Joostering and going
Jan. 11th, 2006 12:31 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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indeedsir_backupI come bearing a gift! I'll give you a hint -- it's behind an LJ-cut, and it's not a toaster!
Title: Jeeves and the Question of Fidelity
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
weaselwoman13
Pairing: Jooster
Rating: Almost embarrassingly innocent. G unless guys snogging freaks you out.
Summary: Bertie's birthday brings about blackmail, betrayal, and bonding over Bach.
I woke up on the morning of my birthday with a distinct flutter in my heart. A ray of the sun streamed in and splashed itself across the Wooster features in a playful and spirited manner that suggested that this particular anniversary would be an agreeable one. I lay for a moment enjoying its company until Jeeves streamed in precisely two minutes later, armed with my morning cuppa.
'Ah! Morning, Jeeves o' my heart,' I said with great affection, accepting the steaming offering. And I don't think I'm quite inaccurate in claiming that Jeeves approached cracking a smile at the unorthodox greeting.
'Good morning, sir,' he said, drawing back the curtains to admit more friendly sunlight. I surveyed his statuesque and handsome form as he laid out a suit for me, and then, on a sudden whim, decided to interfere in the selection of the tie.
'Jeeves,' I said as he brushed a small quantity of lint from the jacket sleeve. 'You know the blue tie with the pink polka-dot pattern?'
He froze mid-brush, then his eyes flicked upwards to meet mine. His expression would have been inscrutably Jeeves-esque, except that those windows to his soul were saying, quite clearly, 'Do not toy with me, Wooster.' A layman wouldn't have noticed, but when one has been living with Jeeves as long as I have, one picks up on these little signals. Well, as dear as Jeeves has become to me, and as much as I respect his opinion in these matters, I simply wasn't going to let him be a tyrant on my birthday. 'I'd like to wear it today, if I may,' I said, with a brief (and failed) attempt to stare him down. 'Dig it out of the wardrobe for me, will you?'
'Are you quite sure, sir?' He flickered a barbed eyebrow, his voice dripping with what was unmistakably disdain.
'Jeeves,' I reminded him, 'perhaps you've forgotten what day it is?'
His expression softened a bit as I played my trump card. 'No, sir,' he said, 'the occasion had not slipped my mind. Many happy returns of the day, sir.'
'Thank you, Jeeves. But I did hope that perhaps upon my birthday I might be considered sufficiently mentally sound to be trusted with the selection of a harmless article of neckwear!'
'Quite right, sir. I shall locate the item directly.' And although he did pronounce the words without relish, he didn't say another word about it thereafter. Decent sort of fellow, Jeeves. Tends to get prickly over little things, but he does listen to reason on occasion.
Once fueled sufficiently by the tea and a nice helping of ham and e. prepared as expertly as always by Jeeves, I began to smarten myself up for a visit to the Drones. As I was preening, Jeeves vanished for a moment into his lair and emerged with a package of some sort. Do you know, it never fails to surprise me when he starts whipping out the presents. I suppose he figures it's the decent thing to do, since, well, we're much closer than your average master and valet, and also I like to remember him with a little something every time his odometer rolls over, but I was still quite touched.
'Jeeves!' I ejaculated. 'Now, that's not for me, is it?'
'Yes, sir. I hope you will accept it as a token of my admiration.'
'You really shouldn't have, you know!'
'Sufficient time remains for me to return the objects, if you would prefer.'
'No, no, Jeeves -- I accept with thanks.' I took the proffered box and rent the paper wrapping. Lifting the lid, I beheld beneath it a treasure trove: one silk tie, a deep forest green hue embroidered with some tiny lions rampant in dark brown, and two books of sheet music. (I do like to do a bit of ivory-tickling around the flat once in a while, so it's always a pleasure to procure new tunes to bash out.) One contained an anthology of Cole Porter's fruitiest to date. The other...
'Hmm. Das Wohl...er...' I started to sound out a couple of hefty-looking German words on the cover, but suddenly felt as if my tongue had been tied in a sailor's knot to a lamppost. I never took German at school, you see. I took French, but it hasn't done me much good yet -- I tried to order the soup of the day in a restaurant once and ended up receiving directions to the nearest florist's shop.
'Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, sir. A series of short preludes and fugues written by Johann Sebastian Bach for the purpose of ensuring that a keyboard instrument is finely-tuned.'
'Golly, that's handy.' I glanced at the trusty instrument, standing as it always was in a corner of the flat. 'Do you reckon ours needs tuning, then?'
'Perhaps, sir, but more importantly, I believe you will find them rewarding and pleasurable pieces of music, though the style is different than that to which you are accustomed.'
I flipped through the volume. A few of them looked dashed painful, but Bertram Wooster is not one to curl up and cry 'Uncle' in the face of adversity. 'Thanks, Jeeves,' I said, placing the gifts aside in order to embrace and kiss him. 'I really don't deserve you, you know.'
'I am inclined to disagree, sir,' he said, giving my back a rub.
'I'm going round to the Drones for a bit to round up some of the chaps and discuss our plans for this evening's festivities. Oh!' Suddenly I felt positively swinish as I realised I hadn't even thought of inviting Jeeves to my soiree. Well, it seems rude, but when one's valet becomes one's friend, and then, quite suddenly, one's beloved, all sorts of lines get crossed and one really doesn't know where one stands. 'Jeeves, you know, you're welcome to join in...'
'It's very kind of you, sir, but I do not believe that I would fit in with such a high-spirited group as your circle of acquaintances. As you know, my preferences lean towards a quiet evening at home with an improving book.'
'Fair enough, Jeeves,' I said, thoroughly unable to picture him singing a sea chanty whilst wearing a paper hat (not that that was on the list of plans for tonight, but one never knew what direction things would head after a few drinks). 'The two of us can have our own celebration later on, then, what?' I added with a bawdy wink.
'Indeed, sir,' Jeeves said, flicking a lock of hair from my brow.
'Anyway, I'm off,' I said, giving his shoulder an affectionate pat, 'and when I return, perhaps we'll crack open that book and see how Wohltemperierte our Klavier is, hmm?'
'I look forward to it, sir.'
So I skipped over to the Drones and found Bingo Little and Oofy Prosser there. We discussed the evening's schedule and I gave them orders to spread the word, for I wanted to be surrounded with the best of company for my little celebration. Pity Jeeves wasn't keen on being there, but he had a point about the boys from the Drones not quite being his sort of crowd. Jeeves spent his birthdays either at home or at the Junior Ganymede, where anyone under the age of three hundred is outnumbered and chaps sit around discussing...well, whatever it is gentlemen's personal gentlemen discuss when they get together. Doesn't sound like much of a laugh to me, but there you are: Jeeves is not me. (I say -- how perfectly strange a household ours would be if he was! Apart from anything, the ironing would never get done.)
After a chat, a smoke, and a few spirited indoor sporting events, I returned to the flat. I let myself in very quietly, hoisted the tuneful tome Jeeves had given me, and bellied up to the keyboard. Flipping to an interesting-looking one, I made an honest stab at working through the thing, and although the digits did get a bit entangled at certain points, I think it was jolly decent for a cold reading. Sure enough, my performance drew Jeeves forth from his den like some gentle woodland creature drawn towards the sound of Apollo's lyre. (It was Apollo, wasn't it -- the fellow who could charm the birds out of the trees with his strumming? I think I've got the right person. Really keen on the discus, too, if I remember correctly.) As I squinted at the final chords of the fugue, I felt a pair of large, muscular hands on my shoulders. After I pounded out the last few notes he began to apply a slow, gentle kneading motion to the muscles and sinews of my shoulders. Jeeves, of course, is an expert at massage as well as everything else, and soon I felt as though my being had dissolved into a puddle.
'Oh, Jeeves,' I managed, closing my eyes and tilting my head backwards so that it rested against his midsection.
'Beautifully performed, sir,' he murmured.
'Kind of you to say so, Jeeves. Nice tune, isn't it?'
'Indeed, sir. The particular prelude and fugue which you have selected is one of my personal favourites.'
'Sounds familiar, somehow,' I said thoughtfully as he began to work on my back. 'Sends me back to my childhood days, lounging about on the floor with a biscuit in my hands and without a thought or a care in my head. I think I'm right in saying my father used to play this, you know.'
'It is not unlikely, sir. Selections from the work are standard in the repertoire of many classical keyboardists.'
'Well, thanks for introducing me to it, Jeeves,' I said. 'Hopefully I'll be able to play through this thing properly with practice, so as not to offend your ears.' Truth be told, it really wasn't my sort of thing at all, but if it brought out the masseuse in Jeeves, well, it was worth it in my book.
I spent a pleasant day at home with Jeeves, but at about eight o' clock I bade him a fond 'toodle-pip' and set out to meet my pals at the Drones. Quite a hearty crowd greeted me as I entered: Boko, Oofy, Biffy, Chuffy, Tuppy, Barmy, Bingo, and even old Stinker were there. I'd hoped Gussie Fink-Nottle might have found his way here, because I feel the poor chap could use a bit of fun, but apparently he had an important engagement with a newt he couldn't afford to miss. It started off looking as though the gaiety would be contained within the Drones, but eventually we spilled off across the city to other locales, such as the Mottled Oyster, and my favorite Turkish baths. Somewhere along the way we ran into these awfully nice fellows -- conversations were struck up, drinks were purchased, and before long it was as though we'd known them all our lives. I'm afraid that, as I had gotten quite lubricated by this time, I couldn't quite work out where they'd joined in our raucous party -- only that they were decent blokes and quick with the repartee. I particularly liked this youngish fellow in a bowler hat who said his name was Ginger Pruckthwaite -- he seemed dashed friendly and we quickly became chums. Perhaps not chums on the Damon-and-Pythias level, like Bingo and me, but chummy enough to bond over cocktails, if you take my meaning.
When, thoroughly birthdayed out, we all began to stumble in the directions of our respective home-sweet-homes, Pruckthwaite mentioned in passing that he'd spent all his money and had to look forward to a hike of a duration which usually required a couple of sherpas, if he wanted to get home this evening. 'Oh, now, just say the word and I'll lend you a few quid, Ginger, old thing,' I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
'Oh, no, Bertie, I couldn't,' he said.
'Well, I won't allow a nice fellow like you to go wandering around the country at large in the dead of night! Here, come spend the night with me at my flat. You'll be cosy as a bedbug.'
'Are you sure about that, Bertie?' He looked up at me gratefully. He had rather largish and widely-set brown eyes that seemed to inspire great trust.
'Certainly, old fruit,' I cried. 'Only thing to do. Come along.' So we tripped along to my building in Berkley Square, all the time chatting away about this and that and the other thing -- though most of the conversation is patchy in the Wooster memory: as I said, the mind was a bit fogged by the juice of the grape and the grain. As we exited the lift on my floor, Ginger surprised me by placing an arm round my waist and leaning heavily against me, and I was a bit confused until I realised the poor fellow was probably teetering from the effects of the stuff as well, so I put my arm around him for support. Didn't want him toppling over and breaking his neck, after all.
I fumbled for the doorknob. 'Now, we must be as quiet as church mice, if possible,' I said, in a slightly slurred whisper. 'Don't want to wake my man.'
'Sorry?'
'My man. Jeeves. He's probably asleep by now. Don't want to disturb his peaceful slumber.'
'Jeeves? Not Reginald Jeeves?'
