[Fic] Hidebound and Reactionary, Part II (second half)

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

The continuation of the first half, found (here).


~*~*~

After I had bathed and clothed the corpus, I migrated to the sitting room, where I was brooding when the tootling of the telephone interrupted. I hopped up to grab it, but Kimberwicke had already materialised out of the woodwork and was putting hand to receiver.

'Wooster, ah, residence,' he sang.

There was a muffled noise from the other end of the line.

'Mm-hm,' said Kimberwicke.

More mufflings followed.

'I see, sir. Yes, ah, indeed. We shall expect you, ah, tomorrow afternoon then... Goodbye, sir.'

'Who the dickens was that?' I asked once he had rung off.

'A gentleman by the name of, ah, Andrew Daily, sir.'

I had nearly forgotten about that particular blister, and I had indeed forgotten that I had promised him refuge after his plus-one was released from prison for his Valjean stunt.

'Ah!' I said. 'What did young Mr. Daily want?'

'He is arriving, ah, tomorrow afternoon, sir, for a visit of, ah, indefinite length. He mentioned, ah, bringing someone with him.'

'Yes,' I said, seeing things would have to be laid somewhat in the open now. 'He is bringing his, er, valet, Jenkins.'

Kimberwicke hummed gravely.

'Very, ah, good, sir.'

It is a well-known fact that bringing two valets into the same bachelor establishment is bound to cause friction. One wants the dustcover laid just so, and the other insists on placing the forks two and a half inches from the plate instead of three. Kimberwicke was no doubt beginning the battle preparations. I saw a flicker of defiance in one wild brown eye.

If you have followed this narrative from its humble beginnings, you will no doubt recall there was an additional, perhaps larger wrinkle to be addressed.

'I, er, must warn you, Kimberwicke. This Daily chap and his man are rather... chummy.'

'Chummy, sir?'

'Er, yes. So if they go about calling each other by their first names, you're not to bat an eyelid.'

Kimberwicke frowned.

'They have, ah, adopted the modern trend to, ah, minimise class differences, sir?'

'Something like that, Kimberwicke. Something very like that indeed.'

'Very, ah, good, sir,' he said stonily, meaning it wasn't very good at all.

'Come, come, Kimberwicke. Times are changing. Valets are becoming more than valets, and gentlemen are becoming... Well, I'm not sure what gentlemen are becoming. But the point remains. Distances are shrinking.'

He regarded me coolly with a cocked eyebrow.

'Does this, ah, please you, sir?'

'Well!' I said. 'Naturally, Kimberwicke. Sort of silly, what, going around pretending we're so different? I mean, take you and me, for instance. What law of nature dictates that you stand there ready to jump while I lounge on the sofa? Perhaps I should be starting up the flames in the kitchen and cooking dinner while you toodle about and sweep the rugs.'

Kimberwicke adopted a look of horror. 'Oh no, not the, ah, kitchen, sir.'

He rather had a point, I'm afraid.

'Well, not the kitchen, I suppose. But you see what I am driving at?'

'You wish to, ah, take a part in the, ah, household chores, sir?'

I mulled over this for a moment.

'Well, I mean, not really. Naturally not. But the theory sounds like a sound one, does it not?'

'Many theories do, sir, until one is required to, ah, act upon them.'

'Mm, yes, I see what you mean. Sort of like when a fellow has his eye on some beazel with every intent to do the honourable thing and proffer the platinum, eh? It all sounds dandy until this fellow finds himself at the altar contemplating his next twenty years.'

'You do not wish to, ah, be married, sir?'

'Naturally not!' I exclaimed.

A hush fell over the sitting room. Kimberwicke was eying me in a rather unpleasant way, like a little boy eying a bug he is about to step upon. It suddenly struck me that perhaps I had given too much away.

'Well, I mean to say...' I said, not knowing what I meant to say.

'There is no need to, ah, explain, sir.' Kimberwicke's face was a shade darker than it had been a moment ago. 'If a man does not wish to be married, that is, ah, his personal choice. I, however,' and here he looked pointedly at me, 'do wish to be married, ah, someday. I would just like you to, ah, know that, sir.'

'Yes, alright, Kimberwicke, while we're trading personal facts. Yes, yes, indeed, that's quite alright.' I smiled pleasantly.

'I should, ah, hope so, sir.'

