Jeeves and the Rummy Interruptions Part 1/?
Hello all! I delurked myself a while ago, but haven't gotten around to contributing anything, for which I am very ashamed. So I present, very timidly and tentativly, my very first Jooster fanfic, so be gentle. It hasn't been betaed or anything, so any grammar or spelling mistakes and what not are all mine and I apologize in advance, for I am a horrible typist. Also thanks so much to random_c for the help with making a cut.
Title: Jeeves and the Rummy Interruptions: Part 1/?
Rating: So far PG, R for later content, but this first part is fairly safe.
Summary: Bertie is feeling homesick in New York. He and Jeeves get to talking about England and their childhoods. They also get to drinking...
Jeeves and the Rummy Interruptions
Part 1
It’s rather rummy when you look back on a thing and find yourself saying “Gosh if I’d only known.”. It makes a fellow feel like a right chump, I mean, when you’re sitting in the metaphorical aftermath of some dashed important event in your life, looking back on the battle plans and only then realize that you should have seen it all coming a mile away. The telltale signs and foreshadowings don’t you know. What I mean is, it seems perfectly apparent, looking back on the story I’m about to tell, that there were signs with huge neon letters telling me what I should have done, but when I was in the thick of the thing I couldn’t tell a sign from a whole in the ground as the American’s say.
“ Now hang on just a moment,” I’m sure you’re saying, “this Wooster is a bally imbecile! He’s started his story by jabbering on about something we’ve no notion of! What a chump!” Now I won’t deny I can be a right fathead; my various aunts would willingly testify to that in a court of law. I apologize old boys and girls, and shall endeavor to begin at the beginning.
The story takes place during my sojourn in America and I had been in New York for quite some time, at least six months. And the truth was, despite the manifold attractions, I had begun to feel dashed homesick. That’s not to say that America wasn’t a thoroughly all-right place, and not that I hadn’t met squads of the right sorts of fellows; but there were times at night I could hear the lilting call of the lush green homeland floating through the air across the sea. I yearned for the good old flat in Berkley square and to see the much beloved, if sometimes rather goofy, faces of all my pals at the Drones. In short, I became a regular shadow, moping about the apartment like the good old Ghost in Hamlet moped about Ellsinore. Neither food nor drink could revive my usual joie de vivre, though Jeeves certainly made a good try of it, whipping up libations that could tempt even my Uncle George, whose stomach lining is known to rebel at the slightest movement. But all of his efforts were for naught; I still ached to walk once more upon England’s good old mountains green.
Now, I’m sure some of you may be scratching your heads and wondering why I didn’t simply hijack the nearest yacht and paddle across the pond to the good old place of birth. But, dear reader, the problem lies in the fact that though I craved the good old London air like La Basset craves wee fluffy bunnies, who when they sneeze, give fairies their wings, England also contained my Aunt Agatha. Notoriously a battle axe wielding, nephew crushing kind of a Amazon, it was she who had first sent me to America, with the expressed purpose of dissuading my cousin Gussie from marrying an actress. Well, you have only to trip over to the Broadway premiere of the musical comedy, “My Pal Marmaduke” featuring both Gussie and his young fiancé in order to see how abysmally I failed at the task. At first it had seemed quite all right to simply stay in America and wait for the time I could return to England without being beheaded, but six months would make any chap yearn for his own flat and in the throws of my homesickness it was dashed hard to wait for Aunt Agatha to reconcile herself with Bertram.
I was deep in said T’s of H one night, sitting in the drawing room and sipping a mournful b and s, when Jeeves shimmered in. As I had said before, Jeeves had been doing his dashed best to cheer up the young master, but sadly to no avail. And I must say I think that my despondency was getting to him; as he appeared at the side of the couch that evening, he had a surprisingly deep look of concern on his face. That is to say his forehead was wrinkled about half an inch, but I, knowing him as I do saw the genuine worry etched in that brow.
“Can I get anything for you sir?”
“ No thank you Jeeves.” I answered, staring sullenly at the fire.
“Perhaps I could refresh your drink sir?”
I looked down and saw that I had, indeed, polished off my glass without even realizing it.
“Best not, Jeeves. I’ve already had three. Or was it four? I can’t remember. Anyway, don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“Very good sir.”
