Jeeves and the Missing Memories Part 1
Title: Jeeves and the Missing Memories Part 1
Chapter: completed
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Summary: Jeeves and Bertie make childhood promises. Something gets in the way.
Rating: PG for terrifying auntie
Tags: Bertie, Jeeves, Wodehouse
Disclaimer: Bertie and Jeeves belong to Wodehouse. I’m just taking them out for a spin. I’ll return them in good shape, I promise.
Notes: Excellent beta assistance by chaoschick13 and sabinelagrande. All mistakes belong to me. Also, I've taken a few historical liberties concerning servant/uppercrust relationships, I've given Bertie's sister a first name and have made Jeeves an only child. I'm trying to post this so it looks nice and neat, so bear with me, folks. Thank you.
Reginald Jeeves looked at the ground and tried to ignore the overfed boy before him.
“You’re a servant. The son of a housekeeper and a butler. A double servant, if you like. You’re supposed to do anything I want, and right now I want you to bark like a dog.”
“I am afraid I cannot comply, sir,” Reginald said, trying to be as dignified as his father.
“Yes, you can. I bloody well will make you do it.”
Reginald hated it when the house was full of guests. Either he was run off his feet or he had to put up with the wealthy young bullies who delighted in trying to make him appear foolish. He would have to defend himself this time, however, and he hated to think what his father would say.
“You really ought to leave him alone, you know.”
Gerald Roderick Stanton III whirled around, a stick his hand. Behind him stood a thin boy, tall for his age, a determined expression on his face and anger in his blue eyes.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Rooster Wooster,” Gerald said and spat on the grass. He brandished the stick. “Always sticking your big beak in other people’s business.”
The boy touched his noise self-consciously but stood his ground.
“Well, well, well,” the thin boy mocked. “If it isn’t old Stinky Stanton, going after someone else with a stick because he’s too fat to use his fists.”
Gerald raised the stick over his head. “Maybe you’d like to take the place of the butler’s boy, Wooster. It’s all the same to me.”
The thin boy shrugged and tensed his fists. Reginald could see that Gerald frightened the other boy, but the boy didn’t back down. “Go ahead.”
Gerald rushed at the thin boy only to be stopped short by a woman’s voice.
“Gerald, darling, where are you? We’re leaving.”
Gerald tossed the stick aside. “Lucky for you I have to go.” He turned to Reginald. “I’ll be back next weekend and I’m quite sure Wooster here won’t be around to protect you.”
With that parting shot, Gerald answered his mother, affecting a syrupy tone at odds with his malicious grin.
“Coming, Mummy!”
He cast the thin boy a final glare before swaggering off.
The thin boy’s shoulders sagged in what appeared to be relief and he expelled the breath he’d been holding.
“Thank you, sir.”
Reginald and the tall, thin boy examined each other. Reginald’s dark shiny hair was the opposite of the other boy’s fair curls. Both had blue eyes and while the thin boy had a nose slightly too large for his face, Reginald’s nose was decidedly crooked.
“You’re welcome,” the thin boy said. He gestured in the direction of the car now heading down the long driveway. “I’m sorry about old Stinky. He’s such a prat.”
Reginald nodded but didn’t say anything.
“I’m Bertie. Bertie Wooster,” the thin boy said and held out his hand.
Reginald hesitated for the space of several seconds, then grasped Bertie’s hand.
“Reginald Jeeves.”
Bertie nodded. “Reginald. Could I call you Reggie?”
Reginald shook his head. “It wouldn’t be proper, sir. You should call me Jeeves.”
Bertie rolled his eyes. “I’m not a sir. Father is a sir. And that’s not what friends call each other. We should be Reggie and Bertie. Chums, you know.”
Reginald hesitated, then gave a regal nod.
Bertie tipped his head to one side and studied Reginald. “You’re the butler’s son? I’ve been here loads of times. Well, four anyway. Why haven’t I seen you before?”
Reginald looked at his shoes, and felt two spots of color rising on his high cheekbones.
“I’m not supposed to be near the guests. I’m just a servant.”
Bertie gave him a puzzled look, then brightened.
“No you’re not. You’re Reginald Jeeves and you’re my friend.”
Reginald’s lips quirked and Bertie smiled widely.
“How old are you, Reggie?”
“I just turned thirteen. What about you?”
