Chapter Text
Having spent some appreciable number of years under the tutelage of Jeeves, I do consider myself to be a keen observer of the psychology of the individual, and thus I shall confidently conclude that at the closure of my last report you indulged either of two reactions: one, a horrified curling of the upper lip as you chucked the pages without regard at your ailing grandmother; or, two, a gentle upturn of the mouth's corners mingled with a tender sigh and a general feeling of goodwill. If you are a member of the former class, I very much doubt anything short of a certain morbid curiosity will have dragged you into this continuation of events, but it is with great regret that I inform you readers of the second class that you will no doubt shortly belong to the first.
You see, very soon after that fateful - and dare I say, white-hot - brush of mouth-to-mouth between man and manservant, the rivers had dried up, the plains had cracked, and the flocks and herds had moved on to more fruitful stomping grounds. That is to say, after the first unbridled rush, Jeeves had buttoned up and donned a mask so stiff you could lob bricks off it.
I initially chalked this up to a regard for the finer feelings, Jeeves not wishing to offend them by a mad rush into more elaborate activities. Following a bit of chummy proceedings on the sofa during the evening in question, Jeeves had extracted himself delicately from my embrace and resumed the more normal evening duties. All was well and good with soft smiles exchanged as I doffed the raiment and gave the old snappers a scrub. If Jeeves was plagued by a certain mortification at events which had just transpired, he gave no outward sign.
The more troubling transformations, however, have a way of taking place during the dark hours, when full moons shine and mortal eyes rest closed, and this case was no exception. I woke, full of visions of breakfasting with Jeeves snugged at elbow, to find a wall of masonry in a suit presenting the tray bedside in the historical fashion. When I made to move out from beneath the bedclothes and bring the person into closer proximity, the wall slid noiselessly into the next room.
Any further attempts on my part at taking up where we had left off were firmly avoided by a clever positioning of solid objects between our persons at all intervals- that is, when Jeeves and I happened to be in the same room at all, which became an increasingly difficult tableau to arrange.
I confess I had very little data from which to draw conclusions as to the normal proceedings in these circs. I mean to say, when the devoted gentleman's gentleman of many years makes welcome advances, and his bird opens arms wide in acceptance and says, 'let's make things a bit cosier, what?' one expects fireworks and no small number of happy days to result.
When instead the manservant mysteriously devolves into a wet blanket with a subzero shoulder, there's no clear-cut course of action. Take a belligerent approach to the whole thing and you're apt to be bunged behind bars for the next three decades.
The alternative was only mildly less closed to consideration. It seemed I would have to wait out whatever ill-scented second thoughts had scared Jeeves off the prey, and I tell you I did not like this prospect one iota. When one waits half a lifetime for the sort of embrace that could back up the New York power grid, there's nothing as damning as the prospect of passing a possibly infinite length of time in expectation of the next instalment.
Never let it be said, however, that Bertram Wooster crumples beneath the onslaught of a sticky situation. For all that Jeeves is renowned for the powers of his incomparable fish-fed mind, and the inscrutable plans that it can envisage, I fear this is where I am obliged to set the record straight.
As I have had occasion to mention before, Jeeves’s plans are often fraught with a certain amount of over-thinking. This is no doubt to be expected from a mind that is always operating on twelve cylinders. It has a tendency to zoom past the obvious and easy solution with a certain amount of disregard. Fortunately for all involved, this is where the oft-overshadowed value of the Wooster mind comes into play.
I had, as I always did, a simple plan that guaranteed satisfaction, or the fee would be returned double. This, of course, had the minor flaw of promising a rather uninspired payback from self to self in the event of failure, but I paid it no mind. Such trifling details cannot push one into easy surrender.
I set the p. into a. on the Thursday evening before I was to lunch with Andrew Daily, who, you will remember, had rung up at a rather inopportune moment several days before to express forgiveness for his misguided jealous exclamations regarding his valet-turned-paramour.
Jeeves was doing his rounds with the duster, making an obvious effort to pretend I was no longer an earthbound specimen.
'Jeeves,' I said defiantly.
'Sir?' he said, cocking an ear in my direction.
'I am feeling unwell.'
I slumped demonstratively into a striped armchair. There was a pause as my quarry sensed movement.
'I am sorry to hear that, sir,' Jeeves said, not sounding very sorry at all.
'You don't sound very sorry, Jeeves,' I chided.
This elicited a small, polite cough.
'If you wish for anything, sir, you need only ask.'
'Er. Well,' I said.
I confess I hadn't thought quite this far in advance in my plans. I suppose I had fully expected concern for my well-being to cause Jeeves to drop this front and rally round on bended knee, doughy-eyed with unpronounced emotion. As you might infer, mine was, at the time, a slightly unrefined sensibility in these matters.
Jeeves continued flicking at molecules of dust while I hastily revised the blueprints.
'Jeeves,' I said pensively after a space of some minutes. 'I believe I have chills. I require warmth.'
This earned a bit of dead air in his determined dusting.
'I shall prepare tea, sir,' Jeeves said, coming to a decision and making an instant retreat to the kitchen.
I stared after him. There was no doubt that I was becoming increasingly alarmed by this tepid tergiversation.
When he returned with the tray I eyed him sceptically.
'Jeeves?'
'Sir?'
'You can't really mean this.'
'Mean what, sir?'
'This.' I gestured to indicate the situation at large.
Jeeves flicked his eyes obligingly at a few objects of immaculate furniture, then raised an eyebrow.
'Sir?'
'Things,' I said tentatively, 'have cooled considerably.'
Jeeves gave me a blank look and straightened a lampshade.
'Things,' I tried again, waving my hands.
This earned me another querulous quirk of the eyebrow.
By this point, there were, no doubt, some rather rummy thoughts beginning to take shape inside Bertram's mind. Whatever words and gentle gestures had been exchanged several nights prior, Jeeves no longer seemed of a mind to be receptive to my attentions. I was, for lack of better words, plagued by doubts. My performance in the arena of intimate gestures, though limited in repertoire, had never been met with such erratic disinterest.
That being said, I would be the first to admit that Jeeves is the highest standard to which one could set oneself in any undertaking, and one should not throw up hands in defeat when he gives the thumbs down, but I could not help taking this uncomplimentary reception harshly. It was, after all, a bit of a more personal rejection than striped spats or pink neckties.
'Well,' I said, somewhat pipped. 'Just leave the tea on the table, Jeeves.'
'Very good, sir.'
I regarded him with a cool gaze as he returned to stiffly whacking at the mobilier.
I confess I found a certain fascination in watching his movements, a wondrous thing that had never fully revealed itself to me before. I leaned back into the engulfing embrace of the armchair, openly admiring his unruffled figure.
Even the pash-stricken heart can, however, grow weary of regarding a man passing feathers over the mantelpiece, and after some small amount of time I began to feel the blinkers grow heavy.
I snuggled back into my chair.
In the neighbourhood of sleep is when a man is at his most vulnerable, and vulnerability being very much the sort of image I wished to portray in hopes of inspiring my white knight to get his helmet screwed on straight, I let the theme develop naturally.
I threw a leg over one side of the chair, and casually tossed an arm over the other. As the coup de grâce, I let myself slide into a portentously precarious position. The head dangled and the backside threatened to slip off the cushions with only slight provocation.
I was only just maintaining this position by sheer force of will and a few quivering muscles of the midsection, but I didn't expect to have to hold it long. I intended for Jeeves, finding his charge draped in a dangerously unceremonious manner, to leg it chair-side and lift the clinging corpus into its proper bed.
I signalled that the performance might begin by delivering a dramatic yawn.
My eyes were firmly shut, so as to give the impression of utmost exhaustion, but the ears were finely tuned to any disturbance in the rhythm of Jeeves's syncopated swishing. I listened carefully, but heard only an unbroken series of swats.