He went to shimmer out again, but something seemed to stop him and he turned back.
“If you will pardon the liberty sir, might I ask if you are feeling well?”
“What do you mean Jeeves?” I said, giving the man a look.
“ You have, if I may say so, not been yourself.” He took a few step closer till he was standing by the arm of the couch again, “ Is there anything wrong sir?”
Perhaps it was simply because of the man’s unexpected concern for your’s truly or perhaps my dejected state had weakened me. Whatever it was, something inside me softened and my heart sort of twitched in a rather rummy way, don’t you know, and I almost felt like crying.
“ Sit down for goodness sake, Jeeves, there’s no need to stand on ceremony, no matter how strong your feudal spirit may be.” He hesitated, “Please Jeeves, just sit down.”
He obliged, though rather stiffly, before inquiring,
“ If you are feeling depressed sir, perhaps you could go out and see a show, or go out to one of the many clubs-“
“ Oh, hang it Jeeves, I don’t want to do any of that. I’m just so bally homesick Every time I go out, everything just reminds me of the fact that I’m not in England. I’d almost be happy to see Honoria Glossop or Stiffy Bing if only to find relief from these American girls and their dashed shrill laughter.” I turned to give him a pained look, “ Have you heard them laugh Jeeves?”
“Indeed sir.” He said, with a slight smile.
“ Yes, like some sort of screeching parrot.”
“ The comparison, is not undeserved sir.”
“ Makes a fellow yearn for old Blighty, doesn’t it Jeeves?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Makes me think of my old house; the one I grew up in, you know, in the good old English country-side.” I said, beginning to reminisce. It was probably the hooch, but I was starting to feel awfully nostalgic. “ It was so wonderful,” I continued, in what I fear was not altogether a non-soppy voice, “ We had a lovely country manor, much like Brinkley actually, full of atmosphere: green grassy hills and woods a boy could get lost in all day. I was never extremely athletic, but I loved to just walk across our estate and see all there was, the flowers, the trees, the animals. I suppose that’s why I so enjoy going to Brinkley whenever I can, reminds me of the old homestead, don’t you know.”
“ Yes, sir.” Jeeves said; and he said it with such a sincerity that I was quite touched. And it was then that I realized I felt quite comfortable with Jeeves. I mean, with some of the people one employs, you think about them just as often as you think about your digestive system: you just assume their doing their job and there’s an end(Unless you’re my Uncle George, but that’s another story). But Jeeves was one in a million, and I had become conscious, over the last month or so that Jeeves had become more than just a valet: he was also a friend, don’t you know. Someone I could talk to, and certainly someone I could depend upon, if the numerous occasions that he had fished me out of the not to shallow soup are any evidence. And it was dashed nice to have a sympathetic ear, especially an ear with a voice that didn’t have the flat, harsh American vowels.
“ Where did you grow up Jeeves? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you much about your childhood. I just assumed you sprang from your mother’s womb fully formed, brilliant brain included.”
“ Decidedly not sir,” he said with a Jeevesian smirk, “I was born and raised in Canterbury. Near the coast, as it happens. I believe that is why I have such a fondness for fishing; my mother and I used to go to the shore for a day, sitting and simply staring at the sea and she would often allow me to fish.”
“ Sounds dashed pleasant.”
“It was very pleasant, sir.” Said Jeeves and I detected the hint of a nostalgic smile. Well! It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one succumbing to the softer feelings; I should have to watch it though to make sure neither of us started spouting absurdities about the stars being Gods daisy chain. One must always keep a eye out for these sorts of things. But it was rather pleasant having someone to talk to; it bally well relieved the melancholy mood I had been suffering from. Once I had begun to get the stuff out into the open for someone else to hear, the whole situation seemed less bleak don’t you know?
“ What about your father Jeeves, what did he do?”
Jeeves frowned slightly in a sort of rummy way.
“ He was the stable master on a country estate. My mother was the cook.”