'Why, that's the chap,' I said, though I was nevertheless startled as I usually was by the concept of Jeeves having a first name. It seemed strange to call him anything but Jeeves -- he was the sort of person who seemed self-sufficient enough that he only required the one name, not a cumbersome pair of them like the rest of us. 'Do you know him?'
'We've crossed paths,' Ginger replied. 'We were, erm, on the same cruise once.'
'Oh, yes? Loves his cruises, does Jeeves. Always biffing off to parts unknown. Sterling bloke, though!'
'Yes, I quite agree.'
After a muted hunt for the cabinet where Jeeves keeps the spare blankets and things, I set Ginger up with a nice little nest on the sofa. Not the best place to put someone up, of course, but we haven't got a guest bedroom, and I didn't think either of us were keen on sharing the bed. After all, I'd only just met the fellow. He did seem a bit put-out about the sleeping arrangements, but I reminded him that it was better than trekking across the metrop in the middle of the night.
'Now, then. Sufficiently cosy, are we, Ginger?'
'Er, yes, Bertie. Thank you.'
'Right-ho! Goodnight, Ginger!'
'Goodnight.'
I've often expressed my wonder at the fact that a gentleman of such intelligence and talent as Jeeves has stuck around a silly young blighter like me for as long as he has, but as I flicked off the light and left Ginger to his forty whatsits, I dare say I had an inkling of what all the fuss was about. It wasn't a bad feeling, looking after a chap. I weaved into the master bedroom, peeled off a few layers of clothing, and then realised that in my present state I had no idea where to find my pyjamas, so I simply collapsed onto the matress in a state of semi-undress. After all, what did it matter? The only person who usually laid eyes on me before the clock struck noon was Jeeves, and it was nothing he'd never seen. I'm sure he wouldn't even kick too much if I fancied snoozing au naturel.
The next morning, Jeeves came in to shove a cup of Darjeeling under my nostrils, and I felt like I had been wrung through a laundry mangle. A group of highly productive blacksmiths seemed to have taken up residence within my skull and were using my cerebellum as an anvil. Slowly it dawned on me why I had been stewed to the tonsils on the previous evening, and I recalled Ginger snoring on the sofa.
'Jeeves!' I said suddenly, and then cursed myself for speaking so loudly, as it only seemed to aggravate the industrious fellows within my cranium. 'Ow, Jeeves. I let a chap stay the night; he's in the next room on the sofa...oh, dash it! What was his name?'
'Mr. Pruckthwaite, sir.'
'Yes! That's the chap. Ginger.'
'Mr. Pruckthwaite arose several hours ago, sir. I have sent him on his way.'
'Good. Good. Er, thank you, Jeeves. Sorry about the extra trouble. Just a nice chap I met during my travels last night. Er...' I blinked heavily, wondering how I had managed to form any of those coherent sentences. The head was still behaving in a manner that leads one to inquire whether heads are even worth the trouble of having. 'Now that that matter's sorted out, I don't suppose you'd mind whipping me up one of your masterpieces, Jeeves? I feel like I should begin drafting my last will and testament.'
'Certainly, sir,' he said, and disappeared to the kitchen. And that's when I noticed that Jeeves was upset. This was not the 'Certainly, sir' of a loyal and devoted valet springing to the aid of his ailing master. Well, Jeeves doesn't exactly spring to anything, but you know what I mean. This was the 'Certainly, sir' of a man who'd much rather say, 'I'll do it when I feel like it and not a second sooner, Wooster. And put some clothes on, why don't you!' I suddenly recalled that I wasn't fully clad as usual in my heliotrope pyjamas, and thought that perhaps he was sore because I hadn't had the decency to dress properly for bed. It's not that Jeeves doesn't enjoy the sight of a scantily-clad Bertram -- well, I mean to say, why wouldn't he? Though I'm not exactly of film star caliber in the looks department, I'm no eyesore, either, and I have a physique which has been described as 'sylphlike' by close acquaintances. But in his mind there is a time and a place for semi-nudity, and apparently this was neither. I scraped myself up and threw on my dressing-gown so as not to further offend him.
He reappeared with his life-saving silver salver and I seized the tumbler thereupon, chucking the contents down the gullet with great haste. This concoction of Jeeves' has the curious side-effect of making one's eyeballs rocket forth from their sockets and ricochet off the opposite wall, and inducing smoke to pour from one's mouth and nostrils. It also makes one feel right as rain in an instant.
'Thank you, Jeeves,' I said, trying to look as grateful as I possibly could. 'I'm sorry if putting Ginger up was an inconvenience. He didn't give you any trouble, did he?'
'No, sir.'
'Didn't break anything, I trust?'
'No, sir.'
'Excellent. Er...I'll just put some clothes on, shall I?'
'I would indeed advocate such a procedure, sir.' And before he biffed off to dispose of the empty glass, he gave me a look that could have frozen the cup of tea on the bedside table. I stared at the back of his head as he left, my insides doing a funny sort of southward dive. What on earth had I done to upset him?
I donned the suit he'd kindly laid out for me, and soon he returned to do up the buttons. 'Jeeves,' I said in an attempt to warm the chilly waters which I found myself treading, 'I'd very much like to wear that extremely attractive necktie you gave me.'
'Very good, sir.' Nothing more! Once dressed, I trailed him to the kitchen as he prepared to fix me up a little something nourishing.
I laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Er, Jeeves..' He dissolved out from underneath it and appeared over at the other end of the room. Crikey. 'I hate to bother you during your toil, but -- er -- have I done something to upset you?'
'Sir?'
'You seem a bit more reserved than usual, Jeeves. Cold. Detached. Some would say hostile.'
'I was not aware of it, sir. I apologise profusely.'
'Come off it, Jeeves; you bally well are aware of it! I'm not completely oblivious, for Pete's sake. Tell me what's the matter.'
'I have no complaints, sir.'
'Is it that tie? I only wanted to wear it the once, you know. I don't need it anymore. You can cast it to the four winds for all I care. This one's much nicer.'
'I am gratified to hear it, sir.'
'If it's not that, what is it? Tell me!'
'With respect, sir,' he said stiffly, 'it is difficult to operate in a kitchen of this size when it is occupied by a second person.'
I moved out, chastened.
Jeeves seemed to be in the sort of mood where, if he were Aunt Dahlia, he would begin throwing things at my head, the larger and more breakable the better. I find it's best to leave people alone when they reach such a state, and so after I broke my fast I hurried off to the Drones, my spirits as low and grey as the clouds which hung overhead. I was solitarily smoking a moody cigarette when I suddenly became aware of a couple of pairs of eyes goggling at me.
'Bertie?' said the owner of one of said pairs.
'Oh, hello, Tuppy...what-ho, Stinker.'
'Still recovering from last night, are you?' Tuppy guessed with a mischievous chortle.
'You look positively miserable, Bertie,' said Stinker, looking a tad more concerned. I suppose as a man of the church he's more apt to recognise heartache on a man's face.
'Ginger get home all right?' asked Tuppy. 'Jolly decent of you to take him on.'
'Yes, Jeeves saw him off this morning,' I said, failing to suppress a little sigh.
'Tell us, Bertie,' Stinker said, 'why so gloomy?'
'It's Jeeves,' I said. 'Suddenly he's giving me the old glacier treatment and I've no idea what I did wrong.'
'Perhaps it's that tasseled hat you were fatheaded enough to buy last week,' suggested Tuppy.
'Got rid of it ages ago, Tuppy. Jeeves practically wouldn't let it in the door.'
'Or perhaps he disagrees with one of your neckties?'
'I can only think of one he's waged a war against, and I've already given him clearance to dispose of it.'
'Well, I'm out of ideas,' said Tuppy with a careless shrug.
I endured two entire days of Jeeves in his ruffled state -- he wouldn't let me give him so much as a kiss on the cheek, and I felt as perfectly rotten as an abandoned dog. Only when I received a letter from Ginger was a little light thrown onto the issue. I was sitting at the piano, trying to work out more of this favourite prelude and fugue thingummy of Jeeves' in the hope that my heartfelt efforts might thaw him, when he brought me an envelope.
'This letter arrived for you during the course of the morning, sir,' he said, gazing coolly at me. 'It appears to have been hand-delivered and slid beneath our door.' The envelope read, 'To Bertram Wooster, from Ginger.'
'Oh, well, let's see it, then,' I said, accepting it. 'Probably old Ginger thanking me for a pleasant evening...I say...good lord!' I nearly upset the piano bench as I leapt to my feet, for Ginger's letter struck terror into my heart. It contained loathsome accusations, back-stabbing threats, and an appalling number of misspelt words.
'Is anything amiss, sir?'
'Amiss doesn't even begin to describe it, Jeeves!' I began to pace hither and yon in a frenzy, clutching the letter in both hands. 'Ginger's bloody blackmailing me! He says if I don't produce a thousand pounds forthwith he'll start telling everyone about indiscretions which took place between us on the evening of my birthday!'
'Indeed, sir?' said Jeeves, as calmly as if I'd just mentioned that there was a mildly annoying moth in my room. I was too upset to notice, however, and went on. 'This is ridiculous! I never touched the blighter! I was a perfect gentleman! Honestly, you do someone a favour and look where it gets you, eh, Jeeves? Jeeves?'
But a change had come over him. He was now staring at me in -- well, dead shock, by his standards! The eyebrows were gently arched and the lips were drawn into a slight frown of confusion. 'Sir, am I correct in understanding that these alleged indiscretions did not take place between Mr. Pruckthwaite and yourself?'
'Of course not, Jeeves! I do remember slinging a fraternal arm around the old fellow's shoulders to keep him from toppling over and ruining the carpet, but nothing more!'
He stepped forward with his eyes lowered. 'In that case, sir, I feel I must apologise deeply for my behaviour during the previous two days.'
'What on earth do you mean?' I goggled dumbfoundedly at him, until the truth hit me. 'Jeeves -- do you mean to say that you thought that me and Ginger...?' I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. It's difficult to discuss this sort of thing with your valet, you understand. I tend to clam up and go crimson.
'Yes, sir,' replied Jeeves.
'Good heavens, Jeeves!' My frustration with him was quickly replaced by sympathy -- I mean, here I was feeling sorry for myself because he was giving me the cold shoulder, while all the time he was thinking I'd simply tossed him aside for some young fellow I met on a birthday ramble through London! My heart went out to the poor man as I contemplated how he must have suffered. I reached him in one quick leap and embraced him. He put his arms around me, too, and we held each other so tightly I'm amazed we were able to breathe properly. 'Jeeves, really, the very idea! I'd have hoped you knew me better than to think I'd go and -- er -- that is to say...' I groped for words, and then found that they'd been mislaid, so instead I kissed him. (It always seems as good a thing as any to do. Have you seen my valet's lips, by any chance? They're quite nice.) Having completed the deed, I tried again. 'I only have eyes for you; you know that. What on earth made you think otherwise?'
'I felt it was the only explanation for Mr. Pruckthwaite's presence, sir, given his profession.'
'His profession? What on earth is he, a masseuse or something?'
'Mr. Pruckthwaite is what is known in common parlance as a rent-boy, sir.'
I stared blankly at him. 'Eh?'
He cleared his throat in a dignified sort of way. 'Mr. Pruckthwaite accepts money from gentlemen in exchange for favours of an indecent nature, sir.'
'Oh?' I processed this bit of information for a moment, trying to sort out what Jeeves was getting at. 'Oh. Oh! Oh, blimey!'
