The Jeeves Around the Corner - 1/2
Title: The Jeeves Around the Corner (1/2)
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Pairing: Bertie Wooster/Reginald Jeeves
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Overcome with feelings for his perfectly perfect gentleman's gentleman, a lonely Bertram Wooster enjoys a correspondence with a like-minded soul. What happens when he falls in love with his pen pal?
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: Don't own a darn thing. I'm not Plum; I wouldn't have made the slash so obvious.
Author's Notes: First, I want to thank my beta, the talented and patient erynn999, whose help was invaluable. I appreciate it more than I could ever say. Any wonky grammar or spelling errors are mine and mine alone. Second, if the title sounds familiar...yes, it is based on "The Shop Around the Corner" and no, I'm not ashamed to admit it.
For your reading pleasure, I took the liberty of creating a songmix as well. You can stream it directly from my YouTube account:
Please enjoy!
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The Jeeves Around The Corner
There comes a time in every man’s life…well, actually, it’s probably not every man’s life. In fact, I’m sure it’s not, but rather there comes a time in certain men’s lives when they have to admit the honest truth about themselves. The truth in my case, at least, is that the young master had become enamored of his valet.
If you have been reading my memoirs, you already know about my man Jeeves. He is a paragon, a man amongst men. It had been well over three years since Jeeves arrived on the Wooster person’s doorstep, all bowler hat and restorative and gentle quirk of the mouth. Since that extraordinary moment in time, I had come to rely on his strength and wisdom, his soothing presence in my household, his quick wit, and dare I say it, stunning good looks. Some of the other men of my acquaintance have routinely asked me if it were a hardship to have a valet who was as attractive as Jeeves. Why, wouldn’t the girls all want to flock to him as some sort of flocking things? I breezily laughed at such talk, all the while keeping my desperate secret locked away from the world.
The Drones have accused me of being overly devoted to him, but they don’t see the life sustaining qualities that he gives me; the perfect cup of tea, the finely pressed trousers, the way he plucks me out of the soup on a regular basis. Most importantly, they did not know of my dreams at night, in which Jeeves would sweep into my room dressed in his shirtsleeves, gather me into his arms, and kiss me silly. Of course, I wouldn’t tell the Drones, or my aged relations, or Jeeves himself of these disastrous thoughts. If I were to lose Jeeves, it would be akin to cutting off young Bertram’s arms and asking him to row across the Thames.
It had got to the point to where I dreamed about him every night. In my heart, I even stopped calling him Jeeves. In my dreams, he was no longer my valet but my lover, and when he held me close, I called him Reg. Which was his name, of course. Not that Jeeves wasn’t, but…well, dash it. Calling him Reg just made everything seem more real. Even though it wasn’t.
The whole rummy sitch more or less came about because of young Stiffy Byng. No surprise, honestly, when you think of all the watery broths the female had dunked me into, what with pinched policeman’s helmets and the like. She had been going on and on about Stinker Pinker, former classmate, current cleric, and future husband of said Byng. She was gushing about her delirious love for old Stinker, which I personally found baffling but, nonetheless, she was smitten.
“Well, bally for you, old thing,” I said to her idly.
“Bertie, it’s not my fault that I’m happy and in love and you’re not. Really, you need to do something about that. You won’t always have Jeeves, you know.”
She was right. I couldn’t hold Jeeves against his will, or keep him permanently in my employ without a good reason. And alas, there wasn’t a good reason. There was nothing that I could say to Stiffy, or Jeeves, or my meddlesome aunts, or anyone else. Love for one’s valet is not something that a preux chevalier announces to the world. But I felt that I must let those feelings out somehow, and to that end, I devised a perfect scheme. This s. was very simple - I would place an advertisement in a particular publication that catered to invert lifestyles, looking for a pen pal confidante.
This p. p. was a gentleman’s weekly paper, which was published underground, and only available at certain bookshops by word of mouth. Since it was considered salacious material, it wasn’t something that was common knowledge. I was a devoted reader, although I burned the p. p. immediately after reading it so that the evidence would not be found.
The paper had a lonely-hearts section, as well as a “seeking” section. Usually it was for playmates or rendezvous, but at times one would see a person who was looking for friendship. I thought it would be nice to find someone who was like me, someone I could talk to honestly without fear of being found out, that I could pour the Wooster heart out to and not have to worry.
The advert read:
WANTED: Lonely man seeking a discreet fellow to discuss life with via post. Looking for friendship with an intelligent gentleman. Must love music and laughter. Must be interested in giving advice to the lovelorn, or the otherwise generally clueless. No names, please. Write in care of Box 25 at the printer and I will respond.
I allowed the ad to run for three weeks. In all that time, I did not receive a single response. I had given up hope, until I went to the printer the week after I allowed the advert to lapse and was told that I had a single letter in my box. Heartened, I took the s. l. back to my flat, hidden in my inner suit pocket.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Jeeves said as he smoothly took my coat and hat.
“What ho, Jeeves? I’m going to retire to my room for a few hours, old thing. Please don’t disturb me.”
“Very good, sir,” he replied.
I almost flew back to my room, and threw myself onto my bed, giddy and excited like a child on Christmas Day. I opened the envelope carefully, and found a neat, typewritten missive.
“Dear Friend“, it read, “I hesitated to write because this sort of relationship would be damaging to my career if it were found out. However, I, too, am lonely, and would like to foster a relationship with a likeminded gentleman. I do not wish to go into detail about my life, as we are attempting to be anonymous, but I can tell you that I am a great reader. I enjoy art, music, a finely cut suit, and well prepared food. I prefer the quiet life, however in my profession I am surrounded by gaiety and the electric life of the city. I am able to travel quite often, which I love to do. I am the soul of discretion, and would be pleased if you were to answer my letter.”
The letter ended with, “Your Friend”. No initial, no name. I decided to take it as a good omen.
I read the l. twice more. The old Wooster heart beat a little faster as I began to type.
“Hullo Friend,” I began, “Was chuffed to receive your letter. I am also a reader. I like mysteries and the occasional soupy romance, although a gentleman of my acquaintance reads almost everything else. I am sure that if” -- and here I had made the mistake of typing Jeeves, and had to find a hard gum eraser to blot it out -- “my friend has heard of it, I can discuss it with you.”
I wrote a few other things, small getting to know you things, and then ended with this: “I say, friend, what are your thoughts about life in general? Do you believe in destiny?” and signed it Y.F.
I sealed the envelope and hid the missive under my newest spine tingling mystery until such time that I could biff off to the printers’ and do my part for speedy delivery.
---
Before long, a pattern emerged. I received letters from my mystery gentleman caller every Thursday and Monday. I looked forward to these letters from m.m.g.c. almost as much as I looked forward to Jeeves waking me up in the morning. Jeeves, too, was looking rather rosy cheeked lately. In fact, the side of his mouth moved up a quarter of an inch on at least six separate occasions, and that was highly unusual. It almost looked at though he was imbibing the old b. and s. on a regular basis, however I knew that Jeeves would never do a thing while on duty, or at least not until after the dinner hour. Certainly not in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of the week.
“Jeeves, old fruit, are you happy?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I mean to say, you seem rather joyful lately. Are you drinking a new brand of tea? Did you find a soap capable of producing bubbles in hard water?”
“No, sir. I am merely cheered by your good nature.”
Seeing him so happy made me happy, and I wanted to tell him so. “Ah, I see. Jeeves, I just wanted to let you know that seeing you so happy makes Bertram happy as well. Carry on then.”
“Very good, sir.”
---
Dear Friend,
Today my employer is away for most of the afternoon, and I have an hour of free time on my hands. In the past, I would have read a book, but today I decided to write to you.
You mentioned that you like to read the “occasional soupy romance” as you put it. I do have a secret vice, and that is that I, too, read romance novels. I have made the acquaintance of a young woman who writes said novels, and I have every one of her works in my collection. I doubt you would enjoy them, as they are class-crossing romances, which appeal to me greatly for many reasons. I was nearly discovered by my employer as I had a few of them around my personal area, but I quickly deflected suspicion from myself and upon some ladies, and thankfully he did not see through the ruse.
