Jeeves and the Misconstrued Love Light, Chapter 2
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Summary: Once again, Bertie has been asked to help Love's young dream by doing a favour to a friend. But what happens when s. friend has set her greedy sights on Jeeves himself?
Disclamer: I wish I owned Bertie, or Jeeves. Alas, I do not.
Chapter 2
As you might guess, gentle readers, I found it dashed difficult to get my nightly forty winks after that. Well, there were lots of rummy thoughts bumping and rattling in the Wooster melon: first and foremost, I had to come to terms with the utterly impossible, fantastical truth, i.e. Jeeves in love with yours truly.
It boggled my mind. Jeeves! Marvel of marvels, paragon of valets, in love with his mentally negligible employer-well, this was one for the books, except it could never be if he wished to avoid a stretch in prison. Come to think of it, I don't even know why I'm addressing you, Readers, as this narrative of mine is strictly for private perusal. Anyway, Bertram, even when first faced with the nasty shock of his valet's particular leanings, as it were, never dreamt of turning him to the rozzers. Why, I know a couple of chaps who are so inclined (one Cyril B-B comes to mind) and I had always endeavoured to ignore the matters. It didn't concern me, I mean to say, as I wasn't bent that way. I didn’t see why I should go out of my way to make things difficult for the poor boys, and, having had my share of trouble with the Law, I sympathized with my fellow delinquents.
Well, to return to the matters at hand, I first had to wrap my mind around the fact that Jeeves, demigod though he his, was subject to human passions and whatnot. Then the fact that he had managed to hide an inverted nature behind layers of fireproof respectability and utter frogginess; and, if all of this was indeed true as it was, that he had cultivated a particular predilection for one Bertram Wooster, known fathead with a marked taste for garish clothing and silly comic songs. I couldn't explain this attachment (although the attachment itself could explain some previously mysterious facts, such as the continuing presence of Jeeves in my household) except recurring to the popular saying “opposites attract each other”, which, in my opinion, didn't seem enough to justify such a sentiment. I mean to say, I never developed the slightest hint of tender feelings for Honoria Glossop, what?
Yet Jeeves had said that he loved me, and I know better than to question Jeeves's judgement, so I had to take his statement at face value. The question was, what was I to do now? I have found myself in a similar sitch. countless times, as I recalled before, but the circumstances are vastly different when there are a bird and a girl involved, instead of two b's. In the first instance, I know what to do: it's not gentlemanly to disappoint a lady, if said lady thinks B. Wooster enamoured of her, so I just stiffen the upper lip and ask Jeeves to fish me out of the soup in exchange for an offending item of clothing. But I don't think there's the smallest reference to gentlemen's personal gentlemen's feeling in all the Code of the Woosters, and I very well couldn't go to Jeeves for assistance as he was directly involved in the case instead of being, as usual, above the partes. Also, there was the small matter of Livvie, whose heart beat like an epileptic horse for my valet and I had, for all intents and purposes, stolen the chap she was sweet on. Not very friendly, that.
The final and weightiest matter that, well, weighted on the old lemon was this: I knew my Jeeves. That is to say I thought I knew him, for there was the small matter of unsuspected passions and cleverly hidden perversions, but in the end I knew that he was the same old Jeeves I loved and respected. That, as they say, was the crux of the matter: it had to have been a bally Herculean effort to overcome the feudal spirit and laying his heart at my feet.
The moment he would realize that his breach in the decorum hadn't been justified by a corresponding sentiment, and he fully understood the liberties he'd taken with the young master, he would certainly feel horrified, and humiliated, and possibly some other h's. The longer I waited before correcting this misapprehension, the more he would be ashamed when he learned the truth. Indeed, I feared for his fragile sensibilities, but what could I do? I hadn't the courage to tell him right in his face that I only loved him in a brotherly fashion, but if I didn't he would discover the truth by himself eventually, and be pipped beyond measure that I hadn't stopped him before he could make a fool of himself-even more, that is.
Well, my dear non-existent reader, I am sure you know how it happens when the mind is clouded by all sort of difficult thoughts to handle. One ends up thinking the rummiest things, I mean, and so it was that I fell into an uneasy sleep just when I was thinking about how bally corking it felt to have Jeeves's intimate attention bestowed over oneself, and how Olivia Smythe-Garland was, quite possibly, the shrewdest girl I knew.
