Fic: Unspoken Words chapter 4

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Unspoken Words

Chapter 4

Author: Emerald

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Wodehouse owns Jeeves and Wooster. I make no profit from this story.

Warnings: Implied slash. Angst.

Beta: : Thank you to  purplefluffycat 

All my stories are here: www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml

The revised chapter of A Rift in The Lute is here:

community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/281024.html

 

 

 

When I had finished bunging off a telegram to Jeeves, I bought a picture postcard. Before the old worries about the law could take dominance in the Wooster lemon, I dashed off a few words. The bally law prevented me from giving Jeeves my love, but I could send him my wish that he was well.

 

After a second's thought, I decided on a day to go home and put that down, too. That date would be an added push, if I needed it, to get the noggin and the ticker to agree on a course of action.

 

A surge of defiance seized the Wooster spirit, and I decided that I'd be blasted if I was going to let the law dictate how I sign my own name. Between Jeeves and I, it was Bertie, even if he rarely used it. As a concession to the law, though, I added Wooster after the aforementioned first.

 

That evening found me once more sitting in front of my journal with a b. and s. at my side to boost the courage. The waiting page in front of me declared that it was time to admit to things that I would rather lock up tight and never see.

 

I picked up the pen, but the nervous wigglers dropped it onto the floor. Sighing, I retrieved the thing. One word, I told myself, one word, and perhaps the rest would be easier.

 

When I started writing, however, the pen took a mind of its own- as if wanting me to face unpleasant truths about the Wooster character. After a minute of pinging the words down on paper, I stared at what I had written.

 

Jeeves had let me take the blame for ringing the fire bell; possibly he would disavow our love in a bid for his freedom, if it ever came to that. I was afraid of what would happen if we were ever found out. Afraid of losing Jeeves; frightened that if we were discovered to be lovers my man would let me take the entire blame for our relationship being what it was; scared that the day would come when I'd stand in the dock listening to my best chum deny ever wanting any part of me or my 'unnatural' desires.

 

As my lamps glued themselves to the no-longer-empty page, my mind added a few other rummy thoughts to go with it. I had felt these anxieties before, but I had always managed to keep them to the back of the bean. Jeeves standing by while I took the blame for ringing the bell had made the dark shadow looming in the Wooster mind and heart grow into a monster with long claws that could not be ignored.

 

After a long sip of my drink and a deep breath, I opened the door to this nightmare and took a peek inside. I saw myself in court being questioned about my dealings with my valet. An image of a madder-than-soaked-poultry Aunt Agatha floated into the bean; almost bringing a swift halt to the thinking process. It was comforting to realise that the law would have first dibs on me and until they were done with the Wooster person I'd probably be safe in the chokey where she couldn't touch me.

 

Once more I looked at that imaginary court room scene. Would Jeeves say that he had felt that he had to accommodate my wishes as I was his employer? Would he diminish our relationship until it appeared to be nothing more than a whim on my part, in order to keep his freedom and reputation intact? Would he desert me like some sharp-toothed rodent abandons a ship that is sinking?

 

As I dwelt on this scene with enough concern in the old ticker to fill that ship, a new thought occurred to me. What would I say when called upon to explain away whatever had brought Jeeves and I to such a dreadful place? Could I renounce our love? Would Jeeves want me to?

 

Even as the thoughts floundered around; a firm resolve came to me. There's a tough bull-dog strain in the Woosters, and it came to my aid then. I would not abnegate my love for him. I would, however, take the responsibility for it, in order to save him. I would declare that I had given him no choice, if he wanted to keep his position. I would say that I had threatened to make getting a job difficult for him, if he did not consent to my wishes.

 

A strange peace settled on my shoulders when I had decided what my own actions would be, should such an eventuality come to pass. If I was going to swear that it was my fault, then there was no reason to be pipped at Jeeves for letting me take the blame for the fire alarm. I probably would have accepted the responsibility for it, anyway. It would hurt like the dickens to have Jeeves renounce our love, but I could feel understanding about it, now. The fear of discovery was still there, but peering into what might happen had tamed the anxiety. The waters were clear now. It was time to try and start to build a bridge.