“You speak of your father in a somewhat soupy voice Jeeves. Rather reminds me of the one you get when speaking of a pair of overly flamboyant spats of mine that you’ve developed a distaste for. Why the unpleasantness? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Not at all sir,” he replied, looking thoughtfully into the fire, “He did not like me very much. I was a quiet, bookish sort of child and he was more stout and sporting, a huntsmen. I often believed that he thought more of his horses sometimes than he did of me. I suppose I disappointed him somewhat as far as sons go. When I got my first valeting job for a young gentleman of the house that we worked for, he accused me, because of my pension for intellectual pursuits and my new duties, of being ungrateful and attempting to rise above my parents and my station in life. We never got on very well, to put it plainly. My mother died when I was fourteen and we drifted even farther apart.” He took a pause and it became apparent to me that he was, despite his outwardly stony appearance, quite affected. My heart bled for the man.
“ I’m dashed sorry Jeeves. Would you care for a drink?” I offered, thinking to sooth the fellow a bit. I felt like a bally ass, poking and prodding at what was obviously a touchy subject. Jeeves looked over at the assortment of liquor, clearing yearning for a splash of the liquid,
“ I fear it would not be proper sir.”
“ Oh come now Jeeves! I shall drink with you if it will make you feel any better. But I warn you, I’ll liable to get soppier as the night goes on.”
The man finally relented.
“ Thank you for the warning, sir.” He said sarcastically as he got up to pour us our drinks. He came back and we both downed a bit before I broke the rather matey silence that had been reigning,
“ You’re lucky to have had your mother for so long.”
“ Indeed sir.”
“ Both my parents died when I was eight.” I took another swig and stared once more into the fireplace.
“ How did they pass, if I may ask sir.”
“ A fire.” I said simply, “ They were on their way to visit me at school and they were staying overnight at some Inn or Hotel. Someone got careless I suppose.”
“ I am sorry sir.”
“ No need to be. It was an accident. And besides I always try to remember that there are people who have their parents for far less time than I did. And I had squads of Aunts and Uncles to look after me, though not all of them as felicitous as some. But still, I could have had a much worse life.”
Jeeves smiled at the young master,
“ A very enlightened view sir.”
“ Thank you Jeeves. One tries. But enough of these depressing dirges! We must talk of lighter things. What of the young Jeeves? Were you as bright and promising as a child as you are now?”
“ I did enjoy reading sir. I was never happier than when sitting and reading with my mother.”
“ And I was, as we have already seen, quite a carefree, trouble maker in my youth. Some things never change, do they Jeeves?”
“ Indeed sir.”
And so the conversation continued well into the night. We talked of this and that, schools we had gone to, amusing anecdotes and childhood adventures. It was dashed pleasant. And I don’t mind admitting that we drank quite frequently as we talked, getting not a very little under the surface.
And it was this slightly sloshed state, I believe, that caused us to find ourselves, the next morning asleep on the couch.
I don’t know how it happened, but it appeared, as I blinked my eyes, like a new born babe in the late morning light, that we had lost track of time and simply drifted off.
The thing was that after the night we had put in, I should have been feeling like I had an angry rhinoceros dwelling in my skull, who had invited over six of his rowdiest rhinoceros buddies. But aside from a slight fuzziness and inability to remember where I was for a moment, I didn’t feel at all bad. In fact I felt rather, warm and serene, don’t you know. Birds singing in the treetops, God in his heaven, and all that.
Just when I was thinking how bally lucky I was to still have my brain in working order, I looked down and saw something I had never expected to see.
It was Jeeves.
I blinked.
I blinked again. But he was still there.
Apparently, at some point during the good old eight hours of the dreamless, we had shifted somewhat, with the result that I had ended up lying ensconced in Jeeves’ arms with my head on his shoulder.
I blushed as I looked at Jeeves’ sleep softened face. It would perhaps be pertinent to mention some things at this slightly awkward moment, that might illuminate why these particular memoirs aren’t available to the general public. The truth is that, despite what my numerous engagements might suggest, I don’t have much fondness for the fairer sex. What I mean is that this Wooster had long since realized that I found other lads much more comely and attractive than any Philly could possibly be. A nice pair of broad muscular shoulders(much like those I had been sleeping on during the night, if I might add) has always, in short, held much more fascination for me than long flowing locks and curvy hips. I know it may come as a shock to your sensibilities, but there it is. Break out the smelling salts and revive yourself if you must, I shan’t lie to you. I had known it from quite a young age, but hadn’t done much in the way of relationships, the cove on cove action being somewhat frowned upon by the constabulary. Bingo and I did actually have a brief stab at it. He is rather handsome certainly, and a dear old boy. The thing was, it never really went anywhere past hand holding and the occasional stolen kiss in dark hallways, it being difficult to find privacy for that sort of fruitiness in the crowded dormitories at Eton. Nonetheless, we came out of it friends, thankfully and Bingo soon turned after the females, never to bat for the home team again, don’t you know. I had been content since then to go about admiring Johnnies from afar, happy to look, and keep the rest to myself.
