Fic: What Aunt Dahlia Saw (a little fic for the New Year).
Okay. Here's a little Jooster for the New Year. It's a little romance, Bertie/Jeeves centric of course, but from the POV of Aunt Dahlia.
Title: What Aunt Dahlia Saw: Chapter One - New Year' Eve
Pairing: Jeeves & Wooster
Rating: G - nothing too racy.
Summary: Aunt Dahlia starts to wonder just what is going on with those two.
I'm sorry, in advance, that this isn't too brilliant. I think it has its moments, but it's not that great in structure. Please forgive! I rushed, wanting to get it posted in time for New Year's Day as a little gift to you all. Hope you enjoy it in spite of its failings.
I'm aware that some of the canon events I refer to may not have occurred in the order I imply.
Thanks, everyone, for this great community! Happy New Year to all!
What Aunt Dahlia Saw: Chapter One
New Year’s Eve
Dahlia Travers knew that her nephew Bertie Wooster was never going to get married. It seemed as though he was to be permanently what he called a ‘typical young man about town’, completely free of cares and responsibilities, like Peter Pan or one of those blighters. One of ‘Nature’s bachelors’, he called himself. This sounded to her like one of Jeeves’s phrases, but it was as neat a way of putting it as any.
His failure to really click with the ladies had used to worry her; but over the past eight years or so-since he’d first hired Jeeves as his personal manservant, in fact-he had seemed to have gradually given up the search for the ideal wife, and to be feeling all the better for it. And why not? For some reason the females for whom he did tend to make a bee-line were always the sort guaranteed to get him into some dreadful scrape, and she could hardly blame him if he wanted to opt for the quiet life. Bertie was her favourite nephew, and really, as long as he was content she didn’t give a hoot what he did with himself. The only time she had felt a real, sharp concern for his personal affairs was a couple of years ago when Jeeves had handed in his notice and gone to work for Lord Something-or-other in Somerset. She hadn’t seen Bertie at the time, and never even discussed the matter with him-but she had spoken to him on the telephone a day after Jeeves had left, and had never forgotten the dejected tone of his voice. She had supposed that there had been a death in the family that had not yet reached her ears.
Thank Heaven, Jeeves had returned. She didn’t know what had happened-it was all something to do with a banjolele and a burned cottage-all she really knew was that the next time they spoke, the bright sunniness had returned to his voice. It was about then that the notion occurred; the notion that Bertie would be just fine for the rest of his days, so long as he had Jeeves.
This was fine with her. Her sister Agatha couldn’t stand the man, but then Agatha always was rather apt to regard the domestic staff as a class who should be seen and not heard. Jeeves was just the type to annoy her-he was clearly far more intelligent than Bertie, and Agatha couldn’t stand the spectacle of someone of the noblesse turning to their attendants for advice.
Dahlia liked Jeeves, however. He was a fellow full of cracking ideas, and had helped her out of many a dilemma. Moreover, he took excellent care of her nephew, and she knew better than anyone how much Bertie needed looking after. She was fond of him, but she could hardly deny that he was a first class chump at times.
It was after Jeeves had arranged matters for her so that she was able to present that silver cow-creamer to Tom that she took him aside to have a word about Bertie.
‘My nephew, Jeeves,’ she had said, ‘is the best of men in many respects-he’s kindhearted, a dutiful nephew, and an all-round good egg. But there’s no getting around the fact that he is also a colossal ass.’
‘A sensitive plant would, perhaps, be a kinder expression, madam.’
‘Perhaps, Jeeves. It comes to the same thing. The point of the matter is he needs someone to take good care of him, and since it seems unlikely now that there’s ever going to be a Mrs. Wooster to take the reins, I’m afraid it’s going to be down to his personal attendant to save him from himself. If I may speak frankly, Jeeves, I am hoping that this conscientious soul will be you.’
‘Madam?’
‘Come come, Jeeves, no need to be coy. I’ve observed you closely since the time Bertie first engaged you, and I must say I’ve been impressed with your efficiency and your firm-but-gentle-hand approach. I’m not saying that I envy you, for I’m sure I couldn’t live under the same roof as the young blot indefinitely, but I wish to express to you my hope that you’ll be able to stick it for some indefinite period. He’s a good boy, really, and since he hired you he’s seemed to have a bit more fizz and sprightliness about him. I hope things will continue this way. Can I count on that?’