I returned to brooding behind the latest Rex West as Kimberwicke whacked at things with the duster. When he had finished, he returned to his position in front of me and announced that he would be absenting himself to the market for the rest of the afternoon to procure fresh supplies.

'Shall I, ah, help you dress for the club before I, ah, leave, sir?'

'No, thank you, Kimberwicke. I will be dining in this evening.'

He looked like a cat that has just been booted off its favourite chair.

'You always, ah, dine at your club on, ah, Wednesday evenings, sir. Mr. Jeeves reported that it is, ah, darts night.'

'Was I not just informing you that this is a changing world, Kimberwicke? I am not one of those resistant birds who cannot except change. I embrace it. And thus, I am dining in tonight. Would you be so kind as to prepare something with cauliflower in it? Jeeves said I ought to eat more cauliflower, to improve my digestion.'

Kimberwicke delivered his Very good, sir and biffed out.

~*~

Well, you know where I was headed next. I had, in fact, had every intention of spending an afternoon at the Drones, and the loss of a good night of darts was a blow, but I had larger, more secretive fish to fry.

Despite producing a fluttery feeling in the middle regions, the photograph of Young Jeeves and friend was not enough to solve the puzzle of his erratic behaviour. That did not stop me, of course, from admiring the rare qualities of his smile, and the way his hair waved in the middle, and how bright his eyes were....

Ah, but where was I?

As I cracked open the door to his bedroom for the second time, I felt another of those white-hot surges of anxiety that plague the weekend criminal, and I stood for a moment surveying the domain. The bedside table having been exhausted in its resources, it was time to move on to one of the two remaining safe houses.

I wiggled about a bit, picking at the coverlet and running my hand over the walls before I ended up in front of the wardrobe. It loomed over me like a New York skyscraper, but I reached out a shaking hand and popped open the doors. There were some obvious new additions in the jacket and trousers division, mostly sombre affairs that would stand in nicely if the tablecloth went missing, and behind these Kimberwicke's valise and a couple of pairs of shoes. At the very back, however, my hand met with something square and box-like. I bunged the thing out and sure enough, it was one of those brown numbers with the pink dancing oxford on the side from the Shoe Emporium on York Road.

I lifted the lid and found a stack of papers inside. On top were a few grocery lists in Jeeves' hand, followed by a clipped advertisement for a men's clothing liquidation. Beneath these was a large black-and-white glamour shot of Ethel Merman, signed boldly across her chest, 'To Reginald, Love From Ethel,' followed by about a dozen little hearts.

I frowned at this for a moment, then tossed it aside. At the bottom of the box was a stack of letters and telegrams between Jeeves and what seemed like a bevy of relatives and acquaintances, securing my suspicion that he was more well-connected than a pipe-dream.

The very last letter in the pile held my eye for a moment, until with a blast of understanding I recognised the name at top of the thing. It was crowned by a gilded letterhead from the esteemed Dr. Bartholomew, with whom I had had a very unsuccessful hypnotism session when the first creeping fingers of awareness about my predilection began to take hold.

I breezed through the thing with an increasing sense of amazement. The letter was not, in fact, au sujet de Bertram, as I was expecting, but was in fact some sort of follow-up correspondence, you know the thing:

'Thank you for dribbling out enormous sums for small minutes of the doctor's divided attention. We hope you aren't completely cured of your problem so you will have occasion to stop by again, frequently.'

Only, at the bottom of this was penned a short message by the doctor himself. With some difficulty, doctor's hand-writing being the pest of the calligraphic set, I managed to decipher the thing.

It went something like: 'Mr. Jeeves, Yours is a difficult case. Please remember the words of wisdom I have given you. Rest assured we will get you through this. Looking forward to seeing you again on the 21st. Dr. B.'

This, as you will realise, lent a new wrinkle to the thing. Was it, I wondered, the clinching fillip in Jeeves's refusal? Had he visited Dr. Bartholomew for the same reasons he sent me: some sort of unease about the power of appeal of other birds? What had the blasted doctor told him in an attempt to cure him of his unusual appetites?

I sat musing for a while. If one were to take stock of things at this point, as I was doing, one would find Bertram with the added clues of one (1) boyhood photograph with unidentified chummy companion and one (1) letter suggesting hypnotic treatments for relief of unwanted inclinations. Although fascinating in isolation, they did little for the bigger picture.