Until Jeeves, that is. You see, since he had entered my employ I had found myself rather falling for him. He was certainly a fine looking cove. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, dark haired and features that reminded one not a little of that Adonis chappie that Shakespeare wrote of. All in all quite a looker, if you’ll pardon the phrase, though I’m sure Jeeves would find it undignified. And the fact that he turned out to be someone who had become a friend and downright pal over the time of his employment certainly didn’t help my pie-eyed state. The truth was, especially in recent days, I do believe I’d quite fallen in love with him. If I hadn’t, my heart was giving a dashed good imitation. It fluttered every time he entered the room, or whenever his deep, smooth voice awoke me in the morning.
So you can understand why I would be rather uncomfortable to find myself in the present situation, i.e. enveloped in a strong, warm pair of Jeevesian arms, while the man himself slept peacefully at my side. I paused to sigh as I looked at his face; he really was beautiful, especially while under Morpheus’s spell. His normal stony, imposing façade had fallen away during sleep, and he now appeared tender and more human; a few locks of his ink black hair had fallen in front of his face during the night and I had to resist the impulse to reach out a hand and brush them away. Damn it, the man even smelled good, a combination of minty brilliantine and a deep masculine scent I took to be his aftershave that made me shiver in my skin. My heart ached don’t you know, looking at him, for though I could look, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be allowed to do any more.
The thing was, though I pretty well knew my own feelings on the matter, it was dashed impossible to fathom Jeeves’ side of the thing. I couldn’t simply come right out and say cheerfully, “By the by Jeeves do you happen to be an invert? Really?! Me too! Shall we hop into bed together and live happily ever after? Tally ho, pip pip, let’s get to the buggering then my good man!” You can imagine how something like that would go. And usually I would have simply assumed the man to be completely uninterested, but there were little things, don’t you know, that gave me suspicions. The way his voice sort of purred when he woke me in the morning, or when he said good night to me in the evening that sent shivers down my spine. Or the fact that I had even caught him on occasion, observing me while I played piano, with a simmering look in his eye which I can only describe as, well, dare I say it, sexy? Even our domestic battles over clothing had a decidedly playful air to them in recent days; I’d even gone so far, on occasion, as to purchase something I knew would incur his ire just to see the slight disapproving smirk on his face he got when he knew a battle was about to ensue. But I had no idea if these were all in the Wooster melon or not, and I certainly didn’t want to risk the tentative situation that we had now. If Jeeves left me because I was of the Oscar Wilde persuasion, I didn’t know what I would do.
So it was with no little trepidation that I decided I should play the gentleman and awake Jeeves before he did so on his own and discovered our position. But before I got the chance to give a tentative “What ho!” as it were, Jeeves stretched in a rather sinuous way and blinked a few times in rapid succession.
I froze.
Perhaps I might have done something on the spur of the moment to rectify the circumstances , but I was caught off guard by Jeeves’ dark piercing eyes giving me a sleepy, almost dreamy look. We were rather close at this point, almost nose to nose. We stared at each other for a moment where the air positively sizzled and my heart seemed to be trying to beat it’s way out of my ribs. I flushed even more if it is possible, my cheeks going as red as roses. I had no idea what to say, feeling that anything in the way of an explanation would fall about as flat as a pancake in a frying pan, not to mention that the vocal chords seemed to have dropped out of the picture altogether. But I was saved the trouble of speaking. Jeeves suddenly gave a slinky sort of smile which didn’t help either my maidenly blush or my heart rate, and said in that deep, purring sort of voice I spoke of earlier, what I still believe to be the most shiver-inducing phrase to leave this sterling mans lips,
“Good morning Bertram.”
