Fic:Troubled Times chapter 13 part 1

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Title: Troubled Times
Chapter 13: A Time to Prepare
Author: Emerald
Beta : alexcat Thank you!
Inspiration and Encourager: ironicbees
Rating: Mature.
Disclaimer: Wooster and Jeeves belong to Wodehouse. I wish he had told us what happened to the characters in WWII, but as he didn't I'm offering one of many possibilities.
Summary: The story deals with the time before, during, and after WWII.
A/N: My contribution to the WWII stories.My stories are here: http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=emeraldreeve&keyword=My+Stories&filter=all 
December 1939-March 1940

 

 

I was unpacking Mr. Wooster's clothes, after our arrival at Brinkley Court, when my employer said, “Jeeves, Aunt Dahlia has removed the picture. The one of Uncle Tom that gave me the pip. I asked her to many times, but she never would. Now it's gone. She must have given some other chap this room, and he raised a fuss.”

“Yes, sir.” I wondered if Mr. Wooster's surmise was correct, or if the war had made Mrs. Travers realise just how much she valued her nephew.

As I had anticipated, Mr. Anatole's disposition had not been improved by the war. He spoke once of returning to France, and I replied that conditions were probably just as bad there if not worse. I managed to convey a general impression that an expert cook would find ways to improvise and place good meals on the table despite the hardships. Following Mr. Wooster's instructions, I went no further in an effort to get him stay in England. Still, I believed it would be enough to keep him in Mrs. Travers' service. Conversing with him gave me an idea on how to manage the entire situation to everyone's satisfaction.

After talking with Mr. Anatole, I found Mr. Seppings and inquired about the portrait. Mr. Seppings informed me that he had been instructed to remove the picture shortly before Mr. Wooster arrived. He also handed me an envelope, saying, “Mr. Jensen asked that this be delivered to you when you arrived.”

Mr. Jensen was the butler I had contacted about the possibility of Mrs. Kuttner being welcomed into Denmark. Excitement, hope, and anxiety mingled together, and I hastily returned to Mr. Wooster's room. After ascertaining that there was no one hiding within, I carefully opened the missive. I read the note quickly, tucking it into a pocket when I was finished. I put the envelope into the fireplace and let it burn. After Mr. Wooster had read the message, I would give it to the fire, too.

Mr. Wooster arrived twenty minutes later, locking the door behind him, as was our custom when we were residing somewhere besides our home. “I'm ready for the fish and soup, Jeeves.”

“Yes, sir.” I began to help him change into his dinner clothes. I was about to clear my throat when he said, “What-ho, Jeeves. You look like a cat that's been at the cream. Care to share the reason for the joy?”

As Mr. Wooster spoke, I glanced at myself in the mirror. There was, I noted, with satisfaction, no emotion on my face. This was just another example of Mr. Wooster's uncanny ability to decipher my feelings.

“I asked Mr. Seppings about the portrait that was removed, sir. He stated that Mrs. Travers had requested that it be taken down as part of the preparations for your arrival.”

Mr. Wooster beamed at me, and I gave him a slight smile in return. “I also have a suggestion for you concerning Mr. Anatole. He has elderly parents in France. Mr. Anatole mentioned to me that they would come to England to live if a way was provided. If Mr. and Mrs. Travers were to give them work orders, they could come to this country. He does have sufficient savings to get them settled once they are here. Aiding him would earn his loyalty, and his parents would be safer in England than in France.”

Once more I received the pleasure of seeing Mr. Wooster's face light up with joy. “That's a jolly good plan, Jeeves! You'll tell Aunt Dahlia?”

“No, sir. I will leave that to you.”

“That's very feudal of you, but the aged aunt will know it was your idea anyway.”

I whispered in his ear, “She may guess, but she will not know unless you tell her.”

Mr. Wooster laughed.

“I also have other news that you will consider good, sir.” I removed the note from my pocket and gave it to him.

He read it silently, but I knew the words on the paper. “Your package has arrived safely in Sweden to await such time as is acceptable to England to give desired permission. All is well.”

