FIC: Troubled Times chapter 16 part 2

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

 

He teased, “You may find it hard to believe, but I did take baths before you came into my life, and I remember how to turn the taps. You're the only valet I've allowed in the bathroom with me.”

“I should hope so, sir. I will consent, if you agree to wear the clothes I set out the night before with no variation or additions.”

He laughed. “Right-ho, Jeeves.”

“Will you also agree to call me should you need me?”

“I will call if the soap decides to go down the drain, or I have some other trouble.”

“Very good, sir.”

Mr. Wooster's words brought forth a memory, sharp and clear as if it had happened yesterday. He had been bathing, and the soap had become lodged in the drain. While he was drying, he had realised that the water was not draining well. Wrapping a towel around his waist, Mr. Wooster had called for me. My body's response to seeing him in his barely clad condition was so powerful that I had to remind myself several times that no one ever died of unrequited desire. I had hastened to the bathtub, turned on the cold water, and deliberately splashed it all over myself while trying to make it appear that I was attempting to clear the drain. By the time I had finished, I was thoroughly soaked and slightly chilled, but I could face my employer without fear that he would know my feelings.

Over the years, I had taken on more tasks in this area, and currently I even turned the taps to the right temperature. Nevertheless, he was correct. The event with the drain had occurred after we had been together for almost six years. Until that time, he had taken a bath without my aid.

I glanced at Mr. Wooster while I was thinking, and was puzzled at the odd sense of mischief in the blue eyes that refused to hold mine, instead darting down to look at his meal.

A sudden suspicion came to me. Had he deliberately put soap down the drain to gauge my reaction? How many days afterwards had it been before Mr. Wooster suggested that we go to New York on the journey where he approached me, and our relationship took on a new and very pleasant aspect? I struggled to remember. Had it been the very next day? I thought that quite possible.

I looked over at him once more. He was quietly eating, no longer even glancing at me. I cleared my throat. Mr. Wooster was prompt with “Yes, Jeeves?” but I marked the rather subdued tone as if he was aware that I might have just perceived the truth.

“I am curious about the soap that made the journey down the drain and clogged it; did it perhaps have help in doing so?”

Now his eyes did meet mine, and I could easily see the mirth in them. “It might have been aided somewhat, Jeeves.”

“I thought so. I trust you found the results satisfactory?”

“The results were ...” Mr. Wooster paused, searching for the word he wanted. “... telling. No, the word I want is revealing. That was the only time I've seen you get water on your clothes and not appear to care. I was sure then.”

“I had other pressing matters to be concerned about. I had tried everything I knew to capture your interest and believed all my efforts had been for naught. I did not wish to lose my position along with my heart. If you were sure of me, you could have provided some assistance.”

A look of melancholy captured Mr. Wooster's features. He answered,“I wasn't ready yet. I didn't think your heart was involved, and mine was. I had to decide if I was willing to change our relationship under those conditions.”

“I love you devotedly; then and now.”

“I love you, too.” Once more Mr. Wooster's hand rested on my shoulder. “Well, we made it through despite ourselves, Jeeves.”

Mr. Wooster set his tray aside. His hand slid under my shirts and glided to my shoulder blades, where he rubbed tired muscles. His fingers spread across my back, searching tense areas to massage. “Tell me how patrol went.”

“Overall it went well. I was assigned to a watch with Mr. Dinnick.” I did not state it, but the man had been armed with nothing but a broomstick. I did not see any hope of defending ourselves from an invasion when even weapons were in short supply. I leaned into his soothing touch as I spoke.

“There was one incident around nine last evening. An elderly woman hit the roadblock. We were under the impression that she planned to stop as she was travelling very slowly, so we were not alarmed. The woman turned out to be slightly deaf, nor was her vision at its best. I would estimate her age to be somewhere in her nineties. It took several minutes to manage to get her to understand that we needed to see her ID. Besides for that, all went well.”

Weariness and the need for sleep began to creep over me. Mr. Wooster said,“Go get some rest, old top. I'll call if I need something.”

“Very good, sir.”