 

I had no idea how bridge makers build a bridge – those funny old fruits that went around sporting bottle-neck glasses and spouting equations at Oxford were all Greek to those of us reading, err, Greek - but I assumed they started with a design. A plan of what I was going to do when I arrived home was exactly what I needed. The first part of that plan was easy. Jeeves and I needed to have a long chat.

 

I looked back over everything I had written, trying to find a solution to our troubles. For almost twenty minutes, the puzzler was stumped. I considered dashing home and handing the whole bally mess to Jeeves. I didn't fancy doing that, though. I wanted to be able to have a man to man talk with Jeeves when I got home, and I couldn't do that if I didn't know what I needed to chat about.

 

I glanced over the pages once more; the blinkers lingering on one passage in particular where I had written that I didn't like the way I had treated Jeeves.

 

Inspiration seized the Wooster lemon. On top of a new page, I wrote my name. Here I would put things that Bertram Wooster could change to make matters better between Jeeves and I. It was a much easier start than getting Jeeves to alter his behaviour might prove to be. Trying that might be as difficult as pulling teeth. The man can be stubborn; there's a tough bull-dog strain in the Jeeveses, too. It was possible that he would agree to whatever I asked, in hopes of calming the waters, with no intention of changing at all. So it was best to start with what the young master could construct. Perhaps if I put a few rocks or whatever thingummys they use to build bridges in place, Jeeves would add a few of his own. I wasn't about to count on that happening, however.

 

The first thing I wrote was: you don't like how you treat Jeeves, dimwit, viz. don't treat him that way. I almost laughed then. It seemed such a simple solution, but I knew that I might find the putting of the shoe on the foot, so to speak, much more difficult.

 

I flipped back in my journal until I reached the date of my arrival home from Cannes. I began to reread everything I had written, this time trying to shove the Wooster emotions aside and see matters as Jeeves would have seen them.

 

It was one of the most rummiest experiences I've ever had. I finished my drink and when I was done reading, I gulped and looked around for another as if I expected Jeeves to magically appear and give the young master one. Drink, that is. I mean to say.

 

Standing up, I stretched and went to the window. I stood for a short time looking out. Many things swirled around in the whirlpool that my thoughts had become, but one of them stood out. It was very likely that Jeeves might be uncertain about whether I still loved him or not. This notion bit into me like a bunch of pesky mosquitoes. I promised myself that never again would I push off somewhere without first giving Jeeves my heartfelt vow of love. Even, I resolved, if I feel like giving him several pieces of the Wooster mind instead.

 

When I returned to my journal, I turned to the page with my name on top and wrote, 'Bertram Wooster will not'. I paused. With a frown at the page, I put a line through what I had written. If I was going to do this, I had to take responsibility for my actions, and somehow that didn't seem the right way to start.

 

Beginning once more, I wrote, 'I will not'. It was almost effortless to dash down my resolutions on the page. The first was that I'd stop resenting Jeeves and blaming him for what was not his fault. It wasn't his fault if my friends and family preferred him to me when they wanted solutions to their problems. I relied on that great brain, too, and if there were rummy consequences because of it, they were minor compared to all the aid I'd received in the years since Jeeves had first come to me.

 

I squirmed in my chair. I was aware that not all of the resentment I had felt toward Jeeves originated with the man. When my friends or Aunts caused the tidal wave of that emotion to overpower me, I directed my feelings toward Jeeves, treating him ill as a result. It wasn't that I liked doing that to Jeeves; it just seemed to come naturally, like wet grass after a rain. Well, I told myself, it would have to stop. It wasn't right to treat a servant that way, much less a spouse.

 

Underneath the 'no more resenting Jeeves', I put, 'I will not say rummy things to Jeeves that I know will hurt him. I will treat him as a beloved spouse.'

 

I studied what I had written; the puzzler working hard. I knew that many of the things I had said to Jeeves had been words that were as sharp as broken glass would be. My tone had probably been far more soupy than his had been. And, if I was honest with myself, the excuse that I was his employer and therefore had a right to address him in a manner that he should not use to me, was just that; an excuse. An excuse to give the Wooster conscience when it started muttering to itself that even a servant did not deserve to have painful words thrown at them in that tone. I hadn't been concerned if my words stung. I had been hurt and pipped to the gills.

