Fic: Redemption, part 4 (G)
Aug. 17th, 2010 02:40 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
hazeltea.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
indeedsir_backupThis has been rattling around in my brain since I read Yours, Plum: The Letters of P.G. Wodehouse a few years ago.I wanted to try continuing the 1953 fanfic by J. Maclaren-Ross , which was lovingly trascribed here by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chaoticchaos13
Pairing:Jeeves/Bertie
Disclaimer: I make no profit from the lovely world of Wodehouse.
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/849688.html#cutid1
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/851698.html#cutid1
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/853433.html#cutid1
I’d only been in the Junior Ganymede once before- when that blighter Brinkley, or Bingley, or whatever he is calling himself nearly ran me down with his car, not being content with his previous attempt on this Wooster’s life. Jeeves had brought me inside for a snifter and a bandage. I recall the very air of the place dripping with a rich dignity, while at the same time being as soothing as Jeeves’ own voice. Unlike the Drones Club, not much seemed to have changed as I entered the building. They even employed a door man, which was a rare thing indeed these days. Let it never be said that the servants of Jeeves’ acquaintance let the reality of the modern world lower their standards.
An old man met me in the lobby, of the same cloth as old Beach up at Blandings. He was tall, stoic, and pale, with white hair, pale skin, and an ample frame. It was as though someone had stuffed a stack of barrels into coat tails. He tipped his hat to me, and shook my hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Jeeves said to expect you. My name is Harris. Of course, we have heard so very much about you.” he began to lead me into the building.
“Ah. Yes. Wooster, B, in the flesh, as you know.” I added, knowing that this man was surely old enough to remember the days when my misadventures totaled eighteen pages of Jeeves’ notes. He smiled a bit at that, and I knew that I was right.
The Junior Ganymede, while lacking the swimming pool of the Drones Club, is not lacking in the comforts of home. There is a bar, a large room with a long, ancient table for meetings, a library, a room with tables to play cards, a dining room, and rooms for members to sleep in upon request. There are also offices, and I was shown my own, a small room with a large roll top desk and locked book cases with glass fronts. My eyes widened as I realized what was housed here- dozens of volumes of the Club Book, dating back to antiquity. As Secretary, I was one of the three key holders, and was given a solemn speech on the importance of the books and their confidentiality. Of course, this I knew already, and Harris implied that had I not been vouched for by Jeeves, I would not be allowed within ten feet of the bally things.
The Secretary’s job was to make sure that each member was entering some information about their employers in the Club Book. He also took notes at the meetings and typed them up, to be put into another locked file cabinet, and issued letters of importance to club members. It would be more work than my position at the Drones club, because while we might say that we were taking notes, for example, it was dashed rare that anyone actually did it. Still, it was light work for the pay, which included membership. Harris and I discussed my duties over luncheon, which was a divine chicken dish rolled up with bread stuffing and sauce. It had been one of my favorite dinners that Jeeves would cook, and one bite told me that the recipe was the same.
“Oh.” I whispered, closing my eyes slightly. I could almost imagine myself snug in the flat, with the fire burning cheerfully as Jeeves flitted about me. “I mean to say, this is delicious. Absolutely spiffing.”
Harris nodded. “We serve it on Thursdays, every week for at least sixty-one years, in my experience, with the exception of certain periods of time when rationing made life rather difficult.”
My spirits began to rise.
I was left to my own devices that afternoon, to make the office my own, as it were. I poked around the files a bit, before finally becoming brave enough to reach for the key to the book cases. I found the book containing the date of my last happiness, and,feeling like a German spy,flipped the pages towards W.
As you are aware, I have been called to serve Britain in her hour of need. To leave my post causes me such grief as I cannot express. Mr. Wooster is all that one could wish for in an employer, and will need a valet to serve in my stead. I know that I can trust the members of the Junior Ganymede to settle upon a suitable replacement in my hastily announced absence, which, God willing, will not be permanent.
Mr. Wooster is to be soundly advised and cared for, for he is lacking in sound judgment and overflowing with generosity and good will. It is quite possible that unscrupulous parties will conspire to manipulate him for his wealth and social status, so continued vigilance is vital. I shall be indebted to the gentleman accepting this task until my death.
