Fanfic: Jeeves and Wooster series - "Jeeves and the Holiday Spirit"
Title: Jeeves and the Holiday Spirit
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster (book series)
Characters: Reginald Jeeves/Bertie Wooster
Rating: G
Words: 862
Disclaimer: Based on characters created by P. G. Wodehouse.
Notes: Written for average_goof at Christmas, and posted here several days too late for it.
Summary: Bertie objects on practical grounds to Jeeves's use of mistletoe as a Christmas decoration.
"I say!" I exclaimed, re-entering my humble abode after a last afternoon of Christmas shopping. "Nicely done, Jeeves!"
I had desired Jeeves to make the flat festive, give it a bit of the old yuletide c., that sort of thing. I had made it rather festive myself, last year, but Jeeves disapproved of my efforts: he never says anything, of course, but he has a way of stepping gingerly around the most brightly coloured decorations that leaves one with little doubt as to his feelings on the matter. Yielding in the interest of household harmony, then, I delegated the task to Jeeves's better judgment, and it had proved to be a wise choice. He had the place decked out in fine style: candles, garlands, red ribbon, bits of gold sparkly stuff. Understated, you know, but charming; reminiscent of a good old English Christmas at Brinkley.
I was all the more distraught, then, when in the midst of all my I-say-ing and nicely-done-ing, the old Wooster intuition kicked in and I abruptly felt that something was rotten in the state of Denmark, as I have heard Jeeves put it. I looked to the left and to the right of me for the source of my unease, and finally located it above my head, of all places, where an innocuous-enough-looking sprig of greenery had been secured to the ceiling.
"Jeeves!" I cried, indicating the s. of g. "What is this?"
"Mistletoe would be the common name for it, sir," replied Jeeves, in that unflappable manner of his.
"I know that, dash it! What I mean to say is, what's it doing here?"
"It is a traditional component of - "
I cut him off with an authoritative gesture. "No, no. It simply won't do," I said. "This is a most shocking lapse of judgment on your part, Jeeves." Indeed I was worried that the fellow might be losing his touch. Not enough fish in the holiday diet, perhaps. "Don't you realize how much havoc this plant can wreak this time of year? Why, what if - I admit the possibility is a faint one, but what if Honoria Glossop should come to call?" Miss Glossop, you will remember, is what is called a robust sort of girl, and I should not be surprised if she were to get swept along by the Christmas spirit and crush Bertram Wooster by way of embracing him.
"Or worse, Madeleine Basset?" I conjectured, and I shivered at the thought, for I knew that the Basset, if she were to get sight of this sprig of vegetation, would immediately and quite unfairly take it as a gesture of my tragic affection for her. 'Dear Bertie' (would quoth the Basset), 'why can you not free yourself of this doomed love; for as you know, as I know, as we both know, I am bound to another. In another life, in another time, it could have been so, but you are only causing yourself undue suffering. And yet - in the true spirit of the season, and in the hope that it will help you to forget, you poor creature, I shall give you this, our first, our last kiss - '
I shivered, as I said, at the thought, and redoubled, in reaction, my firmness towards Jeeves. "Take the poisonous stuff down at once," said I; "I’ll have none of that sort of thing this Christmas."
"Very good, sir," said Jeeves. He brought over the little stepladder he had been using to stick up the last of the garlands, and all of a sudden it occurred to me that as I hadn't moved from my unlucky spot, and Jeeves, having set the ladder down, was standing right in front of me, that meant that Jeeves and I... Of course, I mean, it didn't strictly speaking count, I would have reasoned if pressed; a valet being, generally, rather different from a young lady, but all the same I was conscious of a queer sort of fluttery sensation in the vicinity of the stomach. I was carefully considering the notion of possibly stepping backwards, therefore, when Jeeves forestalled all thoughts of that nature - I was, as they say, rooted to the spot.
He did not crush me, nor did he attempt to talk my head off - in fact, he said not a word, though his lips turned up a fraction of a millimetre in the nearest I had seen to a smile on the fellow all year. Not that I minded being kissed by Jeeves, I mean, rather; and indeed it was the most respectable and proper little peck that a chap could possibly expect from his valet. I was merely rather surprised that Jeeves of all people should prove so susceptible to the caprices of the holiday spirit, and determined to inquire about this most unusual conduct.
"Oh, ah," I said.
Jeeves seemed to take my meaning, however. "The wisdom of our ancestors is in the custom, sir," said he sagely as he unfastened the mistletoe from the ceiling, "and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for."