You seem like a reasonable gentleman. Do you think that love can transcend the boundaries that society places upon people? Is it possible, for example, for an employer and his employee to find love and happiness?
Hello, my friend!
This is why I enjoy writing to you - because you are one of the few people in my life who considers me a reasonable gentleman.
My beloved friend reads the works of such female writers as Rosie M. Banks, that purveyor of mushy romantic rot. However, I snuck a peek at “Only A Factory Girl” - which seemed to be his personal favorite - and I must admit I was starry eyed and gape-mouthed. So much so that I biffed off to my local bookseller and purchased my own copy of “Only A Factory Girl”. I put a mystery dustcover over it, and have read it twice already.
Re: your questions: I do think that love can, as you put it, “transcend the boundaries placed upon people” if the two lovers did not care a whit about what society thinks about them. To grab hold of happiness is the most important thing that a cove can do with his life. ‘Carpet diem‘, what?
Dear friend,
I believe the term is ‘carpe diem’ - seize the day. You do so remind me of my employer at times…
---
My pen pal was fast becoming the person in whom I could confide in, for he was indeed extremely wise and capable. His knowledge of philosophy rivaled Jeeves’ and I found myself wanting to know everything about him. His favorite foods, his favorite song, if he had a favorite color or flower. I thought that the old Wooster heart was becoming as mushy as those Rosie M. Banks novels I had told him about, but I didn’t care. I only cared about what my pen pal thought of me, and I of him.
My only concern - problem, really - was that I wondered if I was turning my pen pal into a Jeeves substitute.
---
Dear Friend,
I had to write to tell you what happened to me a few weeks ago. I almost forgot, but I knew you would enjoy the sort of scrapes that I find myself in on a nearly daily basis.
It started with my relatives attempting to set me up with a female for the third time in as many months, a dog that may or may not have been the Hound that Arthur Conan Doyle had written of, my brain dead cousins, and of course, my devoted friend…
My dearest friend,
Your last letter put me in such a wonderful frame of mind! The stories you told about your and your friend‘s romantic problems were quite humorous. It rather reminded me of a situation that happened to an acquaintance of mine recently. I hope everything went according to plan, and that the advice given to you by your trusted friend worked well.
I often think of you. I have a happy life, I am very content with my world as it stands. I am able to retire on my own to read whatever books I wish, free to go and do as I desire. My employer is a very kind individual and I enjoy working with him. However, there are times when I am left to my own devices and I am curious if you, too, are enjoying the sunshine, a picnic in the park, a walk in your nearest garden…
I feel I should confess to you that my relationship with my employer is complicated. In fact, it is he that I have feelings for. Does this change how you think of me?
---
I must admit that I was surprised that my gentleman pen pal was gooey over his employer, but, if I’m an honest Wooster, I wouldn’t fault him, seeing as Bertram himself was enamored with his own valet. I thought it was telling of his character that he would be worried about my reaction. Me! A man he barely knew. Although in the course of our letter writing friendship, we confessed more to one another than I had to any of the Drones.
---
Hello again, my friend!
I sometimes go on picnics with various relatives of mine, when it cannot be avoided. I always bring my friend - the one I’ve told you about in detail - which makes things better for me, as my relatives hate him (as least one of them, anyway), and I like to watch the sparks fly, as they say. Momentarily, at least. Generally it takes a bad turn and I must flee the premises.
I much prefer to play the piano, or read, although anything I can do to take my mind off of the one I long for is what I generally do.
How can you stand working with the one you love? Isn’t it dreadfully difficult? I know that my own situation is bally hard to remedy, I can‘t imagine being in your shoes.
I will admit a truth to you as you have to me. It is my friend, my devoted and most trusted friend, that I love. I am certain that he does not share my sentiments.
I must admit, there are times that I find myself thinking of you in the middle of the day, wondering how I can tell you about some wheeze that I have found myself in, or what you would say about a problem I had with one of my more forceful relatives.
I sometimes often wonder if I am creating in you my very own Galatea, that is, I am making you in the image of the gentleman that I esteem the most? (If I am indeed thinking of the right thing)…
---
Months had passed. The twice-weekly missives from my gentleman were like life’s blood to me. I cherished each page. I read and re-read the letters every night before I dropped off into the arms of that Morpheus johnny. Before long, I knew each and every word by h. and no longer needed to read the l.s themselves. However, I often would just hold the l.s in my hand, knowing that my friend had held them, too. I made up my mind and decided that I needed more from my gentleman than only letters. And yet it appeared that he, too, had the same ideas I held.
---
Dear Friend,
Your very first reply to me had mentioned the notion of destiny. I have been thinking about this for the last few weeks. I do believe in a sort of destiny, as I believe that all things are ordained via Deus sive Natura, as the philosopher wrote. There are things that I have experienced in my own life that defies any other explanation. Perhaps it is a kind of destiny that brought us together.
I must admit that, like you, I am trying to distance myself from the person that I love most. As you know, I am under the employ of a gentleman and it is he that I find myself attracted to. Surely, you can appreciate what I am dealing with. However, I find that I do not mind this at all, for my affection for him is beyond mere romance. He is, unquestionably, my dearest friend…
My friend,
What, exactly, do you love about your gentleman?
I can tell you that the man I am daffy for is rather tall, has glorious eyes that remind me of an approaching electrical storm, dark hair. He has a profile that cuts me to the quick, and this fantastic nose. He looks as though he’s seen things that I could only imagine, adventures that I wish I had taken with him.
He is a very serious chap, but I do see him smile on occasion, and when I see that, he could ask me to maim the Prince of Wales with a teaspoon and I would do my best to oblige him.
However, I don’t want you to think of me as being shallow. No, my friend, the man I love not only has the finest of features, but also of minds. He has the most brilliant brain of any chap I know. We can speak of any subject, for nothing is too difficult for him. He is more than my confidant, more than -- and here I stopped, because I did not want to expose Jeeves in any way, and so I thought about the best way I could describe him to my mystery gentleman -- a friend even. He makes me wish I were smarter, braver, more.
He is my equal, and in most ways, he is a better man than I am.
Dearest Friend,
The gentleman to whom I have pledged my heart is also tall, however he is shorter than I am. He is fair, with expressive blue eyes that seem to sparkle like a mysterious sapphire. He has the most beautiful hands of any person I have ever met. He smiles, and believe me when I say that it’s not unlike the first ray of sunshine after the fog when he turns that smile toward me every morning as we first say our hellos.
However, like you, I do not want to sound as though I only love him for his physical attributes. On the contrary, he is the most generous, caring, loving man I’ve ever known. He is smarter than people believe he is, and wiser than every person in his social peer group combined. He fills me with such joy, something I hadn‘t thought possible before I met him. Every facet of my life is improved because of his influence upon it.
Quite simply, I love him for all he is.
---
My bedroom had been festooned with lit candles, and a violin played, although I’m not sure where the player was hiding. Perhaps he was in my closet, I wasn’t sure. Jeeves - my Reg - stood before me, in his shirtsleeves (as usual), his hair falling into his eyes like I had seen only a few times before in the years that I had known him.
He held his hand out to me. “Bertie, sir…” he said softly, “Let me love you.”
I nodded, remained perfectly still as my man slipped my dressing gown off of me and I stood, stark naked, in the middle of the room. He was still dressed in his glorious starched white shirt, the sleeves rolled up so that I could see his beautiful arms.
He reached out and touched my chest. I felt goose pimply, as his soft yet calloused hands caressed me. I took hold of his wrist and pulled him closer to me. He reached his hand around and it settled on the small of my back. He dipped his head toward my neck, his lips hovering there above my Adam’s apple. I could feel his breath, warm and feathery, blowing across my skin.
“Reg, please,” I murmured. “Please.”
He kissed my neck, the heat of his lips causing me to burn. He kissed up my jaw line, and when he reached the old shell-like, he nibbled and licked at the lobe. I shivered. Jeeves continued to hold me, and started to whisper in my ear.
“You are the most generous, caring, loving man I’ve ever known. You fill me with such joy.”