What with all this deep thinking and tossing and turning between the linen sheets, you can imagine how groggy and out of sorts I felt when I woke up from my slumber. As such, I deeply welcomed the new sensation that was making itself felt right outside the Wooster melon, namely that of long, strong fingers gently trailing across the mussed locks and slowly pressing on the aching temples. Quite oojah-cum-spiff, and I wouldn't have minded more of that, only I remembered who I was and were I was, and I detected that those delicious fingers must belong to my currently lovestruck Jeeves; said impression was proved correct when coupled with the application of lips to my forehead. I unglued my eyes open.
Sure enough, there was Jeeves, and he was smiling again-not one of those disconcerting full smiles he had displayed the previous evening, but there was a distinct turn of the corner of the mouth which might have been visible to the untrained eye, by Jove!
“Good morning, sir.” He said. Nothing untoward with that, I concede, but his voice was positively dripping with affection and whatnot. It warmed the cockles of the Wooster heart how genuinely happy and loving he sounded, with not the slightest bit of moulding in the offing, as if he was quite content with young Bertram as he was; and at the same time it made me feel like the guiltiest blighter of all Time, which in fact I was. I mean to say, I shouldn't have enjoyed the attention so much while I was actually looking for a way to break it to the chap that I didn't love him at all, terribly sorry, old thing. Fortunately, he didn't seem to think anything of my dumb wordlessness, knowing that without my morning tea and more solid sustenance I can't tell my right hand from my nose, and nodded affectionately.
“I shall draw your bath, sir.” He announced, and he disappeared with a quiet puff. I sank in the mattress. Ironically, I realized how much better he was at this love thingummy than all of my former fiancées together. For a moment I wished he was a beasel, so I that I could just drop down on one knee and let him take care of me forever-as he already did, only with the addiction of this thingness to his mien which made Bertram's insides feel all fuzzy and tingly. If only, I sighed. This soup was getting stickier by the minute.
During the day I endeavoured to avoid both Jeeves and the Smythe-Garland pill, which for the most part meant plastering myself at my Aunt Dahlia's side and, at one point, ducking under a baccarat table to escape Livvie's piercing, questioning gaze. My safety was only temporary, though, and in normal circumstances would have been even more fleeting, for my esteemed Aunt would soon become tired of having a stalwart nephew following her anywhere like a lost puppy. However, she happened to win a large sum at the tables that very day and got into her head that her luck depended on having me around; I was then able to put off the catastrophic confrontation until right before dinner, when an enraged beasel barged into my room just as I was sliding in the old fish and soup.
Quite a timely interruption, I must say: for Jeeves, with the excuse of helping me into the evening crust, was subjecting the old corpus to the most delicious loving siege, showering me with caresses and kisses and what-have-you. He was enjoying himself so much, I hadn't had the heart to stop him, and I was not a little distressed by the sitch. (And, if I must be honest, a bit stirred as well).
As soon as the door opened I felt a huff of cool air against the limbs. Suddenly, Jeeves was standing at the proper valeting distance from the young master, exhibiting his most respectable stuffed valet face. To this day, I don't know how he pulled it off but he was so dashed quick that Livvie didn't see a thing, and immediately addressed me, thankfully ignorant of any untoward occurrences that might have been going on.
“Bertie!”
“Ah, what ho, Livvie! I say, not to be overly critical, old thing, but it's not quite the done thing to pop into a fellow's bedchamber when he's getting dressed, what?” To be fair, I was decent enough, missing only my jacket and tie and with the two top buttons of my shirt undone, but standards must be upheld. She looked ready to argue the point but a glance to Jeeves's disapproving eyebrow was enough to appease her fighting spirit.
“I'm sorry, Bertie, but I must know-did you talk to Jeeves about that matter?”
Here Jeeves paled considerably. I was keeping a worried eye on him, you see, and I clearly detected that his top-notch intelligence had hit the mark in no time; although he didn't move a muscle nor uttered a cry I could see he was considerably distressed. He coughed softly.
“Madam, may I inquire what did you wish to tell me?”
“Bertie, you chump! I knew couldn't trust you!” She shrieked at me. To Jeeves she smiled and batted her eyelashes in the most disgustingly forward way.
“Oh, well, it's just a little thing I'd asked Bertie to tell you from me… Perhaps he will be kind enough to tell you now, as soon as I go back to my room.” She shot a sweet, menacing glare in my direction that clearly said or else, and then she added “Well, I will see you at dinner, you fathead. Toodle pip, Jeeves!” And then she was gone.
No-one spoke for a while. Well, I say! Her meaning had been as clear as Sherlock Holmes's magnifying lens, and the great brain had understood the whole sitch. at once. The horrified look in his eyes spoke plainly to me, and I felt dashed sorry for the chap. I fidgeted a bit, wishing for a gasper but not feeling brave enough to reach for one; finally, he broke the silence.