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

The first night Mr. Wooster had patrol, I endeavoured to go to sleep at my usual time. Instead of finding nature's sweet repose, I tossed and turned and fretted. Finally I switched on the light and attempted reading The Grapes of Wrath. I could not concentrate, and decided to give up. I tried to perform a few tasks, but I really felt like pacing the floor. It was no wonder that Mr. Wooster had once thought of me as a relative, I reflected. I was behaving as a worried mother might. I made myself a cocktail designed to bring about sleepiness. Once more I attempted to sleep. I eventually managed a restless slumber that was filled with dreams of teaching Mr. Wooster how to use a firearm. Around five a.m., I awoke and believing that it was unlikely that I would be able to get more sleep, I got up and began my morning tasks.

Shortly before six-thirty a.m., the telephone rang. When I answered, a cheerful voice said,“Good morning, Jeeves. This is Ruth. I hope I didn't wake you.”

“I have been up since five o'clock.” Ruth Wright was married to David Wright, Mr. Heflner's valet's oldest brother.

“I'm glad I didn't wake you. Dave has been out and about doing chores. If it would be all right with you, he said that he could pick up Mr. Wooster and bring him by here for breakfast before taking him home. That is, if Mr. Wooster is fine with it.”

As she spoke, I quickly thought. The Wright family was close-knit, but they had taken me in as one of their own after I had helped restore peace between William and George Wright. They were friendly, solid, good people. If given a chance, they would probably merge Mr. Wooster into the family as they had me. I considered Mr. Wooster's own relatives. I was certain that they loved them, but even Mrs. Travers, who we were both very fond of, had irritated me in the past due to their treatment of my employer. Ruth was a very sensible woman. It would be good for Mr. Wooster to be around women that had more sense than his own kin sometimes exhibited. What was more, Ruth was kind and warm-hearted. She would quickly put him at ease.

I replied,“That would be very kind of you.”

“Wonderful! Do you need anything? I could send it with Dave, if so.”

“I have no need of anything currently. Do you require anything? I will send some scraps for the pigs back with Dave.”

“Thank you! We're well here. Cheerio.”

“Good-bye.”

They arrived around nine. I heard the car and went out to greet them. I took in Mr. Wooster's appearance with one quick glance, noting that he was well, although he appeared tired. A weight I had not known I was bearing slipped from my shoulders. The first patrol was over.

The back of the vehicle was loaded with bags and baskets, and the mark of David Wright's trade, a toolbox. They were talking as they exited the car. Mr. Wooster was saying,“That's a good plan.”

They turned to me, and Dave Wright said,“Morning, Jeeves. How are you doing today?”

“I am well. Thank you.”

As I spoke, he handed me a brown bag. “It's a lamb roast. George was paid for a job yesterday with far more lamb meat than his family can eat. I'm taking some around.”

I took the lamb and gave him the scraps bucket. I did not offer to pay for the roast. The first time one of the Wrights had presented me with a similar gift, I had offered and been refused. Since that time, I had learned that it was typical of the family to give and share items. They would not accept payment, but if I gave Ron a few coins or some apples or a bag of potatoes when he came by to collect scraps for the pigs that was acceptable. If I stopped by Mrs. Wright's residence with some extra butter when I was in town, it would be taken and distributed where it was felt the need was greatest.

Addressing both of us, Mr. Wright said, “Some chap from the government came by my place last month and informed me that I have to plough up and plant the field behind my house and the neighbour's, too, as Ernie Race is in his eighties and can't farm it himself. So I reckoned ...”

The man grinned and said,“I thought that if I'm to become a farmer, I might as well volunteer to work Mrs. Ferguson's land, too. I've been assigned to tend her land, also. I'll have to toss it pass Will, but I'm hoping to get Mr. Heflner's permission to put a garden on his acreages, too. He has quite of bit of it sitting unused. You two, however, seem to be using every available space.”

I nodded. We had gone from a small garden that first year to one that currently took two-thirds of the area behind the house.