Jeeves gave something that was close to resembling a smile. Bertie had pointed out the characteristic to her before-the left corner of the mouth twitching slightly. Now, it turned up close to a quarter of an inch, which was as close to beaming as she had ever seen from him.
‘I shall be very happy, madam, to remain in Mr. Wooster’s service for as long as he desires it. I have been his valet for some years now, and I confess, I have allowed myself to hope that the situation is a permanent one-provided, that is, that he remains a single gentleman.’
‘You won’t be sticking around if he gets married, then?’
‘I regret not, madam.’
‘Why not?’
‘It is merely a personal feeling, madam.’
‘Ah. I see what it is-you don’t want to share. I know how you valets are.’
Jeeves smiled gently.
‘Well, I wouldn’t worry, anyway. I don’t see it happening. I believe he’s lost all interest, and between you and me, it’s probably for the best. I think he’s better off as he is as long as he has you about.’
‘It is very kind of you to say so, madam.’
And there the matter rested, it seemed.
Dahlia acknowledged that Jeeves was, in a practical sense, an alternative to a wife for Bertie-taking care of his affairs, and providing the companionship necessary to a gentleman of Bertie’s friendly nature. When it came to more emotional and physical requirements-well, she did sometimes wonder how it was that Bertie could be entirely happy; but the fact was, he did seem happy, and she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Bertie was satisfied with his life as it was, then that was enough, and as far as she was concerned the whys and wherefores didn’t matter.
It wasn’t until one Christmas a couple of years later that the matter of her nephew’s domestic happiness arose in her mind again-and a new notion began to form in the back of her mind. In the back of her mind it stayed, at first, because it seemed so far-fetched; but as she observed Bertie and Jeeves during that season, the notion slowly shaped and grew until she could hardly ignore it any longer.
She had invited Bertie to Brinkley Court for Christmas mainly for the pleasure of his company, but also because she needed someone to take on some butlering duties for the holiday, and Jeeves was an expert in the field whom she knew she could count on to keep the household running. Seppings was growing ever worn-down, and deserved a rest, so she had given a couple of weeks off so that he could spend time with his family and generally rest up over the Christmas holiday. Bertie’s old friend Reginald Herring and his new wife Roberta, daughter of Lady Wickham, were also present.
Perhaps there was something a little different in Bertie’s manner since she’d seen him last-it had been several months-or perhaps it was the former Bobbie Wickham’s presence that set Dahlia wondering about Bertie again, since Bertie had once been keen on the idea of marrying the girl himself. He didn’t seem especially crushed by her marriage; but still waters ran deep, so she kept an eye on him after he arrived, alert for regretful sighs or wistful glances. But at dinner the first night, Bertie sat close to Bobbie and chatted with her and Herring with perfect chumminess. No sign of heartbreak. When she did finally catch a wistful, longing sort of expression on his face, he wasn’t looking at Bobbie-or anyone, it seemed, for his gaze was falling at some point past where she was sitting. So affectionate was his expression, however-even though it lasted but a second-that she looked over her shoulder to see if there was a newcomer to the party. But there was only a couple of under-butlers and Jeeves standing there. So she thought no more of it at first; he always was a dreamy lad, and she supposed he’d had his head in the clouds once again.
She and Bertie breakfasted together the next day, and he seemed quite at ease-in fact, he seemed happier and more relaxed than he had ever looked before. She decided to comment on it; but he shrugged and told her that he supposed this ebullience was merely owing to the fact that he was in the pink and full of the Yule-tide spirit. She asked him outright if there were any new girlfriends in the picture; he laughed, blushed slightly, and assured her that there were none. And it was then, at precisely that moment, that she saw a curious expression on his face-he was glancing at Jeeves at the time, who was there to provide more hot water, and there it was-a shy, embarrassed, secretive and conspiratorial look.