And before I could protest(not that I would have anyway) he closed the space between us and pressed his lips to mine.
Title: Jeeves and the Rummy Interruptions: Part 1/?
Rating: So far PG, R for later content, but this first part is fairly safe.
Summary: Bertie is feeling homesick in New York. He and Jeeves get to talking about England and their childhoods. They also get to drinking...
Jeeves and the Rummy Interruptions
Part 1
It’s rather rummy when you look back on a thing and find yourself saying “Gosh if I’d only known.”. It makes a fellow feel like a right chump, I mean, when you’re sitting in the metaphorical aftermath of some dashed important event in your life, looking back on the battle plans and only then realize that you should have seen it all coming a mile away. The telltale signs and foreshadowings don’t you know. What I mean is, it seems perfectly apparent, looking back on the story I’m about to tell, that there were signs with huge neon letters telling me what I should have done, but when I was in the thick of the thing I couldn’t tell a sign from a whole in the ground as the American’s say.
“ Now hang on just a moment,” I’m sure you’re saying, “this Wooster is a bally imbecile! He’s started his story by jabbering on about something we’ve no notion of! What a chump!” Now I won’t deny I can be a right fathead; my various aunts would willingly testify to that in a court of law. I apologize old boys and girls, and shall endeavor to begin at the beginning.
The story takes place during my sojourn in America and I had been in New York for quite some time, at least six months. And the truth was, despite the manifold attractions, I had begun to feel dashed homesick. That’s not to say that America wasn’t a thoroughly all-right place, and not that I hadn’t met squads of the right sorts of fellows; but there were times at night I could hear the lilting call of the lush green homeland floating through the air across the sea. I yearned for the good old flat in Berkley square and to see the much beloved, if sometimes rather goofy, faces of all my pals at the Drones. In short, I became a regular shadow, moping about the apartment like the good old Ghost in Hamlet moped about Ellsinore. Neither food nor drink could revive my usual joie de vivre, though Jeeves certainly made a good try of it, whipping up libations that could tempt even my Uncle George, whose stomach lining is known to rebel at the slightest movement. But all of his efforts were for naught; I still ached to walk once more upon England’s good old mountains green.
Now, I’m sure some of you may be scratching your heads and wondering why I didn’t simply hijack the nearest yacht and paddle across the pond to the good old place of birth. But, dear reader, the problem lies in the fact that though I craved the good old London air like La Basset craves wee fluffy bunnies, who when they sneeze, give fairies their wings, England also contained my Aunt Agatha. Notoriously a battle axe wielding, nephew crushing kind of a Amazon, it was she who had first sent me to America, with the expressed purpose of dissuading my cousin Gussie from marrying an actress. Well, you have only to trip over to the Broadway premiere of the musical comedy, “My Pal Marmaduke” featuring both Gussie and his young fiancé in order to see how abysmally I failed at the task. At first it had seemed quite all right to simply stay in America and wait for the time I could return to England without being beheaded, but six months would make any chap yearn for his own flat and in the throws of my homesickness it was dashed hard to wait for Aunt Agatha to reconcile herself with Bertram.
I was deep in said T’s of H one night, sitting in the drawing room and sipping a mournful b and s, when Jeeves shimmered in. As I had said before, Jeeves had been doing his dashed best to cheer up the young master, but sadly to no avail. And I must say I think that my despondency was getting to him; as he appeared at the side of the couch that evening, he had a surprisingly deep look of concern on his face. That is to say his forehead was wrinkled about half an inch, but I, knowing him as I do saw the genuine worry etched in that brow.
“Can I get anything for you sir?”
“ No thank you Jeeves.” I answered, staring sullenly at the fire.
“Perhaps I could refresh your drink sir?”
I looked down and saw that I had, indeed, polished off my glass without even realizing it.
“Best not, Jeeves. I’ve already had three. Or was it four? I can’t remember. Anyway, don’t want to make a fool of myself.”
“Very good sir.”
He went to shimmer out again, but something seemed to stop him and he turned back.
“If you will pardon the liberty sir, might I ask if you are feeling well?”
“What do you mean Jeeves?” I said, giving the man a look.