'Though the expression is one I would hesitate to employ myself, sir, your alarm is understandable.'
'Hang on,' I said, glancing searchingly at Jeeves. 'Did Ginger just come right out and tell you all this, Jeeves?' It was hard to imagine anyone with a brain waking up and saying, 'What-ho! I'm a rent-boy!' to the first fellow he laid eyes on, after all.
'No, sir.'
'So how did you know all that about him? Surely your powers of deduction aren't so keen you can just glance at strangers sleeping on the sofa and say, "Aha! A rent-boy!" Or "Crikey, a safe-cracker," or "Eureka! A chartered accountant," for that matter.'
'No, sir.'
'Because if you can you ought to be employed at Scotland Yard.'
'Indeed, sir. Mr. Pruckthwaite and I were once employed at the same residence. Prior to his current employment, his aspiration was to become a gentlemen's personal gentleman. However, he found himself unable to meet the required standard.'
It seemed a solid enough story. 'Golly, Jeeves,' I said, 'I suppose you took the high road and he took the other one, what?'
'Indeed, sir.'
'Why on earth is he doing this to me?' I cried, finally pulling away from him so that I could pace about the flat. 'I mean, dash it, I paid him a kindness!'
'No doubt Mr. Pruckthwaite assumed that you had invited him in for the evening in the role of a client, sir,' Jeeves said knowledgeably. 'Upon discovering that this visit would not be a lucrative one, he became annoyed and decided to derive a quantity of money from you through other means.'
'The ungrateful weasel!'
'Many young men of Mr. Pruckthwaite's occupation are also skilled extortionists, sir.'
'Well, I don't want him spreading something like that around, even if it isn't true!' I perched on the arm of my chair, scanning the horrid missive for any sort of chink in Ginger's armor. 'Ever since Florence -- erm -- discovered us, I'm already a bit worried about everyone picking up on the idea that you and I...er...' I noticed a cloud pass over Jeeves' features and quickly added, 'Not that I'd give you up for anything, Jeeves! I mean it. I don't care what people think. They can chase me out of the country with torches and pitchforks for all I care. I'm still dippy about you, and no one, man or beast, extortionist rent-boy or Florence, can sway me from my dippiness!'
'Indeed, sir. When our two souls stand up erect and strong/Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher/Until the lengthening wings break into fire/At either curvéd point -- what bitter wrong/Can the earth do to us, that we should not long/Be here contented?'
'Er...quite, Jeeves. Well-put.'
'Thank you, sir. The words were Elizabeth Barrett Browning's, and not my own, but I felt --'
'Yes, yes, Jeeves -- let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?'
'As you say, sir.'
'This business...' I tapped the chin with an impatient finger as I examined the bit of paper in my hand. 'I'd best hand over the thousand quid, Jeeves. Write it off as an ill-judged visit to the roulette wheel and face the auntly storm that ensues. I don't know what else to do.'
Jeeves coughed quietly.
'Unless you've got any ideas, Jeeves,' I added, looking desperately up at him.
'It has occurred to me, sir,' he said, looking like a marble statue of some Greek philosopher revealing great truths to a band of attentive pupils, 'that giving Mr. Pruckthwaite the monetary reward he desires would appear to be an admission of your guilt.'
'Who cares how it appears, Jeeves? I just want to save my neck!'
'Yes, sir. However, I believe that it would be in your best interest not to register abject concern at the prospect of Mr. Pruckthwaite's revelation of the information. I base this assumption on the psychology of the individual, sir.'
'Of course.' Quite a big fan of the psychology of the individual, is Jeeves. Bases all his best gags on it.
'The primary concern of the extortionist is financial, sir. Mr. Pruckthwaite does not wish to ruin you. He is only interested in your money. Because you are of comfortable means, and perhaps because you gave him reason to believe you engage in behaviours you would prefer to conceal from the general public, he perceived you as an ideal target, and assumed that you would immediately become intimidated and produce the thousand pounds, or perhaps attempt to negotiate for a smaller sum.'
'Oh, yes?' I wondered just what I had said to Ginger to give myself away.
'To register fear would be to display considerable vulnerability. However, if you were to affect an air of insouciance, giving Mr. Pruckthwaite the impression that the accusation is too ridiculous to be taken seriously, I believe he would be significantly discouraged from his pursuit.'
I mulled it over. 'Well, it seems sound, Jeeves -- but suppose he decides to start bleating about it to all of my friends and relations anyway?'
'In my opinion, the contingency is highly unlikely, sir, but I doubt that Mr. Pruckthwaite's testimony will be believed over yours, given his criminal background.'
'I imagine you're right,' I said with a sigh, 'but there's one other thing. I'm no bally good at acting! I'm very shaken by all this, Jeeves, and I'm no sooner going to pass myself off as cool and collected than one of Gussie's newts is going to impersonate a candidate for prime minister. I'll surely give myself away.'
'This is unfortunate, sir, but perhaps there is an alternative avenue.'
'Really, Jeeves?'
'Yes, sir. Perhaps I could speak to Mr. Pruckthwaite on your behalf.'
'I rather like the sound of that. Would you mind terribly?'
'Not at all, sir.'
'Only I know you'd do a much better job than I would.'
'Possibly, sir.'
I don't mind telling you that from that point onwards I was as jumpy as the proverbial feline in the room full of rocking chairs. I couldn't shake off the image of Ginger surrounded by various chaps from the Drones and an assortment of aunts, regaling them all with tales of my debauchery in the boudoir. It was a sobering thought.
Jeeves had advised me not to get in touch with Ginger, asserting that he'd eventually come sniffing around here of his own free will, and, as usual, Jeeves was correct. When he did show up, Jeeves answered the door while I concealed myself in my bedroom. I strained the ears to listen to the conversation.
'Good afternoon, Mr. Pruckthwaite,' came Jeeves' voice, icy as the North Pole. If I were Ginger I imagine I'd have quailed beneath the disapproving gaze which came with that voice as a package deal. However, that bounder sounded perfectly cheerful as he replied.
'Ah, Jeeves! Good afternoon,' he chirped. 'It's lovely to see you again.' Jeeves did not respond, so Ginger continued. 'Bertie in?'
'One moment, sir,' he said, and left Ginger waiting there while he drifted right into the room in which I was hiding! I laid a hand on the handle of my wardrobe, ready to conceal myself therein if I had to.
'Jeeves!' I hissed, 'I thought we'd agreed that you'd do the talking here! I can't go out there and face him!'
'No, sir. I intend merely to present the illusion that I have gone to negotiate the matter with you.'
'Oh, I see,' I said, relieved. 'All for dramatic effect, then.'
'Precisely, sir.'
'Well, negotiate away, Jeeves. Anything I can do to help?'
'It would assist me greatly if you were to affect a short, derisive laugh, sir, with enough volume for Mr. Pruckthwaite to overhear.'
'Certainly, Jeeves, certainly!' I cleared the throat and conjured my best.
'Excellent, sir. I shall now return to Mr. Pruckthwaite and inform him that you have no intention of speaking to him.'
'Thanks awfully, Jeeves,' I whispered as he exited. I wanted to hide someplace safe until we were alone in the flat and I could once again caress him without fear of interruption, for I love him most when he's getting me out of jams, but I was interested in seeing what he was playing at, and continued to eavesdrop.
'Well?' I heard Ginger prompt.
'Mr. Wooster does not wish to see you, sir.'
'And why not?'
'He has asked me to inform you that your letter gave him such delight that he could barely contain his laughter, sir. He fears that further contact with you may cause him such merriment that he would be in danger of fracturing a rib.'
'Is that so?' Ginger sounded pipped. I gritted my teeth, hoping he wouldn't run right to the local constabulary after this and have me thrown in the clink. 'Well, you tell him that if he does not give me what I ask for very soon, he will live to regret it!'
'Mr. Wooster has no intention of producing the money you desire, sir, and believes that a return to your previous profession would be far more lucrative.'
'I'm serious about this, you know. If a thousand pounds is too damaging to his bank balance, I'm perfectly willing to negotiate.'
'I shall inform Mr. Wooster, sir.' He hovered back into my midst. 'I wonder if you could lend me a shilling, sir?'
'Er, yes, Jeeves, certainly,' I said, digging one out of my pocket and handing it over.
'Thank you, sir.' He oozed back out. 'Mr. Wooster says that this is the amount your silence is worth to him, sir,' I heard him tell Ginger.
'Right!' Ginger sounded quite scarlet in the face, now. 'Well, Jeeves, you tell him that he hasn't heard the end of this! I'm giving him one more chance to come through with the money, but thereafter I shall not be responsible for my actions!'
'Very good, sir. Good afternoon.'
'Good afternoon!' And the door clicked shut.
I skulked out of my chambers, peering bemusedly at Jeeves. 'Rather thin ice we're treading on here, isn't it?'
'Possibly not, sir. I am now certain that Mr. Pruckthwaite's threat is a hollow one.'
'How do you know, though?'
'There are many bodily signals which indicate prevarication, sir. Most notably Mr. Pruckthwaite showed a marked refusal to establish direct eye contact as he spoke to me.'
'I see. Well, you know best, Jeeves.'
'Thank you, sir. Will you be dining in this evening?'
'Er...yes, Jeeves. I think so.' I didn't much fancy going out and chancing running into him.
I was hoping it'd be a lot longer before Ginger came around again, but the very next day, like the cat of vaudevillian song, he came back, and we went through the same routine -- me cowering in my room, Jeeves telling Ginger off. It was rather entertaining, listening to all these clever remarks I was supposed to have made -- one would think I was some pal of Oscar Wilde's. Once again Ginger said that he'd return.
'But this is his last chance,' he added.
Well. This time was supposed to have been my last chance, too. I was starting to see what Jeeves meant. Ginger was all bark and no bite. I began to feel a little more at ease.
On the following evening Jeeves went out -- some to-do at the Junior Ganymede Club. I've no idea what they get up to in there and I've never asked. Anyway, I was sitting around the flat, frantically bored, trying to wade through a novel of Jeeves' which I'd borrowed, when I heard the doorbell ring.
You'd have thought I would realise immediately it was Ginger, but my first notion was that it was Barmy or somebody from the Drones looking in on me. I suppose it was a case of wishful thinking. With the hope of seeing a fellow human being in store, I sprang to answer the door. I was sorely disappointed when I spotted the ferrety fellow who waited without.
With events unfolding as they did, my fear of Ginger had been lifted considerably, so I did not, as I might have done a couple of days ago, go pale and panic. 'Just keep a cool head, Bertram,' I told myself, 'and tick this blighter off properly!' I drew myself up and shot him a scornful glance. For a moment, that is -- until I got a closer look at him.
Ginger did not look at all as I remembered him. The eyes seemed sunken, rimmed with red and underscored in dark circles, and they were filled with what I might have mistaken for desperation. He seemed a bit smaller and thinner -- the suit was rumpled and baggy. He did not look like the conniving villain of whom I had a firm mental image -- rather, it was as if a small, timid forest animal had been abducted, deprived of food and drink, roughed up a little, and then dumped on my doorstep.
'What-ho, Pruckthwaite,' I said, a bit stiffly, but without a heart of stone.
'Bertie,' he greeted me, but without a smile. 'Jeeves not in tonight, is he?'
'No. Tonight I have been forced to fend for myself. Why? Have something to tell him?'