She looked at Jeeves over the rim of her teacup-but there was only that usual quiet, unobtrusive face concentrating on refreshing the teapot. In another moment he had withdrawn into the shadows and disappeared. Bertie was a bit quiet for a moment after he’d gone.
Thus began the curious notion in her mind, where it quickly began to take root.
Over the next few days, there were, it seemed, a million little incidents that added to this strange inkling. It was like a catalogue of evidence building up, and while she didn’t actually go to the trouble of writing them down, each occurrence was filed neatly away in her mind, and every so often as she tried to make sense of it, she found herself running down the list that was forming.
Bertie’s second night there was perhaps the most telling initially; specifically on the occasion in which a largish group of the household-herself and Bertie, her daughter Angela, Tuppy Glossop, the Herrings, and several of the staff, including Jeeves-went into the village of Market Snodsbury to spread some Christmas cheer to the community. It was a cold, icy night, and the snow that had fallen over the past few days was packed down so hard in the streets that it had formed into a four-inch layer of hard white ice. They carried a flask of coffee laced with a liqueur brandy to keep them warm.
As they set out, Bertie, the clumsy oaf, slid on the ice like a foal trying to gain its legs for the first time. He staggered into the nearest person, who somehow happened to be Jeeves, though Dahlia could have sworn that a moment earlier he had been several yards away talking to the under-butler. Bertie clutched at him instinctively as he fell, and Jeeves’s arms were immediately supporting him as he regained his balance. There was nothing so untoward in this, of course-but there was something about the way Bertie had automatically grasped at him, and the way Jeeves had almost spontaneously bolstered him in return, that caught her attention. If she hadn’t been actively studying her nephew, she might not have seen the brief look they exchanged-but she did see it, and it was, again, that private, conspiratorial expression on Bertie’s part, and as for Jeeves, there was a faint but unmistakable glimmer of affection in his glance. And for the second time since his arrival at Brinkley, she saw Bertie blush.
From that point in the evening Bertie stayed close to his friend Herring (‘Kipper’) whom he’d known since his prep-school days, while Jeeves seemed to prefer the company of the under-butler and a young parlour maid. As they passed between homes, Bertie, Tuppy and Kipper became increasingly merry, oiled to some extent by the refreshment in the flask and the drinks they’d been offered at some of the homes they’d called at. During a longer transition between dwellings the three of them broke away from the group to pelt each other with snowballs.
Bertie’s aim was the best of the three, and to Dahlia’s pride he consistently had the upper hand; but then Bobbie joined in, taking sides with Kipper, and now the entire group stood and watched as the fight became more competitive. Bobbie’s aim was excellent, and Bertie, though his was better, had only Tuppy to support him, and seemed to have some scruples about hitting Bobbie. This was ultimately his downfall; she pelted him several times, and while Tuppy (calling Bertie a lily-livered nincompoop) did his best to hit her back, Bertie wouldn’t simply wouldn’t throw if there was a chance of striking her.
Kipper, a former boxer, covered by Bobbie’s supporting volley, managed to tackle Bertie to the ground. Tuppy by now was so frustrated with Bertie and with himself that he stopped attacking Bobbie and instead leapt on Bertie with a view to shoving a handful of snow down his neck. The three of them wrestled there for a moment laughing, while Bobbie looked on, laughing also. Finally against Bertie’s objections Tuppy delivered a few handfuls down the inside of Bertie’s coat and jacket while Kipper, still indignant over a well-aimed ball of snow that Bertie had launched directly into his face, pinned him down. Every witness was laughing except Jeeves.
Tuppy and Kipper relented once they were sure a sufficient quantity of snow had been delivered. Bertie lay in the snow for a moment as they moved away, then somehow managed to serve a fast volley that hit Kipper on the back of the head. Kipper spun around, gathered another ball of snow with which to retaliate, but before he could put any plan he had into action, Jeeves was standing between them, his expression indicating kindly but firmly that enough was enough.
Kipper seemed to recognise that there would be something unseemly about hitting Jeeves with a snowball, rather like booby-trapping a respected and well-loved school master, so he tossed it at Tuppy instead, while loudly declaring that Bertie had better watch out, for he wouldn’t have his body-guard around forever. Everyone was laughing, Bertie included, but Jeeves was concentrating on helping him to his feet.