“Just turned eleven.”
Reginald look away from Bertie, his face a polite mask. “How old is Mr. Stanton?”
“Pretty old, I suppose,” Bertie said and frowned. “He’s Father’s friend so he must be at least 70. Maybe even 80.”
Reginald looked back at Bertie, his lips twitching. “I meant the boy who was just here.”
“Oh,” Bertie said, his face flaming. “Stinky’s eleven, like me.”
Reginald glanced away again.
“Why didn’t you just take the stick away from him?” Bertie asked. “You’re bigger than he is and Stinky’s all fat around the middle. Too much Victoria sponge, Mummy says.”
Reginald took a deep breath and recited the answer his father had taught him to give.
“A servant does not correct his betters,” Reginald said in a voice to freeze the sun.
Bertie laughed, then stepped back a few paces when Reginald whirled to face him, his face set in grim, proud lines.
“What is so funny, sir?”
Bertie grinned. “Well, if Stinky’s your better I would hate to see worse.”
Reginald’s dark eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy Victoria sponge again,” he finally said. “Now that I know it’s...” He looked around before continuing. “Stinky Stanton’s favorite.”
Both boys laughed until their sides ached. Reginald was the first to gain control of himself.
“I’m not supposed to laugh like that,” he said as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “It’s unseemly.”
“Seems all right to me,” Bertie said and laughed again.
The two boys giggled and snorted their way into a companionable silence.
“I say, Reggie, where were you going before Stinky got hold of you?”
“To the river. There’s an otter family I want to observe.”
“Can I observe it, too?”
Bertie squirmed a bit under Reginald’s scrutiny.
“Certainly,” Reginald said. “But I must return by five o’clock. Dinner preparations, you know. And I must study my lessons as well.”
“All right,” Bertie said. “I’ve a pocketwatch so we won’t be late. If you could just help me...”
His voice trailed off in embarrassment. “I can’t tell time very well.”
“A small matter,” Reginald said. “I’ll show you how to do it while we watch for the otters. It’s quite easy once you learn the trick of it.”
Bertie nodded, appearing satisfied. “All right, then. Lead on, Reggie.”
“Very good... Bertie.”
After waving Bertie off later that afternoon, Reginald had to suppress a great desire to skip through the servants’ entrance at the great manor house where his family had served the Worthington-Standish family for generations.
He’d made a friend, an event as unlikely as a butler’s son winning a place at Oxford.
He and Bertie had spent several hours near the river. They’d found the otter family and he’d taught Bertie to tell time. Reginald himself had never had any trouble with the task as his life was governed by the clock. Breakfast at eight, luncheon at one, tea at five and dinner at eight. And all the minutes in between were reserved for study or other jobs around the house.
But the conversation they’d had! Reginald wanted to remember every word, every laugh, every secret. It had been an afternoon to treasure. The two years that separated the boys’ ages had not mattered. Reginald saw in Bertie a boy who wanted nothing more than the same thing he himself wanted - a friend, a confidante, someone with whom to just...be.
His mother and father were in the kitchen, enjoying a well-deserved cup of tea on their afternoon off. They looked up from their respective books and smiled as Reginald entered the room.
“The tea is still hot and we have scones if you’re hungry,” his mother said. She reached for the cup and saucer that was always set aside for him.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said automatically, his mind still at the river.
“Your eyes are sparkling, Reginald,” his father said. “You saw the otters, I take it?”
Reginald’s face broke into a wide grin, but he reined it in at the surprised looks on his parents’ faces.
“Oh, yes, we...I mean I did see them. All four. They were catching fish.”
“We?” His father emphasized the word with a raised eyebrow.
Reginald’s teacup rattled against the saucer. He put them on the table. “Yes. I met someone today. He wanted to see the otters, too.”
“Who?” Mr. Jeeves asked.
“Ber...Master Wooster.”
Mr. Jeeves frowned a little. “How did you meet? You are supposed remain away from guests, Reginald.”
Reginald folded his hands in his lap, dejected now. The glittering afternoon with Bertie was fast losing its luster. He only half-heard the familiar lecture about keeping his place, minding the rules and serving his betters. He looked up as his father finished speaking, all expression cleared from his face.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he said trying to keep his voice even. “I will do better.”