'No, Bertie, it's you I need to talk to and you know it.' He glowered at me. 'I want that money and I want it today!'
'Tchah!' I said with an airy wave of the hand.
'What did you say?'
'I said "Tchah!" I can't believe you're still on about that!'
'I most certainly am!'
'Well, you're wasting your time, old thing,' I said without warmth. 'You have nothing on me, Pruckthwaite! I've nothing to hide, Pruckthwaite, and I think you've picked an extremely silly way to make a living, Pruckthwaite, and I'm trying to warn you right now that it's simply not going to work, so you might as well go back to -- you know. Your other line of business.'
As I reached my conclusion, Ginger stared at me for a few seconds, and then scared the daylights out of me when he suddenly and roughly seized my shoulders in his filthy paws, looking plaintively at me like a weasel with its claw caught in a lace curtain. 'I say, if you try to lay a hand on me...!' I began.
'Bertie,' Ginger said, his almost fawnish eyes staring wildly into mine, 'I need the money. I'm completely broke. I haven't eaten in two days.'
I goggled at him in surprise. 'Really? Well, you should have said something! What about your, erm, your other income?'
He released me from his clutches and glanced sheepishly at the floorboards. 'Lately it seems as though no one will have me around.'
'Perhaps they're all frightened you'll bloody blackmail them!' I cried.
'I'm sorry, Bertie! I was desperate!'
This was all a bit thick. Weasel or not, I hated to see a fellow suffer, so I began to hunt for the cheque-book. 'Look, I'm dashed sorry to hear about all this,' I said, 'and while I'm not giving you a bloody thousand, I can't send you out into the cold with only the shirt on your back. We Woosters have a code, you know.' I chewed things over as I began to make out the cheque. 'Would a hundred pounds help?'
'Oh, Bertie, it's awfully good of you, after all this trouble I've caused you.'
'Think nothing of it, old man.' I've never been terrific at holding a grudge. Grudges seem to slip out of my hands like moist fish.
'Could you make it a hundred and twenty-five? My shoes have got holes in them.'
'As long as you'll leave me alone!'
'Of course, Bertie.'
'Mr. Wooster to you!'
So I finally sent him away with the cheque, and though I didn't feel quite right about the large donation I had just made to him, I was extremely bucked-up about being able to tell this bounder off. Two days ago I'd have been scarcely able to meet his eye, and now I was banishing him from my domain like some sort of king or sultan or something. My flat was once again my castle.
Jeeves returned later that evening and I filled him in on the whole story. When I got to the point of Bertram's wondrous charitable nature, however, he looked at me askance, as if I'd just informed him that I thought Roderick Spode was my ideal mate.
'You certainly gave Mr. Pruckthwaite a generous sum, sir,' he said incredulously.
'Well, he was suffering, Jeeves! He hadn't eaten in two days! The man was a wreck.'
'I think not, sir.'
'What do you mean, you think not? Did you even see him?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well?'
'I observed Mr. Pruckthwaite leaving the Ritz Hotel with a companion as I was on my way to the Junior Ganymede this evening, sir. They were both laughing and appeared quite contented.'
I was jolly confused. 'But he told me he was starving and destitute, Jeeves!' As I looked to him for assistance I saw the corners of his mouth twitch, only for a second. 'What's the matter? Something funny about all this?'
'I beg your pardon, sir. I merely found the level of Mr. Pruckthwaite's resourcefulness amusing.'
'Resourcefulness?'
'Yes, sir. Realising that you would not be intimidated by his idle threats, he instead elected to appeal to your generosity and sweetness of nature, qualities he no doubt observed in you during the evening he spent in your company.'
'Do you mean it was all a wheeze?!'
'Indeed, sir. Mr. Pruckthwaite is apparently an excellent actor.'
'Well, I'm dashed!' Falling onto the sofa, I fancied I knew how the Trojan army must have felt when first some brainy member of their ranks sat up, took notice, and said, 'Hang on, that horse seems to be shedding Greeks at an alarming rate!' It's not a nice feeling, being duped. 'I must say, Jeeves, I feel a total ass.'
'Well, sir, you did manage to rid yourself of Pruckthwaite, and for a considerably smaller sum than originally anticipated.'
'You're right, Jeeves. Best to look on the sunny side of things, you know.' I got to my feet, then caught Jeeves' eye. He looked quite contented, and I imagine although he wasn't showing it, he was as relieved as I by the resolution of this fiasco. I gave him a quick peck, but before I could get away, he placed a hand on my cheek, turning my face towards his, and kissed me again -- and this time it was one of those jolly long ones where eventually you've got to come up for oxygen, but it's always a bother to end it. I breathed a contented sigh and smiled imploringly at him. 'Fancy mixing me up a stiff one, Jeeves? I feel I must celebrate the expulsion of this wily weasel from my life.'
'Of course, sir.'
'And make one for yourself, too, if you like. And then I want you to have a seat and relax for once, and I'll take another whack at that prelude and fugue you like from the Well-Tempered Whatsit. I've been practicing, you know, and I'd like you to hear how it sounds.'
'I look forward to it with great anticipation, sir.'
'And then perhaps we could saunter off to the master bedroom, where I intend to prove to you that I'm all yours and I wouldn't go near someone like Ginger with a ten-foot pole.' I flashed my most beguiling grin.
Jeeves donned a hemi-demi-semi-smirk and said, 'Certainly, sir' in an unmistakably jaunty tone of voice. Then, he glided off to make the cocktails.
Ruminating upon the pleasant evening that was ahead of me, I rejoiced that G. was once again in his H. and all was right with the w. But suddenly, as the drink-fogged memory of my evening with Ginger drifted back to me, an extremely rummy something hit me, and when Jeeves returned bearing cocktails, I decided to bring it up.
'Jeeves! I've just remembered something Ginger told me!'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Yes! I asked him where he knew you from, and he said you met on a cruise!' I couldn't keep the note of accusation out of my voice. 'Your stories don't match up, Jeeves!'
Jeeves' right eyebrow quivered like a cat's whisker, and he looked me directly in the eye. 'Surely you do not accept the story of a confirmed liar such as Mr. Pruckthwaite over mine, sir. No doubt he was ashamed of his unrealised ambition as a gentlemen's personal gentleman, and did not wish to bring it up.'
He didn't so much as hesitate, and didn't break eye contact for a second, but somehow I still couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't being entirely honest with me. Just a Wooster's intuition, I suppose. However, eventually, the staring contest ended and Jeeves won out. 'Oh, right-ho,' I said cheerily. After all, I imagined it was ancient history, and we were so dashed cosy -- what use was there in waking the sleeping dog? Absolutely none whatever! This was one pooch I was going to let lie as long as it bally well pleased.
I beamed at my paramour, bade him sit down, settled myself before the keyboard, and began to play.
THE END
Title: Jeeves and the Question of Fidelity
Author:
weaselwoman13Pairing: Jooster
Rating: Almost embarrassingly innocent. G unless guys snogging freaks you out.
Summary: Bertie's birthday brings about blackmail, betrayal, and bonding over Bach.
I woke up on the morning of my birthday with a distinct flutter in my heart. A ray of the sun streamed in and splashed itself across the Wooster features in a playful and spirited manner that suggested that this particular anniversary would be an agreeable one. I lay for a moment enjoying its company until Jeeves streamed in precisely two minutes later, armed with my morning cuppa.
'Ah! Morning, Jeeves o' my heart,' I said with great affection, accepting the steaming offering. And I don't think I'm quite inaccurate in claiming that Jeeves approached cracking a smile at the unorthodox greeting.
'Good morning, sir,' he said, drawing back the curtains to admit more friendly sunlight. I surveyed his statuesque and handsome form as he laid out a suit for me, and then, on a sudden whim, decided to interfere in the selection of the tie.
'Jeeves,' I said as he brushed a small quantity of lint from the jacket sleeve. 'You know the blue tie with the pink polka-dot pattern?'
He froze mid-brush, then his eyes flicked upwards to meet mine. His expression would have been inscrutably Jeeves-esque, except that those windows to his soul were saying, quite clearly, 'Do not toy with me, Wooster.' A layman wouldn't have noticed, but when one has been living with Jeeves as long as I have, one picks up on these little signals. Well, as dear as Jeeves has become to me, and as much as I respect his opinion in these matters, I simply wasn't going to let him be a tyrant on my birthday. 'I'd like to wear it today, if I may,' I said, with a brief (and failed) attempt to stare him down. 'Dig it out of the wardrobe for me, will you?'
'Are you quite sure, sir?' He flickered a barbed eyebrow, his voice dripping with what was unmistakably disdain.
'Jeeves,' I reminded him, 'perhaps you've forgotten what day it is?'
His expression softened a bit as I played my trump card. 'No, sir,' he said, 'the occasion had not slipped my mind. Many happy returns of the day, sir.'
'Thank you, Jeeves. But I did hope that perhaps upon my birthday I might be considered sufficiently mentally sound to be trusted with the selection of a harmless article of neckwear!'
'Quite right, sir. I shall locate the item directly.' And although he did pronounce the words without relish, he didn't say another word about it thereafter. Decent sort of fellow, Jeeves. Tends to get prickly over little things, but he does listen to reason on occasion.
Once fueled sufficiently by the tea and a nice helping of ham and e. prepared as expertly as always by Jeeves, I began to smarten myself up for a visit to the Drones. As I was preening, Jeeves vanished for a moment into his lair and emerged with a package of some sort. Do you know, it never fails to surprise me when he starts whipping out the presents. I suppose he figures it's the decent thing to do, since, well, we're much closer than your average master and valet, and also I like to remember him with a little something every time his odometer rolls over, but I was still quite touched.
'Jeeves!' I ejaculated. 'Now, that's not for me, is it?'
'Yes, sir. I hope you will accept it as a token of my admiration.'
'You really shouldn't have, you know!'
'Sufficient time remains for me to return the objects, if you would prefer.'
'No, no, Jeeves -- I accept with thanks.' I took the proffered box and rent the paper wrapping. Lifting the lid, I beheld beneath it a treasure trove: one silk tie, a deep forest green hue embroidered with some tiny lions rampant in dark brown, and two books of sheet music. (I do like to do a bit of ivory-tickling around the flat once in a while, so it's always a pleasure to procure new tunes to bash out.) One contained an anthology of Cole Porter's fruitiest to date. The other...
'Hmm. Das Wohl...er...' I started to sound out a couple of hefty-looking German words on the cover, but suddenly felt as if my tongue had been tied in a sailor's knot to a lamppost. I never took German at school, you see. I took French, but it hasn't done me much good yet -- I tried to order the soup of the day in a restaurant once and ended up receiving directions to the nearest florist's shop.
'Das Wohltemperierte Klavier, sir. A series of short preludes and fugues written by Johann Sebastian Bach for the purpose of ensuring that a keyboard instrument is finely-tuned.'
'Golly, that's handy.' I glanced at the trusty instrument, standing as it always was in a corner of the flat. 'Do you reckon ours needs tuning, then?'
'Perhaps, sir, but more importantly, I believe you will find them rewarding and pleasurable pieces of music, though the style is different than that to which you are accustomed.'
I flipped through the volume. A few of them looked dashed painful, but Bertram Wooster is not one to curl up and cry 'Uncle' in the face of adversity. 'Thanks, Jeeves,' I said, placing the gifts aside in order to embrace and kiss him. 'I really don't deserve you, you know.'