The group moved on, but Bertie and Jeeves lagged behind as Jeeves made an effort to brush some of the wet snow from his master’s coat. Dahlia overheard them talking in low voices, and when she looked over her shoulder, she saw Jeeves take off his own scarf and drape it around Bertie’s neck. Bertie seemed to be protesting, but Jeeves was apparently not to be argued with. She watched as he wrapped the scarf for Bertie the way a father might for a child-and observed him also lift his hand and brush some of the freezing moisture from Bertie’s hair before handing him his cap. It was a very brief gesture, so brief, she might almost have believed that she had imagined it, had it not been for the support of those other little moments she had been witness to. It was attentive, caring and-she would go so far as to say-tender, this current act of Jeeves’s; but it was perhaps the look that passed between them at the same time that classified the occasion as intimate.
To combat the chill of his wet clothes, Bertie ultimately imbibed rather more than everyone else. The flask they had taken with them was now empty, but Jeeves produced a small hipflask of scotch, and Bertie swigged from it for the rest of the evening. By the time they had begun to make their way back to Brinkley, he was somewhat pie-eyed. He stayed close to Jeeves, now, his face glowing from his exertions, and as they reached the long drive to the Court he laid a friendly hand on Jeeves’s shoulder as he walked. Jeeves’s face was more than usually inscrutable, but he must have said something amusing, for Bertie was laughing merrily. Once they reached the house and were safely in the hall and out of the cold, Jeeves divested Bertie of his hat, coat and scarf and Dahlia hovered near to listen to their talk.
‘I know, I’m sorry. I over-did it, as usual,’ Bertie was saying with a smile. He glanced at the group in the hall with a faint anxiety. ‘Have I gone a bit too far?’ he was asking. ‘Further than is decent and proper, do you think?’
Jeeves’s reply was not audible, but whatever he said it seemed to relieve her nephew’s mind. ‘That’s true. Actually, I believe I am slightly drunk, Jeeves. So there you are.’
Nothing especially notable there, except it seemed like an odd conversation for a gentleman to have with his valet. Why would Bertie be apologising to his attendant for behaving like a schoolboy?
Bertie called a cheerful goodnight, and began to head up the stairs. Dahlia wondered why Jeeves wasn’t accompanying him-but Jeeves stood at the foot of the stairs for a moment, fiddling with a button on Bertie’s coat, then when Bertie was about halfway up, began to follow behind. There was nothing unusual about a valet maintaining a respectful distance from his employer when in public-and yet she knew, suddenly, that they had quietly agreed for Jeeves to wait in the offing for a moment before following. How she knew this, she couldn’t have said-perhaps there was something staged and false about the way it was carried out-but somehow she was convinced that they had actually planned to make this little show of diffidence-a gentlemanly aloofness and a professional detachment that reassured anyone who cared that there was nothing unusual about their connection.
Which, of course, pressed the question that had been growing in her mind-was there anything unusual going on? They were close, clearly-she knew that, and had known it for several years. What more could there be that they were so anxious to hide? What was behind those shy, secretive looks, those inexplicable blushes Bertie was betraying lately?
Dahlia frowned, and laughed at the same time as she prepared to retire for the night. For there could be but one explanation to these questions-and it seemed so uncharacteristic of Bertie to conceal anything even half as scandalous, yet at the same time, all thoughts of impropriety and what some would call ‘gross indecency’ aside, it seemed quite plausible, even natural.
The next day, the day before Christmas Eve, Dahlia had some errands in the neighbouring town some ten miles from Market Snodsbury, and Bertie, always ready to oblige, offered to drive her there and back. Jeeves accompanied them, and she had enough recollection of her observations the prior evening to contrive to seat herself in the back of the car so that Jeeves could take the front seat beside the driver.
Nothing worthy of note occurred during their excursion to town. Bertie accompanied Dahlia into the stores and helped her with her parcels, while Jeeves remained with the car.