The clues seemed to lead in the direction of the young chap in the photograph. Perhaps I could discover his identity and contact him for clues. Perhaps he would know why Jeeves was so frightened by the prospect of unorthodox affection that he ran off like a frightened rabbit.

As I slid the box back into place at the back of the wardrobe, I noticed one last thing nestled beside it. It
was a hand-knitted pullover, one of those things the grand mère might bung along every Christmas, but I'll be dashed if it didn't smell just like Jeeves.

I pressed it to my nose for one guilty instant, then, in a fit of whimsy, I slipped the thing over the bean and slid my arms into the sleeves. It was woolly and warm and embraced me comfortingly. I meant to take the thing off after just a few moments more, but somehow, as I slithered over and began peeking in the chest of drawers, the idea slipped my mind.

The top drawer was full of starched white underlinen, which I studied with an alarmed sort of fascination. I mean to say, had you told me five years ago that I'd be rooting around in Jeeves' drawer of under thingummies searching for clues as to why he was so solidly against loving me in the Greek sense, I would first have swallowed my drink the wrong way, necessitating some vigourous patting on the back, and then I would have delivered you a solid one on the side of the jaw.

I was speculating on this development when the door swung open.

'Really, ah, sir!'

Kimberwicke was standing in the doorway, his bowler in hand. I started like a small animal in the underbrush.

'Kimberwicke!'

'Might I, ah, ask, sir, what are you doing with my, ah...?' His face was pink and vibrating as he gestured at a pair of crisp white underlinen I didn't know I had been holding.

'Yours?' I squeaked.

'Yes, sir, those are, ah, mine.'

'Good Lord!' I gasped, dropping them to the floor.

~*~

Dinner that evening was a solemn affair. Kimberwicke ground his teeth with each plate he placed before me, and I hunkered down beneath the evening rag. It was only after the steamed cauliflower had been served that he brought up the matter of my attire.

'What is that, ah, thing you are wearing, sir?'

'What thing, Kimberwicke?'

'That, ah, pullover, sir.'

'Oh. This.' I beamed, patting at my chest. 'It's rather cosy, don't you think?'

'Forgive me, sir, but it is not, ah, proper attire for the, ah, dinner table.'

I frowned. 'Let go your stodgy old opinions, Kimberwicke. We are entering an age in which comfort trumps tradition. I intend to be at the forefront of the movement.'

I crossed my arms over my chest.

'I do not think Mr. Jeeves would, ah, approve, sir.'

I shot up in my chair. 'But it's his sweater!'

Kimberwicke looked for a moment like a man whose toes have just been stomped by elephant.

He recovered and said sniffly, 'Then why are you, ah, wearing it, sir?'

I looked at my plate of peas for a moment.

'Well!' I huffed. 'That's rather none of your concern, I think.'

This was clearly the wrong answer. Kimberwicke emitted a low noise and retreated to the kitchen.

When he returned some minutes later, he still looked affronted, but he was bearing a dish of jellied beets, which I took for a peace offering. The unfortunate thing about beets, you will know, is that they are an awfully dark shade of puce, and that they stain the dickens out of whatever they come into contact with.

I misunderstood Kimberwicke's movements, and thus I reached for the dish as he was trying to ladle some of its contents onto my plate. My hand brushed against his, just the faintest whisper of skin against skin really, but the man leapt as if burned. The beets flew from their bowl like startled mice, pelting my pullover, the front of my trousers, and the better half of the table.

'I say!' I roared, knocking my chair backwards and reeling into Kimberwicke as I off-balanced. I managed to pin him against the sideboard, and as I sprawled against the vastness of his front, he hissed beneath me like a balloon deflating.

'Get, ah, off!' he sibilated.

I scrambled back to land. There were red blots on his shirtfront where beets had been pressed among our chests. Kimberwicke edged hand-over-hand along the sideboard, trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

'Sir!' he gasped. 'I am afraid I have, ah, had all that, ah, I can take!'

'They're just beets, Kimberwicke,' I said ruefully. 'Jeeves had a remedy for removing even the most obstinate stains- '

'I don't care about- ' Kimberwicke burst out. His face was giving the beets a fair run.

He paused to draw breath.

'I was not referring to the, ah, beets, sir. Although regrettable, the, ah, damage can be, ah, repaired. No, I was referring to your, ah, fixation, sir.'