I popped open an eye.
There was Jeeves, still in front of the mantelpiece, wrist still rocking through a sixty degree rotation with an accuracy that ought to have inspired the ticking timepiece above him to give it up for a bad job.
I tried a snorting snore.
Jeeves didn't bother to blink, but I thought I saw an eyebrow twitch.
I held on.
Or rather, I meant to hold on, but the combination of wearying muscles and slippery seat landed me without the proper pomp and c. in a heap on the floor.
His sensibilities having finally been offended past tolerance, Jeeves glided over to rescue the tea things from the danger zone. He gave me a withering look of dismay as he passed, completely immune to my floor-bound yet hopeful gaze.
~*~
This is not, as you might have suspected, where Bertram's plan ends. Plan A (and subsequent revisions) having failed, there was still plan B in the offing. And a dashed clever plan B it was, too. You've heard of the idea of reverse psychology, I am sure. In a masterfully executed turn reminiscent of some of Jeeves's finest, I had applied this concept to plan B, making it, in fact, the reverse of plan A.
You see, instead of contriving for Jeeves to stick by my side by shocking the emotional system into overdrive, I would instead become his shadow, so to speak, thereby making it impossible to pretend I had left the land of the living. I would study his habits and be at elbow through every routine, such that not even the stiffest of his masks could ignore the dogged presence of Bertram. I felt certain that this constant reminder of my existence would finally cause his hastily erected wall to crumble, spilling the captive soul into my waiting clutches.
In order to deliver the complete effect, it would, of course, require rising - as Jeeves does - from the willing arms of Morpheus at an unthinkable hour, but the thought of another pair of arms for which I would gladly trade provided more than sufficient motivation.
At half-past six Friday morning I awoke to the merry seizures of the alarm clock. As I donned dressing gown and slippers, intending to install myself in the kitchen and provide pleasant chatter while Jeeves prepared the morning sustenance, I heard the sound of the taps running. My powers of observation not being noticeably diminished by the early hour, I quickly deduced that this was Jeeves running his morning bath.
The thought of Jeeves doing something as pedestrian as taking a bath gave me momentary pause, which, I suppose, is why he did it during my normal hours of hibernation. Never let it be said that Jeeves likes the scales to fall from the eyes of his admirers.
'Jeeves?' I said, knocking softly on the door in the hall. 'Is that you in the bath?'
I heard a shocked splash.
'Sir?' came a gurgle.
'Er. Yes.'
'Is everything alright, sir?'
'Oh, yes, yes. Quite. Just er... checking in. Carry on.'
'It is early, sir,' the scandalised voice said from the other side of the door. 'I was not expecting... Are you desirous of anything, sir?'
'Oh, no, no. No. I...' Well, the truth of the matter, in fact, was that I was desirous of quite a lot, and in this deprived state I was struck by a sudden idea.
'Carry on, Jeeves. I'm returning to the mattress. I can't think what I was doing up at this hour.'
I waited for the muffled 'Very good, sir' from the other side of the door and then I launched into action. I took a few hesitating steps in the direction of the bedroom, and then purposefully hooked a foot through the leg of the hall table.
To this foot I gave a forceful yank.
Now, I'm not sure if you are aware of the risks of including objects of furnishing as co-conspirators in highly evolved plots, but I will do you the kindness of warning you that they are decidedly less dependable than when fulfilling their intended functions. This hall table, delivering neither dramatic resounding crash nor minor, yet visually impelling injuries to the person of Bertram, instead collapsed with a muted thump onto the carpet, spilling a few photographs and a ticket stub harmlessly to the floor.
I saw immediately that further action was needed.
With a wrenching cry that ought to have caused Prussian soldiers to melt in sympathy and throw down their arms, I launched myself between table and wall, grabbing at an ankle.
There was a satisfying splash from beyond the door - Jeeves rising from the tub no doubt - and I had to quash a triumphant smile.
'Sir? Are you alright?' Jeeves called.
I gave another moan.
There was the sound of a garment being removed from the back of the door, which opened a moment later to reveal the person of Jeeves sporting a plain brown dressing gown and the look of a drowned rat. He was hastily wrapped, water striping the legs that appeared below, and a sopping mop plastered across the brow above.
I had not one, but two, distinct and fierce reactions to this apparition. One was to let out another cry at the sight of my sartorial paragon so diminished. The other was to assume the colour of ripe watermelon at the heretofore unwitnessed state of déshabille in which Jeeves presented himself.
'I- I've fallen, Jeeves,' I blurted out, staring in horror at his bare feet.
'So I see, sir.'
'And I can't get up,' I added for good measure.
Jeeves served up a look full to sloshing with reproach.
'You will have broken the photograph of you and Miss Travers at Cannes, sir,' he observed as he hoisted me upright by my elbow.
'Oh. Right. Sorry, Jeeves,' I said, grasping for his hand. He must have been rather liberal with the soap, however, as it squirted out of my clutches like a ripe banana.
'I shall see to the mess, sir,' Jeeves said. 'If you would...' He indicated that I should remove my person from the scene.
'Aren't you even going to ask if I'm alright, Jeeves? I've just had a rather nasty fall.'
'I do wonder, sir, how you managed to upset the table several moments before actually falling,' he emitted dryly.
I started.
'Of all the- I say! I...'
'Yes, sir?'
'Well! I can see it's no use, Jeeves. You will not yield to the guiding hand.'
He opened his mouth to say something, and, thinking better of it, closed it again. I could see a bit of inner dialogue taking place. Then he returned.
'No, sir,' he said stonily.
I frowned.
'Then there's nothing to do for it but return to bed,' I returned with equal stoniness.
'Very good, sir.'
'Bally waste of good sleep,' I muttered, quitting the hall.
As I returned to the bed chamber, I felt suddenly overwhelmed by a resurgence of guilt familiar to me in my days as a chastised schoolboy. I mean to say, I was laying it on a bit thick, and if Jeeves had made it clear these continued attacks were unwelcome, who was I to keep it up?
I crawled back into the blankets, feeling a sort of panging in my chest, like my heart was being used to summon the Mongolian hordes to dinner. I whisked at the thoughts a bit, waiting for plan C to emerge fully-cooked, but nothing was forthcoming. Figuring it was a ripe moment for giving the mental machinery a rest, I succumbed to the siren song of slumber with a plan to take it up again after a few more hours of the good stuff.
~*~
I was awakened by Jeeves entering at the accustomed hour, dressed with his usual smartness and carrying the expected tray of tea and toast. I might have forgotten all about earlier events as he laid out the arraignment for my scheduled lunch with Andrew Daily, if it weren't for a nearly unnoticeable slant to his features.
'Jeeves,' I said cautiously.
'Sir?' He replied, with a certain coolness.
'Er, how do we expect the weather to perform today, Jeeves?'
'Low clouds and high temperatures approaching the mid-seventies, sir.'
This struck me as somewhat vapourously vapid, and I said as much.
'You did wish for a report on the weather, did you not, sir?'
'Well, yes, Jeeves, but I expected it to take the form of chummy chit-chat.'
'A valet's duty is to provide the information requested, sir. Chit-chat is proscribed.'
'Well, there you are, Jeeves, just what the doctor ordered, what?'
'Not prescribed, sir. Proscribed. Prohibited or decreed as unwise and dangerous.'
I frowned, pushing the toast aside and rising from the bed.
'Well they sound nearly identical to have completely contradictory meaning.'
'Such is the beauty of the English language, I have always found, sir.'
'Tut!' I said, pulling on the appointed pair of bags. 'And if I asked you to elaborate on the weather, as your employer, Jeeves?'
'I could, sir, comment on the shape of the cumulus as it comes under an easterly wind.'
I stared at the man in wonder as I shoved on a pair of socks.