I sat up suddenly in my bed. It was only a dream, but what a dream it was. What did it mean? My subconscious was blending Reg with my gentleman friend. It was quite the pickle.
Breathing heavily, I settled back into my covers, as it was too early for Jeeves to wake me. Something had to be done, but what?
---
My Friend,
Of course, he must be wise, if you are in love with him! These few months of correspondence has proven that you are an exceptional gentleman, and so the one you love must also be exceptional.
I say, old friend. Obviously, you think of love. However, do you ever think that there are different aspects to love? Do you believe that love can spring fully formed just by words alone, much like Aphrodite from the sea? Is that right? Will you spring from the sea for me?
What I mean to say is, I would like to meet you. Would you be willing to meet with me, in a tea shop, just to see one another in the flesh? I would very much like to see the person with whom I have been corresponding.
---
I was taking a huge risk in asking my f. to meet me. I did not hear back from him for days and days, almost a full week, which was entirely too long for this Wooster to wait. When I opened the letter, it felt as though I was waiting to breathe again.
---
Dearest Friend,
I’m sorry for the delay in responding. I had to consider what you were asking for. This is something that could change both of our lives, so I had to determine the best course of action.
I would very much like to meet you. I feel as if I know you already, and for some reason, I think you might be the one
With that, my vision became blurry and the letters began to run together, so I set it down. I took a deep breath and was rubbing my e.s when Jeeves floated into the room.
“Sir? Mr. Wooster, are you ill? Shall I offer you a restorative?”
I covered up the l. and shook the old onion. “No, Jeeves, I’m fine. I’m deep in thought.”
Jeeves raised a brow at that. “Sir?”
I glared at him with my best peeved face. “Oh, Jeeves, I do actually think at times, you know,” I said, and I meant it to sting.
“Of course, sir. I’m very sorry.” He bowed slightly and shimmered out.
I did feel badly that I snapped at my man. No doubt the feudal spirit made him ask the young master if he felt poorly. Deep in my heart, I wished that it were more than the old f. s. but I knew that Reg would never return my feelings. I looked back down at the letter and continued to read.
I think you might be the one to help ease this yearning that I have. I am willing to try if you are.
At that moment, you could have knocked Bertram over with a feather. I leaped from my chair, my heart lighter, my step livelier. The snail on the wing, and all that.
“Jeeves!” I called out. He appeared next to me almost immediately.
“Sir?”
“Jeeves, tell me, do I have anything planned for this coming week? Dinners, engagements, what not?”
“Sir, I believe your social calendar is free for the most part. You have a cocktail luncheon with Mr. Fink-Nottle and Mr. Glossop at Drones on Tuesday afternoon, and a standing invitation to a party given by Mrs. Travers on Friday evening. We shall leave for the fete on Friday morning if you are so inclined to attend.”
“But nothing on Wednesday evening, Jeeves?” I pressed.
“No, sir.”
Wednesday evening was perfect. Jeeves normally took Wednesdays off to attend to his club duties, or catch a theatre show. I could meet with my gentleman without fear of Jeeves becoming suspicious. If things took off, I would be free on Thursday as well. I must say, it was one of my better schemes, and all without the help of my fish-fed marvel.
“Very good, old thing, quite good indeed.”
“Sir?”
“That will be all, my man,” I said, grinning from ear to ear, as I quickly legged it back to my sanctuary to reply to my friend.
---
We shall meet at an unassuming cafe that I know near King’s Cross Station. I will be wearing a grey suit, and I’ll be at a small table near the back. On the table, you’ll see a book and a red carnation. That’s how you’ll know it’s me. I’m looking forward to meeting you. 7:30 p.m. on Wednesday.
---
The fateful day arrived. Jeeves biffed off to his Junior Ganymede club early, and I took the opportunity to freshen up. I desperately wanted to change my clothes, but without Jeeves there I knew it would be a hopeless cause. Besides, I did not think that my gentleman would go for the fruitiest of ties. Jeeves would not approve of a bright purple tie to go with my suit, I doubted that m. g. would, either. I settled on a pair of polka dot socks that I had been saving for a special occasion, found my best new hat and ivory tipped whangee and ankled over to King’s Cross Station.
I found the café easily, and stood by the window, peering in, to see if I could indeed spy my mysterious letter writing chum. There, in the corner, I saw a grey suit. The man had his back turned to me, so I wasn’t sure what he looked like. I hoped it was my gentleman; he was impressively built, with broad shoulders that narrowed into a trim yet powerful waist. The gentleman had lovely, glossy black hair. My hand itched to run my fingers through it, it was so perfect. I still couldn’t see his face, so I moved a few inches to the left, and saw the book and carnation on the table. It was him! He had been waiting for me, as he said he would. However, there was something so very familiar about my friend, something about the shape of his head, something peculiarly Jeeves-like. I held my breath, screwing up the same sort of courage that my Wooster ancestors carried to boldly enter through the door of the place, when suddenly he turned his neck and I saw his face.
My lord! This wasn’t some mystery gentleman! It was my man, Jeeves!
I stopped dead in my tracks. This couldn’t be Jeeves. Where were his valeting clothes? Where was the bowler hat? We weren’t anywhere near the Junior Ganymede! But I peered through the window again and saw that, indeed, this was my man.
My mind was suddenly swirling with the letters that my mystery gentleman had sent: I am under the employ of a gentleman and it is he that I find myself attracted to… He is, unquestionably, my dearest friend… Fair, blue eyes… the most generous, caring, loving man I’ve ever known. He fills me with such joy.
I was as shocked as a preux chevalier could be. Jeeves had been hiding his feelings from me all this time. He was in love with the young master!
This was destiny. At the risk of sounding like a lovesick beazel, I felt as though my whole life had been waiting for that very moment. Jeeves surely didn’t know that I was his pen pal, and so all the things that he had written to me were undoubtedly true. I looked down at my watch. It was five minutes until the meet-up was supposed to take place. I looked up again, and saw that Jeeves was tapping his fingers against the table. The poor bird was nervous, and I didn’t blame him.
I suddenly became scared. What if Jeeves thought that this was a cruel trick that Bertram had played on him? Would he become offended, or worse, leave my employ and me utterly bereft?
Dash it all, I thought to myself. I couldn’t leave him there, waiting for the mysterious writer of letters when in reality it was me. The code of the Woosters was very clear: never leave a friend in the lurch. My dearest, closest friend was Reginald Jeeves. Not only my dearest friend, but also my specific dream rabbit, if I were to venture into the dreaded La Bassett territory. No, I had to do something to make it seem as though the letter writer wasn’t able to approach. Even though he did approach. Of course, Jeeves did not know that.
I swallowed hard and slunk into the café.
“What ho, Jeeves?” I called out, sliding over to his table and launching myself into the nearest chair.
“Sir, please, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at your club?” he asked, with as worried a look on his map as I had ever seen.
“Why, I wanted to stop in for a bite before I made my way to the theatre for a show,” I replied. “I saw you there and I thought it would be nice to just pop in and say hello.”
“But sir, I will see you later this evening,” he said, his Jeevesian brow angled sharply, his e.s darting around in a panic, as though he was desperately looking for his gentleman caller.
“Of course you will, old fruit,” I said airily, “But I never get to see you outside of your working persona, and was just curious. You can hardly blame the young master. Have you got a date? I mean to say, there’s a flower, a book of poetry. That’s a fine suit.”
“Thank you sir. Please, I am waiting to meet someone. They are to arrive at any moment. I have been saving this seat for them.”
I had the good grace to color furiously and look surprised. “Oh, I say, old thing, I’m terribly sorry. She may think that you’ve stood her up, or are prowling around behind her back, what? Jeeves, I’ll leave you now. I’ll see you this evening then?”
“Very good, sir.”
I left the café and instead of biffing off to Drones or even going to the theatre as I had lied to Jeeves, I hoofed it around the metrop, thinking of the predicament that I had landed in. Only this time, I would not be able to use the impressive brain-power of Jeeves to extract me from it. I had faith that I could determine the proper course of action; after all, my man himself believed in me if his letters could be trusted. And of course, they could be trusted - this was Jeeves, after all.