'I am inclined to disagree, sir,' he said, giving my back a rub.
'I'm going round to the Drones for a bit to round up some of the chaps and discuss our plans for this evening's festivities. Oh!' Suddenly I felt positively swinish as I realised I hadn't even thought of inviting Jeeves to my soiree. Well, it seems rude, but when one's valet becomes one's friend, and then, quite suddenly, one's beloved, all sorts of lines get crossed and one really doesn't know where one stands. 'Jeeves, you know, you're welcome to join in...'
'It's very kind of you, sir, but I do not believe that I would fit in with such a high-spirited group as your circle of acquaintances. As you know, my preferences lean towards a quiet evening at home with an improving book.'
'Fair enough, Jeeves,' I said, thoroughly unable to picture him singing a sea chanty whilst wearing a paper hat (not that that was on the list of plans for tonight, but one never knew what direction things would head after a few drinks). 'The two of us can have our own celebration later on, then, what?' I added with a bawdy wink.
'Indeed, sir,' Jeeves said, flicking a lock of hair from my brow.
'Anyway, I'm off,' I said, giving his shoulder an affectionate pat, 'and when I return, perhaps we'll crack open that book and see how Wohltemperierte our Klavier is, hmm?'
'I look forward to it, sir.'
So I skipped over to the Drones and found Bingo Little and Oofy Prosser there. We discussed the evening's schedule and I gave them orders to spread the word, for I wanted to be surrounded with the best of company for my little celebration. Pity Jeeves wasn't keen on being there, but he had a point about the boys from the Drones not quite being his sort of crowd. Jeeves spent his birthdays either at home or at the Junior Ganymede, where anyone under the age of three hundred is outnumbered and chaps sit around discussing...well, whatever it is gentlemen's personal gentlemen discuss when they get together. Doesn't sound like much of a laugh to me, but there you are: Jeeves is not me. (I say -- how perfectly strange a household ours would be if he was! Apart from anything, the ironing would never get done.)
After a chat, a smoke, and a few spirited indoor sporting events, I returned to the flat. I let myself in very quietly, hoisted the tuneful tome Jeeves had given me, and bellied up to the keyboard. Flipping to an interesting-looking one, I made an honest stab at working through the thing, and although the digits did get a bit entangled at certain points, I think it was jolly decent for a cold reading. Sure enough, my performance drew Jeeves forth from his den like some gentle woodland creature drawn towards the sound of Apollo's lyre. (It was Apollo, wasn't it -- the fellow who could charm the birds out of the trees with his strumming? I think I've got the right person. Really keen on the discus, too, if I remember correctly.) As I squinted at the final chords of the fugue, I felt a pair of large, muscular hands on my shoulders. After I pounded out the last few notes he began to apply a slow, gentle kneading motion to the muscles and sinews of my shoulders. Jeeves, of course, is an expert at massage as well as everything else, and soon I felt as though my being had dissolved into a puddle.
'Oh, Jeeves,' I managed, closing my eyes and tilting my head backwards so that it rested against his midsection.
'Beautifully performed, sir,' he murmured.
'Kind of you to say so, Jeeves. Nice tune, isn't it?'
'Indeed, sir. The particular prelude and fugue which you have selected is one of my personal favourites.'
'Sounds familiar, somehow,' I said thoughtfully as he began to work on my back. 'Sends me back to my childhood days, lounging about on the floor with a biscuit in my hands and without a thought or a care in my head. I think I'm right in saying my father used to play this, you know.'
'It is not unlikely, sir. Selections from the work are standard in the repertoire of many classical keyboardists.'
'Well, thanks for introducing me to it, Jeeves,' I said. 'Hopefully I'll be able to play through this thing properly with practice, so as not to offend your ears.' Truth be told, it really wasn't my sort of thing at all, but if it brought out the masseuse in Jeeves, well, it was worth it in my book.
I spent a pleasant day at home with Jeeves, but at about eight o' clock I bade him a fond 'toodle-pip' and set out to meet my pals at the Drones. Quite a hearty crowd greeted me as I entered: Boko, Oofy, Biffy, Chuffy, Tuppy, Barmy, Bingo, and even old Stinker were there. I'd hoped Gussie Fink-Nottle might have found his way here, because I feel the poor chap could use a bit of fun, but apparently he had an important engagement with a newt he couldn't afford to miss. It started off looking as though the gaiety would be contained within the Drones, but eventually we spilled off across the city to other locales, such as the Mottled Oyster, and my favorite Turkish baths. Somewhere along the way we ran into these awfully nice fellows -- conversations were struck up, drinks were purchased, and before long it was as though we'd known them all our lives. I'm afraid that, as I had gotten quite lubricated by this time, I couldn't quite work out where they'd joined in our raucous party -- only that they were decent blokes and quick with the repartee. I particularly liked this youngish fellow in a bowler hat who said his name was Ginger Pruckthwaite -- he seemed dashed friendly and we quickly became chums. Perhaps not chums on the Damon-and-Pythias level, like Bingo and me, but chummy enough to bond over cocktails, if you take my meaning.
When, thoroughly birthdayed out, we all began to stumble in the directions of our respective home-sweet-homes, Pruckthwaite mentioned in passing that he'd spent all his money and had to look forward to a hike of a duration which usually required a couple of sherpas, if he wanted to get home this evening. 'Oh, now, just say the word and I'll lend you a few quid, Ginger, old thing,' I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
'Oh, no, Bertie, I couldn't,' he said.
'Well, I won't allow a nice fellow like you to go wandering around the country at large in the dead of night! Here, come spend the night with me at my flat. You'll be cosy as a bedbug.'
'Are you sure about that, Bertie?' He looked up at me gratefully. He had rather largish and widely-set brown eyes that seemed to inspire great trust.
'Certainly, old fruit,' I cried. 'Only thing to do. Come along.' So we tripped along to my building in Berkley Square, all the time chatting away about this and that and the other thing -- though most of the conversation is patchy in the Wooster memory: as I said, the mind was a bit fogged by the juice of the grape and the grain. As we exited the lift on my floor, Ginger surprised me by placing an arm round my waist and leaning heavily against me, and I was a bit confused until I realised the poor fellow was probably teetering from the effects of the stuff as well, so I put my arm around him for support. Didn't want him toppling over and breaking his neck, after all.
I fumbled for the doorknob. 'Now, we must be as quiet as church mice, if possible,' I said, in a slightly slurred whisper. 'Don't want to wake my man.'
'Sorry?'
'My man. Jeeves. He's probably asleep by now. Don't want to disturb his peaceful slumber.'
'Jeeves? Not Reginald Jeeves?'
'Why, that's the chap,' I said, though I was nevertheless startled as I usually was by the concept of Jeeves having a first name. It seemed strange to call him anything but Jeeves -- he was the sort of person who seemed self-sufficient enough that he only required the one name, not a cumbersome pair of them like the rest of us. 'Do you know him?'
'We've crossed paths,' Ginger replied. 'We were, erm, on the same cruise once.'
'Oh, yes? Loves his cruises, does Jeeves. Always biffing off to parts unknown. Sterling bloke, though!'
'Yes, I quite agree.'
After a muted hunt for the cabinet where Jeeves keeps the spare blankets and things, I set Ginger up with a nice little nest on the sofa. Not the best place to put someone up, of course, but we haven't got a guest bedroom, and I didn't think either of us were keen on sharing the bed. After all, I'd only just met the fellow. He did seem a bit put-out about the sleeping arrangements, but I reminded him that it was better than trekking across the metrop in the middle of the night.
'Now, then. Sufficiently cosy, are we, Ginger?'
'Er, yes, Bertie. Thank you.'
'Right-ho! Goodnight, Ginger!'
'Goodnight.'
I've often expressed my wonder at the fact that a gentleman of such intelligence and talent as Jeeves has stuck around a silly young blighter like me for as long as he has, but as I flicked off the light and left Ginger to his forty whatsits, I dare say I had an inkling of what all the fuss was about. It wasn't a bad feeling, looking after a chap. I weaved into the master bedroom, peeled off a few layers of clothing, and then realised that in my present state I had no idea where to find my pyjamas, so I simply collapsed onto the matress in a state of semi-undress. After all, what did it matter? The only person who usually laid eyes on me before the clock struck noon was Jeeves, and it was nothing he'd never seen. I'm sure he wouldn't even kick too much if I fancied snoozing au naturel.
The next morning, Jeeves came in to shove a cup of Darjeeling under my nostrils, and I felt like I had been wrung through a laundry mangle. A group of highly productive blacksmiths seemed to have taken up residence within my skull and were using my cerebellum as an anvil. Slowly it dawned on me why I had been stewed to the tonsils on the previous evening, and I recalled Ginger snoring on the sofa.
'Jeeves!' I said suddenly, and then cursed myself for speaking so loudly, as it only seemed to aggravate the industrious fellows within my cranium. 'Ow, Jeeves. I let a chap stay the night; he's in the next room on the sofa...oh, dash it! What was his name?'
'Mr. Pruckthwaite, sir.'
'Yes! That's the chap. Ginger.'
'Mr. Pruckthwaite arose several hours ago, sir. I have sent him on his way.'
'Good. Good. Er, thank you, Jeeves. Sorry about the extra trouble. Just a nice chap I met during my travels last night. Er...' I blinked heavily, wondering how I had managed to form any of those coherent sentences. The head was still behaving in a manner that leads one to inquire whether heads are even worth the trouble of having. 'Now that that matter's sorted out, I don't suppose you'd mind whipping me up one of your masterpieces, Jeeves? I feel like I should begin drafting my last will and testament.'
'Certainly, sir,' he said, and disappeared to the kitchen. And that's when I noticed that Jeeves was upset. This was not the 'Certainly, sir' of a loyal and devoted valet springing to the aid of his ailing master. Well, Jeeves doesn't exactly spring to anything, but you know what I mean. This was the 'Certainly, sir' of a man who'd much rather say, 'I'll do it when I feel like it and not a second sooner, Wooster. And put some clothes on, why don't you!' I suddenly recalled that I wasn't fully clad as usual in my heliotrope pyjamas, and thought that perhaps he was sore because I hadn't had the decency to dress properly for bed. It's not that Jeeves doesn't enjoy the sight of a scantily-clad Bertram -- well, I mean to say, why wouldn't he? Though I'm not exactly of film star caliber in the looks department, I'm no eyesore, either, and I have a physique which has been described as 'sylphlike' by close acquaintances. But in his mind there is a time and a place for semi-nudity, and apparently this was neither. I scraped myself up and threw on my dressing-gown so as not to further offend him.
He reappeared with his life-saving silver salver and I seized the tumbler thereupon, chucking the contents down the gullet with great haste. This concoction of Jeeves' has the curious side-effect of making one's eyeballs rocket forth from their sockets and ricochet off the opposite wall, and inducing smoke to pour from one's mouth and nostrils. It also makes one feel right as rain in an instant.
'Thank you, Jeeves,' I said, trying to look as grateful as I possibly could. 'I'm sorry if putting Ginger up was an inconvenience. He didn't give you any trouble, did he?'
'No, sir.'
'Didn't break anything, I trust?'
'No, sir.'
'Excellent. Er...I'll just put some clothes on, shall I?'
'I would indeed advocate such a procedure, sir.' And before he biffed off to dispose of the empty glass, he gave me a look that could have frozen the cup of tea on the bedside table. I stared at the back of his head as he left, my insides doing a funny sort of southward dive. What on earth had I done to upset him?