'I do wish,' I said, 'that you would tell me what this is all about.'
'Sir?'
'Don't sir me, Jeeves. I'm absolutely stuffed with sirring. You know very well what I mean. You have cooled off considerably. If I've done something, or said something- '
'Mr. Daily will be arriving shortly, sir. I must make final preparations on the luncheon meal.'
I emitted a rather pointed sigh.
'Well, at least help me with this bally tie.'
'Very good, sir.'
As Jeeves took the ends in hand, I twitched in mistaken anticipation of a knuckle nudging at my throat.
I swallowed.
I even sneezed.
Jeeves evaded these feints with the supernatural skill of a Picadilly pickpocket, deftly whipping up a natty knot around my neck with nary a misplaced digit. Adding a sniff that brooked no argument, he biffed out of the room.
By this point I was feeling no little vexation, but I trailed Jeeves to the kitchen like an obstreperous puppy.
'Jeeves,' I yipped.
'Sir?'
'I realise I have been... shall we say, manipulative as of late.'
This was met with silence as Jeeves communed with the frying pan.
'I regret any hasty actions upon my part, but I do, however, require an explanation, Jeeves.'
'An explanation, sir?'
'Yes, Jeeves.'
'Would you be so kind as to tell me what you wish to have explained, sir?'
This repeated theme of ignorance was getting a bit out of hand, so I decided to be frank.
'Jeeves,' I said matter-of-factly, 'three nights ago certain, er... things transpired. I was under the impression that a... er... rather a rearranging of the normal state of affairs was in order.'
'Sir,' Jeeves said, after a proper pause, 'I must be honest with you.'
'Yes. Please, Jeeves. The honest truth.'
'It may wound you, sir.'
'Wound away, Jeeves. I require answers.'
'You are suffering from klebenleiben, sir.'
'Klebe-what, Jeeves?'
'Klebenleiben is a pathological need to address a given subject ad infinitum, sir.'
I wrinkled the brow at him.
'Are you telling me to put a sock in it, Jeeves?'
'I would not be at liberty to say anything of that nature to you, sir.'
'And if you were?'
Jeeves coughed politely into his hand.
'You would tell me to put a sock in it, wouldn't you, Jeeves, if you were at liberty?'
'Possibly, sir.'
'I see.'
I was saved from the invention of further words I might later regret by the doorbell ringing.
~*~
'What ho, Andrew!' I cried as the door disclosed Daily dressed in a tweed suit that had seen better days. Ill-attired or not, however, I was beginning to think of the man as something of a confidant.
Andrew, as I might have mentioned before, was a relic of the school days, and although we had never been very close during that time, he being a bespectacled flounder and I being a bit more friendly with the natives, we were of late discovering the merits of a chumminess we had previously missed out on. We did, after all, now have some common ground upon which to discourse.
'Bertie! So good to see you,' the cherub-faced blighter said as he entered the flat.
'Oh, you as well,' I said, intending to engage in the aforementioned discourse immediately. I noted, however, a rather noticeable absence at his shoulder.
'Er. You haven't brought your man with you, have you?'
'Oh, Peter? I'm afraid not. He's in prison.'
'In prison!'
This did, I assure you, cause no small amount of panicked fluttering in the Wooster breast. The past week having been filled with talk of Oscar Wildes and regrettable crimes and prison sentences, I came quickly to a rather troubling conclusion.
'In prison?' I repeated.
'Yes, he's- Oh, hullo Jeeves!'
This notorious bungler had materialised at elbow like a cloud of dust whipped up by an unseasonable gust of wind - the kind that stings the eyes and blurs the senses - carrying off the explanation I was about to receive.
'A canapé, sir?' he winged out in Andrew's direction.
'Oh. Yes. Thank you, Jeeves.'
Andrew withdrew a morsel from the proffered tray. I inspected the artefacts on it with some relish, but as my mitt dived in for the attack it swung off into the stratosphere.
'I say!' I said, but I may as well have not. No one was looking at me.
'A drink, sir?' Jeeves said, addressing Andrew with the enthusiastic servility normally reserved for yours truly.
'Yes, thank you,' Andrew said. ‘I’m not picky. Whatever you have on hand.'
'Very good, sir.'
'Well then, Andrew,' I injected into this rather cosy tête-à-tête. 'What's this about Jenkins in prison?'
'Well, he- '
At this moment a loud buzzing noise went off from the locality of the kitchen.
'Ah!' Andrew said, leaping off the carpet and clutching at Jeeves's arm. 'What's that? I say! Is there a fire?'
'No, sir,' Jeeves stated with an annoying ease, slithering out of Andrew's grasp. 'It is merely the cooking timer. I believe the roast is done.'
'Oh, a roast!' Andrew cried. 'That sounds marvellous! I haven't eaten for days.'
'What?' I said.
'No, I-' Andrew paused, making a face like a harassed rabbit. 'I say, is that fresh bread?'
'Indeed, sir,' Jeeves remarked. 'I had just removed it from the oven prior to your arrival.'
'Well, well, well! Shall we eat then?'
'Not until you tell me about this prison business,' I said, intending to hold the man hostage until I had received my answer.
'That can wait, Bertie,' he announced, pushing past me like I was a street vendor with spotty fruit. 'First, we shall eat! Lead on, Jeeves!'
'Very good, sir.'
Jeeves slid into the dining room, Andrew following in his wake.
'I say!' I said again, trailing the procession.
Andrew was already tucking the napkin into his collar, and moments later Jeeves was rolling a plate full of the good stuff under his nose.
'I daresay I seem to have become invisible,' I observed, so as to help anyone who was lagging in the general unfolding of things.
'Wonderful roast!' Andrew said.
'Would you like some wine, sir?' Jeeves said.
'Yes, yes, that would do very nicely, Jeeves!'
'A fine '81, sir. I think you will find it quite satisfactory.'
'It sounds it. Well, bung it out then. Let's see what it's made of.'
'Very good, sir.'
As Jeeves headed for the recesses of the kitchen, I took a chair across from Andrew. He was quite contentedly occupying my usual position as he champed at the fare spread before him.
'Andrew,' I said in Arctic tones.
'Bunny,’ he chewed out from behind some mashed potatoes.
‘Bertie,’ I corrected.
He swallowed the potatoes.
'That’s what I said!'
'Oh. Rather.'
‘I say,’ Andrew said, ‘Jeeves is being awfully cold to you. You haven’t had a row, have you?’
I grimaced. ‘No. Nothing of the sort.’
‘Well, I suppose not all valets can be like my dear Jenkins. Er, Peter, that is. He would never dream of giving me the cold shoulder in front of guests. Even before… everything.’
I let the slight hang in the air. My instinct, naturally, was to come to Jeeves’s defence, but I quashed it. ‘Right. You were telling me about Jenkins. Earlier, I mean.’
'Yes. Yes, I suppose I was,' he said and delicately wiped a stray crumb of potato from his mouth. 'Peter, er... he stole a loaf of bread to keep us from going hungry, and they caught him at it.'
'A loaf of bread?' I said, wanting to be sure I'd gotten it right.
'Yes, quite.'
'Is that all?'
'It's enough, isn't it? Well, I mean to say, it wouldn't have been, between two hungry men, but it was enough for the legal system to take offence.'
'So it goes,' I said. 'He did remember to supply a false label, I hope?'
'A what?'
'A false label. You know, like all those times I said I was Eustace H. Plimsoll, of the Laburnums, Alleyn Road, West Dulwich upon being dragged off for various nefarious deeds.'
'You? A Eustace?'
'Well, rather. Better a Eustace than a Wooster at the moment when they write your name in the books.'
'Yes, I suppose so. I don't think Peter would have liked to tell a lie, though.'
'Honesty is a most commendable trait, if I may say so, sir,' Jeeves said, returning with a bottle of the cupboard's finest in his hand. I immediately recognised it.