The small family finished tea in silence. Reginald couldn’t eat nor did he drink his tea but knew he couldn’t be excused from the table until his mother gave him the word. Finally, after thirty minutes of waiting, his mother spoke.
“Your studies await you, Reginald,” she said. “Latin translations and Don Quixote. Then you must come down and assist with dinner preparations.”
“Yes, Mother.” He stood and inclined his head politely. “Please excuse me.”
It was all he could do to leave the kitchen at a sedate pace. When he reached the tiny alcove that served as his bedroom, he pulled the books he needed from a small shelf above the bed, cradled them in his arms and sat on the hard, thin mattress.
He closed his eyes and recalled walking with Bertie to the river. Bertie talked - a lot and about everything. He was funny, too. He imitated the prime minister and the king as well as the boys at his school. Reginald didn’t know any of the boys, but that didn’t matter. He’d never laughed so hard in his life.
But Bertie could be serious, too.
“How do you know so much about otters?” he’d asked after Reginald had explained how they found food and the way they could open clams.
“I watch them. You can learn a lot just by watching, Bertie. I like to read, too, whenever I have time. The mistress allows me to read any book in the library as long as it doesn’t interfere with my work.”
Bertie tossed a pebble into the river and they watched as the concentric circles it created widened and disappeared. “It’s hard to learn,” he finally said. “I’m not very smart.” He tossed a second pebble. “I’m mentally neg, negli...”
He turned to Reginald. “What’s the word I want?”
“Negligible,” Reginald said, hating the look the word brought to Bertie’s thin face.
“It means stupid,” Bertie said.
“Who told you that you were mentally negligible?” Reginald asked, then tossed a pebble after Bertie’s.
“My Aunt Agatha. She said all the brains in the family went to my sister where they’ll go to waste.”
“Well,” Reginald said, “I don’t think you’re mentally negligible. Look how quickly you learned to tell time.”
Bertie’s expression brightened. “I did, didn’t I? Father and Mummy will be so pleased.”
They gazed at the river in silence for a moment.
“You know what I wish, Reggie?”
“What?”
“I wish we could build a boat and see where this river goes.”
And never return, Reginald wanted to say.
“That’s a fine wish,” he said instead. “We could explore like Magellan or Christopher Columbus.”
Bertie turned to look at Reginald. “And we could discover things. Then people would see I’m not stupid.”
Reginald smiled a little. “We’ve already discovered something.”
“What’s that?”
“Friendship.”
Bertie nodded, looking pleased. Then his face lit up like a bonfire.
“Reggie,” he said, his voice growing squeaky with excitement,” I’m down for Eton. It’s where Father went. You could come, too. Then we’d really be friends all the time. Forever, even.”
Reginald stared at the river and fought hard to hold back tears. As much as he hated the idea of not being allowed to go to Eton, he hated disappointing Bertie even more, an idea that shocked him.
“What’s the matter, Reggie?”
He couldn’t answer.
“Reggie, please.”
Reginald felt a small hand on his shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. Breathe, he urged himself. Don’t cry. Servants do not cry. They control themselves.
Reginald took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Bertie was sitting right next to him, staring at him. Worry and unshed tears shimmered in his blue eyes.
“Are you all right, Reggie?” he asked, then didn’t stop for an answer. “I know Eton probably isn’t smart enough for you, but maybe...”
Reginald patted the hand that gripped his shoulder. “I’m fine, Bertie.”
Bertie moved his hand and said nothing.
“I’m sorry, Bertie.” Reginald finally said. “I can’t go to Eton. I’m sure it’s a fine school but I’m...down for somewhere else.”
“Oh.”
Reginald swallowed the lump in his throat. He would deal with the bitter lie and its agony later, when he was alone. But now he had to look after Bertie.
“But that doesn’t matter, Bertie,” he said, forcing brightness into his voice. “We can write, can’t we, and you’ll come here again, won’t you?”
Reginald knew very well they couldn’t write. His own father dealt with the daily post and would intercept Bertie’s letters. And Reginald had no money of his own to post replies. But that didn’t matter. Bertie’s happiness mattered. Why it mattered so much, Reginald didn’t know but he didn’t question it, either.
“Oh,” Bertie said. “Stinky said he was coming next weekend. We are, too. For the whole weekend. We’ll be able to see each other.”