As they returned to Brinkley Court, it had grown dark outside. Bertie had his new auto radio switched on, and they listened to Christmas music that was being broadcast as they drove. They were nearing Market Snodsbury, and since she was somewhat fatigued, Bertie and Jeeves were conversing amongst themselves in the front. And, unexpectedly, there occurred the clincher of all her suspicions.
Bertie was talking of the song that was currently playing-some little ditty that spoke of the magic of December, if she remembered rightly. Bertie was looking ahead intently, for the road was somewhat treacherous, when as if on a sudden impulse, he reached across the seat, and touched Jeeves’s hand. No words, not even a glance was exchanged, yet it was this moment, if anyone were to ask Dahlia about the matter, in which she became fully aware of what the nature of Bertie’s relationship with Jeeves truly was.
Her first reaction was of impatience. How typical of the young nincompoop! Of all the paths that lay open to him, and he had to choose the one that was the most complex, the most risky, the most awkward and the most unusual.
Next, she was slightly repulsed; she could not truly say she was offended, when it was hardly being forced upon her to witness or imagine, yet new questions came into her mind that made her frown in mild antipathy. How long had this been going on? What was going on, exactly? Were they in love? Had they-did they-kiss? Did they secretly share a bed? The image of them locked in a close embrace came unbidden to her mind, and as fond as she was of them, both of them, the thought made her wince slightly. It was just-it was just plain odd.
But she kept her eye on him over the next several days-on both of them, in fact, and was quickly softened. Bertie became more aloof with Jeeves than usual, as if he’d realised that he was in danger of displaying too much affection. She noticed that now, when Jeeves came to his side to inform him of something, Bertie would merely tilt his head back and to the side slightly to hear him, without turning or meeting his eye. But there was something about the way this contrived detachedness was performed that seemed only to accentuate the tenderness between them, to her eyes, and there was something very touching about it. Although she was sensible of these minute details-their unnatural reserve with each other; the way Bertie’s face would undergo a indefinable change when he pressed the bell to summon him; the way Jeeves seemed to perform his tasks with a particular care and attention whenever it related to his master-she was certain no-one but her would ever notice. Jeeves was a master of being invisible in everything he did, and no-one seemed to expect anything particularly sensational from Bertie, nor did anyone know him well enough, as she did, to notice any change about him.
She became accustomed to the idea. It seemed strange at first, like the first time one tries lychees or the taste of cheese combined with apple, but as the idea sank in, she could not deny that there was something very sweet about them. Her emotions evolved, from irritation and repulsion to compassion and protectiveness. And, if she dared to admit it, curiosity.
Christmas came and went, and soon, New Year’s Eve arrived. Outside it was still icy, but it was bright during the day; all was shining and clean, as though merely waiting for the snow to melt away and leave everything new and ready to begin a new season of growth. By the evening, much of the snow had indeed receded, revealing the green grass beneath, and when dark fell, no new snow fell with it.
By dinner on New Year’s Eve, Dahlia found herself longing to ask Bertie about it all. It seemed such a shame that something as important as this should be kept hidden as though it was wrong. She had a certain maternal feeling for her nephew, and wished that she could invite him to share his happiness with her, as he would have had he been officially betrothed to a suitable female. As Jeeves served them drinks after dinner, she saw Bertie raise his glass to him from across the room with a smile, and she felt a wave of sorrow that so much was being suppressed for the sake of appearances.
It was perhaps a desire for absolute proof, so that she could begin talking to Bertie without having any nagging fears of being mistaken; or perhaps it was the burning curiosity that made her long to know just how intimate they were. Regardless, when she saw the opportunity she scarcely hesitated. She had been continuing to watch Bertie throughout the festivities that New Year’s Eve, noticing that Bertie was becoming steadily more fidgety as the hour of midnight grew closer. Eventually someone announced that there was less than five minutes to go, and she saw him get to his feet, looking across the room. Though she did not need to, she followed his gaze in time to see Jeeves muttering something to one of the footmen and handing him his tray of drinks. In the next instant he was moving to the door, through which Bertie had already left.
Dahlia rose to her feet and called to the party, asking them to excuse her for a moment, then, trying not to look as though she was in a hurry, fled to the door to follow the two men.