“Sir, I have no words to express my regret. My behaviour was unforgivable. If there's anything at all I can do to apologize….”
“Oh, not at all, old thing! I mean to say, ah, it's no use fretting over a small mistake, what?”
“A small… sir, my actions were appalling! I wouldn't blame you if you fired me or… or turned me to the police, sir.”
“Tosh, Jeeves! What utter rot! I would never do that to you, and you've done no harm, right? You know it's not the first time that this Wooster's innocent favour to a friend is misunderstood for a tender proposal-I don't seem to be too good at it, come to think of it. Perhaps I might cease the practice altogether, let the awkward lovers speak for themselves, as it were, since I only seem to thicken the soup considerably.”
This seemed to cheer him a bit, poor fellow, for the corner of his mouth jumped a fraction higher.
“A wise choice, sir, but the circumstances you speak of are quite different from the present.”
“I don't see how, my dear man. True, you surprised me not a little, and I'm dashed sorry that I didn't correct your mistake at once-I don't think it would have been against the Code and perhaps it would have been easier on you, but what I mean to say is… I don't want you to leave my service. If you want, we can put this small incident into the back-drawer of our minds and never speak of it again, what do you say? For I would like very much to return to the old and cozy status quo.”
“Sir, this is a very generous offer. However, I fear my presence will disturb you, now that you know of my… feelings and inclinations.”
“Well, it's a bit rummy, I admit, but I venture to say it's none of my business and I promise I won't tell anyone.”
I could see that he was slowly accepting my point, and I pressed on-with no little amount of satisfaction, for it's not every day that I have the upper hand in a disagreement with my stalwart manservant, regardless of the circumstances.
“I’ll tell you what, Jeeves, why don't you give you final whatsit to the old fish and soup and then take a night off? I dare say I will find my way around the old nightwear on my own; you can unwind a bit and sort things out in this massive brain of yours; and tomorrow we shall be back to normal, what?”
“Thank you, sir; I am most grateful for your kind understanding and forgiveness.”
“Don't mention it, my good man.”
He leaned closer and in two ticks, he had my outward appearance up to the required standards, this time with none of the playful affection he had displayed on me before. He gave me a last look to be certain that everything was in order, thanked me again and left the room.
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Summary: Once again, Bertie has been asked to help Love's young dream by doing a favour to a friend. But what happens when s. friend has set her greedy sights on Jeeves himself?
Disclamer: I wish I owned Bertie, or Jeeves. Alas, I do not.
Chapter 2
As you might guess, gentle readers, I found it dashed difficult to get my nightly forty winks after that. Well, there were lots of rummy thoughts bumping and rattling in the Wooster melon: first and foremost, I had to come to terms with the utterly impossible, fantastical truth, i.e. Jeeves in love with yours truly.
It boggled my mind. Jeeves! Marvel of marvels, paragon of valets, in love with his mentally negligible employer-well, this was one for the books, except it could never be if he wished to avoid a stretch in prison. Come to think of it, I don't even know why I'm addressing you, Readers, as this narrative of mine is strictly for private perusal. Anyway, Bertram, even when first faced with the nasty shock of his valet's particular leanings, as it were, never dreamt of turning him to the rozzers. Why, I know a couple of chaps who are so inclined (one Cyril B-B comes to mind) and I had always endeavoured to ignore the matters. It didn't concern me, I mean to say, as I wasn't bent that way. I didn’t see why I should go out of my way to make things difficult for the poor boys, and, having had my share of trouble with the Law, I sympathized with my fellow delinquents.
Well, to return to the matters at hand, I first had to wrap my mind around the fact that Jeeves, demigod though he his, was subject to human passions and whatnot. Then the fact that he had managed to hide an inverted nature behind layers of fireproof respectability and utter frogginess; and, if all of this was indeed true as it was, that he had cultivated a particular predilection for one Bertram Wooster, known fathead with a marked taste for garish clothing and silly comic songs. I couldn't explain this attachment (although the attachment itself could explain some previously mysterious facts, such as the continuing presence of Jeeves in my household) except recurring to the popular saying “opposites attract each other”, which, in my opinion, didn't seem enough to justify such a sentiment. I mean to say, I never developed the slightest hint of tender feelings for Honoria Glossop, what?