I returned to the flat to find Jeeves there, dressed in his usual togs. “I say, my man, what came of your date? You’re home earlier than I expected.”
Jeeves was wearing his finest stuffed frog face, but I knew him well enough to see the disappointment in his e.s. “As you may so colorfully put it, sir, I was stood up.”
“Jeeves, what kind of madness is this, that a girl would duck out of a date with a fine paragon such as yourself? What kind of world do we live in, man? I say, that is absolutely not on!” I cried, knowing full well there was no girl, and why he was stood up in the first place.
“I regret to say, sir, that I do not know. No message was sent.”
“Jeeves, I insist that you take the remainder of the night off. Biff off to some pub, or better yet stay here and take the brandy to your lair. I shan’t need your assistance.”
“But, sir, your evening clothes…”
I took hold of his wrist, then thought better of it and dropped it like a dropping thing. “Jeeves, I know this is hard to believe, but I can dress myself. Now, go read an improving book, or write some bad poetry that only M. Bassett would be proud of, an old cri de coeur, what?”
Jeeves actually sighed softly, so softly in fact that I thought perhaps I was hallucinating. “Very good, sir. Good evening to you.”
I returned to my room and wrote a very quick letter, intending to deliver it to the printer’s first thing in the ack emma, or at least when I was able to force myself out of bed.
---
My friend,
I apologize for not getting to you, however, I saw who I believe was you sitting with a rather gawky and awkward looking gentleman. Was that you? Who was that man with you? I must say that I was a little unnerved by another’s presence when we were to make our acquaintance finally. Do you forgive me?
Dearest Friend,
Of course, I forgive you. There is nothing to forgive, honestly, as I can see why you would have been frightened away from another person sitting in your place. The man sitting with me was my very own employer, who had seen me through the window and decided to say hello. He was unaware that I was meeting someone, and when I told him so he immediately removed himself from the café.
My friend,
That is your employer, the one for whom you have tender feelings? I must say, friend, that I expected you to have better taste…
Dear Friend,
There is none more dear to me than he. I will consider this matter closed.
---
I sat back and read those two sentences again and again. This Wooster had fallen into the soupiest soup that had ever boiled. It appeared that I had angered Jeeves, and the Jeevesian fury was one to behold. Of course, one does not tell one’s valet that they are writing secret love letters to them, but I had to get back into his good graces again, as he showed a side of himself that was intoxicatingly delicious in his l.s, and until such time as I could properly make him mine, I had to make due.
I hid the letter in a pile of sheet music that I kept in my piano bench. The next morning, I oiled into the kitchen, where I found Jeeves making quick work of deboning a chicken. He had a particularly irate look upon his dial, and I could not help but think he was imagining his gentleman pen pal’s heart as he stabbed at the cold dead carcass of the bird.
“Oh, I say, Jeeves,” I began. He instantly sobered, affixing his customary stony visage. “May I ask you something, strictly in confidence?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I have toppled into the consommé again. There is someone with whom I have been corresponding for some time. I have angered this pal of mine and I wish to make it up to him.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Yes, Jeeves. Now, my friend reminds me of you in some ways, and so I’m curious. If I were to have offended you in any way, old thing, how could I make it up to you?”
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he looked down at the poor bird he was butchering. “Sir, I suppose that you would have to offend me first.”
“Oh pish posh, Jeeves. I offend you every time I wear a pair of striped spats or a bright yellow pocket square.”
Something bright flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly tamped down, replaced by a devastating sang-froid. “I admit that there are times when my sartorial sensibilities are offended, but I understand that it is not deliberate on your part, sir.”
I smiled at him then, knowing - or at least hoping - that the burning pash that lived within him was the reason for these feelings. “Nonsense, old fruit. Once you and I parted brass rags over an unfortunate banjolele. You have been angry at me before.“
“Sir, that was long ago. I have not had a reason to be displeased with you for some time.“
“Come now. Let’s imagine that someone, maybe not me, has injured you. How could that person get back within your circle?”
He loosened the skin on the chicken and put it onto a baking dish. I could not stop watching his very capable hands as they caressed the meat. “I think, sir, that as long as a person was honest and forthcoming with me, I would be able to forgive anything. If it were someone for whom I cared deeply, if they attempted to learn more of me, to understand why I may have been injured, that would help tremendously.”
“So, I need to make a better effort to get to know you, that is, you in the general sense? Since you are not the injured party here, but, rather, one who is like you.” I stumbled over my own w.s and generally sounded like a fool, however Jeeves did not notice this slip.
“Yes, sir. That is the advice that I would give you. I do believe that it would be most helpful if you attempt to flatter your friend without being overtly obsequious.” He said all of this while not looking at me and slicing slits into the bird’s skin.
“Thank you, Jeeves. Go on with your fowl sacrifice.”
“Very good, sir.”
I hoofed it back to my room, where I typed a reply to Jeeves, but then threw the letter into the fireplace. This was not the time for hastiness, rather it was the time for a billet doux, that is, for the young master to pour out the Wooster heart.
However, I found I could not do it. I could not write the words that bubbled from that thumping organ, as it were, because I found them all lacking in truth and honesty. Instead, I treaded lightly back into my main living area and sat at my piano.
I wanted to play something light and frothy and frivolous, but my heart was burdened by both the knowledge that I had hurt the one I love and that I was too much of a bally coward to do anything about it. Before I knew it, my fingers had begun to play “Moonlight Sonata”. I floated away with the music, pouring every last ounce of feeling I had into the piece, trying to convey my heart through song. I could no longer hear Jeeves stirring in the kitchen, but felt his presence near me. The thought of him so close to me while I bared my soul unnerved me, and I found myself playing Rachmaninoff instead, which did not help the situation in the least.
After a long while, when both Beethoven and Rachmaninoff had run their course through my fingers, I sat at the keyboard pensive and emotionally drained, desperate for a b. and s. without so much s. When I looked up, I found my Reg - Jeeves, that is - staring at me with a tender thingness that I had only dreamed about. In fact, I had dreamt about it the night before.
“Sir, that was…”
“No, Jeeves, really, it was…”
“…extraordinary. I do hope you’ll play that…”
“…very kind of you to say so, but honestly…”
I stopped mid-sentence, as did Jeeves.
“Go on, old thing.”
“Sir, I merely wanted to express how much I enjoyed your playing. It was quite beautiful. Did you know those are among my favorites?”
It hadn’t occurred to me until just then, when I asked my pen pal what his favorite songs were, that he had mentioned being an admirer of the two pieces I had played. Suddenly, it was as if all the lights of the West End were turned on at once in front of me. I knew what I had to do.
“Oh, I was just practicing. Bertram must branch out sometime, what?”
“It was exceedingly well done, sir.” Jeeves had a bit of a soppy look on his map, which I took to the good. When I smiled at him, he suddenly slapped on a most rigid face and headed to his lair.
I, in turn, ankled it back to my own bedroom and began to pour over Jeeves’ letters again, this time looking for ammunition. This Wooster was going to woo!
---
Now, B.W. Wooster can spark with the best of them, but unfortunately it is normally in the guise of attempting to help coves who are even more unlucky in love than I am, and it usually explodes in my face. Of course, pitching woo to the fairer sex and courting the brainiest of men who also have the appearance of Apollo are two completely different things.
How does one woo a Jeeves?
The usual flowers and sweet words that one would use on a filly would never do. I took notes of all the things that Reg had mentioned in his letters; things he particularly enjoyed, things he did for himself when he was on holiday, things I did that he found pleasing. I made a list of favorite songs, noted his favorite poems, saw that his favorite color was blue, and that although he pretended not to like it, he did, indeed, enjoy it when I dragged him to a moving picture show.
When I had filled two pages front and back with tiny tidbits of information re: my man, I stuffed them into the Zane Grey western novel I was reading. Jeeves wouldn’t touch such a book with a ten foot pole, so I thought it would be safe there.
That evening, I would begin my most clever scheme yet.
Onward to Part Two!