 

This was not entirely the truth, and the ticker kicked. I lit a frustrated gasper and admitted to myself that I had hoped to hurt him in return for the pain he had caused me. I could force myself to look squarely at Bertram Wooster, but I was not going to put that down on paper to stare up at me with an accusing eye.

 

I sighed. There was no point in trying to build a bridge across the raging waters, if I was going to tear it down every time Jeeves hurt me. Bertram Wooster may not be the brightest person ever, but I knew enough to understand that words meant to sting could not possibly help our relationship. I underlined the 'I will not say rummy things to Jeeves that I know will hurt him. I will treat him as a beloved spouse'.

 

As difficult as this whole writing-the-young-master's-faults-down thing had been, I knew the hard part would be when I got home. Then I would have to actually practice what I had resolved.

 

I sat there, smoking and straining the bean over how to be certain that I would behave as I had decided I should. Two ideas came to me, and I dashed them down on the paper, prepared to put a line through them, if some later thought revealed them to be unwise.

 

The first of these notions was that I would have to apologise to Jeeves and tell him of my decisions. In normal circs. I don't mind having to say 'I'm sorry', but this was going to be an apology that stomped all over the Wooster pride. I owed him that expression of remorse, but he was far more in debt to me than I was to him. By my calculation, Jeeves owed me several apologies. Still, there was no denying that by telling Jeeves, I would be making myself accountable and increasing the odds that I would do as I planned.

 

The second of my ideas was that if I violated my resolutions more than twice in one week, I would allow Jeeves the right to go through the flat or my wardrobe and remove whatever struck his fancy. This thought was scary and required several long drags on the ciggy. There was nothing in either that Jeeves abhorred, or it would have already been removed, but I was certain that the man would jump at the opportunity. There was a certain vase that I had bought in New York. It had a picture of Lake George in autumn on it. Perhaps the autumn colour was too bright to Jeeves, as I had seen him eyeing it occasionally with less than a friendly look. I firmly believed that the only colours Jeeves truly liked were black, white, brown, and grey. Anything else was viewed with suspicion.

 

If I could not stick to my resolutions, the vase would be the first to go and then... A shudder went down the Wooster frame. I could see myself standing in an empty flat, even the rug removed from beneath the plates, all because I was a resentful cove who couldn't keep his mouth shut. The image in my mind sharpened, and I saw myself ankling around our plundered home draped in nothing but my underclothes; Jeeves having taken a dislike to everything else I possessed. It would be at that moment that Aunt Agatha would arrive at the door.

 

Another shudder shook the Wooster frame. In my journal, in large letters, I wrote, 'remember what it will be like if you fail'. I didn't think anything would keep me from sticking to my decisions after those visions, although I was still prepared for it to be hard at times.

 

I added a 'This is the price' to the page as a reminder to myself. The cost of having that marvellous brain at my service was that my friends and kin preferred him to me. They might feel that he was to be at their beck and call, but that brain belonged to me. He had pledged every part of himself to me, and when he had done so, I had asked, “Does that include the can't-be-matched think box?”

 

His reply had been, “Certainly, sir. I withhold nothing from you.”

 

That meant that Jeeves' lemon was the Wooster's lemon; when they were wanting my man to bend his thoughts for them; they were really asking for something that belonged to me. They might believe that they would rather have Jeeves, but it was my bean they were really getting. This reflection brought to the Wooster person a wave of smug satisfaction.

 

It was Jeeves that had got the worse part of the deal, for he had received my brain in return for his well-working one. I laughed now. Jeeves must love me a great deal to make such a pact with me.

 

I wrote it all down so when the resentment started to flood into my ticker, I had other emotions; those of satisfaction and feeling loved, to build a wall against it and keep it out.

 

Having taken a peek into the miry waters of the Wooster soul, and having reached a point where I was once more feeling goodwill toward Jeeves, I felt up to tackling his recent actions.

 

I turned back to where I had written everything that had made me pipped at Jeeves. Now I could view it without the rising tide of anger, I did not feel I was being fair to Jeeves. Oh, he had wronged me all right. I had no doubt of that, but... But the trouble was that I had known what Jeeves was like when I had stated my vow of 'for better or for worse', forever binding the Wooster name with the Jeeves one. I had known that hitching my boat to Jeeves would mean rough seas at times. I had no right at this late date to demand that the man change.

