"Fallng Farther In" Part Four

[toodlepipsigner.livejournal.com]

Sorry for the delay!
Putting my long week-end to some use, as you see. Here's part four.
Title: Any Fool
Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: G? PG?
Words: 1376
Summary: They say any fool can make history...
Disclaimer: The usual. Nothing is mine.

Let's review...

“I assure you Madame, my intentions and consequent actions were what I assessed to be for the greater good. I sought only the best.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure the Decembrists said the same thing! But after hearing my nephew’s sobbing and whinging, I’m not so sure your assessments were correct, for once.” Mrs Travers flapped her arms as she led Jeeves down the corridor as though they were wings of a once elegant bird, now taking wing awkwardly in old age. As she rounded the corner, she looked back at the man with tired blue eyes and an empathetic look, “I’m sorry if this is awkward for you, Jeeves, but I just want you to understand a few things about my nephew; this way you can choose if you want to leave, and if you do, you’ll leave knowing the truth, and you’ll leave knowing why he said what he said and did what he did. Surely, a rational man such as you would appreciate a better understanding of his circumstance?”

“Indeed I would, Madame...”

“Good egg.” She said, a look of good humour fleeting across her face as she passed into her well-kept study. She headed over to her desk and scooted behind it, running her hands randomly over various and not-as-well-kept articles for Milady’s Boudoir—all submitted, Jeeves noticed with little surprise, by the same three names, none of which were familiar to anyone who did not read the magazine in question. Her wrinkled but commanding ringed hands froze in their rummaging, as though just remembering what they were supposed to do. They went immediately to a small shut ring-box, and Mrs Travers turned her head to Jeeves, as though speaking on a side note, and said in a whisper, though she did not know why whispering was necessary, “The box my engagement ring came in.”

Jeeves nodded in acknowledgement, but she’d already turned her attention to the small brass key being extracted from the aforementioned box. She handled it with surprising delicacy for a woman of her disposition, and with it opened the bottom right-hand drawer of the bureau.

It opened with a low rusty hum, and her hand delved into it, once more rummaging. It was mostly papers and documents, Jeeves noted, folded and kept in meticulous files, likely of her husband’s doing rather than her own. But there were other objects slightly less neatly kept: assorted knick knacks at the bottom of the drawer; it was among these that Mrs Travers was sorting. Finally she stopped, and raised her head from where it was bent peering into the drawer. Her arm emerged from the deep of it, and in her hand was a framed photograph.

“Tom says it’s too painful to keep out. I say it’s too private to let the servants see—bar Seppings of course, but my study isn’t part of his specific duties. Besides, you know the parlour maids I keep, they’re a clumsy lot! Virtuous and respectful, but not deft enough to trust with sentimental items and a feather duster.” She gave Jeeves a justified look, and he nodded absently in acknowledgement, only half hearing her words. His eyes were focused on the photograph she held to her. He had only caught a brief sight—a row of people standing in front of what appeared to be Brinkley Court.

All this Mrs Travers noticed, and she decided to show him the photograph. It was, indeed, a row of people, several of whom Jeeves recognized immediately. To the far right of the photograph was Mrs Travers herself, considerably younger, but still light and firm of spirit. She had at her knee a toddler of not more than four or five, with a small bow in her hair, which fell only to her shoulders, and a light, conventional dress that fit awkwardly on one so young. This was, he gathered, the young Miss Angela.

To Mrs Travers’ left was her also considerably younger husband, and he stood in a casual suit next to a pretty young woman—child, Jeeves corrected himself. Though tall and mature-looking, the young woman could not have been more than eleven or twelve, and her mother, even more considerably young than either of the Travers, had her arm around her. They bore unmistakable likeness, but while the young Miss Constance Wooster had a serious face, her mother was smiling and mirthful. And to her left, with his arm about her waist, stood Mr Aloysius Wooster, grinning back at Jeeves with a painfully familiar smile.

His other hand was resting on the head of his youngest, the red curls in a mess and the sweet face scrunched in a smiling pout. The young master could not have been more than four or five, or six at the most, and was, characteristically, the only child smiling in the photograph.