Author: Shelly - cosmosmariner
Pairing: Bertie Wooster/Reginald Jeeves
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Overcome with feelings for his perfectly perfect gentleman's gentleman, a lonely Bertram Wooster enjoys a correspondence with a like-minded soul. What happens when he falls in love with his pen pal?
Distribution: Please ask me first, otherwise go for it!
Disclaimer: Don't own a darn thing. I'm not Plum; I wouldn't have made the slash so obvious.
Author's Notes: First, I want to thank my beta, the talented and patient erynn999, whose help was invaluable. I appreciate it more than I could ever say. Any wonky grammar or spelling errors are mine and mine alone. Second, if the title sounds familiar...yes, it is based on "The Shop Around the Corner" and no, I'm not ashamed to admit it.
For your reading pleasure, I took the liberty of creating a songmix as well. You can stream it directly from my YouTube account:
Click to viewPlease enjoy!
---
The Jeeves Around The Corner
There comes a time in every man’s life…well, actually, it’s probably not every man’s life. In fact, I’m sure it’s not, but rather there comes a time in certain men’s lives when they have to admit the honest truth about themselves. The truth in my case, at least, is that the young master had become enamored of his valet.
If you have been reading my memoirs, you already know about my man Jeeves. He is a paragon, a man amongst men. It had been well over three years since Jeeves arrived on the Wooster person’s doorstep, all bowler hat and restorative and gentle quirk of the mouth. Since that extraordinary moment in time, I had come to rely on his strength and wisdom, his soothing presence in my household, his quick wit, and dare I say it, stunning good looks. Some of the other men of my acquaintance have routinely asked me if it were a hardship to have a valet who was as attractive as Jeeves. Why, wouldn’t the girls all want to flock to him as some sort of flocking things? I breezily laughed at such talk, all the while keeping my desperate secret locked away from the world.
The Drones have accused me of being overly devoted to him, but they don’t see the life sustaining qualities that he gives me; the perfect cup of tea, the finely pressed trousers, the way he plucks me out of the soup on a regular basis. Most importantly, they did not know of my dreams at night, in which Jeeves would sweep into my room dressed in his shirtsleeves, gather me into his arms, and kiss me silly. Of course, I wouldn’t tell the Drones, or my aged relations, or Jeeves himself of these disastrous thoughts. If I were to lose Jeeves, it would be akin to cutting off young Bertram’s arms and asking him to row across the Thames.
It had got to the point to where I dreamed about him every night. In my heart, I even stopped calling him Jeeves. In my dreams, he was no longer my valet but my lover, and when he held me close, I called him Reg. Which was his name, of course. Not that Jeeves wasn’t, but…well, dash it. Calling him Reg just made everything seem more real. Even though it wasn’t.
The whole rummy sitch more or less came about because of young Stiffy Byng. No surprise, honestly, when you think of all the watery broths the female had dunked me into, what with pinched policeman’s helmets and the like. She had been going on and on about Stinker Pinker, former classmate, current cleric, and future husband of said Byng. She was gushing about her delirious love for old Stinker, which I personally found baffling but, nonetheless, she was smitten.
“Well, bally for you, old thing,” I said to her idly.
“Bertie, it’s not my fault that I’m happy and in love and you’re not. Really, you need to do something about that. You won’t always have Jeeves, you know.”
She was right. I couldn’t hold Jeeves against his will, or keep him permanently in my employ without a good reason. And alas, there wasn’t a good reason. There was nothing that I could say to Stiffy, or Jeeves, or my meddlesome aunts, or anyone else. Love for one’s valet is not something that a preux chevalier announces to the world. But I felt that I must let those feelings out somehow, and to that end, I devised a perfect scheme. This s. was very simple - I would place an advertisement in a particular publication that catered to invert lifestyles, looking for a pen pal confidante.
This p. p. was a gentleman’s weekly paper, which was published underground, and only available at certain bookshops by word of mouth. Since it was considered salacious material, it wasn’t something that was common knowledge. I was a devoted reader, although I burned the p. p. immediately after reading it so that the evidence would not be found.
The paper had a lonely-hearts section, as well as a “seeking” section. Usually it was for playmates or rendezvous, but at times one would see a person who was looking for friendship. I thought it would be nice to find someone who was like me, someone I could talk to honestly without fear of being found out, that I could pour the Wooster heart out to and not have to worry.
The advert read:
WANTED: Lonely man seeking a discreet fellow to discuss life with via post. Looking for friendship with an intelligent gentleman. Must love music and laughter. Must be interested in giving advice to the lovelorn, or the otherwise generally clueless. No names, please. Write in care of Box 25 at the printer and I will respond.
I allowed the ad to run for three weeks. In all that time, I did not receive a single response. I had given up hope, until I went to the printer the week after I allowed the advert to lapse and was told that I had a single letter in my box. Heartened, I took the s. l. back to my flat, hidden in my inner suit pocket.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Jeeves said as he smoothly took my coat and hat.
“What ho, Jeeves? I’m going to retire to my room for a few hours, old thing. Please don’t disturb me.”
“Very good, sir,” he replied.
I almost flew back to my room, and threw myself onto my bed, giddy and excited like a child on Christmas Day. I opened the envelope carefully, and found a neat, typewritten missive.
“Dear Friend“, it read, “I hesitated to write because this sort of relationship would be damaging to my career if it were found out. However, I, too, am lonely, and would like to foster a relationship with a likeminded gentleman. I do not wish to go into detail about my life, as we are attempting to be anonymous, but I can tell you that I am a great reader. I enjoy art, music, a finely cut suit, and well prepared food. I prefer the quiet life, however in my profession I am surrounded by gaiety and the electric life of the city. I am able to travel quite often, which I love to do. I am the soul of discretion, and would be pleased if you were to answer my letter.”
The letter ended with, “Your Friend”. No initial, no name. I decided to take it as a good omen.
I read the l. twice more. The old Wooster heart beat a little faster as I began to type.
“Hullo Friend,” I began, “Was chuffed to receive your letter. I am also a reader. I like mysteries and the occasional soupy romance, although a gentleman of my acquaintance reads almost everything else. I am sure that if” -- and here I had made the mistake of typing Jeeves, and had to find a hard gum eraser to blot it out -- “my friend has heard of it, I can discuss it with you.”
I wrote a few other things, small getting to know you things, and then ended with this: “I say, friend, what are your thoughts about life in general? Do you believe in destiny?” and signed it Y.F.
I sealed the envelope and hid the missive under my newest spine tingling mystery until such time that I could biff off to the printers’ and do my part for speedy delivery.
---
Before long, a pattern emerged. I received letters from my mystery gentleman caller every Thursday and Monday. I looked forward to these letters from m.m.g.c. almost as much as I looked forward to Jeeves waking me up in the morning. Jeeves, too, was looking rather rosy cheeked lately. In fact, the side of his mouth moved up a quarter of an inch on at least six separate occasions, and that was highly unusual. It almost looked at though he was imbibing the old b. and s. on a regular basis, however I knew that Jeeves would never do a thing while on duty, or at least not until after the dinner hour. Certainly not in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of the week.
“Jeeves, old fruit, are you happy?”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I mean to say, you seem rather joyful lately. Are you drinking a new brand of tea? Did you find a soap capable of producing bubbles in hard water?”
“No, sir. I am merely cheered by your good nature.”
Seeing him so happy made me happy, and I wanted to tell him so. “Ah, I see. Jeeves, I just wanted to let you know that seeing you so happy makes Bertram happy as well. Carry on then.”
“Very good, sir.”
---
Dear Friend,
Today my employer is away for most of the afternoon, and I have an hour of free time on my hands. In the past, I would have read a book, but today I decided to write to you.
You mentioned that you like to read the “occasional soupy romance” as you put it. I do have a secret vice, and that is that I, too, read romance novels. I have made the acquaintance of a young woman who writes said novels, and I have every one of her works in my collection. I doubt you would enjoy them, as they are class-crossing romances, which appeal to me greatly for many reasons. I was nearly discovered by my employer as I had a few of them around my personal area, but I quickly deflected suspicion from myself and upon some ladies, and thankfully he did not see through the ruse.