Reginald’s excitement grew. “I’ll be busy, but I should have some time to see you.”
“We could even get back at old Stinky,” Bertie said. “I can’t wait.”
Reginald stood and squinted at the sun. It was time to return to the house.
“Do you have the time, Bertie?”
Bertie pulled out his pocketwatch and carefully counted the minutes until five o’clock.
“It’s fifteen minutes until we have to be back.” He showed the watch to Reginald. “Am I right?”
Reginald pretended to inspect the watch. “You are correct in your assessment, Mr. Wooster.”
Bertie looked at the watch again, an uncertain expression on his face. “Wasn’t I right, Reggie?”
Reginald patted the younger boy’s back. “You were right, Bertie. And now, I’m afraid, we must return to the house.”
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” Bertie asked, puffing a little to keep up with Reginald’s longer legs.
“I’m supposed to be a butler like my father,” Reginald said. “But...”
“But what?”
Reginald stopped walking. “You must promise not to say anything. Or laugh.”
Bertie drew a cross on his chest. “I promise.”
Reginald nodded. “I want to be a valet. Then I can work for a gentleman who likes to travel. That way I can see the world.”
“That would be fun,” Bertie said.
Then his face brightened with a look Reginald recognized even after just a few hours - the look that signified “Completely Inappropriate Idea.”
“Maybe I can be a valet, too,” he said. “Then we can both work for a gentlemen who like to travel. You’re smart, Reggie. You can fix a way for them to travel together. Then we could be together, too.”
Reginald placed his books on his bed without opening either of them. He smiled a little as he thought of Bertie serving as a valet. Looking after a gentleman was difficult and exacting work. It was a good thing Bertie was born to be one of those gentlemen.
He opened Don Quixote, but didn’t read a word. His mind drifted to the upcoming weekend. Bertie would return and perhaps they would go to the river again. He wanted to ask Bertie about London and the people there, and about the best shops and theatres.
He’d managed to distract Bertie from his plan to ask his father to send him to valet school instead of Eton. Reginald smiled again and then turned to his book.
Link to part 2
storyfan.livejournal.com/3886.html#cutid1
Chapter: completed
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Summary: Jeeves and Bertie make childhood promises. Something gets in the way.
Rating: PG for terrifying auntie
Tags: Bertie, Jeeves, Wodehouse
Disclaimer: Bertie and Jeeves belong to Wodehouse. I’m just taking them out for a spin. I’ll return them in good shape, I promise.
Notes: Excellent beta assistance by chaoschick13 and sabinelagrande. All mistakes belong to me. Also, I've taken a few historical liberties concerning servant/uppercrust relationships, I've given Bertie's sister a first name and have made Jeeves an only child. I'm trying to post this so it looks nice and neat, so bear with me, folks. Thank you.
Reginald Jeeves looked at the ground and tried to ignore the overfed boy before him.
“You’re a servant. The son of a housekeeper and a butler. A double servant, if you like. You’re supposed to do anything I want, and right now I want you to bark like a dog.”
“I am afraid I cannot comply, sir,” Reginald said, trying to be as dignified as his father.
“Yes, you can. I bloody well will make you do it.”
Reginald hated it when the house was full of guests. Either he was run off his feet or he had to put up with the wealthy young bullies who delighted in trying to make him appear foolish. He would have to defend himself this time, however, and he hated to think what his father would say.
“You really ought to leave him alone, you know.”
Gerald Roderick Stanton III whirled around, a stick his hand. Behind him stood a thin boy, tall for his age, a determined expression on his face and anger in his blue eyes.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Rooster Wooster,” Gerald said and spat on the grass. He brandished the stick. “Always sticking your big beak in other people’s business.”
The boy touched his noise self-consciously but stood his ground.
“Well, well, well,” the thin boy mocked. “If it isn’t old Stinky Stanton, going after someone else with a stick because he’s too fat to use his fists.”
Gerald raised the stick over his head. “Maybe you’d like to take the place of the butler’s boy, Wooster. It’s all the same to me.”
The thin boy shrugged and tensed his fists. Reginald could see that Gerald frightened the other boy, but the boy didn’t back down. “Go ahead.”
Gerald rushed at the thin boy only to be stopped short by a woman’s voice.
“Gerald, darling, where are you? We’re leaving.”