Well - I mean to say - what could one say to that, but "Very good, Jeeves"?
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster (book series)
Characters: Reginald Jeeves/Bertie Wooster
Rating: G
Words: 862
Disclaimer: Based on characters created by P. G. Wodehouse.
Notes: Written for average_goof at Christmas, and posted here several days too late for it.
Summary: Bertie objects on practical grounds to Jeeves's use of mistletoe as a Christmas decoration.
"I say!" I exclaimed, re-entering my humble abode after a last afternoon of Christmas shopping. "Nicely done, Jeeves!"
I had desired Jeeves to make the flat festive, give it a bit of the old yuletide c., that sort of thing. I had made it rather festive myself, last year, but Jeeves disapproved of my efforts: he never says anything, of course, but he has a way of stepping gingerly around the most brightly coloured decorations that leaves one with little doubt as to his feelings on the matter. Yielding in the interest of household harmony, then, I delegated the task to Jeeves's better judgment, and it had proved to be a wise choice. He had the place decked out in fine style: candles, garlands, red ribbon, bits of gold sparkly stuff. Understated, you know, but charming; reminiscent of a good old English Christmas at Brinkley.
I was all the more distraught, then, when in the midst of all my I-say-ing and nicely-done-ing, the old Wooster intuition kicked in and I abruptly felt that something was rotten in the state of Denmark, as I have heard Jeeves put it. I looked to the left and to the right of me for the source of my unease, and finally located it above my head, of all places, where an innocuous-enough-looking sprig of greenery had been secured to the ceiling.
"Jeeves!" I cried, indicating the s. of g. "What is this?"
"Mistletoe would be the common name for it, sir," replied Jeeves, in that unflappable manner of his.
"I know that, dash it! What I mean to say is, what's it doing here?"
"It is a traditional component of - "
I cut him off with an authoritative gesture. "No, no. It simply won't do," I said. "This is a most shocking lapse of judgment on your part, Jeeves." Indeed I was worried that the fellow might be losing his touch. Not enough fish in the holiday diet, perhaps. "Don't you realize how much havoc this plant can wreak this time of year? Why, what if - I admit the possibility is a faint one, but what if Honoria Glossop should come to call?" Miss Glossop, you will remember, is what is called a robust sort of girl, and I should not be surprised if she were to get swept along by the Christmas spirit and crush Bertram Wooster by way of embracing him.
"Or worse, Madeleine Basset?" I conjectured, and I shivered at the thought, for I knew that the Basset, if she were to get sight of this sprig of vegetation, would immediately and quite unfairly take it as a gesture of my tragic affection for her. 'Dear Bertie' (would quoth the Basset), 'why can you not free yourself of this doomed love; for as you know, as I know, as we both know, I am bound to another. In another life, in another time, it could have been so, but you are only causing yourself undue suffering. And yet - in the true spirit of the season, and in the hope that it will help you to forget, you poor creature, I shall give you this, our first, our last kiss - '
I shivered, as I said, at the thought, and redoubled, in reaction, my firmness towards Jeeves. "Take the poisonous stuff down at once," said I; "I’ll have none of that sort of thing this Christmas."
"Very good, sir," said Jeeves. He brought over the little stepladder he had been using to stick up the last of the garlands, and all of a sudden it occurred to me that as I hadn't moved from my unlucky spot, and Jeeves, having set the ladder down, was standing right in front of me, that meant that Jeeves and I... Of course, I mean, it didn't strictly speaking count, I would have reasoned if pressed; a valet being, generally, rather different from a young lady, but all the same I was conscious of a queer sort of fluttery sensation in the vicinity of the stomach. I was carefully considering the notion of possibly stepping backwards, therefore, when Jeeves forestalled all thoughts of that nature - I was, as they say, rooted to the spot.
He did not crush me, nor did he attempt to talk my head off - in fact, he said not a word, though his lips turned up a fraction of a millimetre in the nearest I had seen to a smile on the fellow all year. Not that I minded being kissed by Jeeves, I mean, rather; and indeed it was the most respectable and proper little peck that a chap could possibly expect from his valet. I was merely rather surprised that Jeeves of all people should prove so susceptible to the caprices of the holiday spirit, and determined to inquire about this most unusual conduct.
"Oh, ah," I said.
Jeeves seemed to take my meaning, however. "The wisdom of our ancestors is in the custom, sir," said he sagely as he unfastened the mistletoe from the ceiling, "and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for."
Well - I mean to say - what could one say to that, but "Very good, Jeeves"?