Indeed, Sir

Drabbles: Before we met

Jeeves
He smiled cheerfully, walking with young Lady Caligula in the garden one afternoon. I overheard her mentioning him in the drawing room. “Oh, Bertie? He is handsome and rich and pleasant enough. A fool, but he’ll do.”

“Admit it Florence, you love him. He’s such a darling lamb.”

“I do, but it will not make me soft. Lamb or not, he’ll have to grow up. I’ll wipe that goofy smile from his face.” She could be so needlessly, ruthlessly cruel.

I left Steeple Bumpleigh. Lord Brancaster sleeps frequently, and I study his books assiduously. I must forget young Mr. Wooster.

Bertie: Some years later
I always thought getting engaged should be a bit of a wheeze, what? Maybe a bit of a smooch or some cuddling in the moonlight, or somesuch. Bongo spoke highly of such things when we were alone and he was in his cups. The beazels seemed to want to bestow kisses and hugs.

It would have been so very welcome to the young Wooster. Such things had been rather thin on the rocky ground since my mother had died.

But Florence isn’t like that. And on top of it Meadowes, who I thought was an ally, has been pinching things.

Agatha
She had promised his parents to look after him and see him well situated. He’d been so promising as a young boy, taking the Scripture Knowledge Prize and making the best collection of wild flowers. Losing his mother had destroyed him. Everyone called him a fool, thought him an ass and let him get away with his lounging.

Even if she could convince him that he was capable enough to become an adult, Florence should never marry him. She needed a firmer, stronger hand to help her master that temper. If only Dahlia would help and stop coddling the boy.

Honoria
There was a great deal to disapprove of in Bertie Wooster. He stayed out too late and drank and slept too much. When awake, he talked incessantly about racing and gaming. The checked pattern on his suit made the eyes water. He was silly and overly fond of his food. At sports, he was indifferent, sloppy, and lazy. Even among the idle rich, he seemed particularly idle.

Still, one could not help liking him. He was handsome and pleasant and cheerful. She never heard him say anything to hurt a person’s feelings, even hers, even big, muscular, sporty Honoria Glossop.

Jarvis
“The young man in 3A? Bertram Wilberforce Wooster? Named after a race horse, he said. Friendly young man.” Jarvis had had a long morning. Most of the valets and housekeepers felt he was beneath them. He liked this newcomer.

“Wooster?” The tall dark man was startled, and Jarvis patted his arm reassuringly.

“I know it’s hard with these toffs sometimes, but he’s an OK sort. Very free with tips. That last bloke was a fool.”

“Really?”

“Stole. Nice young man like that.” Jarvis regarded the new valet. “He’s just back. Out all night. Nice to meet you…”

“Jeeves. Reginald Jeeves”

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*FLAIL* Okay, darn, I was going to claim one or two were favorites, but I can't pick. They're all shiny. *\o/* Makes me want to piece them all together into a long-ish "how they met" fic, or a "how they ended up unwittingly circling around each other until they met" fic. *g*

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erynn999.livejournal.com

That's quite the collection. I love the recognition between the first Jeeves POV and the last Jarvis moment.

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cat94208.livejournal.com

Wow these are all lovely! I think my favorite is Bertie. The poor thing he just wants some cuddles and ends up with Florence instead.

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Thanks so much! I am really glad you liked them.

I've been reading a lot of the actual fic these past couple of weeks, especially the older things (1930 and before) and well... it sets one to thinking, since Bertie grew up with the Crayes and Jeeves pays such careful attention to what goes on around him.

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Thank-you! I wanted to write about Bertie getting his Scripture Knowledge prize or kissing Florence or dropping a blancmange on an important personage, but this came out instead....

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You are too kind! Bertie does seem to want cuddles. I was reading some of the earlier stories and he does seem very preoccupied with sobbing on Jeeves's neck and harmony in the home and being loved, poor mite...

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[Just a try at explaining Bertie’s valet fetish.]

“Hullo?” A male voice inquired.

Bertram Wooster huddled under the stairs, limbs tense as if some greater effort might shrink his shivering frame into even deeper shadow. No use. The black-suited man popped Bertie out like a cork from a particularly ill-fit bottle.

Dark eyes took in the ruin Eustace had made of Bertie’s coat.

The man frowned.

Bertie cringed. He knew he was in for a whipping.

“Come now, Master Bertram. No need for tears.” With a few swift strokes of a needle he had the buttons back, firm as ever. “See. All set to rights.”

And it was.

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Poor little thing! I love the cork in a bottle metaphor...

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Thanks. :-)
I can't seem to write it - but I have this vision of a young Bertie who isn't (yet) wealthy and thus is quite the unwanted orphan. No one is *mean* to the lad - this isn't Oliver Twist - but no particular adult gives much of a damn about him. So he gets shuffled from house to house - being in the way whenever anything worthwhile is going on - and mostly living at school or at the home of whichever of his relatives is NOT home.