Counterpointed to him, on the far left, stood the only adult who was not smiling for the photograph. Stoic, and classic to her personality, Agatha Wooster (or possibly Gregson, Jeeves could not tell to the date) stood with a disdainful glare; Jeeves wondered how long it took to repair the camera’s lens after the picture was taken, and whether or not his young master’s least favourite aunt had to pay for it. He resolved that she likely would have refused the fine.

“We had Seppings take the photograph. Summer of Nineteen Hundred—the turn of the century! It was right before my sister got married the first time... and right before my brother...” She trailed off, now nearly leaning her head against Jeeves’ elbow to get a glimpse of the photo he held. She raised a slightly shaking hand, and trailed it over the figure of her elder brother tenderly. She was not a sentimental woman, or one particularly prone to melancholy remembrances, but Jeeves could tell this was an exception.

“It was only a few days after we took this photograph...” She lowered her hand from the frame, and as Jeeves moved to put it down, she turned and walked towards the window, and he realised she would not want to be seen at present. She drew a deep breath and continued.

“They had forgotten a piece of silver Tom asked them to retrieve for him in London—my brother never had much of a memory for anything but his wife’s smile and his music. But he was willing, as his code dictated, to ride back to London and retrieve the item. Vera wanted to go with him—she never left his side unless the children needed tending to—but Constance and Bertram were to stay here.

The mid-summer rain had continued for two days, and the roads, likewise, were terrible. Constance was old enough to understand, but Bertram—he was very different, being so young, from what you may know him to be: obliging, obedient, good-natured. No, he was very different. Something of a young blot, and very, very stubborn.—Bertram did not wish to stay. He loved automobile rides, and especially those between London and Brinkley. He wanted so desperately to go with his parents. This young Bertram fought with his mother over the privilege to ride with them, made all sorts of bargains and promises and compromises, but never got his way. We all told him he could not go, and to stay in his room until they returned. Well, he did, and for the first time in his life, he slammed the door, and shouted his hatred for his parents.”

Jeeves, never one to express his shock, stood silently wondering how the sweet boy that gazed back at him through the photograph could be capable of doing such a thing. He knew what happened next—he knew the story of their deaths, how they were in an automobile accident caused by some faulty brake and the mid-summer rain. But he did not know his young master’s last words to them.

“Well there you are. You know the rest I presume?” She said after a while of staring solemnly out the window, at the sun setting heavily over the grounds of Brinkley. She turned her head for an answer, and Jeeves nodded absently, still staring into the photograph of the young master’s charming smile.

TBC

Comments

[storyfan.livejournal.com]

Now it all makes sense. Poor little Bertie. And now, poor Jeeves.

[toodlepipsigner.livejournal.com]

:) Yes our poor boys. Nice to finally have the pieces falling together. Thanks for reading!

[mutant-biscuits.livejournal.com]

Aaww, the poor boys. Make it all better, have mercy!

I'm really enjoying this series so far. Can't wait to see what happens next!

[toodlepipsigner.livejournal.com]

^_^ So very glad you've been enjoying. And I could never end a series on a sad note. I admire those who can and do, but I don't have the heart. I need a fluffy reunion too, so stay tuned. ;)

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Heartbreaking! I'm looking forward to more!

[toodlepipsigner.livejournal.com]

With due expediency, madam.
Thank you for reading!

[jupiterknight.livejournal.com]

Ah! The angsty fluffy angst! I love it. Great twist <3

[mxdp.livejournal.com]

Apparently I missed this one :c But it's wonderfully sad! I do hope you'll continue...

Please?

[brown-polyester.livejournal.com]

Somehow I missed this, but I found it on jwfics. Now I need more. Please?

[toodlepipsigner.livejournal.com]

Ah yes- almost forgot about that myself ;)
Yes I'll try to get that wrapped up for who so ever finds it worth the read. Been the darkest shade of the color busy lately.

[lygtemanden.livejournal.com]

This is just a beautiful story, and with great promise of a beautiful ending, did it ever get one, I wonder...

Honestly, it is really good, and I can sort of imagine an end to it, but would much rather see what you had in mind.