Gerald tossed the stick aside. “Lucky for you I have to go.” He turned to Reginald. “I’ll be back next weekend and I’m quite sure Wooster here won’t be around to protect you.”
With that parting shot, Gerald answered his mother, affecting a syrupy tone at odds with his malicious grin.
“Coming, Mummy!”
He cast the thin boy a final glare before swaggering off.
The thin boy’s shoulders sagged in what appeared to be relief and he expelled the breath he’d been holding.
“Thank you, sir.”
Reginald and the tall, thin boy examined each other. Reginald’s dark shiny hair was the opposite of the other boy’s fair curls. Both had blue eyes and while the thin boy had a nose slightly too large for his face, Reginald’s nose was decidedly crooked.
“You’re welcome,” the thin boy said. He gestured in the direction of the car now heading down the long driveway. “I’m sorry about old Stinky. He’s such a prat.”
Reginald nodded but didn’t say anything.
“I’m Bertie. Bertie Wooster,” the thin boy said and held out his hand.
Reginald hesitated for the space of several seconds, then grasped Bertie’s hand.
“Reginald Jeeves.”
Bertie nodded. “Reginald. Could I call you Reggie?”
Reginald shook his head. “It wouldn’t be proper, sir. You should call me Jeeves.”
Bertie rolled his eyes. “I’m not a sir. Father is a sir. And that’s not what friends call each other. We should be Reggie and Bertie. Chums, you know.”
Reginald hesitated, then gave a regal nod.
Bertie tipped his head to one side and studied Reginald. “You’re the butler’s son? I’ve been here loads of times. Well, four anyway. Why haven’t I seen you before?”
Reginald looked at his shoes, and felt two spots of color rising on his high cheekbones.
“I’m not supposed to be near the guests. I’m just a servant.”
Bertie gave him a puzzled look, then brightened.
“No you’re not. You’re Reginald Jeeves and you’re my friend.”
Reginald’s lips quirked and Bertie smiled widely.
“How old are you, Reggie?”
“I just turned thirteen. What about you?”
“Just turned eleven.”
Reginald look away from Bertie, his face a polite mask. “How old is Mr. Stanton?”
“Pretty old, I suppose,” Bertie said and frowned. “He’s Father’s friend so he must be at least 70. Maybe even 80.”
Reginald looked back at Bertie, his lips twitching. “I meant the boy who was just here.”
“Oh,” Bertie said, his face flaming. “Stinky’s eleven, like me.”
Reginald glanced away again.
“Why didn’t you just take the stick away from him?” Bertie asked. “You’re bigger than he is and Stinky’s all fat around the middle. Too much Victoria sponge, Mummy says.”
Reginald took a deep breath and recited the answer his father had taught him to give.
“A servant does not correct his betters,” Reginald said in a voice to freeze the sun.
Bertie laughed, then stepped back a few paces when Reginald whirled to face him, his face set in grim, proud lines.
“What is so funny, sir?”
Bertie grinned. “Well, if Stinky’s your better I would hate to see worse.”
Reginald’s dark eyebrows lifted, as did the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think I’ll ever enjoy Victoria sponge again,” he finally said. “Now that I know it’s...” He looked around before continuing. “Stinky Stanton’s favorite.”
Both boys laughed until their sides ached. Reginald was the first to gain control of himself.
“I’m not supposed to laugh like that,” he said as he wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “It’s unseemly.”
“Seems all right to me,” Bertie said and laughed again.
The two boys giggled and snorted their way into a companionable silence.
“I say, Reggie, where were you going before Stinky got hold of you?”
“To the river. There’s an otter family I want to observe.”
“Can I observe it, too?”
Bertie squirmed a bit under Reginald’s scrutiny.
“Certainly,” Reginald said. “But I must return by five o’clock. Dinner preparations, you know. And I must study my lessons as well.”
“All right,” Bertie said. “I’ve a pocketwatch so we won’t be late. If you could just help me...”
His voice trailed off in embarrassment. “I can’t tell time very well.”
“A small matter,” Reginald said. “I’ll show you how to do it while we watch for the otters. It’s quite easy once you learn the trick of it.”
Bertie nodded, appearing satisfied. “All right, then. Lead on, Reggie.”
“Very good... Bertie.”