Mr. Wooster frowned. “What? Your package ... Jeeves, does this mean what I think it means?”

Beginning to straighten his tie, I answered, “It does indeed, sir. Mrs. Kuttner is safe in Sweden.”

Mr. Wooster jumped from my grasp, and in one swift movement, turned and hugged me tightly. Muttering things like “You're tops,” and “You're a marvel,” he practically crushed me in his enthusiastic embrace.

After a moment, I reluctantly extracted myself, and teased, “Even marvels have to breathe, sir. I am very happy about the news, also. That is two for us, sir.”

Perceiving Mr. Wooster's puzzled expression, I replied, “Mrs. Kuttner and her daughter are two people Hitler will not murder.”

****************************************************************

Mr. Bonzo Travers arrived three days after we did. He had just enlisted in the Royal Air Force. Now that he was an adult, Mr. Wooster and the young Mr. Travers were becoming friends. They had gone into town together one afternoon when Mr. Seppings delivered a message to me, informing me that Mrs. Travers required my presence in the trophy room.

When I arrived, she was pacing the floor. Without preamble she said, “I want Bertie to leave England. He's too old to be fighting, but he won't leave. I do understand why. It's not like a Wooster to leave his country in its hour of need. That's where you come in.”

I hoped she was not going to ask me to get my employer to leave England. I already knew the answer to such a request. My loyalty belonged to Mr. Wooster, and his wishes came first.

“I know that you can't protect him if he stays here, but ...” She took a crumpled letter from a pocket and handed it to me. It was the second page from a missive inscribed by Mr. Wooster's Aunt Charlotte who now resided in Canada. She had written, “I think you're right. Tell that valet of his ...”

I carefully hid my exasperation.. I had been with Mr. Wooster for fifteen years, and she still could not remember my name. I continued reading, “... to follow your instructions and give him whatever he wants as payment. Perhaps I should have given the house to Thomas, but I imagine you are right, and it makes no difference. Bertie is a Wooster, and he wouldn't leave his country at this time whether he had a house to tend to or not.”

As I handed the letter back to her, she said, “Agatha ... she has agreed, although she would rather we pay you to find a way to ship Bertie to New York.”

I understood none of this, or why I had been summoned, and I inquired, “What would you have me do, madam?”

She went to the fireplace and reached for something there, shoving aside the bric-a bract for the object that was hidden behind them. When she turned back to me, I barely prevented a frown over the firearm she held in her hands. “Do you know how to use this, Jeeves?”

“I learned how to use a weapon during the Great War. I believe I could quickly remember, madam.”

She placed it in my hands, and stated, “Then teach Bertie. He knows a little, but not enough to keep himself alive in a battle. I want him to be able to defend himself, Jeeves. I don't know if you can get him to learn, but if anyone can it's you. I understand that there is only so much you can do, but do everything you can to make sure he lives through this, and you can have whatever reward you wish from the family.”

I gripped the deadly item and quickly thought, wondering how much risk I would be taking if I stated my true feelings. Slowly, I said, “He will probably resist such lessons. Mr. Wooster is a gentleman, and wars are not fought by gentlemen. Nor shall I find it easy to teach this particular lesson, but I believe I can. It will be an ordeal for both of us. As for a reward ... If I could have the one thing I want most of all, it would be to stay in his employ, so helping him survive will be reward enough, madam. I require nothing else.”

Implied in my words was the understanding that I would continue to be allowed to remain in his service for years to come, no questions asked.

Her gaze held mine, and she replied, “I said you could have whatever reward you wanted, and I meant it.”

I nodded.“I shall endeavour to give satisfaction, madam.”

She stated, “I will have Seppings bring the items that go with it to your room.”

Remembering the restrictions placed on guns only two years ago, I asked, “Is this firearm legal, madam?”

She nodded. “Yes, because the barrel is long enough. It's my hunting gun. Usually I keep it locked up, but I wanted it ready for when I got a chance to talk to you.”