I donned the suit he'd kindly laid out for me, and soon he returned to do up the buttons. 'Jeeves,' I said in an attempt to warm the chilly waters which I found myself treading, 'I'd very much like to wear that extremely attractive necktie you gave me.'
'Very good, sir.' Nothing more! Once dressed, I trailed him to the kitchen as he prepared to fix me up a little something nourishing.
I laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Er, Jeeves..' He dissolved out from underneath it and appeared over at the other end of the room. Crikey. 'I hate to bother you during your toil, but -- er -- have I done something to upset you?'
'Sir?'
'You seem a bit more reserved than usual, Jeeves. Cold. Detached. Some would say hostile.'
'I was not aware of it, sir. I apologise profusely.'
'Come off it, Jeeves; you bally well are aware of it! I'm not completely oblivious, for Pete's sake. Tell me what's the matter.'
'I have no complaints, sir.'
'Is it that tie? I only wanted to wear it the once, you know. I don't need it anymore. You can cast it to the four winds for all I care. This one's much nicer.'
'I am gratified to hear it, sir.'
'If it's not that, what is it? Tell me!'
'With respect, sir,' he said stiffly, 'it is difficult to operate in a kitchen of this size when it is occupied by a second person.'
I moved out, chastened.
Jeeves seemed to be in the sort of mood where, if he were Aunt Dahlia, he would begin throwing things at my head, the larger and more breakable the better. I find it's best to leave people alone when they reach such a state, and so after I broke my fast I hurried off to the Drones, my spirits as low and grey as the clouds which hung overhead. I was solitarily smoking a moody cigarette when I suddenly became aware of a couple of pairs of eyes goggling at me.
'Bertie?' said the owner of one of said pairs.
'Oh, hello, Tuppy...what-ho, Stinker.'
'Still recovering from last night, are you?' Tuppy guessed with a mischievous chortle.
'You look positively miserable, Bertie,' said Stinker, looking a tad more concerned. I suppose as a man of the church he's more apt to recognise heartache on a man's face.
'Ginger get home all right?' asked Tuppy. 'Jolly decent of you to take him on.'
'Yes, Jeeves saw him off this morning,' I said, failing to suppress a little sigh.
'Tell us, Bertie,' Stinker said, 'why so gloomy?'
'It's Jeeves,' I said. 'Suddenly he's giving me the old glacier treatment and I've no idea what I did wrong.'
'Perhaps it's that tasseled hat you were fatheaded enough to buy last week,' suggested Tuppy.
'Got rid of it ages ago, Tuppy. Jeeves practically wouldn't let it in the door.'
'Or perhaps he disagrees with one of your neckties?'
'I can only think of one he's waged a war against, and I've already given him clearance to dispose of it.'
'Well, I'm out of ideas,' said Tuppy with a careless shrug.
I endured two entire days of Jeeves in his ruffled state -- he wouldn't let me give him so much as a kiss on the cheek, and I felt as perfectly rotten as an abandoned dog. Only when I received a letter from Ginger was a little light thrown onto the issue. I was sitting at the piano, trying to work out more of this favourite prelude and fugue thingummy of Jeeves' in the hope that my heartfelt efforts might thaw him, when he brought me an envelope.
'This letter arrived for you during the course of the morning, sir,' he said, gazing coolly at me. 'It appears to have been hand-delivered and slid beneath our door.' The envelope read, 'To Bertram Wooster, from Ginger.'
'Oh, well, let's see it, then,' I said, accepting it. 'Probably old Ginger thanking me for a pleasant evening...I say...good lord!' I nearly upset the piano bench as I leapt to my feet, for Ginger's letter struck terror into my heart. It contained loathsome accusations, back-stabbing threats, and an appalling number of misspelt words.
'Is anything amiss, sir?'
'Amiss doesn't even begin to describe it, Jeeves!' I began to pace hither and yon in a frenzy, clutching the letter in both hands. 'Ginger's bloody blackmailing me! He says if I don't produce a thousand pounds forthwith he'll start telling everyone about indiscretions which took place between us on the evening of my birthday!'
'Indeed, sir?' said Jeeves, as calmly as if I'd just mentioned that there was a mildly annoying moth in my room. I was too upset to notice, however, and went on. 'This is ridiculous! I never touched the blighter! I was a perfect gentleman! Honestly, you do someone a favour and look where it gets you, eh, Jeeves? Jeeves?'
But a change had come over him. He was now staring at me in -- well, dead shock, by his standards! The eyebrows were gently arched and the lips were drawn into a slight frown of confusion. 'Sir, am I correct in understanding that these alleged indiscretions did not take place between Mr. Pruckthwaite and yourself?'
'Of course not, Jeeves! I do remember slinging a fraternal arm around the old fellow's shoulders to keep him from toppling over and ruining the carpet, but nothing more!'
He stepped forward with his eyes lowered. 'In that case, sir, I feel I must apologise deeply for my behaviour during the previous two days.'
'What on earth do you mean?' I goggled dumbfoundedly at him, until the truth hit me. 'Jeeves -- do you mean to say that you thought that me and Ginger...?' I couldn't bring myself to finish the sentence. It's difficult to discuss this sort of thing with your valet, you understand. I tend to clam up and go crimson.
'Yes, sir,' replied Jeeves.
'Good heavens, Jeeves!' My frustration with him was quickly replaced by sympathy -- I mean, here I was feeling sorry for myself because he was giving me the cold shoulder, while all the time he was thinking I'd simply tossed him aside for some young fellow I met on a birthday ramble through London! My heart went out to the poor man as I contemplated how he must have suffered. I reached him in one quick leap and embraced him. He put his arms around me, too, and we held each other so tightly I'm amazed we were able to breathe properly. 'Jeeves, really, the very idea! I'd have hoped you knew me better than to think I'd go and -- er -- that is to say...' I groped for words, and then found that they'd been mislaid, so instead I kissed him. (It always seems as good a thing as any to do. Have you seen my valet's lips, by any chance? They're quite nice.) Having completed the deed, I tried again. 'I only have eyes for you; you know that. What on earth made you think otherwise?'
'I felt it was the only explanation for Mr. Pruckthwaite's presence, sir, given his profession.'
'His profession? What on earth is he, a masseuse or something?'
'Mr. Pruckthwaite is what is known in common parlance as a rent-boy, sir.'
I stared blankly at him. 'Eh?'
He cleared his throat in a dignified sort of way. 'Mr. Pruckthwaite accepts money from gentlemen in exchange for favours of an indecent nature, sir.'
'Oh?' I processed this bit of information for a moment, trying to sort out what Jeeves was getting at. 'Oh. Oh! Oh, blimey!'
'Though the expression is one I would hesitate to employ myself, sir, your alarm is understandable.'
'Hang on,' I said, glancing searchingly at Jeeves. 'Did Ginger just come right out and tell you all this, Jeeves?' It was hard to imagine anyone with a brain waking up and saying, 'What-ho! I'm a rent-boy!' to the first fellow he laid eyes on, after all.
'No, sir.'
'So how did you know all that about him? Surely your powers of deduction aren't so keen you can just glance at strangers sleeping on the sofa and say, "Aha! A rent-boy!" Or "Crikey, a safe-cracker," or "Eureka! A chartered accountant," for that matter.'
'No, sir.'
'Because if you can you ought to be employed at Scotland Yard.'
'Indeed, sir. Mr. Pruckthwaite and I were once employed at the same residence. Prior to his current employment, his aspiration was to become a gentlemen's personal gentleman. However, he found himself unable to meet the required standard.'
It seemed a solid enough story. 'Golly, Jeeves,' I said, 'I suppose you took the high road and he took the other one, what?'
'Indeed, sir.'
'Why on earth is he doing this to me?' I cried, finally pulling away from him so that I could pace about the flat. 'I mean, dash it, I paid him a kindness!'
'No doubt Mr. Pruckthwaite assumed that you had invited him in for the evening in the role of a client, sir,' Jeeves said knowledgeably. 'Upon discovering that this visit would not be a lucrative one, he became annoyed and decided to derive a quantity of money from you through other means.'
'The ungrateful weasel!'
'Many young men of Mr. Pruckthwaite's occupation are also skilled extortionists, sir.'
'Well, I don't want him spreading something like that around, even if it isn't true!' I perched on the arm of my chair, scanning the horrid missive for any sort of chink in Ginger's armor. 'Ever since Florence -- erm -- discovered us, I'm already a bit worried about everyone picking up on the idea that you and I...er...' I noticed a cloud pass over Jeeves' features and quickly added, 'Not that I'd give you up for anything, Jeeves! I mean it. I don't care what people think. They can chase me out of the country with torches and pitchforks for all I care. I'm still dippy about you, and no one, man or beast, extortionist rent-boy or Florence, can sway me from my dippiness!'
'Indeed, sir. When our two souls stand up erect and strong/Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher/Until the lengthening wings break into fire/At either curvéd point -- what bitter wrong/Can the earth do to us, that we should not long/Be here contented?'
'Er...quite, Jeeves. Well-put.'
'Thank you, sir. The words were Elizabeth Barrett Browning's, and not my own, but I felt --'
'Yes, yes, Jeeves -- let's focus on the matter at hand, shall we?'
'As you say, sir.'
'This business...' I tapped the chin with an impatient finger as I examined the bit of paper in my hand. 'I'd best hand over the thousand quid, Jeeves. Write it off as an ill-judged visit to the roulette wheel and face the auntly storm that ensues. I don't know what else to do.'
Jeeves coughed quietly.
'Unless you've got any ideas, Jeeves,' I added, looking desperately up at him.
'It has occurred to me, sir,' he said, looking like a marble statue of some Greek philosopher revealing great truths to a band of attentive pupils, 'that giving Mr. Pruckthwaite the monetary reward he desires would appear to be an admission of your guilt.'
'Who cares how it appears, Jeeves? I just want to save my neck!'
'Yes, sir. However, I believe that it would be in your best interest not to register abject concern at the prospect of Mr. Pruckthwaite's revelation of the information. I base this assumption on the psychology of the individual, sir.'
'Of course.' Quite a big fan of the psychology of the individual, is Jeeves. Bases all his best gags on it.
'The primary concern of the extortionist is financial, sir. Mr. Pruckthwaite does not wish to ruin you. He is only interested in your money. Because you are of comfortable means, and perhaps because you gave him reason to believe you engage in behaviours you would prefer to conceal from the general public, he perceived you as an ideal target, and assumed that you would immediately become intimidated and produce the thousand pounds, or perhaps attempt to negotiate for a smaller sum.'
'Oh, yes?' I wondered just what I had said to Ginger to give myself away.
'To register fear would be to display considerable vulnerability. However, if you were to affect an air of insouciance, giving Mr. Pruckthwaite the impression that the accusation is too ridiculous to be taken seriously, I believe he would be significantly discouraged from his pursuit.'
I mulled it over. 'Well, it seems sound, Jeeves -- but suppose he decides to start bleating about it to all of my friends and relations anyway?'
'In my opinion, the contingency is highly unlikely, sir, but I doubt that Mr. Pruckthwaite's testimony will be believed over yours, given his criminal background.'
'I imagine you're right,' I said with a sigh, 'but there's one other thing. I'm no bally good at acting! I'm very shaken by all this, Jeeves, and I'm no sooner going to pass myself off as cool and collected than one of Gussie's newts is going to impersonate a candidate for prime minister. I'll surely give myself away.'