Yet Jeeves had said that he loved me, and I know better than to question Jeeves's judgement, so I had to take his statement at face value. The question was, what was I to do now? I have found myself in a similar sitch. countless times, as I recalled before, but the circumstances are vastly different when there are a bird and a girl involved, instead of two b's. In the first instance, I know what to do: it's not gentlemanly to disappoint a lady, if said lady thinks B. Wooster enamoured of her, so I just stiffen the upper lip and ask Jeeves to fish me out of the soup in exchange for an offending item of clothing. But I don't think there's the smallest reference to gentlemen's personal gentlemen's feeling in all the Code of the Woosters, and I very well couldn't go to Jeeves for assistance as he was directly involved in the case instead of being, as usual, above the partes. Also, there was the small matter of Livvie, whose heart beat like an epileptic horse for my valet and I had, for all intents and purposes, stolen the chap she was sweet on. Not very friendly, that.
The final and weightiest matter that, well, weighted on the old lemon was this: I knew my Jeeves. That is to say I thought I knew him, for there was the small matter of unsuspected passions and cleverly hidden perversions, but in the end I knew that he was the same old Jeeves I loved and respected. That, as they say, was the crux of the matter: it had to have been a bally Herculean effort to overcome the feudal spirit and laying his heart at my feet.
The moment he would realize that his breach in the decorum hadn't been justified by a corresponding sentiment, and he fully understood the liberties he'd taken with the young master, he would certainly feel horrified, and humiliated, and possibly some other h's. The longer I waited before correcting this misapprehension, the more he would be ashamed when he learned the truth. Indeed, I feared for his fragile sensibilities, but what could I do? I hadn't the courage to tell him right in his face that I only loved him in a brotherly fashion, but if I didn't he would discover the truth by himself eventually, and be pipped beyond measure that I hadn't stopped him before he could make a fool of himself-even more, that is.
Well, my dear non-existent reader, I am sure you know how it happens when the mind is clouded by all sort of difficult thoughts to handle. One ends up thinking the rummiest things, I mean, and so it was that I fell into an uneasy sleep just when I was thinking about how bally corking it felt to have Jeeves's intimate attention bestowed over oneself, and how Olivia Smythe-Garland was, quite possibly, the shrewdest girl I knew.
What with all this deep thinking and tossing and turning between the linen sheets, you can imagine how groggy and out of sorts I felt when I woke up from my slumber. As such, I deeply welcomed the new sensation that was making itself felt right outside the Wooster melon, namely that of long, strong fingers gently trailing across the mussed locks and slowly pressing on the aching temples. Quite oojah-cum-spiff, and I wouldn't have minded more of that, only I remembered who I was and were I was, and I detected that those delicious fingers must belong to my currently lovestruck Jeeves; said impression was proved correct when coupled with the application of lips to my forehead. I unglued my eyes open.
Sure enough, there was Jeeves, and he was smiling again-not one of those disconcerting full smiles he had displayed the previous evening, but there was a distinct turn of the corner of the mouth which might have been visible to the untrained eye, by Jove!
“Good morning, sir.” He said. Nothing untoward with that, I concede, but his voice was positively dripping with affection and whatnot. It warmed the cockles of the Wooster heart how genuinely happy and loving he sounded, with not the slightest bit of moulding in the offing, as if he was quite content with young Bertram as he was; and at the same time it made me feel like the guiltiest blighter of all Time, which in fact I was. I mean to say, I shouldn't have enjoyed the attention so much while I was actually looking for a way to break it to the chap that I didn't love him at all, terribly sorry, old thing. Fortunately, he didn't seem to think anything of my dumb wordlessness, knowing that without my morning tea and more solid sustenance I can't tell my right hand from my nose, and nodded affectionately.
“I shall draw your bath, sir.” He announced, and he disappeared with a quiet puff. I sank in the mattress. Ironically, I realized how much better he was at this love thingummy than all of my former fiancées together. For a moment I wished he was a beasel, so I that I could just drop down on one knee and let him take care of me forever-as he already did, only with the addiction of this thingness to his mien which made Bertram's insides feel all fuzzy and tingly. If only, I sighed. This soup was getting stickier by the minute.
During the day I endeavoured to avoid both Jeeves and the Smythe-Garland pill, which for the most part meant plastering myself at my Aunt Dahlia's side and, at one point, ducking under a baccarat table to escape Livvie's piercing, questioning gaze. My safety was only temporary, though, and in normal circumstances would have been even more fleeting, for my esteemed Aunt would soon become tired of having a stalwart nephew following her anywhere like a lost puppy. However, she happened to win a large sum at the tables that very day and got into her head that her luck depended on having me around; I was then able to put off the catastrophic confrontation until right before dinner, when an enraged beasel barged into my room just as I was sliding in the old fish and soup.