Alone in my room, I stared at the item with hatred. I recalled how I loathed the papers describing the cottages for sale due to a fear that I was shattering Mr. Wooster's world. This might do that and more. It could change far too much. I abhorred it with such force that I felt nauseated from it. I reminded myself that Mrs. Travers had to have a good idea of how this might change Mr. Wooster, but she was concentrating on his safety, and I should do that, too. Besides, I could avoid the chore until we returned to the cottage. I hid the weapon and everything that went with it in the back of the armoire behind my shirts.

Mr. Travers had made much of his fortune during the Great War, and he intended to profit by this one, too. He kept my employer occupied for hours one afternoon explaining how he hoped to do so, and inviting Mr. Wooster to join him in his investments. I heard parts of the conservation as my employer occasionally found an excuse to call for my presence in the room. I knew Mr. Wooster would agree to nothing without my approval, and that night we sat and talked into the early hours of the morning.

Mr. Wooster gave me a paper, and said, “Uncle Tom wrote it all out as he didn't think I was giving him the full Wooster attention. Which he was jolly well right. I felt like one of those butterflies who have the misfortune to be pinned to something for study. It's not my glass of tea to while away the afternoon hours chatting about finances. I do know that there are eight investments he wants to lug me into. Two of them my solicitor indicated I should do before the war, and I agreed. One of those Uncle Tom wants me to throw more money at. Three thinggummys on that list you wanted me to support a year ago, and it's been a done deal since you desired it. Which leaves three things that I want your opinion on.”

While I advised a few changes in the general plans, I gave my approval to most of Mr. Travers' ideas. When I was talking, I noted that Mr. Wooster was uneasy. He was frequently shifting in his seat, fingering his collar, and staring off into the distance. If Mr. Wooster had behaved in the same manner when his uncle was talking, Mr. Travers would have had good reason to believe that he was not being listened to. I, however, knew from past experience that Mr. Wooster heard every word I said. Something was plainly bothering him. Once I was finished discussing the investments, I asked, “Sir, is there a matter troubling you?”

“Yes, Jeeves. The idea of profiting from war bothers the Wooster heart.”

I read again the items on the list, considering it from this angle. After a few minutes of consideration, I replied, “People will need jobs during and after the war, sir. These investments help the economy. They do not exploit people, or hinder England in any way from winning the war. It should, in fact, aid the cause as it pours money into needed places. Together with Mr. Travers, you will backing up some of these endeavours with a significant amount of money to give you a say in how the companies are managed. You could ask for the condition that, after the war, training programs be offered for those that served, so positions are provided for veterans. I believe Mr. Travers will support you in this matter, especially if you make it clear that it makes the difference between having your consent or not having it. It is said that 'the worst crime against working people is a company which fails to operate at a profit.' Not mine. It belongs to Samuel Gompers, an American labour union leader, who was born in London. I agree with him. Despite Mr. Travers' optimism, it is possible that neither of you will see much profit from the war due to taxes, sir.”

Mr. Wooster nodded. “Uncle Tom knows. He mentioned taxes. More than once. Thank you, Jeeves. I shall do as you advise.”

Mrs. Travers also had several serious conversations with Mr. Wooster during our visit, and as he often did, my employer would find a reason to call me into the room. I would linger as long as possible as this was his way of making certain that I heard what was being discussed. If the conversation took place in his room, I could find tasks to work on during the entire discussion. So it was that I knew that Mr. Thomas Gregson had joined the Royal Navy. Mrs. Travers also admonished Mr. Wooster on an issue that made me uneasy enough to discuss it with him later. Informing him that I would not be there to rescue him from engagements should he be sent to some foreign country, she instructed Mr. Wooster to at least not marry someone who would not come back to England with him.

Overhearing Mrs. Travers caution Mr. Wooster caused me anxiety. I was certain he would not deliberately break his promises to me, but what would happen if we were separated for any length of time, and I was not there to rescue my master should he need it, I did not know. I was aware that no words of reassurance from him would completely remove the fear that had been placed in my heart, but still I intended to mention the subject to him.