'You may say so, Jeeves,' Andrew said, beaming.
I felt this was all really just a bit rich, all things considered.
'No, Jeeves, you may not!' I cried. 'I say, is that the wine Aunt Dahlia sent over, informing that it was from Anatole’s private collection?'
'It is, sir.'
Well, I see where he had put me. I could hardly refuse my guest a taste now that the thing was in hand, but I should think Jeeves knew well enough I was saving that bottle for Christmas. We had a tradition in the Wooster household: Jeeves and I would pick a night close to the big day when we were both at home, and spend a merry evening fireside reviewing the events of the year. This wine was the lubricating substance that made it that much cheerier, and dare I say, often a bit of a riot. To see it dashed against an outsider's tonsils so nonchalantly stung not a little bit.
When Andrew finished the dashing and tossing, he set his glass back on the table with a look of contentment.
'Is everything satisfactory, sir?' Jeeves asked, with the air of a liberated devotee.
'Oh, yes, quite, Jeeves, thank you. This is a rather marvellous spread you've got here.'
'If you desire anything further, sir- '
This was, as you will hopefully understand, the limit to Bertram's blind eye.
'Jeeves, a word,' I said in a cool tone, nodding at the swinging door behind him.
When we were alone in the kitchen, I decided to get right to the point.
'This ad infinitum business, Jeeves.'
'Yes, sir?'
'I rather think you are guilty of it yourself.'
'Sir?'
'If you don't stop plying my guest with the soppiest sycophancy ever witnessed, I- well, I don't know what I'll do. But rest assured I shall think of something!'
'I was merely endeavouring to be kind to Mr. Daily, sir. He has had somewhat of a rough ordeal recently.'
'Oh, he has, has he? Well, I don't like to say it, Jeeves, but there you are. At least his man stood by him.'
And with that, I turned on heel and marched out to the sitting room.
~*~
As I was lighting the second gasper, Andrew joined me with the smug look of the well-fed. He delivered himself into the striped armchair and sat looking pensive for some moments. Then he spoke.
'Bertie, I say,' he said.
'Do you really, Andrew?'
'Well- yes.'
'What is it, then?'
'What is what?'
'What you say!'
'Er, it's just that... Is everything alright?'
'Alright? Why yes, why shouldn't everything be alright?' I made it clear by my tone that everything had plenty of reason for not being alright, but hospitality made it impossible to say so.
'Well, you don't seem very happy with Jeeves at the moment. I know he’s being a bit of a wet rag with you, but I’m sure he has his reasons.’
‘His reasons!’ I cried.
'Have you done anything to offend him?'
'No!'
'Haven't bought any more striped spats, then?'
'Rather not!'
'Strangely-coloured ties?'
'I should think not!'
'Oh. Well you must have done something then. He's very delicate emotionally, isn't he, under that cucumber exterior?'
'Andrew,' I said stolidly, prepared to lay the facts straight for the poor chump, 'I regret to inform you that Jeeves has the emotional range of a tea kettle.'
'A tea kettle?'
'A tea kettle.'
There was a pause during which I wondered if perhaps the tea kettle was not, in fact, given to more emotion at times.
Andrew speculated for some moments before leaning forward and affixing me with a keen gaze.
'It's your book, isn't it, Bertie? The one about Peter and me? He doesn't approve!'
I had all but forgotten about that damned book. It seemed to have served its purpose, much to my current chagrin, without ever having been written. Dashed useful thing, too, as I never felt less like bunging 'happily ever after' to paper.
'You might say that,' I replied coolly.
'Hmm. Catholic upbringing?'
'What?'
'I mean, did Jeeves have one?'
'Er. I couldn't say for certain.'
'Strict parents?'
'I really wouldn't know.'
'Rigid schooling?'
'Possibly? What is this all about?'
'Only I wonder if there isn’t something else going on here. Repressed emotional life?'
'He's a personal attendant, Andrew, and personal attendants, by definition, lead repressed emotional lives.'
'Well, there you have it.'
'Have what?'
'The problem!'
'What problem?'
'With your relationship.'
'What relationship?'
'With Jeeves, of course. He's feeling neglected, ignored, taken for granted. You clearly don't acknowledge that he's any more human than, say, that lamp over there. He needs a bit of attention is all.'
I recalled my doting efforts over the past twenty-four hours.
'What rot,' I said, coming to the heart of the matter. 'You do realise, Andrew, don't you, that your advice might be considered somewhat coloured in light of where it's landed you?'
He had the decency to take on a tomatoey shade.
'Not every man,' I continued, 'can be expected to take such, er... personal interest in his personal attendant.'
He waved his hands in a defeated gesture.
'Well, well. No need to take the pip, Bertie. I was just trying to be helpful.'
'Rather.'
The fight, however, had not entirely gone out of him.
'You might, all the same, just ask him a question or two about his personal life,' he said.
'Such as?'
'His favourite colour? If he ever wished for a pony as a child?'
I frowned, all hope for Andrew's redemption gone.
'I don't really see what colours and ponies have to do with any of this, you ass.'
'Bertie, Bertie, trust me just this once. You'll have him back to lapping out of your hand in no time.'
I couldn't honestly recall ever having Jeeves lap out of my hand - rather a bit of the reverse, if you take my meaning - but I contemplated the suggestion. It had a certain hidden merit that only appeared in the right light, like the shine on a grapefruit peel. Potentially a rather sour ordeal, but put it in the right context and it could be a sweet success.
'Andrew,' I said, 'you must take it as a credit to your unwavering loyalty in recent times that I shall consider your plan in all fairness.'
'Oh, jolly good, then, old thing! You won't regret it!'
'I should hope not. If I do, you might find yourself navigating Niagara in a barrel.'
'Niagara?'
'The giant waterfall in New York.'
'Oh. Oh, I say. No regrets, then.'
'No, indeed.'
Upon this satisfactory conclusion, Andrew stood and stretched.
'Well, I'd better be off, then,' he said, rolling his shoulders like a prize fighter about to enter the ring. 'Visiting hours aren't for much longer and Peter will be expecting me.'
'How long is he in for, then?' I asked, walking him to the door.
'Oh, only a few days. Not a serious crime, what, lifting a loaf of bread. At least he's being fed and watered where he is. They went soft on him when they saw how hungry he looked. Imagining themselves in his shoes, no doubt, good man laid off his job and no money left in the bank. You see, he spent it all on our hotel stay.'
'But surely you have money?' I asked.
'Not anymore. The family's disowned me, you understand.'
This shouldn't have come as a surprise, but I daresay it alarmed me nonetheless. I was not used to seeing oofy gentlemen suddenly stripped of their means for triflingly offensive behaviour.
'Oh, yes. Rather,' I said.
I tried to envisage what Aunt Agatha would say if she knew I'd never again approach one of her prospective girls with even the slightest sense of possibility, all because I'd realised that the sun rose and set on my manservant. It was something on par with being chased by an angry volcano.
'I say, where are you keeping on, then?' I asked. 'I can't imagine the hotel's hospitality has extended past the tragic end of your savings account.'
'No, indeed,' he said. 'I'm er... lodging with a friend at the moment. He's got a spare cot in the front room. Not five-star, mind you, but it keeps a roof over my head. I don't know what I'll do when Peter's out, though. He suggested I start looking into a job, seeing as how I haven't got the criminal record and my suit looks a little better than his.'
'Don't be an ass, Andrew. You can stay with us. I mean, me. There's plenty of room if we make up a few spare mattresses in the guest room, what? It's held plenty of married, er... well, you know, couples, without incident.'
'You really are too kind, Bertie. I would have never guessed it at school. I shall put the proposal to Peter and see what he thinks. I daresay he'll be delighted. Well, toodle-pip then!'