'This is unfortunate, sir, but perhaps there is an alternative avenue.'
'Really, Jeeves?'
'Yes, sir. Perhaps I could speak to Mr. Pruckthwaite on your behalf.'
'I rather like the sound of that. Would you mind terribly?'
'Not at all, sir.'
'Only I know you'd do a much better job than I would.'
'Possibly, sir.'
I don't mind telling you that from that point onwards I was as jumpy as the proverbial feline in the room full of rocking chairs. I couldn't shake off the image of Ginger surrounded by various chaps from the Drones and an assortment of aunts, regaling them all with tales of my debauchery in the boudoir. It was a sobering thought.
Jeeves had advised me not to get in touch with Ginger, asserting that he'd eventually come sniffing around here of his own free will, and, as usual, Jeeves was correct. When he did show up, Jeeves answered the door while I concealed myself in my bedroom. I strained the ears to listen to the conversation.
'Good afternoon, Mr. Pruckthwaite,' came Jeeves' voice, icy as the North Pole. If I were Ginger I imagine I'd have quailed beneath the disapproving gaze which came with that voice as a package deal. However, that bounder sounded perfectly cheerful as he replied.
'Ah, Jeeves! Good afternoon,' he chirped. 'It's lovely to see you again.' Jeeves did not respond, so Ginger continued. 'Bertie in?'
'One moment, sir,' he said, and left Ginger waiting there while he drifted right into the room in which I was hiding! I laid a hand on the handle of my wardrobe, ready to conceal myself therein if I had to.
'Jeeves!' I hissed, 'I thought we'd agreed that you'd do the talking here! I can't go out there and face him!'
'No, sir. I intend merely to present the illusion that I have gone to negotiate the matter with you.'
'Oh, I see,' I said, relieved. 'All for dramatic effect, then.'
'Precisely, sir.'
'Well, negotiate away, Jeeves. Anything I can do to help?'
'It would assist me greatly if you were to affect a short, derisive laugh, sir, with enough volume for Mr. Pruckthwaite to overhear.'
'Certainly, Jeeves, certainly!' I cleared the throat and conjured my best.
'Excellent, sir. I shall now return to Mr. Pruckthwaite and inform him that you have no intention of speaking to him.'
'Thanks awfully, Jeeves,' I whispered as he exited. I wanted to hide someplace safe until we were alone in the flat and I could once again caress him without fear of interruption, for I love him most when he's getting me out of jams, but I was interested in seeing what he was playing at, and continued to eavesdrop.
'Well?' I heard Ginger prompt.
'Mr. Wooster does not wish to see you, sir.'
'And why not?'
'He has asked me to inform you that your letter gave him such delight that he could barely contain his laughter, sir. He fears that further contact with you may cause him such merriment that he would be in danger of fracturing a rib.'
'Is that so?' Ginger sounded pipped. I gritted my teeth, hoping he wouldn't run right to the local constabulary after this and have me thrown in the clink. 'Well, you tell him that if he does not give me what I ask for very soon, he will live to regret it!'
'Mr. Wooster has no intention of producing the money you desire, sir, and believes that a return to your previous profession would be far more lucrative.'
'I'm serious about this, you know. If a thousand pounds is too damaging to his bank balance, I'm perfectly willing to negotiate.'
'I shall inform Mr. Wooster, sir.' He hovered back into my midst. 'I wonder if you could lend me a shilling, sir?'
'Er, yes, Jeeves, certainly,' I said, digging one out of my pocket and handing it over.
'Thank you, sir.' He oozed back out. 'Mr. Wooster says that this is the amount your silence is worth to him, sir,' I heard him tell Ginger.
'Right!' Ginger sounded quite scarlet in the face, now. 'Well, Jeeves, you tell him that he hasn't heard the end of this! I'm giving him one more chance to come through with the money, but thereafter I shall not be responsible for my actions!'
'Very good, sir. Good afternoon.'
'Good afternoon!' And the door clicked shut.
I skulked out of my chambers, peering bemusedly at Jeeves. 'Rather thin ice we're treading on here, isn't it?'
'Possibly not, sir. I am now certain that Mr. Pruckthwaite's threat is a hollow one.'
'How do you know, though?'
'There are many bodily signals which indicate prevarication, sir. Most notably Mr. Pruckthwaite showed a marked refusal to establish direct eye contact as he spoke to me.'
'I see. Well, you know best, Jeeves.'
'Thank you, sir. Will you be dining in this evening?'
'Er...yes, Jeeves. I think so.' I didn't much fancy going out and chancing running into him.
I was hoping it'd be a lot longer before Ginger came around again, but the very next day, like the cat of vaudevillian song, he came back, and we went through the same routine -- me cowering in my room, Jeeves telling Ginger off. It was rather entertaining, listening to all these clever remarks I was supposed to have made -- one would think I was some pal of Oscar Wilde's. Once again Ginger said that he'd return.
'But this is his last chance,' he added.
Well. This time was supposed to have been my last chance, too. I was starting to see what Jeeves meant. Ginger was all bark and no bite. I began to feel a little more at ease.
On the following evening Jeeves went out -- some to-do at the Junior Ganymede Club. I've no idea what they get up to in there and I've never asked. Anyway, I was sitting around the flat, frantically bored, trying to wade through a novel of Jeeves' which I'd borrowed, when I heard the doorbell ring.
You'd have thought I would realise immediately it was Ginger, but my first notion was that it was Barmy or somebody from the Drones looking in on me. I suppose it was a case of wishful thinking. With the hope of seeing a fellow human being in store, I sprang to answer the door. I was sorely disappointed when I spotted the ferrety fellow who waited without.
With events unfolding as they did, my fear of Ginger had been lifted considerably, so I did not, as I might have done a couple of days ago, go pale and panic. 'Just keep a cool head, Bertram,' I told myself, 'and tick this blighter off properly!' I drew myself up and shot him a scornful glance. For a moment, that is -- until I got a closer look at him.
Ginger did not look at all as I remembered him. The eyes seemed sunken, rimmed with red and underscored in dark circles, and they were filled with what I might have mistaken for desperation. He seemed a bit smaller and thinner -- the suit was rumpled and baggy. He did not look like the conniving villain of whom I had a firm mental image -- rather, it was as if a small, timid forest animal had been abducted, deprived of food and drink, roughed up a little, and then dumped on my doorstep.
'What-ho, Pruckthwaite,' I said, a bit stiffly, but without a heart of stone.
'Bertie,' he greeted me, but without a smile. 'Jeeves not in tonight, is he?'
'No. Tonight I have been forced to fend for myself. Why? Have something to tell him?'
'No, Bertie, it's you I need to talk to and you know it.' He glowered at me. 'I want that money and I want it today!'
'Tchah!' I said with an airy wave of the hand.
'What did you say?'
'I said "Tchah!" I can't believe you're still on about that!'
'I most certainly am!'
'Well, you're wasting your time, old thing,' I said without warmth. 'You have nothing on me, Pruckthwaite! I've nothing to hide, Pruckthwaite, and I think you've picked an extremely silly way to make a living, Pruckthwaite, and I'm trying to warn you right now that it's simply not going to work, so you might as well go back to -- you know. Your other line of business.'
As I reached my conclusion, Ginger stared at me for a few seconds, and then scared the daylights out of me when he suddenly and roughly seized my shoulders in his filthy paws, looking plaintively at me like a weasel with its claw caught in a lace curtain. 'I say, if you try to lay a hand on me...!' I began.
'Bertie,' Ginger said, his almost fawnish eyes staring wildly into mine, 'I need the money. I'm completely broke. I haven't eaten in two days.'
I goggled at him in surprise. 'Really? Well, you should have said something! What about your, erm, your other income?'
He released me from his clutches and glanced sheepishly at the floorboards. 'Lately it seems as though no one will have me around.'
'Perhaps they're all frightened you'll bloody blackmail them!' I cried.
'I'm sorry, Bertie! I was desperate!'
This was all a bit thick. Weasel or not, I hated to see a fellow suffer, so I began to hunt for the cheque-book. 'Look, I'm dashed sorry to hear about all this,' I said, 'and while I'm not giving you a bloody thousand, I can't send you out into the cold with only the shirt on your back. We Woosters have a code, you know.' I chewed things over as I began to make out the cheque. 'Would a hundred pounds help?'
'Oh, Bertie, it's awfully good of you, after all this trouble I've caused you.'
'Think nothing of it, old man.' I've never been terrific at holding a grudge. Grudges seem to slip out of my hands like moist fish.
'Could you make it a hundred and twenty-five? My shoes have got holes in them.'
'As long as you'll leave me alone!'
'Of course, Bertie.'
'Mr. Wooster to you!'
So I finally sent him away with the cheque, and though I didn't feel quite right about the large donation I had just made to him, I was extremely bucked-up about being able to tell this bounder off. Two days ago I'd have been scarcely able to meet his eye, and now I was banishing him from my domain like some sort of king or sultan or something. My flat was once again my castle.
Jeeves returned later that evening and I filled him in on the whole story. When I got to the point of Bertram's wondrous charitable nature, however, he looked at me askance, as if I'd just informed him that I thought Roderick Spode was my ideal mate.
'You certainly gave Mr. Pruckthwaite a generous sum, sir,' he said incredulously.
'Well, he was suffering, Jeeves! He hadn't eaten in two days! The man was a wreck.'
'I think not, sir.'
'What do you mean, you think not? Did you even see him?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well?'
'I observed Mr. Pruckthwaite leaving the Ritz Hotel with a companion as I was on my way to the Junior Ganymede this evening, sir. They were both laughing and appeared quite contented.'
I was jolly confused. 'But he told me he was starving and destitute, Jeeves!' As I looked to him for assistance I saw the corners of his mouth twitch, only for a second. 'What's the matter? Something funny about all this?'
'I beg your pardon, sir. I merely found the level of Mr. Pruckthwaite's resourcefulness amusing.'
'Resourcefulness?'
'Yes, sir. Realising that you would not be intimidated by his idle threats, he instead elected to appeal to your generosity and sweetness of nature, qualities he no doubt observed in you during the evening he spent in your company.'
'Do you mean it was all a wheeze?!'
'Indeed, sir. Mr. Pruckthwaite is apparently an excellent actor.'
'Well, I'm dashed!' Falling onto the sofa, I fancied I knew how the Trojan army must have felt when first some brainy member of their ranks sat up, took notice, and said, 'Hang on, that horse seems to be shedding Greeks at an alarming rate!' It's not a nice feeling, being duped. 'I must say, Jeeves, I feel a total ass.'
'Well, sir, you did manage to rid yourself of Pruckthwaite, and for a considerably smaller sum than originally anticipated.'
'You're right, Jeeves. Best to look on the sunny side of things, you know.' I got to my feet, then caught Jeeves' eye. He looked quite contented, and I imagine although he wasn't showing it, he was as relieved as I by the resolution of this fiasco. I gave him a quick peck, but before I could get away, he placed a hand on my cheek, turning my face towards his, and kissed me again -- and this time it was one of those jolly long ones where eventually you've got to come up for oxygen, but it's always a bother to end it. I breathed a contented sigh and smiled imploringly at him. 'Fancy mixing me up a stiff one, Jeeves? I feel I must celebrate the expulsion of this wily weasel from my life.'
'Of course, sir.'