'Fixation, Kimberwicke?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Whatever do you mean?' I asked, innocently fingering Jeeves' stained jumper.

'I fear you are, ah, forming an, ah, unnatural attachment to me, sir.'

I shot off the floor a few feet. 'What? To you?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good Heavens, Kimberwicke.' I laughed heartily. 'What a silly thing to say. No, no, no. I mean to say, really!'
Kimberwicke frowned.

'I should, ah, hope so, sir.'

'Silly man,' I hiccoughed. 'Lay off the dusting for a while, what? I believe the mites are eating away at your brain.'

~*~

The next day found me back at my old habits. Not having been able to finish my exploration of the chest of drawers, I stole back to Jeeves' lair once Kimberwicke had excused himself for a late afternoon walk.

I must have lost track of the time, although I don't recall doing more than patting my way through undershirts and some other nondescript personal effects, feeling rather uneasy about the whole business. Regardless, it was probably a quarter to three when I heard Kimberwicke's footsteps in the hall. I spun round in alarm, and like any practised criminal, my first instinct was to hide. Well, I mean to say, I didn't like the idea of folding myself up into that wardrobe very much, and I was hardly going to fit in a drawer, so there was only one place left.

Just as the knob began to turn, I tossed myself beneath the bed and closed my eyes. I heard footsteps approach the bed and stop, and I unclenched one eye, expecting to find Kimberwicke peering beneath the dust ruffle. It was only his lace-ups that I found staring back at me, however, and I let out a breath.

Then the lace-ups turned round and with a great creaking of springs the mattress collapsed, pinning me to the floor. I lay there, cheek pressed to the floorboards, for what seemed an eternity. Just when the spots in front of my eyes started dancing the Charleston, and I was certain I would die there, smothered beneath the ample hindquarters of my stand-in valet, the mattress lifted. I heard Kimberwicke muddle around a bit with something in the wardrobe, and then, whistling, he exited.

I raised the bruised corpus and dragged myself across the floor.

On the second handfall, something rummy occurred. As my palm slapped to the wood, a great echo sounded below me, as though a hollow space existed therein. I backed a few paces and saw that I had been resting on what looked suspiciously like a trap door. There was a small golden ring pressed into one plank, and this I now stuck a digit into and pulled. A section of the floor about the size of a man's head lifted in front of me. It didn't get very far, however, before running into the underside of the mattress.

I emerged once again and slid the bed across the room with an earthquake-like tremble. Not stopping to wait for Kimberwicke to return, I flung open the trap door and sunk to my knees afore it.

Inside was a thick musty smell, a few puffs of insulating material, and a small wooden box. I lifted this last out and pried it open. Inside of it was a yellowed piece of paper, folded into quarters. Thinking that I had at last found the final key to the mystery, I gingerly spread it open with fingers that felt livened by electricity.

The penmanship was neat yet flowing. A date at the top indicated it was from some twenty years past.

'Dear Paddy,' it read, 'I always knew. I always understood. I just never knew you would do what you have done.

'I have always loved you, my dearest. If I had said so, though, what good would it have done? Would it have saved you? Do you imagine we would have grown old together?

'What's the use of asking all these questions of someone who has passed on?'

Here a splattering of water marks obscured the next few lines.

The letter terminated: 'Yours Forever and May We Meet Again in Heaven, Reg.'

~*~*~

Comments

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

I really felt for Bertie in the previous part. I still do, but I feel for Kimberwicke, too, now and most of my all my heart goes to Jeeves. And I wonder what Bertie's reaction to the letter will be. I hope you will update soon!
I really like how you realistically built up to Bertie finding the secret hideaway. That was well done. And Jeeves would be smart enough to keep such things hidden.
This:
Kimberwicke adopted a look of horror. 'Oh no, not the, ah, kitchen, sir.'
really had me laughing.
Thank you for continuing this! More, please!

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Ah, thank you! I was worried about the build up of Bertie's final discovery, as it started out rather quick and then got fleshed out into three stages as the story progressed, so I'm glad to hear it came across alright.
I'm rather late getting around to replying to these comments, but it does mean I am getting to work on the next part!
Thanks indeed for the kind words!

Just great

[gravescape.livejournal.com]

This is just marvelous. I remember reading the other fic's a while ago and actually recently wondering what would happen next. I'm so glad to read this. ^^

Re: Just great

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Thanks much!! I am actively working on the next part, so hopefully it won't be so long a wait before it comes along.