David Wright said,“In return for all this work, the government fellow had me put on the reserved occupations list. I hope to get removed from it sometime next year. I want to be home until then because Ruth and I are due another little one at the end of December.”

Mr. Wooster and I congratulated him. Mr. Wooster asked if they desired a boy or girl. He answered, “We have boys, so at first Ruth and I were really hoping the babe is a girl. My sons want another brother, though. Ruth and I talked about it, and another boy would be nice, too.

“I'm going over to tell Will all this after I leave here. We didn't tell him earlier, as my becoming a farmer gave the family a bit of a dilemma. I'm the oldest and supposed to help Dad with the business most. If I can't, Will is next in line, but we decided not to even mention that I won't be working with Dad much until we had chosen my replacement. No point in making him feel guilty, and Dad says that Will never liked carpentry to begin with. Charlie can't take over my duties since he's making cocktails for the Local Defence and delivering them. George is taking my place, and we're going to hope that he won't be called up until Dad can train Chris. Chris is my father's oldest sister's second daughter's son. He's only nineteen, but they won't take him due to his flat feet.

“Anyway, there's a point to all this besides for telling you the latest news. Yesterday, I told Jasmine that I'd milk her cows each morning because her brother is in the army now and not at home to do the chore. I've never milked cows before, and all I did this morning was make my cousin laugh, but I'll learn. I'll be going by the road block and headed this way every morning. If you two let me know your patrol nights when they're assigned, I'll give you a lift home.”

I replied, “Thank you.”

Mr. Wooster asked, “Are you going to have enough time in one day to do all that?”

He answered, “If last month is any example, I'll learn to run faster between places and rest between chores less, or I'll never be home. Ruth never complains, but I'm sure she'd like to see more of me. Dad has two big projects that are almost completed. He's sending me help once they're done.”

After he had departed, Mr. Wooster asked, “Are we allowed to offer him anything if he starts bringing us home each time?”

“Yes, sir. You can give him a petrol coupon, and he will accept it as long as you do not try to give him something in return each time. I will have items to give him occasionally, and he will take those, too.”

We went into the house, and Mr. Wooster headed for his bedroom. I placed the roast in the icebox and put Mr. Wooster's weapon away before joining my employer. He had removed his shirts and was tugging at a shoe when I arrived.

Going to his side, I asked, “How did patrol go, sir?”

“It's done.” The shoe was dropped to the floor, and he began pulling at the other one.

“If you will permit me, sir, I will aid you.” My voice was calm, but inside my heart was protesting. Mr. Wooster did not appear to be intending to talk to me about his night. I discerned that I had become accustomed to Mr. Wooster anticipating my needs. I had forgotten how difficult it had been in those first years after we became more than employer and employee to know what the other required from the relationship. We had learned to tell each other what we needed, and now I was in danger of forgetting that lesson due to the ease of our current relationship. I resolved that tonight when Mr. Wooster was rested, I would ask for the conversation that I desired. I removed his shoe while I thought, and waited for him to stand so I could help him with his trousers.

He stood, and before I could move to assist him, Mr. Wooster's hand slid to the back of my neck to tug gently. Eagerly I shifted forward to grant him what he sought. As his tongue played with mine, I could sense his exhaustion, but overpowering it was the sensation of delight. His fingers massaged my neck, while his other hand cupped my face, his thumb rubbing along my jaw. I could feel his joy at being close to me, and my heart filled with love for him.

When we drew apart, his fingers continued to rub my neck, and Mr. Wooster said, “You're tops, Jeeves. Nothing and no one can come close to you. The old master loves you with all his heart.”

“I love you, too.”

As the rest of his clothes were removed, and he put on pyjamas, he said, “I wish you could come to bed with me for a time, old fruit. I want to chat with you, but I'm tired and that bed looks good to the Wooster frame. And I'd like to be holding you when we talk. Maybe tonight, what?”

My heart, which had been overflowing with love, now danced. “Actually, sir, I could use a nap, and would be glad to join you. I am not sleepy, but I could use some rest. My repose last night was not refreshing. I locked the door earlier, and we can pretend we are not home should someone call.”