“ You have, if I may say so, not been yourself.” He took a few step closer till he was standing by the arm of the couch again, “ Is there anything wrong sir?”
Perhaps it was simply because of the man’s unexpected concern for your’s truly or perhaps my dejected state had weakened me. Whatever it was, something inside me softened and my heart sort of twitched in a rather rummy way, don’t you know, and I almost felt like crying.
“ Sit down for goodness sake, Jeeves, there’s no need to stand on ceremony, no matter how strong your feudal spirit may be.” He hesitated, “Please Jeeves, just sit down.”
He obliged, though rather stiffly, before inquiring,
“ If you are feeling depressed sir, perhaps you could go out and see a show, or go out to one of the many clubs-“
“ Oh, hang it Jeeves, I don’t want to do any of that. I’m just so bally homesick Every time I go out, everything just reminds me of the fact that I’m not in England. I’d almost be happy to see Honoria Glossop or Stiffy Bing if only to find relief from these American girls and their dashed shrill laughter.” I turned to give him a pained look, “ Have you heard them laugh Jeeves?”
“Indeed sir.” He said, with a slight smile.
“ Yes, like some sort of screeching parrot.”
“ The comparison, is not undeserved sir.”
“ Makes a fellow yearn for old Blighty, doesn’t it Jeeves?”
“ Yes, sir.”
“ Makes me think of my old house; the one I grew up in, you know, in the good old English country-side.” I said, beginning to reminisce. It was probably the hooch, but I was starting to feel awfully nostalgic. “ It was so wonderful,” I continued, in what I fear was not altogether a non-soppy voice, “ We had a lovely country manor, much like Brinkley actually, full of atmosphere: green grassy hills and woods a boy could get lost in all day. I was never extremely athletic, but I loved to just walk across our estate and see all there was, the flowers, the trees, the animals. I suppose that’s why I so enjoy going to Brinkley whenever I can, reminds me of the old homestead, don’t you know.”
“ Yes, sir.” Jeeves said; and he said it with such a sincerity that I was quite touched. And it was then that I realized I felt quite comfortable with Jeeves. I mean, with some of the people one employs, you think about them just as often as you think about your digestive system: you just assume their doing their job and there’s an end(Unless you’re my Uncle George, but that’s another story). But Jeeves was one in a million, and I had become conscious, over the last month or so that Jeeves had become more than just a valet: he was also a friend, don’t you know. Someone I could talk to, and certainly someone I could depend upon, if the numerous occasions that he had fished me out of the not to shallow soup are any evidence. And it was dashed nice to have a sympathetic ear, especially an ear with a voice that didn’t have the flat, harsh American vowels.
“ Where did you grow up Jeeves? I don’t think I’ve ever asked you much about your childhood. I just assumed you sprang from your mother’s womb fully formed, brilliant brain included.”
“ Decidedly not sir,” he said with a Jeevesian smirk, “I was born and raised in Canterbury. Near the coast, as it happens. I believe that is why I have such a fondness for fishing; my mother and I used to go to the shore for a day, sitting and simply staring at the sea and she would often allow me to fish.”
“ Sounds dashed pleasant.”
“It was very pleasant, sir.” Said Jeeves and I detected the hint of a nostalgic smile. Well! It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one succumbing to the softer feelings; I should have to watch it though to make sure neither of us started spouting absurdities about the stars being Gods daisy chain. One must always keep a eye out for these sorts of things. But it was rather pleasant having someone to talk to; it bally well relieved the melancholy mood I had been suffering from. Once I had begun to get the stuff out into the open for someone else to hear, the whole situation seemed less bleak don’t you know?
“ What about your father Jeeves, what did he do?”
Jeeves frowned slightly in a sort of rummy way.
“ He was the stable master on a country estate. My mother was the cook.”
“You speak of your father in a somewhat soupy voice Jeeves. Rather reminds me of the one you get when speaking of a pair of overly flamboyant spats of mine that you’ve developed a distaste for. Why the unpleasantness? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Not at all sir,” he replied, looking thoughtfully into the fire, “He did not like me very much. I was a quiet, bookish sort of child and he was more stout and sporting, a huntsmen. I often believed that he thought more of his horses sometimes than he did of me. I suppose I disappointed him somewhat as far as sons go. When I got my first valeting job for a young gentleman of the house that we worked for, he accused me, because of my pension for intellectual pursuits and my new duties, of being ungrateful and attempting to rise above my parents and my station in life. We never got on very well, to put it plainly. My mother died when I was fourteen and we drifted even farther apart.” He took a pause and it became apparent to me that he was, despite his outwardly stony appearance, quite affected. My heart bled for the man.