Later that evening when we were alone, and I was undressing him, I cleared my throat. This was not done to obtain permission to speak. It was my signal to him that I wished to talk before anything else happened between us.

His fingers had been tracing my chin, and now they halted. He nuzzled into my shoulder and asked, “Yes, love?”

“You have not asked someone to marry you in several years. I hope I am right in believing that this unfortunate habit has been broken?”

He hugged me tightly. “Rather. As far as I'm concerned, I'm already married.” Mr. Wooster gazed into my eyes, “Truly, Jeeves, you don't have to trouble the old heart over this. I'm finished with all that rot.”

I placed my head against his shoulder, amazed that I could be happy despite the circumstances.

***************************************************************************.

We saw the New Year in with much trepidation over the future. In the past there had been years when I would give Mr. Wooster an excuse to give to his relatives, and we would slip back to London, in order to observe the New Year in private together. This year, however, neither of us felt like celebrating due to concerns over what the future held, so we remained at Mrs. Travers' residence. As was Mr. Wooster's habit when we did chose to stay, he joined me in his room shortly after midnight. We shared some wine and were glad just to be together. Mr. Wooster didn't talk much, and I knew he was worried. I was aware that he thought often of Mr. Eustace Wooster, who had decided to remain in Africa. Mr. Wooster was also concerned for Mr. Bonzo Travers. He was troubled about his friends, too.

 

We left for our cottage the first week in January. Once we were home, Mr. Wooster spent many of his afternoons with Mr. Heflner and Mr. Little.

 

Mr. Wright and I scheduled our shopping days to coincide with the afternoons that our employers were in town. One day, however, when Mr. Wright and I were gone for a few hours acquiring groceries we returned home to discover Mr. Wooster and Mr. Heflner in the driveway, evidently awaiting our arrival.

 

A glance exchanged with Mr. Wright revealed that he shared my opinion; something had happened during the few hours we were gone that our employers suspected we would not like. This was confirmed when I got out of the car, and Mr. Heflner said in a meek tone to Mr. Wright, “I'll just push home with you.”

 

Mr. Wooster followed me into the house saying, “It started to rain, so Heffie and I popped home early. Then it quit, but we were already headed home.”

 

When we reached the kitchen, and I started to put groceries away, he said, “Hold there, Jeeves. There's something ... well, Heffie and I ...”

 

The next words came in a rush. “They came by while you were gone. It's for the war effort, Jeeves. I didn't give away anything from your private collection in your bedroom, just things from the kitchen, but Heffie and I, we weren't sure what was important or not. Heffie didn't even know what a spatula was, and I only knew because you told me I was using it wrongly that day you come home, and I was trying to make eggs. They only wanted silver thinggummys, though. I guess we should have told them to come back later, but just this week Bingo said that they removed his fence without a by your leave, so it must be needed. We went over to Heffie's afterwards. Wright might not be pleased, either.”

 

While he spoke, I fixed him a drink. When the beverage was ready, I gave it to him.

 

Mr. Wooster took a long sip of his wine, and clearly nervous about my reaction, decided to explain again. “They stopped by and said they needed silver for the war effort. Heffie and I gave them whatsis from our kitchens. I tried to be careful and not give anything you'd need, but I don't really know what all is essential. We don't have fencing, but Heffie is letting them have his. Bingo says they didn't ask him if they could have his fence, just took it, so Heffie thought he'd give them the go ahead, before they did it anyway. They're glad to help the cause, but being asked is always jolly well nice.”

 

I came to Mr. Wooster's side, and brushed my lips across his. “I have no objection to your actions, sir. Nor will Mr. Wright be upset. His parents had their fence removed last week, too, so we were aware that the government is collecting silver. If we had wished an item spared, we would have set it aside where it was not easily located. The items in my collection are locked in their cabinet, and the only key is on my person. We decided that England could have whatever was needed from our kitchens, so neither of you have to worry that you have erred in this matter.”

 

Running my fingers down his back, I teased, “I shall consider it one of the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

 

Reassured, Mr. Wooster wrapped his arms around me. His lips met mine, and the war was forgotten.

