indeedsir_backup | Fic: Good Egg by Louise Lux

Title: Good Egg
Author: Louise Lux
Rating: G
Disclaimer: these characters belong to P.G. Wodehouse.
Summary: there are good eggs and then there are eggs that misbehave.

Good Egg

One of Jeeves's most noticeable features is that he's a sombre sort of cove. Firm, commanding, a stalwart in a world filled with creatures such as Roderick Spode and aunts with lapdogs. It's a bit of a comedown then to stumble across him in the kitchen, be-aproned, paint brush in one hand, hen's egg in the other, daubing away as if his life depended on it. He twitched a lip, but otherwise maintained utter calm at being caught out. Egg-like, I suppose one could say.

The rest of the flat had been naked of his presence; unusual for a morning when my head throbbed and the ghost of Bingo Little chucking-up behind the drinks cabinet shimmered before my eyes. The only shimmering I wanted was Jeeves with his hangover cure, but so far he'd held out.

'They're for the children of the Junior Ganymede Beneficial Fund Easter Egg Hunt and Tea, sir,' Jeeves said, looking up from his eggy artwork. A small crowd, already decorated, sat on a plate.

'Very noble, Jeeves,' said I. 'And a fair hand you have. Very steady.'

'Thank you, sir.'

I leant over to inspect the ovum in question. It bore a ghastly face with large watery blue eyes, a nose in a revolting shade of pink and elephantine ears.

'Who's that?'

Jeeves smiled in that special way that can make a man's heart beat faster and can also make him wish he hadn't stayed up far, far into the wee smalls the night before, with increasingly spirited duets of the popular song, My Little Gypsy Wanda, (won't you wander back to me?).

Professional to a fault, Jeeves had stood bravely by with the whisky and soda, casting a silent fish-like eye on our depravity and sheets of newspaper on Bingo's unexpected emissions.

'I do believe I intended it to be a likeness of you, Mr Wooster, sir.'

Jeeves prefers to serve his revenge freezing cold, on a bed of crushed ice.

The ears were a definite hit below the belt. But possibly well-deserved. The Wooster skull is thick, undoubtedly, but even I could see that Jeeves's egg decorating was but a cry for attention from a wounded heart. Perhaps it was time to give Wanda her marching orders and to turf the still sleeping Bingo out into the grim streets where he belonged.

'I do believe I'll lunch at home today, Jeeves.'

'Very good, sir.'

The next egg didn't look anything like me, but did bear a distinct resemblance to Bingo Little, the unfortunate booby.

'Perhaps Mr Little would appreciate an egg for breakfast, sir?' he said, holding it aloft with a firm hand.

My heart lifted to see the miniscule twitch of the lip that meant Jeeves had found some small fragment of happiness in his daily labours.

'Absolutely, Jeeves.'