'And make one for yourself, too, if you like. And then I want you to have a seat and relax for once, and I'll take another whack at that prelude and fugue you like from the Well-Tempered Whatsit. I've been practicing, you know, and I'd like you to hear how it sounds.'
'I look forward to it with great anticipation, sir.'
'And then perhaps we could saunter off to the master bedroom, where I intend to prove to you that I'm all yours and I wouldn't go near someone like Ginger with a ten-foot pole.' I flashed my most beguiling grin.
Jeeves donned a hemi-demi-semi-smirk and said, 'Certainly, sir' in an unmistakably jaunty tone of voice. Then, he glided off to make the cocktails.
Ruminating upon the pleasant evening that was ahead of me, I rejoiced that G. was once again in his H. and all was right with the w. But suddenly, as the drink-fogged memory of my evening with Ginger drifted back to me, an extremely rummy something hit me, and when Jeeves returned bearing cocktails, I decided to bring it up.
'Jeeves! I've just remembered something Ginger told me!'
'Indeed, sir?'
'Yes! I asked him where he knew you from, and he said you met on a cruise!' I couldn't keep the note of accusation out of my voice. 'Your stories don't match up, Jeeves!'
Jeeves' right eyebrow quivered like a cat's whisker, and he looked me directly in the eye. 'Surely you do not accept the story of a confirmed liar such as Mr. Pruckthwaite over mine, sir. No doubt he was ashamed of his unrealised ambition as a gentlemen's personal gentleman, and did not wish to bring it up.'
He didn't so much as hesitate, and didn't break eye contact for a second, but somehow I still couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't being entirely honest with me. Just a Wooster's intuition, I suppose. However, eventually, the staring contest ended and Jeeves won out. 'Oh, right-ho,' I said cheerily. After all, I imagined it was ancient history, and we were so dashed cosy -- what use was there in waking the sleeping dog? Absolutely none whatever! This was one pooch I was going to let lie as long as it bally well pleased.
I beamed at my paramour, bade him sit down, settled myself before the keyboard, and began to play.
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Yay!
Date: 2006-01-11 11:22 am (UTC)Re: Yay!
Date: 2006-01-11 06:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 11:49 am (UTC)*loves*
Oh, well done! I do enjoy that, though Jeeves be a master manipulator, he adores the complete lack of same in Bertie *g*.
Now I want to know what those 'cruises' are all about, dammit! *g*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 06:07 pm (UTC)"Cruise" is a euphemism. I haven't decided what it's a euphemism for yet, though. *snicker*
no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 01:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 06:09 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 06:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 10:39 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 11:39 pm (UTC)Yep! (I'm getting way too self-referential, oops!) It can be found down here (http://www.livejournal.com/community/indeedsir/132949.html#cutid1). :)
no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 11:41 pm (UTC)Better than a toaster!
Date: 2006-01-12 02:07 am (UTC)Re: Better than a toaster!
Date: 2006-01-12 04:09 am (UTC)Re: Better than a toaster!
Date: 2006-01-12 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-12 08:19 am (UTC)'Ah! Morning, Jeeves o' my heart,'
...and I know I'm going to love this story.
those windows to his soul were saying, quite clearly, 'Do not toy with me, Wooster.'
Hee. But I love that he caves because it's Bertie's birthday.
'I really don't deserve you, you know.'
'I am inclined to disagree, sir,' he said, giving my back a rub.
*squees*
thoroughly unable to picture him singing a sea chanty whilst wearing a paper hat (not that that was on the list of plans for tonight, but one never knew what direction things would head after a few drinks)
Hard to picture, yes, but I'd pay good money to see it. (I'm also rather wishing I could join the Drones Club, at the moment.)
Jeeves is not me. (I say -- how perfectly strange a household ours would be if he was! Apart from anything, the ironing would never get done.)
Ha! Can't help thinking, here, of the Calvin and Hobbes story where Calvin duplicates himself and then is hugely frustrated by the way all the duplicates goof off and refuse to behave. Not that Bertie's Calvin...I expect he could have a perfectly pleasant game of throwing-cards-in-a-hat with himself, or play a duet. Still, *clearly* no substitute for Jeeves.
it really wasn't my sort of thing at all, but if it brought out the masseuse in Jeeves, well, it was worth it in my book.
Indeed. Ooh, Bach!...but I love that Jeeves got him the Cole Porter as well.
eventually we spilled off across the city to other locales, such as the Mottled Oyster, and my favorite Turkish baths.
I love "spilled off" here. And I always love the Mottled Oyster. As for the Turkish baths...*sighs* I suppose this community knows that I will never, ever be able to not smirk/leer whenever I see a period reference to Turkish baths? Perfectly innocent here, of course, which makes me wonder whether the 'special' attendants at that bath harbor resentment a la Ginger, or find him endearingly innocent. I can totally see Bertie giving an attendant a huge tip for just handing him a towel, because he'd seen another customer do it and assumed it was the proper thing to do.
I had gotten quite lubricated by this time
*forcibly drags her mind out of the gutter*
It seemed strange to call him anything but Jeeves -- he was the sort of person who seemed self-sufficient enough that he only required the one name, not a cumbersome pair of them like the rest of us.
Exactly. Best explanation ever.
I didn't think either of us were keen on sharing the bed.
*snerk*
It's not that Jeeves doesn't enjoy the sight of a scantily-clad Bertram -- well, I mean to say, why wouldn't he?
Absolutely.
Er...I'll just put some clothes on, shall I?'
'I would indeed advocate such a procedure, sir.' And before he biffed off to dispose of the empty glass, he gave me a look that could have frozen the cup of tea
Ouch.
I laid a hand on his shoulder. 'Er, Jeeves..' He dissolved out from underneath it and appeared over at the other end of the room. Crikey.
I love this bit of description, though I feel terribly sorry for Bertie here. And Jeeves, of course, who must see that Bertie's trying to be conciliatory and is probably thinking dark "if he thinks he can get around me that easily"-type thoughts...silly passive aggressive darling.
loathsome accusations, back-stabbing threats, and an appalling number of misspelt words.
Shocking!
My heart went out to the poor man as I contemplated how he must have suffered. I reached him in one quick leap and embraced him. He put his arms around me, too, and we held each other so tightly I'm amazed we were able to breathe properly.
*gets all misty* Bertie is so impossibly sweet. (I would have massacred the man, personally)
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Date: 2006-01-12 08:21 am (UTC)I groped for words, and then found that they'd been mislaid, so instead I kissed him. (It always seems as good a thing as any to do. Have you seen my valet's lips, by any chance? They're quite nice.)
I have no words for the adorableness of this.
Surely your powers of deduction aren't so keen you can just glance at strangers sleeping on the sofa and say, "Aha! A rent-boy!" Or "Crikey, a safe-cracker," or "Eureka! A chartered accountant," for that matter.'
Hee!
Elisabeth Barret Browning's
Um..."Elizabeth Barrett Browning"? Though I love that poem.
I wanted to hide someplace safe until we were alone in the flat and I could once again caress him without fear of interruption, for I love him most when he's getting me out of jams, but I was interested in seeing what he was playing at, and continued to eavesdrop.
This is so them in a nutshell.
'Mr. Wooster says that this is the amount your silence is worth to him, sir,'
Jeeves is enjoying being spiteful *way* too much. Awesome!
like the cat of vaudevillian song, he came back
What a lot of apocryphal cats Bertie has in his repertoire. I love that song.
It was rather entertaining, listening to all these clever remarks I was supposed to have made -- one would think I was some pal of Oscar Wilde's.
*snerks, again*
looking plaintively at me like a weasel with its claw caught in a lace curtain.
Love this.
I fancied I knew how the Trojan army must have felt when first some brainy member of their ranks sat up, took notice, and said, 'Hang on, that horse seems to be shedding Greeks at an alarming rate!'
*dies*
Jeeves donned a hemi-demi-semi-smirk and said, 'Certainly, sir' in an unmistakably jaunty tone of voice.
Yay!
he looked me directly in the eye. 'Surely you do not accept the story of a confirmed liar such as Mr. Pruckthwaite over mine, sir. No doubt he was ashamed of his unrealised ambition as a gentlemen's personal gentleman, and did not wish to bring it up.'
Ha! And I especially like the direct eye contact, after he'd explained about signs of dishonesty.
Just a Wooster's intuition, I suppose. However, eventually, the staring contest ended and Jeeves won out. 'Oh, right-ho,' I said cheerily. After all, I imagined it was ancient history, and we were so dashed cosy -- what use was there in waking the sleeping dog? Absolutely none whatever! This was one pooch I was going to let lie as long as it bally well pleased.
Totally Bertie-ish ending.
Just a Wooster's intuition, I suppose. However, eventually, the staring contest ended and Jeeves won out. 'Oh, right-ho,' I said cheerily. After all, I imagined it was ancient history, and we were so dashed cosy -- what use was there in waking the sleeping dog? Absolutely none whatever! This was one pooch I was going to let lie as long as it bally well pleased.
*happy sigh*
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Date: 2006-01-12 08:26 am (UTC)I beamed at my paramour, bade him sit down, settled myself before the keyboard, and began to play.
Which is lovely.
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Date: 2006-01-12 08:39 pm (UTC)Um..."Elizabeth Barrett Browning"? Though I love that poem.
Whoops, thanks! Funny, that I can spend all that time copying out that verse from the book and then neglect to notice how to spell the author's name...
Silly Jeeves...honestly, the man is far too passive-aggressive for his own good, sometimes.
I know! Bertie's probably the only one who's nice enough to put up with it. That, and constantly being manipulated every which way. They're just made for each other!
looking plaintively at me like a weasel with its claw caught in a lace curtain.
Love this.
I have ferrets and they're always standing up and putting their paws against my mother's leg, and then they inevitably get their claws caught in her tights and it's such a miserable struggle getting them out. So that was the mental picture behind that. XD
Ha! Can't help thinking, here, of the Calvin and Hobbes story where Calvin duplicates himself and then is hugely frustrated by the way all the duplicates goof off and refuse to behave.
HAHA! That never even occurred to me!
"Morning, Jeeves!"
"Good morning, sir."
"Hello, Jeeves!"
"Good morning, sir."
"What-ho, Jeeves!"
"Good morning, sir."
Thank you! I'm glad you liked my story! ^_^
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Date: 2006-01-13 11:45 pm (UTC)The Bach, the birthday, the blackmail... naive Bertie, not knowing what a rent boy is! Mysterious Jeeves!
And the bit that made me cackle like a mad thing:
'Do you mean it was all a wheeze?!'
'Indeed, sir. Mr. Pruckthwaite is apparently an excellent actor.'
'Well, I'm dashed!' Falling onto the sofa, I fancied I knew how the Trojan army must have felt when first some brainy member of their ranks sat up, took notice, and said, 'Hang on, that horse seems to be shedding Greeks at an alarming rate!'
*dies laughing*
Language, character, humour all perfect. Thank you for brightening my morning coffee!
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Date: 2006-01-14 05:25 am (UTC)Yeah, I think Jeeves buying Bach sheet music for Bertie would be his nice and passive-agressive way of saying "Here, play some REAL music for a change!" I know because I do the same thing when I buy people CDs...*blush*
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Date: 2006-06-04 10:11 pm (UTC)very charming
Date: 2006-11-19 08:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-01-01 03:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-12-03 11:05 am (UTC)You emulated Wodehouse's style quite brilliantly. :)