Despite my words, I put my day attire aside neatly where I could easily dress quickly should the need arise. “If you would like to sleep, we can talk later.”

“A good chat might help me rest easy.” He climbed into bed and patted his chest. “Come here, love.”

Gladly, I joined him, placing my head on his chest. Mr. Wooster stroked my shoulders. He asked, “Where was I?”

I smiled, “At the beginning, sir.”

“Well, at first it went much as you told me your watch had gone. A few people going somewhere, followed by a lull, and then folks driving home after the cinema closed. And after that, a long quiet before morning activities. I was with Clarence Sutton. He served in the Great War. Bingo had asked to be assigned with me, but they gave that a nolle prosequi. Bingo told me that they're trying to put veterans with those that have no combat experience, and those that have a pea shooter with those that don't. He didn't serve in the Great War and neither did I, so we can't serve in this war together, according to them. Well, it's understandable. Sutton was carrying a pitchfork around. Sutton is ... well, there's no point in going into what can't be changed.”

I did not press for additional information as I hoped I would learn more as the conversation continued. It was also likely that one of the Wrights would know the man or could find out about him should the discussion not provide answers.

Mr. Wooster continued, “You wouldn't think just standing around would be hard work, but I'm tuckered. The next time I want you to do some minor task for me after a long day, Jeeves, you tell me to go boil my head.” His fingers ran lightly across my back. “Sometimes, I wonder if I appreciate you enough.”

“I do not feel unappreciated, and I love you dearly.”

“I love you, too. All that standing in the dark was made worse because Sutton wanted to chat about some beazel. He asked if I was married, I said no, and he asserted that was jolly good since women were nothing but trouble. There's been times I've felt that way myself, but I do think that was a bit thick. I told him so, and he proceeded to explain why I was wrong. I thought, at first, that all the criticism and comments that I wished he would keep to himself, were about his spouse. It was bally rummy when several hours into the watch, I realised that the woman that is his wife, and the one he was jibbing about are two different birds. I think he's stepping out on both of them, but I tried not to listen too closely.”

Indignation filled me, but I believed that I was keeping it hidden until he said, “Jeeves, it would aid the old Wooster arm if you'd grip a little less hard.”

Instantly I released my fingers that I now realised had wrapped themselves tightly on his arm. “My apologies, sir. Please continue.”

“From there he went on to the equally cheery topic of all the battles he's seen complete with bodies with huge holes blown into them. He's a Great War veteran, and I respect that, but I've never been one to enjoy tales of conflict. I tell you, old fruit, I was glad when he decided to take up the subject of boxing.

“Well, besides for that, it all went jolly good until around three a.m. You know, Jeeves, if I had to describe it all with one word, I'd choose dark. Darkness everywhere. We had torches that we were supposed to shine on the road block when we heard a car. Folks had been warned about the block, and everyone pretty much crawled on the roads, as it's dashed rummy trying to drive without lights.

“Around three, we heard this car. It was going too fast, and it was my thought that the person behind the wheel was blotto.”

Mr. Wooster paused. He rubbed my back and sighed. “I say it was my thought, but it was more a fleeting impression. It all happened so fast and in the dark. It quickly became clear that the driver had no intentions of halting. Sutton went potty on me. Started yelling for me to shoot him. I ...”

My employer was silent briefly, before saying, “I love you, Jeeves. In those minutes that sped by so swiftly, you were there. Right at my side. I could hear your voice so clearly, and I could almost feel your hand on my shoulder. I remembered you saying that I should never aim the firearm at someone unless I was planning to kill them, not even if I believed the weapon wasn't loaded. I started to just put a shot into the air, but I wasn't sure that would put a halt to the chap, and Sutton was carrying on about hitting him. I recalled, although it went by in a hasty flash, how after I learned to hit the target, you started to teach me how to miss it by an inch. You said being able to miss a target could be as important as being able to hit it. All that drowned out Sutton screaming about how the driver was about to hit the block, and we couldn't let anyone just go by.”