'Toodle-pip, old egg,' I said, feeling a trifle sentimental as I watched him depart down the hallway.
~*~
Bertram's good deed for the day having been accomplished, I now prepared for the next attack.
Jeeves was in the kitchen, done up in apron and garters, tending to the dishes.
'Er, Jeeves,' I said.
'Sir?' He glanced at me over his shoulder.
'I- Well. You wouldn't mind if I asked you a few questions, would you?'
He turned and eyed me as though I were a hyena asking if he wouldn't miss a pound of flesh.
'Forgive me, sir, but questions of what nature precisely?'
'Well, about you. Your past, your family, that sort of thing.'
He stretched a supercilium.
'You don't intend to write a book about me, do you, sir?'
'What? No, no. Nothing of the sort.'
'If I might ask, sir, why then do you wish to know?'
I stood up a bit straighter and twiddled my fingers.
'I- I suppose it's come to my attention that I've never asked you anything about yourself.'
'And after eight years of my service, you now wish to know, sir?'
'Well, yes. Yes, dash it. I mean, I don't even know how old you are, really.'
'Age should not matter in a valet's performance, once he is past a certain point of maturation, sir.'
'I say, will you come off the valet thing already?'
'I am a valet, sir.'
'But you're not just- '
'No, sir. I am only a valet. We would do well not to forget this.'
I could see where this was leading, and it looked dank and dim, rather like the bottom of one of those deep holes in the ground where water sloshes around.
I muttered something to myself, which, I believe, might have been, 'Rotten rummy rumminess'.
Jeeves paused while rubbing at a salad plate with the towel.
'Sir?'
'Don't valets have a favourite colour, even?'
'It is blue, sir.'
'Aha! A glimpse of the man behind the mask!'
'It is something you might already have remarked upon, sir, had you noted my taste in suit jackets and ties.'
'Ah,' I said. 'Very well, then. Er, did you ever wish for a pony as a child, Jeeves?'
'A pony, sir?'
'Yes, Jeeves. You know, spotty little things, look sort of like horses kept away from the trough during childhood.'
'I am familiar with the creatures, sir. I cannot say I ever wished for one as a child, however.'
'No?'
'No, sir. I did not wish for one as I had one for a short time. It threw me into a pond.'
'A pond?'
'Yes, sir.'
I pondered this for a moment and came up against the thing which rubbed.
'I confess, Jeeves, I did not think a creature existed in this kingdom that could get the better of you.'
He eyed me with a sort of wilting appraisal.
'You have, sir,' he said quietly.
I started. 'I have?'
'Yes, sir.'
'How do you figure that?'
'I could not say, sir,' he said, and went back to the elusive art of stacking champagne flutes. There was something uneasy about his air, however, as though he had not said his entire piece. I hovered in his shadow, waiting.
After a minute or so, he cleared his throat with a sound like distant thunder.
'There is something else you should know, sir.'
'Eh? Is this finally it, Jeeves?'
'Sir?'
'The truth, the whole truth, and nothing bally but?'
'It is as truthful as I am currently aware, sir. Plans, however, are eternally subject to the whims of nature and fancy.'
'Plans, Jeeves?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Whatever can you be planning?'
'I am leaving, sir.'
There is no fancy way of putting it. My heart fell to my feet and sat motionless like a lump of lead. We had returned to something almost approaching the usual chumminess over the pony business - I will wager Jeeves even hinted at a smile - and this came like a sudden downpour on a blazing summer day.
'What?' I finally whispered.
'It is for the best, sir.'
'What? You can't- No! No, I say! It isn't- I didn't- I mean to say... I take it all back, Jeeves! On my mother's grave! Whatever- whatever is wrong, I'll fix it, I promise you. Just don't... don't-'
Somewhere in the Wooster sinuses, a leak was beginning to spring. I can't say I had not suspected, somewhere deep down in the depths where nightmares are bred, that it might come to this, but I had never imagined I would actually stand there hearing these words come calmly tumbling from Jeeves's mouth.
I sniffed a few times.
A look of alarm stole over Jeeves's face before it was caught and locked away in whatever place he keeps the emotions that might crack the mask and make tremble the stiff upper l.
'Sir, I believe you are too hasty in your conclusions. I am not going away permanently, but only for some time. I believe it would be best if we each spent some time away from the other, if only to... rejuvenate the harmony that seems to have fallen asunder recently.'
'Some time?' I said a bit hoarsely, having swallowed the tears.
'Yes, sir. If I may, I should like to take an advance on next year's holiday leave in order to have four weeks this year.'
'Where- where are you going?'
'To the African Congo, sir.'
'The what?'
'The Congo, sir. A lowland tropical moist broadleaf forest enclosing the basin of the Congo River and its tributaries.'
'I know what the Congo is, Jeeves!'
'Very good, sir.'
'I was expressing astonishment at your selection. Allow me to ask, Jeeves, why the damned Congo?'
The thought of my heart and soul leaving was unbearable enough, but that he should want to travel to the ends of the earth and hide out beneath remote and dangerous leafy canopies was an additional blow to the whole rummy set-up.
'Miss Samson has expressed an interest in going there with a research group, sir. She has asked me to go as her travelling companion.'
This, as you may well have already noticed, added an extra layer to the thing which rankled the already bruised skin. Deirdre Samson was an unmarried girl let loose on society who very much desired to be married. I sensed that no bachelors were safe from her predatory nature, particularly if they were not upfront and forthright about the very thing which might save them from her grasp.
'Miss Samson? How the devil did she get involved in all this?'
'As I stated, sir, she wished- '
'I know what you said, Jeeves. What I very much wish to know is why she asked you? The last I heard, she was very much disenchanted with you.'
'I could not say, sir. She seems to have forgiven me for my incorrectly perceived involvement in Mr. Daily’s cancellation of their engagement. Perhaps she was aware of my interest in the African continent, and the fact that I have never had the good fortune to travel there.'
'I would have taken you, Jeeves, had you only asked me.'
'I did, sir.'
'You did? When?'
'Three summers past, sir. I believe your response was rather firmly in the negative.'
'The negative? Well, Jeeves, you should have asked again. Perhaps I've had a change of heart about alarmingly unluxurious travel.'
'I did not wish to trouble you about it further, sir. You made your answer quite plain, and I paid you the honour of trusting your words.'
'Say no more, Jeeves,' I said, stinging in every pore. 'I don't wish to hear it. You've said quite enough damaging drool already.'
'Very good, sir. Duty demands, however, that I inform you Miss Samson will be taking tea at the flat tomorrow afternoon.'
'She will?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Here?'
'Yes, sir. To discuss travel arrangements.'
'Well. I say.'
I mused for a moment.
'She's taking tea with you, then?'
'Yes, sir. However, I do not think she would take your presence unkindly.'
'And would you?'
'I should have no hesitations about you joining us, sir.'
'Well. Very good, then.'
'Very good, sir.'
~*~
The following day, tea time approached with alarming rapidity, a thing I was quite unprepared for. Normally it drags along, witnessing with great pleasure the grumblings and pangs in Bertram's middle regions, but today it seemed to fly right up to me with a taunting air.
As it danced circles around me, laughing, a knocking came at the door. I opened it to reveal the Lilliputian figure of Miss Samson.
'Deirdre,' I said by way of greeting, and if it fell a little short of sunny, I hope you will understand.
The girl in question, of course, did not.
'Hullo, Bertie, darling!' she said, moving in for a squeeze. I dodged neatly to the right, and left her with arms round the hat rack.
She made a small noise of surprise, much like a Pekingese whose tail has been stepped upon, and I found it rather difficult to keep from smirking. It isn't often a gentleman of proper upbringing is moved to smirk, but if there were circs for it, these were it.
I was on the precipice of delivering a rather nasty sermon to this female scourge who believed in attacking when the guard was down, but Jeeves trickled in like a rising tide to sweep away her coat and hat.