You seem like a reasonable gentleman. Do you think that love can transcend the boundaries that society places upon people? Is it possible, for example, for an employer and his employee to find love and happiness?
Hello, my friend!
This is why I enjoy writing to you - because you are one of the few people in my life who considers me a reasonable gentleman.
My beloved friend reads the works of such female writers as Rosie M. Banks, that purveyor of mushy romantic rot. However, I snuck a peek at “Only A Factory Girl” - which seemed to be his personal favorite - and I must admit I was starry eyed and gape-mouthed. So much so that I biffed off to my local bookseller and purchased my own copy of “Only A Factory Girl”. I put a mystery dustcover over it, and have read it twice already.
Re: your questions: I do think that love can, as you put it, “transcend the boundaries placed upon people” if the two lovers did not care a whit about what society thinks about them. To grab hold of happiness is the most important thing that a cove can do with his life. ‘Carpet diem‘, what?
Dear friend,
I believe the term is ‘carpe diem’ - seize the day. You do so remind me of my employer at times…
---
My pen pal was fast becoming the person in whom I could confide in, for he was indeed extremely wise and capable. His knowledge of philosophy rivaled Jeeves’ and I found myself wanting to know everything about him. His favorite foods, his favorite song, if he had a favorite color or flower. I thought that the old Wooster heart was becoming as mushy as those Rosie M. Banks novels I had told him about, but I didn’t care. I only cared about what my pen pal thought of me, and I of him.
My only concern - problem, really - was that I wondered if I was turning my pen pal into a Jeeves substitute.
---
Dear Friend,
I had to write to tell you what happened to me a few weeks ago. I almost forgot, but I knew you would enjoy the sort of scrapes that I find myself in on a nearly daily basis.
It started with my relatives attempting to set me up with a female for the third time in as many months, a dog that may or may not have been the Hound that Arthur Conan Doyle had written of, my brain dead cousins, and of course, my devoted friend…
My dearest friend,
Your last letter put me in such a wonderful frame of mind! The stories you told about your and your friend‘s romantic problems were quite humorous. It rather reminded me of a situation that happened to an acquaintance of mine recently. I hope everything went according to plan, and that the advice given to you by your trusted friend worked well.
I often think of you. I have a happy life, I am very content with my world as it stands. I am able to retire on my own to read whatever books I wish, free to go and do as I desire. My employer is a very kind individual and I enjoy working with him. However, there are times when I am left to my own devices and I am curious if you, too, are enjoying the sunshine, a picnic in the park, a walk in your nearest garden…
I feel I should confess to you that my relationship with my employer is complicated. In fact, it is he that I have feelings for. Does this change how you think of me?
---
I must admit that I was surprised that my gentleman pen pal was gooey over his employer, but, if I’m an honest Wooster, I wouldn’t fault him, seeing as Bertram himself was enamored with his own valet. I thought it was telling of his character that he would be worried about my reaction. Me! A man he barely knew. Although in the course of our letter writing friendship, we confessed more to one another than I had to any of the Drones.
---
Hello again, my friend!
I sometimes go on picnics with various relatives of mine, when it cannot be avoided. I always bring my friend - the one I’ve told you about in detail - which makes things better for me, as my relatives hate him (as least one of them, anyway), and I like to watch the sparks fly, as they say. Momentarily, at least. Generally it takes a bad turn and I must flee the premises.
I much prefer to play the piano, or read, although anything I can do to take my mind off of the one I long for is what I generally do.
How can you stand working with the one you love? Isn’t it dreadfully difficult? I know that my own situation is bally hard to remedy, I can‘t imagine being in your shoes.
I will admit a truth to you as you have to me. It is my friend, my devoted and most trusted friend, that I love. I am certain that he does not share my sentiments.
I must admit, there are times that I find myself thinking of you in the middle of the day, wondering how I can tell you about some wheeze that I have found myself in, or what you would say about a problem I had with one of my more forceful relatives.
I sometimes often wonder if I am creating in you my very own Galatea, that is, I am making you in the image of the gentleman that I esteem the most? (If I am indeed thinking of the right thing)…
---
Months had passed. The twice-weekly missives from my gentleman were like life’s blood to me. I cherished each page. I read and re-read the letters every night before I dropped off into the arms of that Morpheus johnny. Before long, I knew each and every word by h. and no longer needed to read the l.s themselves. However, I often would just hold the l.s in my hand, knowing that my friend had held them, too. I made up my mind and decided that I needed more from my gentleman than only letters. And yet it appeared that he, too, had the same ideas I held.
---
Dear Friend,
Your very first reply to me had mentioned the notion of destiny. I have been thinking about this for the last few weeks. I do believe in a sort of destiny, as I believe that all things are ordained via Deus sive Natura, as the philosopher wrote. There are things that I have experienced in my own life that defies any other explanation. Perhaps it is a kind of destiny that brought us together.
I must admit that, like you, I am trying to distance myself from the person that I love most. As you know, I am under the employ of a gentleman and it is he that I find myself attracted to. Surely, you can appreciate what I am dealing with. However, I find that I do not mind this at all, for my affection for him is beyond mere romance. He is, unquestionably, my dearest friend…
My friend,
What, exactly, do you love about your gentleman?
I can tell you that the man I am daffy for is rather tall, has glorious eyes that remind me of an approaching electrical storm, dark hair. He has a profile that cuts me to the quick, and this fantastic nose. He looks as though he’s seen things that I could only imagine, adventures that I wish I had taken with him.
He is a very serious chap, but I do see him smile on occasion, and when I see that, he could ask me to maim the Prince of Wales with a teaspoon and I would do my best to oblige him.
However, I don’t want you to think of me as being shallow. No, my friend, the man I love not only has the finest of features, but also of minds. He has the most brilliant brain of any chap I know. We can speak of any subject, for nothing is too difficult for him. He is more than my confidant, more than -- and here I stopped, because I did not want to expose Jeeves in any way, and so I thought about the best way I could describe him to my mystery gentleman -- a friend even. He makes me wish I were smarter, braver, more.
He is my equal, and in most ways, he is a better man than I am.
Dearest Friend,
The gentleman to whom I have pledged my heart is also tall, however he is shorter than I am. He is fair, with expressive blue eyes that seem to sparkle like a mysterious sapphire. He has the most beautiful hands of any person I have ever met. He smiles, and believe me when I say that it’s not unlike the first ray of sunshine after the fog when he turns that smile toward me every morning as we first say our hellos.
However, like you, I do not want to sound as though I only love him for his physical attributes. On the contrary, he is the most generous, caring, loving man I’ve ever known. He is smarter than people believe he is, and wiser than every person in his social peer group combined. He fills me with such joy, something I hadn‘t thought possible before I met him. Every facet of my life is improved because of his influence upon it.
Quite simply, I love him for all he is.
---
My bedroom had been festooned with lit candles, and a violin played, although I’m not sure where the player was hiding. Perhaps he was in my closet, I wasn’t sure. Jeeves - my Reg - stood before me, in his shirtsleeves (as usual), his hair falling into his eyes like I had seen only a few times before in the years that I had known him.
He held his hand out to me. “Bertie, sir…” he said softly, “Let me love you.”
I nodded, remained perfectly still as my man slipped my dressing gown off of me and I stood, stark naked, in the middle of the room. He was still dressed in his glorious starched white shirt, the sleeves rolled up so that I could see his beautiful arms.
He reached out and touched my chest. I felt goose pimply, as his soft yet calloused hands caressed me. I took hold of his wrist and pulled him closer to me. He reached his hand around and it settled on the small of my back. He dipped his head toward my neck, his lips hovering there above my Adam’s apple. I could feel his breath, warm and feathery, blowing across my skin.
“Reg, please,” I murmured. “Please.”
He kissed my neck, the heat of his lips causing me to burn. He kissed up my jaw line, and when he reached the old shell-like, he nibbled and licked at the lobe. I shivered. Jeeves continued to hold me, and started to whisper in my ear.
“You are the most generous, caring, loving man I’ve ever known. You fill me with such joy.”