 

I decided to concentrate only on the things that Jeeves was doing that harmed our relationship; not on what I personally disliked. There was much I could live with; things like the soupy way Jeeves said 'yes, sir' to me at times. It was annoying, but it didn't cause any real damage to our partnership.

 

I put Jeeves' name on the page opposite mine. The first subject I dashed onto the paper was the man's habit of taking revenge on me. This custom of Jeeves' hurt our association for several reasons. It stroked the fires of resentment that lived within me, and it stated that he thought of himself as a servant not a spouse who could tell his husband that he was pipped. I should treat Jeeves more as a spouse, but he should act more like my husband, too.

 

The second topic I wrote about was Jeeves occasionally lying to me. The man valued trust, believing it almost as important as love in a relationship. He could hardly expect me to trust him, if he couldn't be honest with me. I didn't mind when Jeeves didn't tell me the mysterious ways he had worked to accomplish some goal. I could usually recognise the touch of his hand in schemes. What I objected to was the outright lies and the more subtle deviousness such as Jeeves agreeing that I could keep the mess jacket if I went along with his plan, probably knowing all the while that he had already destroyed it. That hardly seemed a way to build a strong relationship.

 

The last matter I put to paper was that Jeeves made me feel like a serf sometimes, running roughshod over my feelings, as if I was not important to him. It made me feel unloved and unsure of where I really stood with him. It angered me and caused me to want to strike back.

 

When I had finished writing all this down, I lit another cigarette and once more made the lemon work. I knew I could not make Jeeves change. It was possible that I couldn't even make Jeeves see the importance of these issues to me. I did know that I had to have a pop at it.

 

On another page, I wrote 'us' at the top. Below it I wrote, 'We need to learn to talk'. I didn't much like it, but it was plain that Jeeves and I needed more chats of the long, emotional nature. Whether I found them rummy or not wasn't of import. Those talks were clearly essential to bridge building.

 

I was feeling as drained as an empty cup, but there was one more thing I intended to do. I turned back to where I had jotted down everything I was pipped about and all the things that I didn't like that Jeeves had done. Diagonally across the page I wrote 'love'. I loved Jeeves and I'd forgive him.

 

I shut the journal, carefully hid it, and prepared for bed. The Wooster onion had done enough thinking and pondering for one night. I fully expected to get into bed, draw the blankets up to the chin, and drop into a well-deserved repose.

 

That plan worked until the peepers were shut and the blanket was up to the chin. Then the noggin drifted to my scorched jacket. I thought of Jeeves holding the iron down on my jacket.

 

With a sigh, I turned to my side. At least, he hadn't left me over it as he had the banjolele. He hadn't even threatened to leave. The impact of my thoughts caused me to sit up and switch on the light.

 

Jeeves and I had just had the balliest awful quarrel that we had ever had. His leaving me over the banjolele had been far more rummy, but that had not been accompanied with harsh words and cold feelings between us. Until I returned from Cannes, we had never exchanged such open hostilities. Yet Jeeves had not even hinted that he would leave if I did not bow to his wishes.

 

When we had discussed exchanging vows, I had stressed to him that if we did so, there could be no more walking out on the young master. He had promised me that never again would he leave my side. I had wanted to believe him; I had tried to do so, but hidden inside the Wooster heart, the fear had remained. Now I could almost feel the anxiety depart from my person. If Jeeves was going to leave; he would have done so during our recent tiff.

 

Happiness surged through me; so strong my toes curled with it. Despite the burned jacket, discarded clothing, soupy ways of talking, and various other rummy things, Jeeves loved me.

 

I slipped into nature's sweet repose happier than I had been since I had departed for Cannes.


Tbc

 

 

Comments

[toodlepipsigner.livejournal.com]

I do enjoy this so! Bertie really should be a marriage counsellor. It's sweet how he's trying so hard to be pragmatic and rationallizing his projections of anger on Jeeves. Great job! Hope there'll be more soon.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much for the reply! Bertie was trying very hard to be reasonable and rational about the matter. I'm glad that shows.