She recovered quickly enough from the embarrassment of embracing the furniture and tittered. I became of the opinion from that moment forward that there is nothing so sinister as a girl's titter. It is invariably a prediction of impending doom, especially when directed at an entity one had already earmarked for oneself.
We were established in the sitting room without further incident when Jeeves brought in the service. He hovered in the shadows of the room like an oversized bird waiting for carrion while Deirdre and I sipped in a stony silence.
The womanly presence was, as is inevitably the case, the first to break the peace.
'Jeeves, would you be so good as to pour me another cup?'
'With pleasure, miss,' Jeeves replied, and you jolly well might have believed it, because the devil was smiling.
I don't recall a single occasion in the history of Bertram when a request of mine was met with such an endangered species as the Jeevesian smile, with the possible exception of that time I asked for a lamp to light an eighteen-mile bicycle ride in the dead of night. That time, however, the smile had a rather sadistic tinge and the answer was quite firmly 'no'.
'Isn't he just the best, Bertie?' Deirdre gushed like an overripe banana as Jeeves lifted the pot.
'I hadn't noticed,' I said, scowling like a cat who's just been given a bath.
'Oh pish posh! I'm so glad I could take him off your hands. We're going to have a smashing time in Africa, aren't we, Jeeves?'
'Undoubtedly, miss.'
'Oh, I do wish you'd call me Deirdre. It seems sort of silly to keep up this proper business when we'll be trekking side-by-side through the jungle, sweat on our brows, hearts beating excitedly from within our bared chests- '
'I say!' I said, leaning on the end of my tether and primed to demonstrate that my bite was at least on equal footing with my bark, if you know what I mean.
'Whatever is the matter, Bertie? Did you step on a pin?'
'Rather not. I- '
'Oh! Jeeves,' the blister interrupted, flitting her attention from me to Jeeves like some sort of spastic sparrow. 'Why are you still standing? We're here to discuss plans, are we not? Come, have a seat by me.'
She patted a disturbingly diminished spot on the sofa.
Jeeves sent me a look that might have struck some as a request for acceptance of such improprietous behaviour, but I saw in it an inkling of regret for having signed up for this deadly adventure. I looked away, pretending to admire some tulips by the windowsill.
Jeeves took the proffered seat with a very pinched look on his face, and I daresay he nearly fainted when Deirdre patted him on the knee.
'There, now. Much better. Won't you have some tea?' She began pouring into a third cup without waiting for a reply. 'Now, have you got everything on the list?'
'Yes, miss.'
'List?' I asked.
'Oh, yes, Bertie,' Deirdre said. 'The scientists sent along a list to all of us who are going with things we might not think to bring. Bug repellent, notebooks, a torch, some bolts and nuts and a few pieces of wood- '
'Wood?' I said.
'For making a flower press box, of course,' she chirped. There was something unnervingly Bassett-like in her tone.
'A flower press box?' I said.
'Why, yes. Dr. Baker says there will be all sorts of unusual flowers that we'll want to study and take home with us.'
'Right. I can't imagine surviving in a jungle without a flower press box. Dashed useful things, those.'
There was an awkward moment as Deirdre looked beseechingly at Jeeves, as though asking him to give my leash a few tugs. This, of course, had the pronounced effect of infusing me with the desire to struggle against it a bit more.
'I wonder,' I said in an oily voice, 'whether I mightn't come along, after all. It sounds like such jolly good fun, all this sleeping in mud and eating grubs business.'
Jeeves shot me a saxifying look that could have knocked Medusa out of the running.
'Oh, dear Bertie,' Deirdre piped. 'I'm afraid not. You see, the research group we're going with only has a certain number of spaces for non-scientists. Jeeves and I got the last two.'
'Awful lot of jungle out there to run out of space,' I mused.
'You are silly, Bertie. I meant there are only so many bunks in the tents and pack mules and supplies and that sort of thing.'
'I can bally well bring my own pack mule! I'll just... Jeeves, pick me up a pack mule tomorrow on your rounds, would you?'
'Sir,' Jeeves said quietly, like a parent patiently but with ill-concealed exasperation explaining to a child why he musn't toss biscuits at the guests from behind the sofa. 'I wonder if you might recall words we had earlier exchanged on this subject.'
I daresay if he'd broken down and simply told me to bite my tongue, I couldn't have performed closer to the mark. The pain silenced me for some time as Deirdre and Jeeves talked about plans and supplies and what sort of vegetation might cause them to become delirious upon digestion. I sat through this with a growing sense of abandonment and ennui, and finally succumbed to the sweet music of sleep.
~*~
When I awoke, Deirdre was gone, and so were my shoes.
The shoes I found carefully placed beneath the sitting room table, thoughtfully removed by Jeeves, no doubt, to keep footprints off the loveseat. Deirdre, I was glad to discover, was no longer on the premises.
Jeeves was also absent from the immediate surroundings. I found him in his bedroom, mulling over several open suitcases like an anxious weasel.
'Packing so soon, Jeeves?' I said, wiping a crumb of the crusty stuff out of an eye.
He looked up at me warily, and I regretted the intrusion on his burrow. Things, however, remained to be said.
'We depart in three days' time, sir,' he said.
'Three days!' I yipped. 'You must have been planning this for some time, then.'
'No, sir. Miss Samson did spring the idea on me only a few days ago. I confess at first I did not agree to go, thinking it too sudden, but it has proved to be a convenient solution to the immediate discord.'
'You don't have to do this, Jeeves,' I said firmly.
'I am already committed, sir.'
'But Deirdre is a blister of the worst sort.'
'Be that as it may, sir, I have made my promises and arrangements. We will be in a large enough group that I do not think it unlikely she will find another upon whom to affix her enthusiasm.'
'Rather a gamble, that,' I said to the floor. I believe if it had had the power to nod in agreement, it would have. 'Well, Jeeves,' I went on. 'You have put yourself in for the long haul.'
'I have, sir.'
'Four weeks, you said it was?'
'The research team will be there for three months, sir. But with your consent I should only take this and next year's holiday time for a total of four weeks.'
'Take six, Jeeves,' I said, grimacing with the weight of the self-sacrifice. 'The travel will be nearly half of it.'
'That is very kind, sir. I had hoped to have ample time to spend in the forest proper.'
'Well and good, then, Jeeves. If you feel you are having too good a time to tear yourself away, you might just pop me a telegram, what?'
'I shan't be able to post telegrams or letters once we reach the forest, sir.'
I reeled at this new piece of news. 'No letters?'
'No, sir.'
'No telephone?'
'Not in the Congo, sir.'
'I say!' I said, feeling faint.
'Sir, if you wish to rescind your offer of six weeks, I would be understanding, but allow me to say that I think six weeks would be more suitable to the type of reflection that must be undergone.'
I wrinkled the dial at him.
'Do you mean reflection, I wonder, or easing of the ties that bind?'
'Sir?'
'Do you mean to make a permanent separation easier by weaning me off your presence?'
'That is not my intent, sir.'
'It had bally well not be, Jeeves.'
'No, sir.'
I allowed a healthy pause to do its number before continuing.
'Jeeves,' I said.
'Sir?'
'Are you angry with me?'
'I...' He stopped and surveyed a pile of socks before carrying on. 'No, sir. I had not meant to be overly harsh, but I felt my recent actions would be for your own good.'
'For my own good? All this cold-shouldering and refusing to speak straight with me? How do you imagine that?'
'I believed, sir, that perhaps, if I were to cause you to become frustrated by my actions, it would supplant... other emotions. I can see now that I had underestimated your resolve, sir.'
'I should think so, Jeeves. That's not to say that I am not frustrated, but I am hardly relieved of the bulk of other feelings you have awoken.'
