Chapter Text
From the archive of all things on the internet. This is the second volume of the transliteration of the papers of Bertram Wilberforce Wooster, Lord Yaxley and Sir Reginald Jeeves, KBE.
DEAR voyeur of other people’s diaries. These are private papers and if you decide to read them in spite of this then you have only yourself to blame. They are being written in the lazy afternoon of my life after Jeeves and I had become flesh of flesh. It exists only as a record, for our mutual pleasure, of how we reached the point. They are possibly fruitier than my average published works (should those have similarly survived). The reason why this has been typed on a Hall and not a Remington should be clear if you know Jeeves and me.
*****
Jeeves was meticulously polishing the silver and arranging it all in some muslin lined boxes for the upcoming holiday. He never just leaves the home and hearth but boxes it all up properly et viola upon our return, the h. and h. is ready to welcome us fresh as daisies. Why is it daisies? Roses can be fresh or daffodils or bluebells. Perchance some erstwhile daisies got cheeky with some scholar of yore and he slapped them with that epithet out of spite. Scholars can be quite spiteful – nasty tempers and no humour. Did I ever tell you about the Dean at Magdalene after the— there is no need for that cough Jeeves. You may want to edit this as I write it but do let me finish typing one sheet at least. Your wandering fingers are as welcome on this sheet as a Spode is in Berkeley Mansions.
Pardon me what were we discussing? Ah yes! Our imminent departure on a sailing-cruise to the Hellenic lands and back, littered with many a port betwixt. We would leave at the crack of dawn or thereabouts, a week from the morrow. It would be five weeks before we saw the hallowed precinct of Mayfair again.
The Bianca was a lovely ship in that it had suites for the discerning. I wonder why they call people with enough oof to reserve a suite discerning. What exactly does one discern if one has enough of the ready? It was the suite with two bedrooms, a bath and a place to kick off heels and lounge about should the occasional hermit-like mood strike. Of course the young master wanted to mingle and chug a few with the lads in the evenings and tip his hat to the locals at each port but there is something to be said about not hearing the snores of one’s fellow passengers while in one’s own cocoon. I see a bemused eyebrow raised but I say – live in a dormitory bursting to full with Eton boys for a few years and then divvy rooms with Ginger and Bingo till you doff your mortarboard, and then give yours truly that eyebrow.
Plus it would also help Jeeves. It is better to have him no further than a few yards from his field of duty. He refused to be fully off-duty even while we were on holiday. The feudal spirit and all that.
I had to be off to the Drones to let the boys know that this Wooster shall not be about for a few weeks.
I had scarcely reached the door when Jeeves materialised out of thin air and a gentle cough. “Mr. Wooster, sir. If I may.”
“Off to the Drones, Jeeves. Toodle pip.”
“Of course. Here’s your tie, sir.”
“Already swaddled the neck, Jeeves,” I reached out for the doorknob but his form manifested itself betwixt the portcullis and me and I knew the battle was lost. He deftly exchanged my natty golden tie (I had a feeling it would soon find a fiery demise) with a sombre blue one and my smashing spats were gently but very firmly replaced by gleaming patent leather black that no don from either shore could fie upon. Finally he handed me my hat and pronounced me fit to be inflicted upon the metrop.
*****
The Drones all know of my man and many know him as well. They hold him in high regard. Just the other day Bingo and Ginger held forth on the subject at length.
For a man in his position, id est a gentleman’s gentleman, having a trustworthy master is of the utmost importance to Jeeves. One would never think it to see him around the flat of course, or even out and about saving near and dear ones of the t. m. or the t. m. himself. But I know. He lets out nary a twitch when a horde of drunken Drones swarms in for some jollification and leaves it in as un-Jeevesian a state as one can imagine. But there is but one thing. He doesn’t need his dark glasses and white wand indoors and so the lads never noticed. Which is for the best. Biffy wouldn’t believe it when Bingo first exclaimed about it.
“What do you mean he can’t see? You said he switched your purple tie with this grey one!” protested Biffy pointing an accusatory finger at me.
“Lilac! That tie is lilac,” sooth I.
“It’s purple, Bertie. He is honest to god blind, Biffy. He even wears those dark glasses when he is walking out,” quoth Bingo.
Jeeves can see of course, but rather vaguely. We are all mere bobbing blobs to him. The man himself conveyed it at the beginning of his employment.