After waving Bertie off later that afternoon, Reginald had to suppress a great desire to skip through the servants’ entrance at the great manor house where his family had served the Worthington-Standish family for generations.
He’d made a friend, an event as unlikely as a butler’s son winning a place at Oxford.
He and Bertie had spent several hours near the river. They’d found the otter family and he’d taught Bertie to tell time. Reginald himself had never had any trouble with the task as his life was governed by the clock. Breakfast at eight, luncheon at one, tea at five and dinner at eight. And all the minutes in between were reserved for study or other jobs around the house.
But the conversation they’d had! Reginald wanted to remember every word, every laugh, every secret. It had been an afternoon to treasure. The two years that separated the boys’ ages had not mattered. Reginald saw in Bertie a boy who wanted nothing more than the same thing he himself wanted - a friend, a confidante, someone with whom to just...be.
His mother and father were in the kitchen, enjoying a well-deserved cup of tea on their afternoon off. They looked up from their respective books and smiled as Reginald entered the room.
“The tea is still hot and we have scones if you’re hungry,” his mother said. She reached for the cup and saucer that was always set aside for him.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said automatically, his mind still at the river.
“Your eyes are sparkling, Reginald,” his father said. “You saw the otters, I take it?”
Reginald’s face broke into a wide grin, but he reined it in at the surprised looks on his parents’ faces.
“Oh, yes, we...I mean I did see them. All four. They were catching fish.”
“We?” His father emphasized the word with a raised eyebrow.
Reginald’s teacup rattled against the saucer. He put them on the table. “Yes. I met someone today. He wanted to see the otters, too.”
“Who?” Mr. Jeeves asked.
“Ber...Master Wooster.”
Mr. Jeeves frowned a little. “How did you meet? You are supposed remain away from guests, Reginald.”
Reginald folded his hands in his lap, dejected now. The glittering afternoon with Bertie was fast losing its luster. He only half-heard the familiar lecture about keeping his place, minding the rules and serving his betters. He looked up as his father finished speaking, all expression cleared from his face.
“I’m sorry, Father,” he said trying to keep his voice even. “I will do better.”
The small family finished tea in silence. Reginald couldn’t eat nor did he drink his tea but knew he couldn’t be excused from the table until his mother gave him the word. Finally, after thirty minutes of waiting, his mother spoke.
“Your studies await you, Reginald,” she said. “Latin translations and Don Quixote. Then you must come down and assist with dinner preparations.”
“Yes, Mother.” He stood and inclined his head politely. “Please excuse me.”
It was all he could do to leave the kitchen at a sedate pace. When he reached the tiny alcove that served as his bedroom, he pulled the books he needed from a small shelf above the bed, cradled them in his arms and sat on the hard, thin mattress.
He closed his eyes and recalled walking with Bertie to the river. Bertie talked - a lot and about everything. He was funny, too. He imitated the prime minister and the king as well as the boys at his school. Reginald didn’t know any of the boys, but that didn’t matter. He’d never laughed so hard in his life.
But Bertie could be serious, too.
“How do you know so much about otters?” he’d asked after Reginald had explained how they found food and the way they could open clams.
“I watch them. You can learn a lot just by watching, Bertie. I like to read, too, whenever I have time. The mistress allows me to read any book in the library as long as it doesn’t interfere with my work.”
Bertie tossed a pebble into the river and they watched as the concentric circles it created widened and disappeared. “It’s hard to learn,” he finally said. “I’m not very smart.” He tossed a second pebble. “I’m mentally neg, negli...”
He turned to Reginald. “What’s the word I want?”
“Negligible,” Reginald said, hating the look the word brought to Bertie’s thin face.
“It means stupid,” Bertie said.
“Who told you that you were mentally negligible?” Reginald asked, then tossed a pebble after Bertie’s.
“My Aunt Agatha. She said all the brains in the family went to my sister where they’ll go to waste.”
“Well,” Reginald said, “I don’t think you’re mentally negligible. Look how quickly you learned to tell time.”
Bertie’s expression brightened. “I did, didn’t I? Father and Mummy will be so pleased.”
They gazed at the river in silence for a moment.
“You know what I wish, Reggie?”
“What?”
“I wish we could build a boat and see where this river goes.”
And never return, Reginald wanted to say.