'I am sorry, sir. I must confess that fear has played no small part in my recent behaviour.'
'Fear, Jeeves?'
He shot out a pained look.
'If you will forgive me for saying so, sir, I believe that this matter has reached a point of satisdiction.'
'A point of what?'
'All that should be said has been said, sir.'
'No, it damned well hasn't, Jeeves.'
His left eyebrow gave a small jump and he let out a breath like a leaky gas pipe. 'Very well, then, sir.'
I sensed the opening in the frontline and charged.
'I have tried by no small number of means,' I said, 'to get you to explain to me why you…. Well, there's no other word for it. You bussed me one, and are now pretending that it did not happen, and furthermore, making a good showing that I myself have ceased to exist.'
Jeeves coughed delicately.
'It seems rather heartless,' I went on, 'to withhold, at the very least, an explanation of this behaviour, Jeeves.'
He puckered his lips like a fish with a mouthful of lemon.
'You did propose that I was devoid of emotions by nature, sir,' he said.
'I did? When?'
'I believe you said I had the emotional range of a tea kettle, sir.'
'Oh,' I said, realising that he must have overheard my conversation with Andrew the day prior.
I thought to bring up the niggling point that listening in on your employer's personal conversations is a jolly good way to ensure your spot at the top of his list is lost, but I thought of another, more singeing attack.
'It is true, what you say, Jeeves. But is it not also true, my good man, that you have oft in the past referred to me as "mentally negligible"?'
I daresay that gave the bounder room for pause.
'It is true, sir,' he admitted.
'Well, then.'
'I don't believe I meant it in exactly the sense that you expect, sir.'
'Oh? I can't imagine you meant I mentor Mr. Einstein.'
'No, sir. I meant it only in the sense of your tendency to not fully grasp the situation at hand before reacting to it. Perhaps "reactionary" is a more appropriate term.'
'Reactionary, Jeeves? You would call me reactionary?'
'I have been given to do so, sir.'
I laughed.
'Sir?' Jeeves said, not finding anything funny.
'Well, Jeeves, the rummy thing of it is, I've also been given to call you reactionary. Yes, hidebound and reactionary, I've said to myself all those times you burned my ties and ironed my mess jackets to a crisp. Never, however, has it rung so true as now.'
His mouth twitched a bit. 'I was undoubtedly in a state of disquiet when I called you "mentally negligible", sir. I did not mean for you to hear it.'
I drooped a bit in defeat. Here was a white flag, however small, and I wasn't one to take such things for granted, especially not from Jeeves.
'No, Jeeves,' I said, 'nor did I for you with the tea kettle business. I suppose we are both guilty, then.'
'Yes, sir. Although I would take the larger share.'
'Eh?'
'I have been most unfair, sir.'
'Yes, I should say you have. But, er, unfair about what?'
'The circumstances between us, sir. I did not mean for things to transpire as they have.'
'Oh! Right ho, then. Shall we just toss out the last, say, four days and start again?'
'I believe it would be more suitable to erase the past fortnight and three, sir.'
I understood this would include the fateful evening nearly a week past, and a good deal more besides.
'Seventeen days, Jeeves? Why seventeen?'
'Seventeen days ago you were given to understand that Mr. Daily broke off his engagement to Miss Samson, sir.'
I began to see where he was headed with this, like the light of a train approaching as you're tied to the tracks.
'You would erase up ‘til that point, then?' I said, somewhat aghast.
'I would, sir.'
'And leave us in the dark.'
'I would leave you in the dark, sir, for your own sake. I fear I was already some way into the light myself by this point.'
This came across, you will understand, as some surprise. I suppose I ought to have seen it coming, what with the complete collection of Wilde and the encouragements to explore my true nature upon my return from Doctor Bartholomew's hypochondriac hypnotism, but it took me like a blow against the solar plexus.
'What?' I said.
'I have,' said Jeeves, 'been aware of my nature, sir, since an early age. I have never, however, acted upon it. I never intended to.'
'But now you have, what? Why not continue?'
'I cannot, sir.'
This seemed like ill reasoning to me, and I pushed on.
'But... why, Jeeves?'
'A great many reasons, sir.'
'Start with the first one then. I'm not going anywhere.'
Jeeves deflated a bit.
'If unchecked,' he said, 'these tendencies would prove the undoing of your life, sir. I have seen a number of men destroyed by the depravity of their actions. I could not let myself be responsible for bringing that fate upon you, sir.'
'And your own life, Jeeves?' I said. 'What of that?'
He looked at the floor, eyebrows at their droopiest, and emitted a wilting sigh.
'If I am honest, sir, it may as well have been destroyed by denial.'
I pondered on this for a moment until something in the passing stream of thought struck me.
'Like that note,' I said.
'Note, sir?'
'The one you stuck in that Oscar Wilde play you loaned me. Something apologetic about my not understanding your feelings.'
'Sir?'
'Well, bring out the offending volume and we shall see. Page 133 if I remember correctly.'
Jeeves approached his bookshelf and selected the right member with his usual exactness. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd Dewey-decimalised the whole lot. He flipped open to the page in question and extracted the slip of paper. At first, his brow furrowed as he read the words thereon. Then - and I daresay you will not believe when I relay this next bit, but suspend disbelief long enough to hear me out - Jeeves gasped. His eyes widened and the paper fluttered from his fingers to the floor.
I could not quite wrap my mind around what I was seeing. Jeeves had never let fall a single item whilst in my service, not even that time when McIntosh - my Aunt Agatha’s dog, you will recall - ran right through his legs as he was carrying the tea service. A lesser man would have tripped and sent things flying. A minor deity would at least have spilled a drop. Jeeves arrived at my elbow with not even a hair out of place. Yet here he was, frozen in a state of shock, his fingers loose and his jaw slack.
I stooped in a state of great stupefaction and picked up the note, handing it back to him.
He swallowed and attempted to regain composure as he received it, but his voice wavered. 'Is this the note to which you refer, sir?'
'Yes, that's the one. I'm, er... sorry that I read it without permission. It sort of fell into my lap unbidden, if you know what I mean.'
'There is no need to apologise, sir. The note is not my own.'
This struck me as rather rottenly anticlimactic.
'It's not?'
'No, sir.'
'Then whose?'
A flicker of something passed across Jeeves's map.
'An old friend, sir,' he said, suddenly looking very sad. 'The note was undoubtedly in reference to... someone he cared for in vain. Someone who did not share in nor approve of his habits.'
'Eloping-cum-valet habits, you mean?'
Jeeves could not look me in the eye as he said, 'Precisely, sir.'
'Oh.'
'He threw himself from Hartcliffe Folly, perhaps shortly after this note was written.'
'He what?'
Jeeves nodded just once, looking blindly at the floor.
'Is he- is he dead, then?' I asked.
'Without doubt, sir.'
‘What was his note doing in your book?’
If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn Jeeves looked as though he were about to cry.
‘I suspect he intended for me to find the note, sir. I never read this particular volume as I already had a copy in my possession. This was a gift from him some time ago.’
A solemn silence ensued as Bertram and his man brooded.
'Rummy set of circs, this, Jeeves,' I said.
'Indeed, sir.'
'Between the Devil and the deep blue sea, rather.'
'Just so, sir.'
'Well then,' I said, beginning to see an l. at the end of the t. 'If you're damned for doing and damned for not doing, you might as well do, what?'
'No, sir.'
'What?'
'No, sir.'
'Why the devil not?'
'As I explained, sir, I would not be responsible for your corruption.'
'My corruption?'
'Yes, sir. Any actions that might result from these feelings would be considered sinful by the civilised world.'
'So all this naysaying is solely out of concern for yours truly.'
'Concern and... affection, sir.'