Mr. Wooster took a deep breath.“So I took aim. Your words about my night vision being excellent were there in the Wooster ears, and I knew I could stop the car without firing at the driver. It amazes me how fast the bean can bung thoughts through when there is only seconds to think them. I fired just across his front wheel. He slammed on the brakes, bumped the guard and sent it to the ground. Fellow tumbled out of the car and started carrying on about how we could've killed him, and did we think he was a jerry?

“Sutton ticked him off, said that if he had been holding the gun, the man wouldn't be alive to be giving us trouble now, and how he could be arrested for ignoring the block. Sutton would've let it loose on him, but the poor blighter looked as if he was going to be sick. I was right about him being oiled. He smelled of drink, but I think being shot at sobered him real quick. I told him that if he handed over his ID, he could go in peace. He did, and we moved the guard, and let him leave.

“And there we were. I was beyond pipped. I told Sutton to never tell me to shoot someone again. That I wouldn't do it. I refuse to when I could just shoot the tires on their car. And then ... he said ...”

Mr. Wooster halted, and I knew he was trying to tame his anger. “He said that he assumed that what with the dark and the fact that I didn't serve in the Great War, I wouldn't actually hit the driver. He risked that bloke's life on a dimwit assumption. Jeeves, I wanted to pop him over the head with the gun. I was so pipped that I couldn't even speak.”

“I do not blame you, sir. I will admit that I feel ire myself.” I was, in fact, very angry. Mr. Wooster did not always handle pressure well, and if he had hurt the driver or worse yet killed him, my employer would have never been able to forgive himself. I resolved to speak with our squad commander and ensure that Mr. Wooster was never assigned a watch with Mr. Sutton again.

“Well, after a time, the wrath faded and ... I will tell you, my friend, that I was afraid. It all happened so fast, it was dark, but I just aimed. I don't like that the first Wooster instinct is to shoot someone. And yet ... I was and am so grateful to you. All that training you put into the old master. It was there, guiding my hands, keeping me from what might have been a deadly mistake.”

I put my leg across him and pulled him as close to my side as I could. “I am glad to have been of assistance to you, sir. I beg to differ with your last statements. You told me yourself that you did think. You thought fast and efficiently. You did not act on instinct, but on quick, intelligent reasoning. Your actions were exemplary.”

I felt the slight tremble from Mr. Wooster. His voice was hushed against my chest as he asked, “Do you really think so?”

“I do not think so, sir, I know so.”

“That means a lot to me, Jeeves.” Mr. Wooster shifted, finding a comfortable position to rest. I could hear a sleepy, peacefulness in his voice now and comprehended that some of his anxiety over the event had begun to disappear.

“Well, my story is about over. Anything like that has to be reported. Luckily, the squad commander, Mr. Rogers, came by right before the end of our shift. I was a bit worried that we'd have to hunt the chap up and wake him. I let Sutton do all the chatting, because frankly, Jeeves, I was tired. He was very accurate, anyway. He told Rogers that he had yelled for me to shoot the driver and that he didn't think I'd hit anything. When Sutton had finished, Rogers asked if I had anything to add. I started to say no, but then I realised that I jolly well did.”

For the first time since beginning his account, Mr. Wooster smiled. “I'm not sure Rogers was ready for everything that I had to say. I had been standing there wondering if Rogers was going to give me ... what'd you call it? Some thinggummy about pulling down drapery.”

I replied, “I believe you are searching for a military term. It is called 'dressing down'.”

“That's it. I thought I might be about to receive a dressing down or be booted out of the Defence. So I didn't feel I had a thing to lose, and I told Rogers that Bertram Wooster shoots no one without a blasted good reason, and I didn't consider running the block a blasted good reason especially when it seemed obvious that the blighter driving was boiled. I'm glad to do my duty, and I'll shoot the tires of any car that makes a dash for it, but not the person behind the wheel.