 

******************************************************************************

 

A week after we had returned to the cottage, bacon, butter, and sugar were rationed. I was not surprised by this event. Sugar was my main concern as I could continue to obtain the other items from neighbours. Using both of our ration allowance, and the sugar I had stored away before the war, we had enough for a time if I was careful.

 

Two days after the rationing had been declared, I was putting away clothes fresh from the laundry while Mr. Wooster ate breakfast.

 

A quiet,“Jeeves.”stated firmly alerted me that the conversation I had been expecting was about to begin. I did not need to turn from the armoire to know that Mr. Wooster's face had taken on that firm expression it always had when he was about to inform me of a decision that he suspected I would debate. In truth, I was eagerly anticipating the discussion.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“I want you to start eating breakfast with me in the morning. I know you usually eat before I'm awake, but you can wake me up an hour earlier.”

This willingness on his part to make such a sacrifice almost made me decide to just give him the solution I knew he was seeking, but I enjoyed these conversations between us too much to abandon this one. I turned to Mr. Wooster briefly and gestured to my shoes. “Partaking of breakfast in bed would be most impractical and inconvenient for me, sir. I am already completely dressed.”

 

There was a huge flaw in this reasoning, but I did not think he would instantly know it. Indeed, he rubbed his head as if sensing something wrong with my objection, but deciding not to try and puzzle it out, Mr. Wooster said, “Then I will start eating breakfast at the table.”

 

I had anticipated this response and said smoothly, “Also impractical. You would have to dress only to undress for your bath afterwards.”

 

Mr. Wooster looked at me as if he suspected that I was deliberately making matters difficult, which, in a sense, I was. He stated, “I have taken my bath first and joined you at the table for breakfast before. I can start doing so every day.“ He sighed, and his eyes narrowed slightly. “Or I could just stay in my pyjamas ...”

 

He faltered at a glance from me. “That is highly improper, sir. A gentleman does not come to the table in his pyjamas, sir.”

 

Frustrated at having every suggestion negated, Mr. Wooster declared, “It's my bally house, and I guess I can come to the table in my pyjamas if I want! I don't see why you have to act pipped. You've seen me in pyjamas often enough. Why there's nothing you haven't seen of the old Wooster frame, so I should be able to come to the table nak ...”

 

I turned fully to him, and his words came to a sudden halt. “If you come to the table in a state of undress, it will not be breakfast that you are served. Sir.” I replied.

 

I had to briefly glance away from him as I saw the sudden challenge flash in his eyes, and heat raced through my body in answer.

 

Mr. Wooster swallowed and took a deep breath, although I could still see the challenge in his face. His words, however, were conciliatory. He said, “I give up, Jeeves. You come up with a wheeze.”

 

I hid a smile. I knew why this discussion had taken place, but I had determined to continue it. “I can hardly come up with an answer, sir, when you have not told me what the problem is.”

 

“I don't want you giving me your food. I need to be sure you are eating breakfast, too.”

 

I came to his side. “I appreciate your concern, sir, but it is unnecessary. There is still enough food for both of us. If you like you can go over the household accounts. I keep meticulous records.”

 

I knew Mr. Wooster would not like this solution, and this was confirmed when he sighed heavily. My fingers stroked his shoulders as I spoke, “Or I can bring a breakfast table into the bedroom and have my repast next to the bed. Nor is it necessary for you to rise earlier. I usually eat right before I cook your breakfast, so the wait to dine with you will not be a long one.”

 

Relief and a small amount of reproach showed on Mr. Wooster's face. He knew that I could have offered the solution immediately and had not. I affectionately smoothed his hair, and went to lay out his clothes. Now the discussion was over, and he had time to think, I expected him to see the error in my first point at any minute. I knew he had when his fork dropped to the tray, and he said, “I say! Jeeves, why is it that undressing to join me is acceptable, but it's inconvenient to take off your shoes and eat breakfast with me? One act involves all the clothing, the other is only your shoes. Do you have some objection to eating breakfast with no shoes?”

 

Mr. Wooster rose while speaking, and I began to help him with his undressing. I replied, “I do indeed.”