Reginald Jeeves
I read it twice, working the words out in my mind. It was bally well difficult to not be insulted by what little he thought of the Wooster intellect, but it wasn’t exactly a secret, either. I was also surprised by the severity of his speech, although these Ganymede chaps seem to have a flair for the melodramatic. I replaced the book, vaguely wondering if I would eventually gain a sort of solemn dignity by association.
chaoticchaos13 Pairing:Jeeves/Bertie
Disclaimer: I make no profit from the lovely world of Wodehouse.
Part 1: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/849688.html#cutid1
Part 2: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/851698.html#cutid1
Part 3: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/853433.html#cutid1
I’d only been in the Junior Ganymede once before- when that blighter Brinkley, or Bingley, or whatever he is calling himself nearly ran me down with his car, not being content with his previous attempt on this Wooster’s life. Jeeves had brought me inside for a snifter and a bandage. I recall the very air of the place dripping with a rich dignity, while at the same time being as soothing as Jeeves’ own voice. Unlike the Drones Club, not much seemed to have changed as I entered the building. They even employed a door man, which was a rare thing indeed these days. Let it never be said that the servants of Jeeves’ acquaintance let the reality of the modern world lower their standards.
An old man met me in the lobby, of the same cloth as old Beach up at Blandings. He was tall, stoic, and pale, with white hair, pale skin, and an ample frame. It was as though someone had stuffed a stack of barrels into coat tails. He tipped his hat to me, and shook my hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Jeeves said to expect you. My name is Harris. Of course, we have heard so very much about you.” he began to lead me into the building.
“Ah. Yes. Wooster, B, in the flesh, as you know.” I added, knowing that this man was surely old enough to remember the days when my misadventures totaled eighteen pages of Jeeves’ notes. He smiled a bit at that, and I knew that I was right.
The Junior Ganymede, while lacking the swimming pool of the Drones Club, is not lacking in the comforts of home. There is a bar, a large room with a long, ancient table for meetings, a library, a room with tables to play cards, a dining room, and rooms for members to sleep in upon request. There are also offices, and I was shown my own, a small room with a large roll top desk and locked book cases with glass fronts. My eyes widened as I realized what was housed here- dozens of volumes of the Club Book, dating back to antiquity. As Secretary, I was one of the three key holders, and was given a solemn speech on the importance of the books and their confidentiality. Of course, this I knew already, and Harris implied that had I not been vouched for by Jeeves, I would not be allowed within ten feet of the bally things.
The Secretary’s job was to make sure that each member was entering some information about their employers in the Club Book. He also took notes at the meetings and typed them up, to be put into another locked file cabinet, and issued letters of importance to club members. It would be more work than my position at the Drones club, because while we might say that we were taking notes, for example, it was dashed rare that anyone actually did it. Still, it was light work for the pay, which included membership. Harris and I discussed my duties over luncheon, which was a divine chicken dish rolled up with bread stuffing and sauce. It had been one of my favorite dinners that Jeeves would cook, and one bite told me that the recipe was the same.
“Oh.” I whispered, closing my eyes slightly. I could almost imagine myself snug in the flat, with the fire burning cheerfully as Jeeves flitted about me. “I mean to say, this is delicious. Absolutely spiffing.”
Harris nodded. “We serve it on Thursdays, every week for at least sixty-one years, in my experience, with the exception of certain periods of time when rationing made life rather difficult.”
My spirits began to rise.
I was left to my own devices that afternoon, to make the office my own, as it were. I poked around the files a bit, before finally becoming brave enough to reach for the key to the book cases. I found the book containing the date of my last happiness, and,feeling like a German spy,flipped the pages towards W.
As you are aware, I have been called to serve Britain in her hour of need. To leave my post causes me such grief as I cannot express. Mr. Wooster is all that one could wish for in an employer, and will need a valet to serve in my stead. I know that I can trust the members of the Junior Ganymede to settle upon a suitable replacement in my hastily announced absence, which, God willing, will not be permanent.
Mr. Wooster is to be soundly advised and cared for, for he is lacking in sound judgment and overflowing with generosity and good will. It is quite possible that unscrupulous parties will conspire to manipulate him for his wealth and social status, so continued vigilance is vital. I shall be indebted to the gentleman accepting this task until my death.
Reginald Jeeves
I read it twice, working the words out in my mind. It was bally well difficult to not be insulted by what little he thought of the Wooster intellect, but it wasn’t exactly a secret, either. I was also surprised by the severity of his speech, although these Ganymede chaps seem to have a flair for the melodramatic. I replaced the book, vaguely wondering if I would eventually gain a sort of solemn dignity by association.
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