“Much to my surprise, Rogers said I was damn well right. There wasn't any need to be jittery and start killing people loyal to the Crown. He asked why I thought the man had had a little too much. I had to muse that over for a sec. Then I told him; everyone that night had been barely moving, he was going fast, and from the sound of it, and the brief glimpses I had of the car before shooting, he was swerving some. Not holding the vehicle straight, if you know what I mean. I had to take that into account when aiming. I don't recall thinking about it when it happened, just I rather knew that the target wasn't going to be predictable and that had to be watched for. Sutton backed me up by saying that the man reeked of alcohol.

“Rogers asked what I did aim at and I told him, the space between the front tire and the block.”

Mr. Wooster stifled a yawn. “They were looking over the block for damage and found a nick in the wood where my bullet had grazed it. I guess I should be proud of that, but I'm not, partly because despite my not so fond emotions toward Sutton, I felt for him. He went quite pale. He kept muttering that he had no idea that I was such a good shot. I also don't feel swell about it since I was aiming between the guard and the wheel. Not trying to snick the guard. Rogers thought it was something to praise.”

“I concur with Mr. Rogers. Sir, you were trying to place a shot between two targets, in the dark, with one of them moving forward. I could not have done better. No one could have. Aristotle said, 'A true disciple shows his appreciation by reaching further than his teacher.' You have given me the highest form of appreciation there is.”

Mr. Wooster beamed at me. “Thank you, Jeeves. You'll still practice with me, what? After last night ... well, it's as plain as my nose that knowing how to hit what I aim at, and being able to react quickly is very important.”

“I meant every word, and I will certainly practice with you, sir.”

Mr. Wooster hugged me and said,“Anyway, I was served a corker of a breakfast. Dave's family is very nice.” He yawned.

“If you would like, sir, I will rub your back for a while.”

“Are you sure you aren't too tired?”

“I am certain, sir.”

Mr. Wooster rolled over, and I began to massage his back. As he entered slumber, I whispered in his ears,“You did very well, sir. I am glad you are home. I love you, Bertie.”

He was soon asleep, but I stayed awake for a while, my hand resting over his heart.

Tbc

 

Comments

[willdew.livejournal.com]

I'm sorry I haven't been reviewing consistently. Just dropping a note to say that I'm still following this, and that I really appreciate the work done researching the various institutional changes to the government, physical changes to the landscape, etc. during the era in question.

It really is interesting to imagine what J&W's world would have been like if Wodehouse hadn't gone the willing-amnesia route and while a couple of other fic writers have taken a crack at it, none have managed something this, well, comprehensive.

And while the characters have developed a little (matured, really) past the original templates, there's something addictively cozy about being able to watch them grow old together affectionately while hashing out the vagaries of their existence together like rational adults.

I like how you've managed to preserve Bertie's initial innocence or perhaps more of a... gentlemanly disposition towards avoiding unpleasant thoughts and yet, through flashbacks, hinted at his having more (forgive the terminology) emotional intelligence. While Jeeves is obviously the intellectual er, hotshot of the two. It's cute to see him look back and wonder if/realize that Bertie did things out of delicacy for Jeeves' feelings/inhibitions. I really like the whole, "he's an ass and a bit silly but he does get the important stuff" take.

Aha, and the line about not dying from unrequited etc. was pretty hot. Oh, brain equals mush.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the wonderful review! I'm glad to know you are still reading. I spend a lot of time reading and watching DVDs about the time. I'm sure I probably miss some things, but I'm happy that the research I'm doing shows.

I suspect I currently have the longest Jeeves and Wooster fan fic there is. I'm definitely trying to cover the war years. Toward the end of the story, I'll probably have Bertie say that he will never write of the time, in honour of the fact that Wodehouse did not.

From The Code of the Woosters on, the characters show signs of maturing. My story starts several years after the events of the last story, so I felt safe in adding some maturity to them.

I'm glad you like how I write Bertie. I view Bertie as being intelligent, its just not an obvious intelligence as Jeeves' is. Plus, I don't think Bertie ever liked to dwell on the darker things in life. I see Jeeves as often having a tender, protective view of Bertie.

I'm pleased that you found the line about unrequited love hot. Poor Jeeves.

Thank you very much!