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You've done a stellar job, IMHO.

The image you have is rather like the early life of PG Wodehouse... shuffled from place to place, wherever someone has a space for him. It was pretty common what with all the adults killed in those flu epidemics and whatnot.

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Oh, I'd bet Jeeves knows all about Bertie's life before they ever officially meet. Jeeves is just the type of chap who would, and his line of work -- and fish-fed brain! ;) -- puts him in a good position to keep track of things. I wonder if Bertie ever noticed Jeeves before though, since Jeeves has worked in houses where Bertie's socialized... that would be interesting!

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This is lovely! ♥ I can so easily see Bertie's fascination and fondness coming from his childhood. Somehow I can't imagine he experienced a ton of familial affection after his parents died. :\

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Jeeves would be clever enough not to be seen, perhaps.

Bertie never seems to notice servants--except butlers--does he? And he never speaks about any other valets. curiouser and curiouser...

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cat94208.livejournal.com

Aw... poor Bertie. I'm sorta fond of the idea that after his parents death the servants were the only ones who who paid him much attention.

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erynn999.livejournal.com

I've always had that headcanon myself.

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True, but at that point in time he wouldn't necessarily care whether Bertie (or others) saw him or not. It depends, I suppose, on what he was doing...

Now I want to read Wodehouse with a pencil and underline all these things. *grin* It seems like it would add up to something interesting!

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It's easier to be running a book and scheming biff people on the head with golf clubs, smashing vases and listening in on conversations and fixing the outcome of egg-and-spoon races if no one sees you... ; )

I am seeing something almost sinister in places, though... it's actually easy to see why Aunt Agatha doesn't like Jeeves or why she keeps yelling at Bertie for giving Jeeves ideas above himself.

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Very true! lol

Something sinister? Do tell!

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There's the place where the scales fall from Bertie's eyes when he understands that Jeeves engages in the rough stuff, and the whole Soapy Sid thing... Jeeves making book on Bingo little's love life... and Bertie yelling at Jeeves for taking five minutes to make tea...

But really, from the Aunt Agatha perspective...Bertie has managed to get a fiancee very above himself and is reading improving books and doing quite well and suddenly Jeeves shows up and it's all horse racing and Drones and Bertie messing up every single thing she tries to do to help him get ahead.

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“Good luck, lad.” The cook plucked the book from his hands. “Lord Waldham’s agreed to keep you on as junior gardener.”

“A… gardener.”

“You’ve got the strength for it.”

He’d been hoping to continue on to high school, but his father’s death had destroyed that. Still, shouldn’t his studies at least have qualified him for indoor service?

She cut him off. “No backtalk, lad. Life is work. Learn that, and be content.”

Reginald plucked yesterday’s Times from the bin and patted the flattering reference he’d forged last night.

Gardener? Never!

He’d learned, all right. Learned to rely only on himself.

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[ I have no idea where this Jeeves came from. Musey is evil!]

“Your references are most impressive.”

They were indeed.

Lord Pelham, deceased. Sir Patrick Fotthering, fled before the constabulary and never to be heard from again. Mister Thomason moved to America to pursue the literary arts. (Even less likely to be heard from, if the screed salvaged from the publisher’s bin was considered. Still, the signed stationary was conveniently reusable.) And his early service at Mrs. Mendham’s School for Young Ladies? That was a stroke of genius. Explanation for both his education and his (nearly extinguished) northern accent – all in one neat package.

Reginald Jeeves nodded. “I try to give satisfaction.”

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Very clever, indeed, young Jeeves.... so where did he learn about gambling?

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[No idea where these are coming from. Sorry.]
Double drabble.

“Batson resigned.” Marse said. “Found a place as a law clerk.”

‘Fortunate.” Jeeves had known the other valet was ambitious, but he hadn’t expected Batson to find such quick success. A few years reading law and, with the right allies, he might even rise to the bar.

“Foolish.” The older Ganymedian shook his head, as if to dislodge such foolish notions. “He’ll slave his life away, twisted between clients and partners, and for what? A Mayfair address, a fine suit, and a Bentley.”

“Better than slavery at five pounds a week.” He had no idea how demanding a senior law partner might be, but it could hardly exceed the hours expected by his current employment. Between Mrs. Nelson wanting breakfast at seven and Mr. Nelson staggering home at two?

“You think so? Marse smiled as a man in position of a secret. “I live in Mayfair, wear a suit, drive a Bentley – all without wrestling with anything more weighty than a bow tie.”

“Your master has a Bentley and a mansion, Mr. Marse.”

“My gentleman, Mr. Jeeves.” Marse lifted his wine glass, indicating the wish for a refill. “We are theirs. And properly managed? What is theirs is ours too.”

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