 

Then I whispered in his ear, “Besides, I am rewarded for the first action whereas all I get is breakfast for the second.”

 

He laughed. “Then perhaps we can deal, Jeeves. You eat breakfast with me, and I will reward you afterwards. I suspect that is what you were striving for all a long. Are we agreed?”

 

It was certainly a benefit to the discussion, but my motive had been a simple enjoyment of such conversations between us. “We are agreed, sir.”

 

 

 

As the January days dwindled away, I knew I could avoid the chore Mrs. Travers had charged me with no longer. After finding a suitable area at which to practice, I began to call upon our neighbours to inform them of my intent. I did not want the sounds of gunfire to frighten anyone. I was unsure of how to bring the matter up to Mr. Wooster, but the answer came when I visited Mr. Abbot, who owned the small farm behind our cottage. He was a widow. His son was now in the army, but he still had a young daughter at home. Upon hearing that I had a gun, he asked if he might send the young lady to our cottage should the Germans invade England. “At least there, she will have some protection,” he stated.

 

That night at dinner, I said, “I spoke to Mr. Abbot today. I hope, sir, that you do not mind, but I told him that he could send his daughter here should the Germans invade England. They are building a shelter, but as we have a firearm ...”

 

As expected this statement produced a quick protest. “I say, Jeeves, you are talking rot. There is no gun in this house.”

 

“I have one in my armoire behind my clothes, sir.”

 

Mr. Wooster's mouth fell open, and he stared at me for several seconds. Then he said, “Maybe I don't want to know, but why do you one in your armoire?”

 

“Mrs. Travers gave it to me, sir. She wishes me to teach you how to use it.”

 

My only answer was a sigh from him and a nod. Mr. Wooster did not speak again until after the meal was finished. “When do we start?”

 

“If you are agreeable, I would suggest we start tomorrow afternoon, sir.” I answered.

 

“Right-ho, Jeeves,” he said, and I ignored the resignation in his voice, telling myself I was doing this for his good, despite my heart's protest.

Comments

[ironicbees.livejournal.com]

I wasn't expecting to see a new chapter up tonight! I enjoyed it. :)

It was nice to see Aunt Dahlia finally showing Bertie some consideration. Too bad it took a war for it to happen.

You know, I think this is the first time I've ever seen Bonzo used at all in a fic.

I really feel for Jeeves worrying about Bertie getting engaged again. Even if Bertie won't be pursuing any women, he could still get engaged against his will, and how would Bertie get out of it without Jeeves's help?

I loved their talk about breakfasting together, and their reassurances and concern for each other's welfare throughout the chapter.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

I'm glad you enjoyed chapter! I'd like to think that the war would have made Bertie's Aunt Dahlia at least a little more thoughtful of him. Bonzo would probably have just come of age. Jeeves' thoughts are the same as yours-how will Bertie get out of an engagement without him? Unfortunately it is something that might come up in conversation. Thank you for replying and letting me know what you liked!

[willdew.livejournal.com]

I like how you've taken personality characteristics of various members of the supporting cast and extended the scope of their behaviour beyond the usual (trying to get Bertie to marry women or steal things) and still have it make sense. Uncle Tom trying to make profit through war investments when he hates paying taxes and the aunts writing each other letters about sending him to New York for his safety, as opposed to sending him there to stop a cousing marrying a showgirl or whatever.... Well. Even if they know that it won't work, the meddling fits.

So we've got people being in character, basically. And also, Jooster!nuzzling. Aha. Excuse me while I reread this chapter for the third time. <<;

p.s. and the bit about payment! *melts*

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

I'm very glad that it makes sense! I'm trying to keep the characters basically the same. Bertie gave at least two explanations of how his Uncle Tom became rich, one of which was that he profited from investments in the Great War, so I felt it was logical that he would see this war as an opportunity, too. Taxes will take most of it, though. And Bertie's aunts are still trying to make decisions for the fellow.
It always makes me happy to know a chapter is read more than once! Thank you very much for the wonderful reply!