I sat up suddenly in my bed. It was only a dream, but what a dream it was. What did it mean? My subconscious was blending Reg with my gentleman friend. It was quite the pickle.
Breathing heavily, I settled back into my covers, as it was too early for Jeeves to wake me. Something had to be done, but what?
---
My Friend,
Of course, he must be wise, if you are in love with him! These few months of correspondence has proven that you are an exceptional gentleman, and so the one you love must also be exceptional.
I say, old friend. Obviously, you think of love. However, do you ever think that there are different aspects to love? Do you believe that love can spring fully formed just by words alone, much like Aphrodite from the sea? Is that right? Will you spring from the sea for me?
What I mean to say is, I would like to meet you. Would you be willing to meet with me, in a tea shop, just to see one another in the flesh? I would very much like to see the person with whom I have been corresponding.
---
I was taking a huge risk in asking my f. to meet me. I did not hear back from him for days and days, almost a full week, which was entirely too long for this Wooster to wait. When I opened the letter, it felt as though I was waiting to breathe again.
---
Dearest Friend,
I’m sorry for the delay in responding. I had to consider what you were asking for. This is something that could change both of our lives, so I had to determine the best course of action.
I would very much like to meet you. I feel as if I know you already, and for some reason, I think you might be the one
With that, my vision became blurry and the letters began to run together, so I set it down. I took a deep breath and was rubbing my e.s when Jeeves floated into the room.
“Sir? Mr. Wooster, are you ill? Shall I offer you a restorative?”
I covered up the l. and shook the old onion. “No, Jeeves, I’m fine. I’m deep in thought.”
Jeeves raised a brow at that. “Sir?”
I glared at him with my best peeved face. “Oh, Jeeves, I do actually think at times, you know,” I said, and I meant it to sting.
“Of course, sir. I’m very sorry.” He bowed slightly and shimmered out.
I did feel badly that I snapped at my man. No doubt the feudal spirit made him ask the young master if he felt poorly. Deep in my heart, I wished that it were more than the old f. s. but I knew that Reg would never return my feelings. I looked back down at the letter and continued to read.
I think you might be the one to help ease this yearning that I have. I am willing to try if you are.
At that moment, you could have knocked Bertram over with a feather. I leaped from my chair, my heart lighter, my step livelier. The snail on the wing, and all that.
“Jeeves!” I called out. He appeared next to me almost immediately.
“Sir?”
“Jeeves, tell me, do I have anything planned for this coming week? Dinners, engagements, what not?”
“Sir, I believe your social calendar is free for the most part. You have a cocktail luncheon with Mr. Fink-Nottle and Mr. Glossop at Drones on Tuesday afternoon, and a standing invitation to a party given by Mrs. Travers on Friday evening. We shall leave for the fete on Friday morning if you are so inclined to attend.”
“But nothing on Wednesday evening, Jeeves?” I pressed.
“No, sir.”
Wednesday evening was perfect. Jeeves normally took Wednesdays off to attend to his club duties, or catch a theatre show. I could meet with my gentleman without fear of Jeeves becoming suspicious. If things took off, I would be free on Thursday as well. I must say, it was one of my better schemes, and all without the help of my fish-fed marvel.
“Very good, old thing, quite good indeed.”
“Sir?”
“That will be all, my man,” I said, grinning from ear to ear, as I quickly legged it back to my sanctuary to reply to my friend.
---
We shall meet at an unassuming cafe that I know near King’s Cross Station. I will be wearing a grey suit, and I’ll be at a small table near the back. On the table, you’ll see a book and a red carnation. That’s how you’ll know it’s me. I’m looking forward to meeting you. 7:30 p.m. on Wednesday.
---
The fateful day arrived. Jeeves biffed off to his Junior Ganymede club early, and I took the opportunity to freshen up. I desperately wanted to change my clothes, but without Jeeves there I knew it would be a hopeless cause. Besides, I did not think that my gentleman would go for the fruitiest of ties. Jeeves would not approve of a bright purple tie to go with my suit, I doubted that m. g. would, either. I settled on a pair of polka dot socks that I had been saving for a special occasion, found my best new hat and ivory tipped whangee and ankled over to King’s Cross Station.
I found the café easily, and stood by the window, peering in, to see if I could indeed spy my mysterious letter writing chum. There, in the corner, I saw a grey suit. The man had his back turned to me, so I wasn’t sure what he looked like. I hoped it was my gentleman; he was impressively built, with broad shoulders that narrowed into a trim yet powerful waist. The gentleman had lovely, glossy black hair. My hand itched to run my fingers through it, it was so perfect. I still couldn’t see his face, so I moved a few inches to the left, and saw the book and carnation on the table. It was him! He had been waiting for me, as he said he would. However, there was something so very familiar about my friend, something about the shape of his head, something peculiarly Jeeves-like. I held my breath, screwing up the same sort of courage that my Wooster ancestors carried to boldly enter through the door of the place, when suddenly he turned his neck and I saw his face.
My lord! This wasn’t some mystery gentleman! It was my man, Jeeves!
I stopped dead in my tracks. This couldn’t be Jeeves. Where were his valeting clothes? Where was the bowler hat? We weren’t anywhere near the Junior Ganymede! But I peered through the window again and saw that, indeed, this was my man.
My mind was suddenly swirling with the letters that my mystery gentleman had sent: I am under the employ of a gentleman and it is he that I find myself attracted to… He is, unquestionably, my dearest friend… Fair, blue eyes… the most generous, caring, loving man I’ve ever known. He fills me with such joy.
I was as shocked as a preux chevalier could be. Jeeves had been hiding his feelings from me all this time. He was in love with the young master!
This was destiny. At the risk of sounding like a lovesick beazel, I felt as though my whole life had been waiting for that very moment. Jeeves surely didn’t know that I was his pen pal, and so all the things that he had written to me were undoubtedly true. I looked down at my watch. It was five minutes until the meet-up was supposed to take place. I looked up again, and saw that Jeeves was tapping his fingers against the table. The poor bird was nervous, and I didn’t blame him.
I suddenly became scared. What if Jeeves thought that this was a cruel trick that Bertram had played on him? Would he become offended, or worse, leave my employ and me utterly bereft?
Dash it all, I thought to myself. I couldn’t leave him there, waiting for the mysterious writer of letters when in reality it was me. The code of the Woosters was very clear: never leave a friend in the lurch. My dearest, closest friend was Reginald Jeeves. Not only my dearest friend, but also my specific dream rabbit, if I were to venture into the dreaded La Bassett territory. No, I had to do something to make it seem as though the letter writer wasn’t able to approach. Even though he did approach. Of course, Jeeves did not know that.
I swallowed hard and slunk into the café.
“What ho, Jeeves?” I called out, sliding over to his table and launching myself into the nearest chair.
“Sir, please, what are you doing here? Why aren’t you at your club?” he asked, with as worried a look on his map as I had ever seen.
“Why, I wanted to stop in for a bite before I made my way to the theatre for a show,” I replied. “I saw you there and I thought it would be nice to just pop in and say hello.”
“But sir, I will see you later this evening,” he said, his Jeevesian brow angled sharply, his e.s darting around in a panic, as though he was desperately looking for his gentleman caller.
“Of course you will, old fruit,” I said airily, “But I never get to see you outside of your working persona, and was just curious. You can hardly blame the young master. Have you got a date? I mean to say, there’s a flower, a book of poetry. That’s a fine suit.”
“Thank you sir. Please, I am waiting to meet someone. They are to arrive at any moment. I have been saving this seat for them.”
I had the good grace to color furiously and look surprised. “Oh, I say, old thing, I’m terribly sorry. She may think that you’ve stood her up, or are prowling around behind her back, what? Jeeves, I’ll leave you now. I’ll see you this evening then?”
“Very good, sir.”
I left the café and instead of biffing off to Drones or even going to the theatre as I had lied to Jeeves, I hoofed it around the metrop, thinking of the predicament that I had landed in. Only this time, I would not be able to use the impressive brain-power of Jeeves to extract me from it. I had faith that I could determine the proper course of action; after all, my man himself believed in me if his letters could be trusted. And of course, they could be trusted - this was Jeeves, after all.