[random-nexus.livejournal.com]

AAAAHHHHHH!!!! Why isn't there more?
Ahem. This translates as 'well done, good job, excellent story, please continue ASAP', just in case you don't speak frazzled-readerese.

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

:D Continuing, continuing! I take forever with this business, I know, but I am aiming for a quicker delivery of the next part.
Many thanks!

[random-nexus.livejournal.com]

Well, I can't complain too much - I'm a slowpoke, too. *sigh*

*poke poke* Still, just a little prod in your creative nerve, just for good measure.

[triedunture.livejournal.com]

Oh my, while I was flat on my back and in a bad way this got posted! Yay! It was my (sadistic) pleasure to give you a deadline, and I do hope you continue. I DO want to see Jeeves come home. *puppy eyes*

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

I am finally getting around to continuing! It appears I need a rather lengthy recovery period between parts, which needs to get shutdown. Part III is in active development, although I am (not) sad to say, it may not unravel exactly as expected....
I am now laughing evilly and rubbing my hands together.

[random-nexus.livejournal.com]

You wicked thing, you.

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Ehehe, I'm just so excited about finally getting to the heart of the story...

[niektete.livejournal.com]

Oh, no! *sniffles* Dead love-of-Jeeves'-life and what have you! Aaw, this story is really bittersweet, but funny all the same, with Bertram being such a klutz ^^

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Thank you! It is my hope to always make it amusing, despite any other dramatic developments.

[sige-vic.livejournal.com]

It was absolutely hilarious! I just can't list all the funniest moments, 'cause there are too many of them :-)) And in the same time I feel for Bertie so much! It's so sad to see him suffering...

*trying to imagine what happens next*
Andrew and Jenkins will arrive and poor Kimberwicke will run away shouting: "Blasted sodomites everywhere!!!" :-)))

[laughinggas13.livejournal.com]

Andrew and Jenkins will arrive and poor Kimberwicke will run away shouting: "Blasted sodomites everywhere!!!"

Hahaha!

This story just gets more and more intriguing. Please write more soon!

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

I'm on it! I hope the next part delivers much more in the 'intriguing' department... Glad you like!

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Ahaha, well, something very like that may happen... but then again, it might not be Kimberwicke ru- Oh wait! I've said too much! Now I must go and write it.

I'm so glad you found it amusing! :)

[sige-vic.livejournal.com]

Oh, yes, you do must go and write it :-)) We are waiting for the next chapter with an impatience and eagerness, because it surely will be such a treat to read :-))

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Just for that, I'm going to go work on it right now!

[mxdp.livejournal.com]

Okay.


Okay.

I can't take this. It's too wonderful. *bangs head against wall* Please, PLEASE, do update soon, or I'll die. Please.
*hugs Bertie, and pushes Jeeves into his arms*

<3

"Blasted sodomites everywhere!!!" ROFL!

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Don't die, don't die! I am hard at work on la troisième partie! I shall work all the harder knowing that a life hangs in the balance!

[mxdp.livejournal.com]

Puuurrrrrfect. I'm waiting in agony, my life at stake! :D

[random-c.livejournal.com]

Ah, I thought so! Looking forward to more of this.

[jiraiyasgirl.livejournal.com]

Awww...poor Jeeves!!!

[who-is-small.livejournal.com]

Please, Jeeves, come home. Please, georgeodowd, old chap, bring him home *sniff* I mean, do you have a HEART?!?! *sniff sniff*

[erynn999.livejournal.com]

Is there any hope of seeing a part 3 of this, perchance? *wibbles*

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

YES! yes.
It's actually written, but it needed a rather extensive rewrite, which is nearly done!
I WILL have it done by the end of this month.
(Or you're all allowed to come hunt me down. Seriously.)

[erynn999.livejournal.com]

*squee!* I do hope it will be out soon. WIPs can be so frustrating for both the author and the readers.

[pantropia.livejournal.com]

Consider yourself hunted?

[georgeodowd.livejournal.com]

Part III is here!: http://number-six-a.livejournal.com/3467.html
Part IV is here!: http://number-six-a.livejournal.com/4274.html

Part V, alas, is 60% done and molding in my mental basement.... :(
Perhaps (and I do very much hope so), this will be the needed reminder to suck it up and bung it out! I have so much more fun stuff to write once it's done!