“ I’m dashed sorry Jeeves. Would you care for a drink?” I offered, thinking to sooth the fellow a bit. I felt like a bally ass, poking and prodding at what was obviously a touchy subject. Jeeves looked over at the assortment of liquor, clearing yearning for a splash of the liquid,
“ I fear it would not be proper sir.”
“ Oh come now Jeeves! I shall drink with you if it will make you feel any better. But I warn you, I’ll liable to get soppier as the night goes on.”
The man finally relented.
“ Thank you for the warning, sir.” He said sarcastically as he got up to pour us our drinks. He came back and we both downed a bit before I broke the rather matey silence that had been reigning,
“ You’re lucky to have had your mother for so long.”
“ Indeed sir.”
“ Both my parents died when I was eight.” I took another swig and stared once more into the fireplace.
“ How did they pass, if I may ask sir.”
“ A fire.” I said simply, “ They were on their way to visit me at school and they were staying overnight at some Inn or Hotel. Someone got careless I suppose.”
“ I am sorry sir.”
“ No need to be. It was an accident. And besides I always try to remember that there are people who have their parents for far less time than I did. And I had squads of Aunts and Uncles to look after me, though not all of them as felicitous as some. But still, I could have had a much worse life.”
Jeeves smiled at the young master,
“ A very enlightened view sir.”
“ Thank you Jeeves. One tries. But enough of these depressing dirges! We must talk of lighter things. What of the young Jeeves? Were you as bright and promising as a child as you are now?”
“ I did enjoy reading sir. I was never happier than when sitting and reading with my mother.”
“ And I was, as we have already seen, quite a carefree, trouble maker in my youth. Some things never change, do they Jeeves?”
“ Indeed sir.”
And so the conversation continued well into the night. We talked of this and that, schools we had gone to, amusing anecdotes and childhood adventures. It was dashed pleasant. And I don’t mind admitting that we drank quite frequently as we talked, getting not a very little under the surface.
And it was this slightly sloshed state, I believe, that caused us to find ourselves, the next morning asleep on the couch.
I don’t know how it happened, but it appeared, as I blinked my eyes, like a new born babe in the late morning light, that we had lost track of time and simply drifted off.
The thing was that after the night we had put in, I should have been feeling like I had an angry rhinoceros dwelling in my skull, who had invited over six of his rowdiest rhinoceros buddies. But aside from a slight fuzziness and inability to remember where I was for a moment, I didn’t feel at all bad. In fact I felt rather, warm and serene, don’t you know. Birds singing in the treetops, God in his heaven, and all that.
Just when I was thinking how bally lucky I was to still have my brain in working order, I looked down and saw something I had never expected to see.
It was Jeeves.
I blinked.
I blinked again. But he was still there.
Apparently, at some point during the good old eight hours of the dreamless, we had shifted somewhat, with the result that I had ended up lying ensconced in Jeeves’ arms with my head on his shoulder.
I blushed as I looked at Jeeves’ sleep softened face. It would perhaps be pertinent to mention some things at this slightly awkward moment, that might illuminate why these particular memoirs aren’t available to the general public. The truth is that, despite what my numerous engagements might suggest, I don’t have much fondness for the fairer sex. What I mean is that this Wooster had long since realized that I found other lads much more comely and attractive than any Philly could possibly be. A nice pair of broad muscular shoulders(much like those I had been sleeping on during the night, if I might add) has always, in short, held much more fascination for me than long flowing locks and curvy hips. I know it may come as a shock to your sensibilities, but there it is. Break out the smelling salts and revive yourself if you must, I shan’t lie to you. I had known it from quite a young age, but hadn’t done much in the way of relationships, the cove on cove action being somewhat frowned upon by the constabulary. Bingo and I did actually have a brief stab at it. He is rather handsome certainly, and a dear old boy. The thing was, it never really went anywhere past hand holding and the occasional stolen kiss in dark hallways, it being difficult to find privacy for that sort of fruitiness in the crowded dormitories at Eton. Nonetheless, we came out of it friends, thankfully and Bingo soon turned after the females, never to bat for the home team again, don’t you know. I had been content since then to go about admiring Johnnies from afar, happy to look, and keep the rest to myself.