Quite a timely interruption, I must say: for Jeeves, with the excuse of helping me into the evening crust, was subjecting the old corpus to the most delicious loving siege, showering me with caresses and kisses and what-have-you. He was enjoying himself so much, I hadn't had the heart to stop him, and I was not a little distressed by the sitch. (And, if I must be honest, a bit stirred as well).
As soon as the door opened I felt a huff of cool air against the limbs. Suddenly, Jeeves was standing at the proper valeting distance from the young master, exhibiting his most respectable stuffed valet face. To this day, I don't know how he pulled it off but he was so dashed quick that Livvie didn't see a thing, and immediately addressed me, thankfully ignorant of any untoward occurrences that might have been going on.
“Bertie!”
“Ah, what ho, Livvie! I say, not to be overly critical, old thing, but it's not quite the done thing to pop into a fellow's bedchamber when he's getting dressed, what?” To be fair, I was decent enough, missing only my jacket and tie and with the two top buttons of my shirt undone, but standards must be upheld. She looked ready to argue the point but a glance to Jeeves's disapproving eyebrow was enough to appease her fighting spirit.
“I'm sorry, Bertie, but I must know-did you talk to Jeeves about that matter?”
Here Jeeves paled considerably. I was keeping a worried eye on him, you see, and I clearly detected that his top-notch intelligence had hit the mark in no time; although he didn't move a muscle nor uttered a cry I could see he was considerably distressed. He coughed softly.
“Madam, may I inquire what did you wish to tell me?”
“Bertie, you chump! I knew couldn't trust you!” She shrieked at me. To Jeeves she smiled and batted her eyelashes in the most disgustingly forward way.
“Oh, well, it's just a little thing I'd asked Bertie to tell you from me… Perhaps he will be kind enough to tell you now, as soon as I go back to my room.” She shot a sweet, menacing glare in my direction that clearly said or else, and then she added “Well, I will see you at dinner, you fathead. Toodle pip, Jeeves!” And then she was gone.
No-one spoke for a while. Well, I say! Her meaning had been as clear as Sherlock Holmes's magnifying lens, and the great brain had understood the whole sitch. at once. The horrified look in his eyes spoke plainly to me, and I felt dashed sorry for the chap. I fidgeted a bit, wishing for a gasper but not feeling brave enough to reach for one; finally, he broke the silence.
“Sir, I have no words to express my regret. My behaviour was unforgivable. If there's anything at all I can do to apologize….”
“Oh, not at all, old thing! I mean to say, ah, it's no use fretting over a small mistake, what?”
“A small… sir, my actions were appalling! I wouldn't blame you if you fired me or… or turned me to the police, sir.”
“Tosh, Jeeves! What utter rot! I would never do that to you, and you've done no harm, right? You know it's not the first time that this Wooster's innocent favour to a friend is misunderstood for a tender proposal-I don't seem to be too good at it, come to think of it. Perhaps I might cease the practice altogether, let the awkward lovers speak for themselves, as it were, since I only seem to thicken the soup considerably.”
This seemed to cheer him a bit, poor fellow, for the corner of his mouth jumped a fraction higher.
“A wise choice, sir, but the circumstances you speak of are quite different from the present.”
“I don't see how, my dear man. True, you surprised me not a little, and I'm dashed sorry that I didn't correct your mistake at once-I don't think it would have been against the Code and perhaps it would have been easier on you, but what I mean to say is… I don't want you to leave my service. If you want, we can put this small incident into the back-drawer of our minds and never speak of it again, what do you say? For I would like very much to return to the old and cozy status quo.”
“Sir, this is a very generous offer. However, I fear my presence will disturb you, now that you know of my… feelings and inclinations.”
“Well, it's a bit rummy, I admit, but I venture to say it's none of my business and I promise I won't tell anyone.”
I could see that he was slowly accepting my point, and I pressed on-with no little amount of satisfaction, for it's not every day that I have the upper hand in a disagreement with my stalwart manservant, regardless of the circumstances.
“I’ll tell you what, Jeeves, why don't you give you final whatsit to the old fish and soup and then take a night off? I dare say I will find my way around the old nightwear on my own; you can unwind a bit and sort things out in this massive brain of yours; and tomorrow we shall be back to normal, what?”
“Thank you, sir; I am most grateful for your kind understanding and forgiveness.”
“Don't mention it, my good man.”
He leaned closer and in two ticks, he had my outward appearance up to the required standards, this time with none of the playful affection he had displayed on me before. He gave me a last look to be certain that everything was in order, thanked me again and left the room.