“That’s a fine wish,” he said instead. “We could explore like Magellan or Christopher Columbus.”
Bertie turned to look at Reginald. “And we could discover things. Then people would see I’m not stupid.”
Reginald smiled a little. “We’ve already discovered something.”
“What’s that?”
“Friendship.”
Bertie nodded, looking pleased. Then his face lit up like a bonfire.
“Reggie,” he said, his voice growing squeaky with excitement,” I’m down for Eton. It’s where Father went. You could come, too. Then we’d really be friends all the time. Forever, even.”
Reginald stared at the river and fought hard to hold back tears. As much as he hated the idea of not being allowed to go to Eton, he hated disappointing Bertie even more, an idea that shocked him.
“What’s the matter, Reggie?”
He couldn’t answer.
“Reggie, please.”
Reginald felt a small hand on his shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut. Breathe, he urged himself. Don’t cry. Servants do not cry. They control themselves.
Reginald took a deep breath and opened his eyes. Bertie was sitting right next to him, staring at him. Worry and unshed tears shimmered in his blue eyes.
“Are you all right, Reggie?” he asked, then didn’t stop for an answer. “I know Eton probably isn’t smart enough for you, but maybe...”
Reginald patted the hand that gripped his shoulder. “I’m fine, Bertie.”
Bertie moved his hand and said nothing.
“I’m sorry, Bertie.” Reginald finally said. “I can’t go to Eton. I’m sure it’s a fine school but I’m...down for somewhere else.”
“Oh.”
Reginald swallowed the lump in his throat. He would deal with the bitter lie and its agony later, when he was alone. But now he had to look after Bertie.
“But that doesn’t matter, Bertie,” he said, forcing brightness into his voice. “We can write, can’t we, and you’ll come here again, won’t you?”
Reginald knew very well they couldn’t write. His own father dealt with the daily post and would intercept Bertie’s letters. And Reginald had no money of his own to post replies. But that didn’t matter. Bertie’s happiness mattered. Why it mattered so much, Reginald didn’t know but he didn’t question it, either.
“Oh,” Bertie said. “Stinky said he was coming next weekend. We are, too. For the whole weekend. We’ll be able to see each other.”
Reginald’s excitement grew. “I’ll be busy, but I should have some time to see you.”
“We could even get back at old Stinky,” Bertie said. “I can’t wait.”
Reginald stood and squinted at the sun. It was time to return to the house.
“Do you have the time, Bertie?”
Bertie pulled out his pocketwatch and carefully counted the minutes until five o’clock.
“It’s fifteen minutes until we have to be back.” He showed the watch to Reginald. “Am I right?”
Reginald pretended to inspect the watch. “You are correct in your assessment, Mr. Wooster.”
Bertie looked at the watch again, an uncertain expression on his face. “Wasn’t I right, Reggie?”
Reginald patted the younger boy’s back. “You were right, Bertie. And now, I’m afraid, we must return to the house.”
“What do you want to do when you grow up?” Bertie asked, puffing a little to keep up with Reginald’s longer legs.
“I’m supposed to be a butler like my father,” Reginald said. “But...”
“But what?”
Reginald stopped walking. “You must promise not to say anything. Or laugh.”
Bertie drew a cross on his chest. “I promise.”
Reginald nodded. “I want to be a valet. Then I can work for a gentleman who likes to travel. That way I can see the world.”
“That would be fun,” Bertie said.
Then his face brightened with a look Reginald recognized even after just a few hours - the look that signified “Completely Inappropriate Idea.”
“Maybe I can be a valet, too,” he said. “Then we can both work for a gentlemen who like to travel. You’re smart, Reggie. You can fix a way for them to travel together. Then we could be together, too.”
Reginald placed his books on his bed without opening either of them. He smiled a little as he thought of Bertie serving as a valet. Looking after a gentleman was difficult and exacting work. It was a good thing Bertie was born to be one of those gentlemen.
He opened Don Quixote, but didn’t read a word. His mind drifted to the upcoming weekend. Bertie would return and perhaps they would go to the river again. He wanted to ask Bertie about London and the people there, and about the best shops and theatres.
He’d managed to distract Bertie from his plan to ask his father to send him to valet school instead of Eton. Reginald smiled again and then turned to his book.
Link to part 2
storyfan.livejournal.com/3886.html#cutid1