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Title: Jeeves and the Anonymous Roses
Author:

chaoschick13
Rating: G?
Pairing: Jeeves/Wooster
Genre: Fluff
Words: 1,442
Summary: Apparently Bertie isn’t the only one who keeps memoirs! While Bertie is away at the Drones for the morning, Jeeves decides to get some shopping done.

Notes: This is not Beta-ed. This is my first Jooster fic and it is ridiculously short. Wodehouse is so unique I find it difficult to approach writing anything near his style. I live in the States so there will likely be glaring spelling and vocabulary differences. Some of this was written in an insomniac’s sleepless haze. Please feel free to tear me a new one with this fic; I do like to improve my craft!

The day started as any other. After concluding breakfast, Mr. Wooster announced that he would be going to the Drones for a rousing morning of youthful mischief and that I could expect him back for a late lunch. I must admit I was relieved to hear this as I needed to run a few errands and was reluctant to do so while Mr. Wooster remained in the flat. After he left I retrieved my shopping list, basket and a jacket that needed mending at the tailor’s.

First on my trip was a stop at Mr. Gordon’s shop. Though I was secretly loathe to admit it, one of Mr. Wooster’s jackets had sustained rather more damage than I could repair. What he had been doing at the time he had never divulged but the jacket looked as though he had tried to wear it as a pair of trousers at one point, so ruined were the seams in the shoulders. I entered the shop and gently closed the door behind myself. Mr. Gordon was helping another customer and was not immediately available so I passed the time by attempting to find the few ridiculously colored items presented on the mannequins, making mental note to watch for their inevitable appearance on Mr. Wooster’s wardrobe shelf. When the tailor was finished he approached me with a slightly bemused look upon his face. I handed him Mr. Wooster’s jacket.

“Good morning, Mr. Jeeves,” he said, taking the proffered item. “What seems to be the damage this time?”

“I think you will find that the seams in the shoulders have come out, resulting in the near-loss of the arms. You will also note that the lining has started to come unstitched from the jacket. Do you have an estimate of the length of time it will take you to complete the repairs, Mr. Gordon?” I reached into an inner jacket pocket to retrieve a date book.

He inspected the garment, his lips pursing and silently intoning the various points of damage he found. “I expect I can have this ready in two days’ time.” He neatly folded the jacket and set it aside on the countertop.

“Very good, thank you. I shall see you in two days, then.” I made note of the date in my book, slipped it back into my pocket and made to leave.

“Oh, Mr. Jeeves, before you,” the tailor called, stopping me. He came around the counter holding a single red rose in his hand. “This is for you.”

I stared at the flower, only for a moment, before taking it from him. “May I ask why you are giving me a flower, Mr. Gordon?”

Mr. Gordon gave a non-committal shrug. “It was left here with instructions to give it to you upon your arrival Mr. Jeeves. Very strange, in my opinion.” He gave me a brief nod and then took Mr. Wooster’s folded jacket into the back of the shop.

I looked at the rose once more before placing it in the bottom of the basket. Though I felt a little uneasy about this unexpected gift, there was nowhere else I could have placed it. I left Mr. Gordon’s shop and continued my excursion. My shopping list was brief: a loaf of bread, a few potatoes and various other vegetation. I decided my next stop should be the green grocer’s. The few minutes’ walk to the next stop was quite pleasant and I gave no more thought to the flower in my possession.

I arrived at Mr. Andrew’s indoor and outdoor shop. A variety of fresh produce was on display in the bins outside and I chose some of the finer looking pieces for Mr. Wooster’s evening meal. Taking my selections inside, I awaited my turn at the counter. After making my items ready for purchase I happened to glance up at the girl working the till. Usually Mrs. Andrews served behind the counter. The young girl smiled at me and giggled. As I attempted to ascertain the reason for her amusement, she produced a rather fat red rose, holding it out so that I might take it from her.

“You are Mr. Jeeves, right?” she asked, including another giggle. “My mother’s out but she said I would know you anywhere.” She offered another smile.

“You are correct. May I ask, if it isn’t too much trouble, why are you giving me this rose?” I reached my hand out, taking the flower from her. I felt a little ill at ease. The flower was quickly banished to the bottom of my basket along with the original from Mr. Gordon. Both flowers were now happily hidden beneath my recent purchases.

“It arrived earlier this morning, Mr. Jeeves. My mother says the florist dropped it off, from anonymous. I was to give it to you as soon as you came in.” Another giggle escaped her, this time accompanied with a blush. She looked down at the counter and then back up at me. “I think you have an admirer! How romantic!” The girl had the sense to look embarrassed at her outburst but the giggling continued.

“Thank you for the flower, miss. Please give your mother my regards.” I turned on my heel, hastening to the door. I maintained my outward composure but the confusion I felt over the roses boiled inside my mind. What could these mysterious flowers mean? I made my way briskly to the baker’s to complete my shopping. I had enough time in transit to consider the subject.

My modesty prevented me from ever totaling the number of women who have made their interest in me known in ways both subtle and overt. Which of the varied women of my acquaintance had arranged this? I could not repress a shudder at the horrific possibilities.

At this point in my narrative’s recounting I feel it necessary to divulge something of a rather personal nature. I had never once in my life considered taking a wife, as my proclivities lay elsewhere. I have always done my utmost in concealing my tendencies from family, friends and employers alike. Had any come to suspect that I preferred the company of men to that of women I would have at best been ostracized and at worst been arrested. Over the last few years in Mr. Wooster’s employ, I found that I had developed distinct romantic feelings for him. Though I could not dare hope he would ever return my feelings in identical measure, I was certain he did feel a small amount of fondness for me and that was enough. Needless to say, the premeditated and anonymous gifting of these roses left me exceptionally uncomfortable.

I set these thoughts aside while selecting a choice loaf of bread from the racks at the bakery. I was apprehensive of approaching the baker to pay for the loaf for fear that he too would provide me a rose from my mystery admirer. But pay I did, and indeed, the baker handed me a red rose with an identical retelling of its arrival and the instructions to deliver it to me if I came in.

I was glad my shopping had come to an end. I was keen to avoid any future roses making their way into my basket as the three were quite enough. I headed home as quickly as possible. When I arrived at the flat I proceeded directly to the kitchen to put away the purchases and retrieve a vase for my small rose collection. I was significantly stunned when I opened the kitchen door to find a large and very full vase of roses placed squarely in the middle of the table.

After a few healthy moments of staring I happened to notice that on the table, paired with the vase of roses, was a small piece of paper. Though it bore no signature, the missive was penned in a hand I had come to adore from countless hours of grammatical correction. The light yet masculine scrawl simply said “Because I love you”.

I picked up both vase and note and entered the adjacent room to place the roses on Mr. Wooster’s piano. I was startled to find him sitting in the room, looking rather pleased behind his newspaper. His self-congratulatory look was enough confirmation for me.

I tucked Mr. Wooster’s note into my breast pocket and turned to face him. “I must express my deepest thanks for these beautiful flowers, Sir,” I said quietly. “I shall have your luncheon ready in approximately twenty minutes.” And with that I left for the relative safety of the kitchen, the faintest of smiles on my lips.

THE END

a/n And a rather weak end at that. Thanks for reading, anyway.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

sige-vic.livejournal.com

What a wonderful gift for a V-Day! Thank you! So romantic and fluffy and just perfect for this holiday! :-)
Oh, and I like Bertie's resourcefulness very much! :-)

From:

A Jeeves & Wooster Fan-Community

A V-Day Gift for All You Lovely Indeedsir People

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