In the corridor, all was quiet. She looked about her and saw no-one-then, she heard soft footfalls on the stairs over her head. She waited, a minute, then tiptoed up the stairs after them. She heard no sound of doors opening or closing, so she listened for voices from one of the many alcoves hidden along the upstairs corridors.
There were voices, sure enough, conferring in hushed tones. Once she had ascertained which hidden corner they were coming from, it was not hard for Dahlia to hide herself in a dark alcove adjoining a vacant guestroom, from whence she could overhear their talk.
‘-all quiet here,’ Bertie was saying.
‘Yes, sir,’ came the reply, speaking somewhat lower, ‘however, I do not feel it would be prudent to be absent from the drawing room for long.’
‘I know. I’m sorry-I just wanted to wish you a Happy New Year properly, old thing, and it seemed a bit sad just giving you a superior nod from the other end of the room.’
There was a pause.
‘Will they be able to cope down there for the next few minutes?’ Bertie’s voice came again. ‘I wouldn’t count on that footman to get around half the gathering before the bell strikes.’
‘Everyone present has a freshly filled glass, sir.’
‘Oh, good work. A-one. I don’t know how Aunt Dahlia keeps this place going without you here.’
‘It is good of you to say so, sir.’
‘I sometimes wonder if she might not try to steal you from me, when Seppings finally-well, when Seppings is no longer with us.’
There was another, slight pause, and she heard Bertie laugh softly for some reason.
‘I have no ambitions to be a butler, sir, until the day you take a house yourself.’
Bertie’s next words were whispered, so it was hard to make them out.
‘You may, someday,’ Jeeves responded.
Bertie cleared his throat. ‘If we ever do, it will be your decision as much as mine.’
There was a pause, but she somehow felt that there was still a communication occurring, one that didn’t involve speech.
‘It is less than thirty seconds to midnight, sir.’
‘Oh, yes. I almost forgot.’ He uttered a shy laugh, and Dahlia heard him rouse himself with a shake and a sigh. ‘Well, then, Jeeves-what do you think? A good year?’
There was a slight pause before Jeeves’s voice responded, sounding oddly warm.
‘The best year, sir.’
‘Mine too.’
There was another silence, broken by a sigh. Bertie’s sigh, she thought, though she couldn’t be sure. What was happening during that silence she could only guess-but really, it could be only one thing, couldn’t it?
The clock struck twelve. There was the sound of muffled cheers from below, while closer to there was another, far quieter sound, ironically more perceptible than the sounds of celebration in the drawing room. A soft, intimate sound that at first she couldn’t place-then realised it was the sound of a kiss.
Then there was Bertie’s voice, softer now, and tender.
‘Happy New Year.’
‘Happy New Year.’
‘I don’t have a drink, Jeeves, but here’s to many more years like it.’
Jeeves’s response was not audible.
‘Better years, I mean. I know things haven’t been too good so far, Jeeves, but-’
He broke off, or was silenced by Jeeves; for a moment all was quiet.
‘Well,’ Bertie said at last, softly, ‘we’ll be all right, won’t we? No-one’s going to separate us, not permanently.’
‘I would never allow such an eventuality to occur, sir.’
There was a rustling sound, the sound of the fabric of a dinner jacket as its occupant made a sudden impulsive move. As into an embrace, for instance.
‘I love you,’ Dahlia heard Bertie whisper, his voice slightly muffled. ‘You’ve changed my life.’
She heard Jeeves murmuring something very quietly. Then the sound of another kiss.
‘I love you too, sir. More than I can say.’
‘In that case, you had better kiss me again, my one and only. And make it a good one, because we’d better get back downstairs in a minute.’
Dahlia listened for a moment to the sound of soft, heated breathing, and, there being a break in the conversation, she came to the conclusion that she had heard enough. She tiptoed her way back to the drawing room, and as she went, she silently wished them both a Happy New Year.
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Chapter Two this way...
I hope you enjoyed it, even if it wasn't as well-written as I'd have liked. Best wishes for the New Year to you!.
[Author's note 11-5-09: This fic has been slightly edited for errors, and I've tightened a couple of weak spots up.]