Until Jeeves, that is. You see, since he had entered my employ I had found myself rather falling for him. He was certainly a fine looking cove. Tall, broad shouldered, muscular, dark haired and features that reminded one not a little of that Adonis chappie that Shakespeare wrote of. All in all quite a looker, if you’ll pardon the phrase, though I’m sure Jeeves would find it undignified. And the fact that he turned out to be someone who had become a friend and downright pal over the time of his employment certainly didn’t help my pie-eyed state. The truth was, especially in recent days, I do believe I’d quite fallen in love with him. If I hadn’t, my heart was giving a dashed good imitation. It fluttered every time he entered the room, or whenever his deep, smooth voice awoke me in the morning.
So you can understand why I would be rather uncomfortable to find myself in the present situation, i.e. enveloped in a strong, warm pair of Jeevesian arms, while the man himself slept peacefully at my side. I paused to sigh as I looked at his face; he really was beautiful, especially while under Morpheus’s spell. His normal stony, imposing façade had fallen away during sleep, and he now appeared tender and more human; a few locks of his ink black hair had fallen in front of his face during the night and I had to resist the impulse to reach out a hand and brush them away. Damn it, the man even smelled good, a combination of minty brilliantine and a deep masculine scent I took to be his aftershave that made me shiver in my skin. My heart ached don’t you know, looking at him, for though I could look, I wasn’t sure if I would ever be allowed to do any more.
The thing was, though I pretty well knew my own feelings on the matter, it was dashed impossible to fathom Jeeves’ side of the thing. I couldn’t simply come right out and say cheerfully, “By the by Jeeves do you happen to be an invert? Really?! Me too! Shall we hop into bed together and live happily ever after? Tally ho, pip pip, let’s get to the buggering then my good man!” You can imagine how something like that would go. And usually I would have simply assumed the man to be completely uninterested, but there were little things, don’t you know, that gave me suspicions. The way his voice sort of purred when he woke me in the morning, or when he said good night to me in the evening that sent shivers down my spine. Or the fact that I had even caught him on occasion, observing me while I played piano, with a simmering look in his eye which I can only describe as, well, dare I say it, sexy? Even our domestic battles over clothing had a decidedly playful air to them in recent days; I’d even gone so far, on occasion, as to purchase something I knew would incur his ire just to see the slight disapproving smirk on his face he got when he knew a battle was about to ensue. But I had no idea if these were all in the Wooster melon or not, and I certainly didn’t want to risk the tentative situation that we had now. If Jeeves left me because I was of the Oscar Wilde persuasion, I didn’t know what I would do.
So it was with no little trepidation that I decided I should play the gentleman and awake Jeeves before he did so on his own and discovered our position. But before I got the chance to give a tentative “What ho!” as it were, Jeeves stretched in a rather sinuous way and blinked a few times in rapid succession.
I froze.
Perhaps I might have done something on the spur of the moment to rectify the circumstances , but I was caught off guard by Jeeves’ dark piercing eyes giving me a sleepy, almost dreamy look. We were rather close at this point, almost nose to nose. We stared at each other for a moment where the air positively sizzled and my heart seemed to be trying to beat it’s way out of my ribs. I flushed even more if it is possible, my cheeks going as red as roses. I had no idea what to say, feeling that anything in the way of an explanation would fall about as flat as a pancake in a frying pan, not to mention that the vocal chords seemed to have dropped out of the picture altogether. But I was saved the trouble of speaking. Jeeves suddenly gave a slinky sort of smile which didn’t help either my maidenly blush or my heart rate, and said in that deep, purring sort of voice I spoke of earlier, what I still believe to be the most shiver-inducing phrase to leave this sterling mans lips,
“Good morning Bertram.”
And before I could protest(not that I would have anyway) he closed the space between us and pressed his lips to mine.