In the late afternoon, Jeeves is still out playing chess with Redding. The rooms have of course been cleaned to perfection before the manservant's departure, so the handwritten letter on the silver tray on the end-table is all the more noticeable. It reads, in familiar cursive scrawl:
Bertie
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Comments 105
A bit of a lengthy read, but when I'd finished, the Wooster eyes were bugging and the jaw dropped wide enough that I feared for the well-being of any flying insects who might have happened to be passing. What in blazes were Claude and Eustace doing aboard the Calypso, and how has they managed to get themselves entangled with Florence Craye, of all people? Perhaps more importantly, what was said Florence doing aboard ( ... )
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"Good afternoon, sir. I trust you are well?"
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'Well, Jeeves?' I echoed, putting as much soupiness into it as I could muster, 'Do I bally well look like a well man, Jeeves? No, I am most decidedly not well.'
I brandished the letter, waving the thing about in the air as if it were a flag in a gale. 'Have you read this Jeeves, I ask you?'
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He sets his own letter on the end table, shimmering forward to take the offered one from Mr. Wooster. He makes short work of it, head canted, one eyebrow quirked the merest fraction of an centimeter as he goes. Somewhere around the end is the softest suggestion of a 'tsk' sound, and when he offers the note back, he inhales deeply.
"It appears that there is some sorting out to be done, sir. I highly doubt that I am incorrect in my assumption that you do not enjoy the idea of becoming again betrothed to the individual in question."
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"Sir," he greets cordially, setting his bowler on its hook and straightening his jacket slightly. "I hope you found Mr. Redding with little trouble?"
("He clearly understands that something is amiss," Redding intoned as he watched the water, eyes glittering, perhaps a little pleased with himself. "I admit I wasn't as subtle as I had planned to be, but I do believe the desired result was gained."
"I am most grateful for your assistance." Jeeves, amazingly, smiled.)
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"Did he seem agreeable to our plan?"
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I let the old noggin drop back against the chair, letting my thoughts wander as they would for a moment. Inevitably, they wandered to the figure of my valet, busy in the tiny kitchen provided, surely doing mysterious, valety sorts of things. The sounds that issued therefrom were a small comfort to my scrambled grey cells, and I pictured Jeeves, tall and dark and solid, expertly navigating pots and pans and all manner of other things.
After a moment, I was struck by what exactly I was doing. Lying back and going all swoony over the image of my valet ( ... )
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"I have not, sir, although Mr. Redding related to me a story of two identical twin brothers who he observed being... reprimanded to... by the ship's captain. It was Mr. Redding's understanding that the gentlemen had let themselves into the locked quarters during a late evening and began trying to steer the ship themselves."
Yep, that'd be them.
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'Those blisters follow me precisely where I'd least like them, Jeeves. And Florence Craye, as well! It seems this Wooster is to have no peace from marauding females and delinquent cousins, what?'
I cocked my head, struck by a sudden thought. It knocked unpleasantly against the door jamb in the process, and I wrinkled my nose. 'Where the deuce where they trying to steer the ship, Jeeves? Surely last time we saw the blighters, they wanted to get to the colonies, did they not?'
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"I do not believe, sir, that they were in a state of mind wherein there was a specific motive or destination in mind." Translation from Jeevesian: They were completely bloody tanked.
If one hip is cocked a little to the side in a display of amusement, it is surely a simple trick of the light. This overhead bulb nonsense really does play games with the eye.
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I'm ashamed to say my voice trembled ever so slightly when I spoke. Well, perhaps a little bit more than slightly, but could you blame me? If you were to perhaps cease from unnecessarily concealing your feelings, Jeeves had said, as unconcerned as you like, as though it were an 'Indeed, sir,' or any other such thing that I heard from him on a daily basis. For months I'd been as careful as I positively could; not letting the tiniest hint, the slightest suggestion of the decidedly Classical regard in which I held Jeeves slip. But he knew. He was Jeeves, of course he knew; he always had been able to read the young master like a book, and apparently he'd read me very well indeed ( ... )
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Before long, though, a pair of immaculately polished shoes come into Bertie's floor-bound view, silent as ever, as Jeeves closes in carefully and curls a steadying hand around Bertram's left elbow. Beneath the very measured and capable strength of the man, there is the tiniest of trembles in response to the young master's. It's hardly there, but Reginald can't tamp it down for the life of him.
"That was never my intent, sir."
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Somewhere on the floor, there are shattered porcelain shards. But that doesn't matter. Jeeves's thumb is rubbing gentle, minute circles into the inside of Bertram's elbow.
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It was... dash it, I can't even describe it. Suffice it say it sent thrills all the way down to my toes and then back up again to do gymnastics in the general area of my torso. It seemed that beneath the generally calm and implacable surface Jeeves presented to all and sundry lurked a positively tiger-like ferocity. I more than approved. It didn't take long for me to get into the spirit of the thing, and I brought the hands up to clutch at Jeeves's back and bring him even closer, if that was possible.
After several very long, breathless moments, I broke away with a cheeky sort of nibble on Jeeves's lower lip.
'I say, Jeeves, that was- well, dash it! You've been hiding your light under the bushel most unfairly, old thing.'
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