I returned to the flat to find Jeeves there, dressed in his usual togs. “I say, my man, what came of your date? You’re home earlier than I expected.”
Jeeves was wearing his finest stuffed frog face, but I knew him well enough to see the disappointment in his e.s. “As you may so colorfully put it, sir, I was stood up.”
“Jeeves, what kind of madness is this, that a girl would duck out of a date with a fine paragon such as yourself? What kind of world do we live in, man? I say, that is absolutely not on!” I cried, knowing full well there was no girl, and why he was stood up in the first place.
“I regret to say, sir, that I do not know. No message was sent.”
“Jeeves, I insist that you take the remainder of the night off. Biff off to some pub, or better yet stay here and take the brandy to your lair. I shan’t need your assistance.”
“But, sir, your evening clothes…”
I took hold of his wrist, then thought better of it and dropped it like a dropping thing. “Jeeves, I know this is hard to believe, but I can dress myself. Now, go read an improving book, or write some bad poetry that only M. Bassett would be proud of, an old cri de coeur, what?”
Jeeves actually sighed softly, so softly in fact that I thought perhaps I was hallucinating. “Very good, sir. Good evening to you.”
I returned to my room and wrote a very quick letter, intending to deliver it to the printer’s first thing in the ack emma, or at least when I was able to force myself out of bed.
---
My friend,
I apologize for not getting to you, however, I saw who I believe was you sitting with a rather gawky and awkward looking gentleman. Was that you? Who was that man with you? I must say that I was a little unnerved by another’s presence when we were to make our acquaintance finally. Do you forgive me?
Dearest Friend,
Of course, I forgive you. There is nothing to forgive, honestly, as I can see why you would have been frightened away from another person sitting in your place. The man sitting with me was my very own employer, who had seen me through the window and decided to say hello. He was unaware that I was meeting someone, and when I told him so he immediately removed himself from the café.
My friend,
That is your employer, the one for whom you have tender feelings? I must say, friend, that I expected you to have better taste…
Dear Friend,
There is none more dear to me than he. I will consider this matter closed.
---
I sat back and read those two sentences again and again. This Wooster had fallen into the soupiest soup that had ever boiled. It appeared that I had angered Jeeves, and the Jeevesian fury was one to behold. Of course, one does not tell one’s valet that they are writing secret love letters to them, but I had to get back into his good graces again, as he showed a side of himself that was intoxicatingly delicious in his l.s, and until such time as I could properly make him mine, I had to make due.
I hid the letter in a pile of sheet music that I kept in my piano bench. The next morning, I oiled into the kitchen, where I found Jeeves making quick work of deboning a chicken. He had a particularly irate look upon his dial, and I could not help but think he was imagining his gentleman pen pal’s heart as he stabbed at the cold dead carcass of the bird.
“Oh, I say, Jeeves,” I began. He instantly sobered, affixing his customary stony visage. “May I ask you something, strictly in confidence?”
“Certainly, sir.”
“I have toppled into the consommé again. There is someone with whom I have been corresponding for some time. I have angered this pal of mine and I wish to make it up to him.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Yes, Jeeves. Now, my friend reminds me of you in some ways, and so I’m curious. If I were to have offended you in any way, old thing, how could I make it up to you?”
His eyes widened slightly in surprise, and he looked down at the poor bird he was butchering. “Sir, I suppose that you would have to offend me first.”
“Oh pish posh, Jeeves. I offend you every time I wear a pair of striped spats or a bright yellow pocket square.”
Something bright flashed in his eyes, but it was quickly tamped down, replaced by a devastating sang-froid. “I admit that there are times when my sartorial sensibilities are offended, but I understand that it is not deliberate on your part, sir.”
I smiled at him then, knowing - or at least hoping - that the burning pash that lived within him was the reason for these feelings. “Nonsense, old fruit. Once you and I parted brass rags over an unfortunate banjolele. You have been angry at me before.“
“Sir, that was long ago. I have not had a reason to be displeased with you for some time.“
“Come now. Let’s imagine that someone, maybe not me, has injured you. How could that person get back within your circle?”
He loosened the skin on the chicken and put it onto a baking dish. I could not stop watching his very capable hands as they caressed the meat. “I think, sir, that as long as a person was honest and forthcoming with me, I would be able to forgive anything. If it were someone for whom I cared deeply, if they attempted to learn more of me, to understand why I may have been injured, that would help tremendously.”
“So, I need to make a better effort to get to know you, that is, you in the general sense? Since you are not the injured party here, but, rather, one who is like you.” I stumbled over my own w.s and generally sounded like a fool, however Jeeves did not notice this slip.
“Yes, sir. That is the advice that I would give you. I do believe that it would be most helpful if you attempt to flatter your friend without being overtly obsequious.” He said all of this while not looking at me and slicing slits into the bird’s skin.
“Thank you, Jeeves. Go on with your fowl sacrifice.”
“Very good, sir.”
I hoofed it back to my room, where I typed a reply to Jeeves, but then threw the letter into the fireplace. This was not the time for hastiness, rather it was the time for a billet doux, that is, for the young master to pour out the Wooster heart.
However, I found I could not do it. I could not write the words that bubbled from that thumping organ, as it were, because I found them all lacking in truth and honesty. Instead, I treaded lightly back into my main living area and sat at my piano.
I wanted to play something light and frothy and frivolous, but my heart was burdened by both the knowledge that I had hurt the one I love and that I was too much of a bally coward to do anything about it. Before I knew it, my fingers had begun to play “Moonlight Sonata”. I floated away with the music, pouring every last ounce of feeling I had into the piece, trying to convey my heart through song. I could no longer hear Jeeves stirring in the kitchen, but felt his presence near me. The thought of him so close to me while I bared my soul unnerved me, and I found myself playing Rachmaninoff instead, which did not help the situation in the least.
After a long while, when both Beethoven and Rachmaninoff had run their course through my fingers, I sat at the keyboard pensive and emotionally drained, desperate for a b. and s. without so much s. When I looked up, I found my Reg - Jeeves, that is - staring at me with a tender thingness that I had only dreamed about. In fact, I had dreamt about it the night before.
“Sir, that was…”
“No, Jeeves, really, it was…”
“…extraordinary. I do hope you’ll play that…”
“…very kind of you to say so, but honestly…”
I stopped mid-sentence, as did Jeeves.
“Go on, old thing.”
“Sir, I merely wanted to express how much I enjoyed your playing. It was quite beautiful. Did you know those are among my favorites?”
It hadn’t occurred to me until just then, when I asked my pen pal what his favorite songs were, that he had mentioned being an admirer of the two pieces I had played. Suddenly, it was as if all the lights of the West End were turned on at once in front of me. I knew what I had to do.
“Oh, I was just practicing. Bertram must branch out sometime, what?”
“It was exceedingly well done, sir.” Jeeves had a bit of a soppy look on his map, which I took to the good. When I smiled at him, he suddenly slapped on a most rigid face and headed to his lair.
I, in turn, ankled it back to my own bedroom and began to pour over Jeeves’ letters again, this time looking for ammunition. This Wooster was going to woo!
---
Now, B.W. Wooster can spark with the best of them, but unfortunately it is normally in the guise of attempting to help coves who are even more unlucky in love than I am, and it usually explodes in my face. Of course, pitching woo to the fairer sex and courting the brainiest of men who also have the appearance of Apollo are two completely different things.
How does one woo a Jeeves?
The usual flowers and sweet words that one would use on a filly would never do. I took notes of all the things that Reg had mentioned in his letters; things he particularly enjoyed, things he did for himself when he was on holiday, things I did that he found pleasing. I made a list of favorite songs, noted his favorite poems, saw that his favorite color was blue, and that although he pretended not to like it, he did, indeed, enjoy it when I dragged him to a moving picture show.
When I had filled two pages front and back with tiny tidbits of information re: my man, I stuffed them into the Zane Grey western novel I was reading. Jeeves wouldn’t touch such a book with a ten foot pole, so I thought it would be safe there.
That evening, I would begin my most clever scheme yet.
Onward to Part Two!