Jeeves was, undoubtedly, skilled beyond measure in the defensive manoeuvre. 'Affection' was not a word that he used lightly, and its appearance startled my spirits into a hopeful frenzy. I decided to approach the issue head-on.
'And if I told you the young master would be better off with the affection and without this denial business?' I said.
Jeeves looked at the ceiling for a moment, as if his mighty brain had finally failed him and he were forced to ask for guidance from above.
'I would not believe it, sir,' he said finally.
There is not much to say when Jeeves has made his final pronouncement. I managed a vague 'I see' and left it at that.
We stood for several rounds of the clock hands, admiring the swirls in the rug and shifting weight from one foot to the other. I felt like I was drowning in the old obmutescere.
'So, how are we to carry on, then?' I asked quietly, giving voice to the thought that wriggled the most.
Jeeves quirked his mouth in vexation.
'I do not know, sir. I had hoped some time apart may help us approach the issue with more clarity.'
I emitted a short syllable to let him know what I thought of the idea.
Jeeves hummed in acknowledgement.
'I would just like to make one thing perfectly clear, Jeeves,' I said.
'Sir?'
'You are coming home at the end of this, if I have to tear my way through the jungle and drag you back myself.'
Jeeves looked somewhat repentant.
'I... understand, sir,' he said.
'I mean it.'
'I have no doubt that you do, sir.'
I left him then to continue his packing and stew in his thoughts. Perhaps it was best to let him biff off to the Congo and realise just how much he missed yours truly. That old adage of absence making the heart grow fonder, or however it went, was perhaps the plan C I had been waiting for. It was an awfully rum idea, and I need hardly say I liked it not one whit, but there being no other options forthcoming, the only thing for it was to let it play out and witness the results.
~*~
The dawning of the day of the departure was one of those mornings that will forever remain in memory as unpleasant, and absurdly so. I had insisted on driving Jeeves over to the train station to meet Deirdre, and had somehow been roped into going and fetching the girl, too. As I only had the two-seater, I had to make two trips, wasting my last few moments with Jeeves chauffeuring the worst sort of blister across town. Why she couldn't take a taxi was beyond me, but expectations being set, there was nothing for it but the usual chivalry.
I went through the normal bathing and dressing routine by myself, Jeeves being preoccupied with final packing and preparations. He had, however, prepared me one last breakfast with his usual panache, and I downed it without much enthusiasm as I watched him flit to and fro.
All too soon, it was time to go. Jeeves was standing by the door with a small herd of travelling cases. I approached sheepishly.
'Er, Jeeves,' I said.
'Sir?'
'Before we leave...'
'Yes, sir?'
'It's just, you'll be gone for such an awfully long time, what.'
'I will, sir.'
'Would you just- I mean to say, could I...'
'Sir?'
'Could I give you something to remember me by?' I asked in a terrified whisper.
For a paralysing moment, he said nothing and just looked at me from behind the mask.
'It would not be- No, sir,' he said.
I reeled backwards a step as if struck.
I made to turn and leave the scene of the crime, but he caught me by the arm. Before I knew exactly what was intended to transpire, he pressed his cheek softly to mine and breathed into my ear.
'I shall remember, sir,' he said.
A flurry of fireworks went off in Bertram's billowy regions, you may have no doubt, but before I could get a proper register on the thing, Jeeves pulled away and hoisted a bag in each hand. It was regrettably a rather sound move, as I was on the verge of tying him to a large, stationary object and showing him just how little he would miss Africa.
The job of carrying baggage made a red-faced, panting mess of me by the time we reached the car out front, but I daresay I was glad for the cover-up. I believe we had both stepped into the hall a bit rosier-cheeked than is normally called for at the outset of lugging luggage.
It was an easy twenty-minute drive to the train station where Jeeves and Deirdre would toodle down to the ocean liner at Southampton, but it felt as if we were being dogged by a dark cloud. Having given up any attempts at conversation about a block into the drive, we arrived trackside without incident, and I helped Jeeves lift his cases out onto the tarmac.
'Well,' I said, studying the lonely picture he made, a solitary figure surrounded by baggage. 'I shan't be long. Just go and pick her up and toodle back, what?'
'Very good, sir.'
'Now, don't you go anywhere, Jeeves,' I said, choking on that rummy mixture of laughter and tears that marks the approach of an hysterical breakdown.
'I shall be right here when you return, sir,' he said stolidly.
I quickly re-installed myself behind the wheel to resist a nearly overwhelming urge to affix myself to him like a barnacle, and drove off with a bit of the old manly honking and revving business.
~*~
Deirdre was waiting on the kerb with about eighty-five suitcases and an uppity-looking butler.
'I say,' I said, doing some rapid mental calculations as I pulled up. 'How the devil do you plan to get all that in the car?'
The uppity butler lurched forward and held out a massive cone.
'Twine, sir,' he said in a voice that sounded to my annoyed ears like nails on a chalkboard.
I watched with bewilderment as three more men came out of the building and began heaving boxes into a tower on top of my car. When the last piece had been tied into place, I daresay the front tyres were no longer in contact with the ground.
This get-up attracted no small number of honks and shouts as we rolled through town like a Scandinavian hay wagon, and I kept wishing one of the knots would loosen and spill the lot of it into the streets. I couldn't fathom how any one person would require enough luggage to start a new empire, jungle expedition in question or not. I was kept from directing any of these thoughts in Deirdre's direction, however, by a purple steamer trunk wedged in wall-like fashion between the two seats.
As we pulled up at the station, Jeeves took one craning goggle at the pile and donned a look of utmost disapproval. I was ready to fling the girl and her boatload of suitcases to the sidewalk, load up Jeeves, and retreat to the homefront at the drop of a hat, but Jeeves's stayed firmly on his head. He simply swallowed his horror and gave Deirdre a hand out of the car.
We had time, Jeeves and I, to exchange a look in re the rummy tower and how we were going to dismantle it before a small army of porters arrived and ascended the heap like industrious chimpanzees. Apparently this sort of task was not unusual, it being in vogue for the female to pack the walls and the masonry when going on holiday.
All through the ticket-checking and the platform-loitering I stood patiently behind Jeeves and Deirdre, like a stray dog hoping for a handout. Deirdre was rolling out the inanities at a rate of one hundred and eighty words per minute, and Jeeves was silent as a statue. I, meanwhile, was attempting to concoct some last minute ingenious scheme to tip the lady into a nearby plant and rescue my man from what I figured would prove to be his largest mistake since dressing up poor Gussie Fink-Nottle in red tights and sending him out into the streets of London at night.
But the old bean was no match for that beastly bird Khronos, and before I could come up with anything more clever than simply picking the young beazel up and depositing her in the potting soil, horns were blowing and steam was flowing, and the train chugged into the station like a harbinger of doom.
Deirdre turned round and beamed up at me. I was not struck with the impression that she was aching from the impending separation.
'See ya, Bertie!' she said, blowing kisses in my direction. 'Parting is such sweet sorrow!'
I turned to Jeeves as she toodled off, feeling all of the sorrow and none of the sweetness.
'Well,' I said, blinking rapidly to stop tears from falling. 'Goodbye, then, Jeeves.'
'Goodbye, sir.'
I took some small amount of satisfaction at the drawn look upon his face. If he were regretting his decision, well, I wanted him to. And I wanted it to sting.
'Travel safely and Godspeed,' I added.
'Thank you, sir.'
I watched as he began to walk towards the closest compartment, feeling damned near like he was carrying a still-attached piece of me with him.
'Oh, and sir?' Jeeves said, turning around one last time.
I brightened. This was it. He was going to tell me he loved me in no uncertain terms, and that we’d sort it all out upon his return.
'I have appointed a replacement valet for you. He shall arrive this evening. I trust you will find him satisfactory.' And with that he tipped his hat and floated up the steps and onto the train. I quickly lost sight of his bowler in the milling masses within.