sip at the water, sighing as it soothed my sore throat. Bertram slipped next to me, holding one of his mystery books.
“I’ll just lay here and read while you have a little kip, what? I’ll wake you in an hour or two.”
I shuffled over, resting my head against his lap. He smiled, petting my head like one does a housecat.
“I’ll be here, Jeeves.”
I trusted that he always would be.