Fic: Redemption, part 7 (PG)
Sep. 1st, 2010 07:00 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
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/854770.html#cutid1
Part 5: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/856387.html#cutid1
Part 6: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/861280.html#cutid1
I returned from the Junior Ganymede one day, and was quite surprised to cross paths with a stuffy looking old bird outside the flat. I tipped my hat, and entered eagerly, for if there was a guest, then Jeeves must be home. If not, I’d just tipped my hat to a bally burglar, which certainly wouldn’t reflect well on my professional achievements. Happily, Jeeves was just inside, putting things right after his guest’s departure.
I took the used glasses from him. “I didn’t know you were here, M’lord.” I apologized.
“It was an unexpected appointment, Wooster, there is no cause to worry yourself.” He plumped up the pillows on the davenport in that way that makes them seem brand new, a feat that seems simple, but which I have never mastered.
“An emergency, then, an inmate loose at the bin, no doubt.” I didn’t want to sound bitter, and I hope that I didn’t. As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I shouldn’t have said anything at all; the chaps at the Junior Ganymede would have scolded me.
“That was Lord Farthington.” Jeeves replied, ignoring my casual impoliteness. “He finds himself troubled by his half brother, a certain Mr. Richard Mason . He was seeking my advice on a financial matter.”
I fixed Jeeves a fresh drink, brooding on the matter. The name sounded familiar, and I said so, with a sigh.
“He is deeply involved in Parliament.” Jeeves provided for me. “He is frequently spoken of in the papers.”
“Well, I do read the papers, at least.” I admitted. “I’m certainly not running in the same circles as lords, so that fits the bill, what?”
“You could be.” The unexpected words froze me in place. I felt a sensation like a cold knife through my center, followed by a burning feeling of embarrassment.
“I am a servant, M’lord.” I replied, hastening to find some mundane task to busy my hands. Unfortunately, the flat was in perpetual order.
“You never took your title.” he continued, prodding gently, but insistently.
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and blinked back the unshed tears I felt threatening my dignity. “I’m not fit for a title, M’lord. I have nothing.” My Aunt Agatha would have been ashamed of me, but hardly surprised, I thought.
“What you have is a right to your name.” he continued. “Sir Roderick Carmoyle is employed at Harrod’s. There is no stigma to holding a title and a situation simultaneously in these times.”
This continued pressure was giving me the pip. I mean to say, first that wretched portrait above the mantle, and now this, even for Jeeves this was pushing the envelope beyond cruelty, and I hadn’t even purchased any bright ties or questionable footwear.
“Excuse me, M’lord.” I managed. “I must begin to prepare your meal.”
I escaped to the kitchen, and fumbled for the bottle of brandy. After two or three gulps, I felt my churning stomach settle. I disemboweled the chicken with gusto. What did he think he was playing at? I chopped the potatoes with a scowl, taking solace in the sharp sound of the knife hitting the board.
Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through my hand, and I yelped, watching helplessly as red blood ruined the white flesh of the potatoes. Within a moment, Jeeves was at my side, holding my hand with firm pressure, then under the faucet, and before I could do much but be dragged alongside him, my wound was neatly dressed.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, Wooster.” he assured me. I looked with wonder at the perfect dressing, the pain already subsiding. “Let me finish this. I would be glad of your company, however, if you would stay.”
I nodded meekly, and watched Jeeves’ skilled hands slice the potatoes with perfect precision. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled.
“There is no need.” he replied. “I enjoy making a meal when I have the time.” He moved swiftly and surely, flitting about as he had done in the old days. It make my heart ache. Soon, a cup of tea was placed before me, and we sat together as we once had over a worn kitchen table.
“I know something about Lord Farthington.” I ventured, cautiously. “I saw Stinker Pinker last week. He was asking about Lord Farthington. He was worried because Stiffy had been seen with him in a restaurant. That’s all I know.” I added, for fear that I would admit to Jeeves the shameful things that I had done in his very home.
A cloud covered his eyes. “That is something to consider, given the lady in question’s reputation for mischief.” he replied. “It may prove to be extremely helpful in the future. Thank you, Wooster.”
I was proud to have pulled something useful from my negligible brain, which took the sting out of the potato incident. Also, I was able to eat a dinner cooked by Jeeves’ own hands; so delicious that my nerves were settled completely by the evening’s end. When I closed the door to his room after seeing him to bed that night, a fond warmth spread through me. All was forgiven, and I was content.
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
Part 4: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/854770.html#cutid1
Part 5: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/856387.html#cutid1
Part 6: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/861280.html#cutid1
I returned from the Junior Ganymede one day, and was quite surprised to cross paths with a stuffy looking old bird outside the flat. I tipped my hat, and entered eagerly, for if there was a guest, then Jeeves must be home. If not, I’d just tipped my hat to a bally burglar, which certainly wouldn’t reflect well on my professional achievements. Happily, Jeeves was just inside, putting things right after his guest’s departure.
I took the used glasses from him. “I didn’t know you were here, M’lord.” I apologized.
“It was an unexpected appointment, Wooster, there is no cause to worry yourself.” He plumped up the pillows on the davenport in that way that makes them seem brand new, a feat that seems simple, but which I have never mastered.
“An emergency, then, an inmate loose at the bin, no doubt.” I didn’t want to sound bitter, and I hope that I didn’t. As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that I shouldn’t have said anything at all; the chaps at the Junior Ganymede would have scolded me.
“That was Lord Farthington.” Jeeves replied, ignoring my casual impoliteness. “He finds himself troubled by his half brother, a certain Mr. Richard Mason . He was seeking my advice on a financial matter.”
I fixed Jeeves a fresh drink, brooding on the matter. The name sounded familiar, and I said so, with a sigh.
“He is deeply involved in Parliament.” Jeeves provided for me. “He is frequently spoken of in the papers.”
“Well, I do read the papers, at least.” I admitted. “I’m certainly not running in the same circles as lords, so that fits the bill, what?”
“You could be.” The unexpected words froze me in place. I felt a sensation like a cold knife through my center, followed by a burning feeling of embarrassment.
“I am a servant, M’lord.” I replied, hastening to find some mundane task to busy my hands. Unfortunately, the flat was in perpetual order.
“You never took your title.” he continued, prodding gently, but insistently.
I swallowed back the lump in my throat and blinked back the unshed tears I felt threatening my dignity. “I’m not fit for a title, M’lord. I have nothing.” My Aunt Agatha would have been ashamed of me, but hardly surprised, I thought.
“What you have is a right to your name.” he continued. “Sir Roderick Carmoyle is employed at Harrod’s. There is no stigma to holding a title and a situation simultaneously in these times.”
This continued pressure was giving me the pip. I mean to say, first that wretched portrait above the mantle, and now this, even for Jeeves this was pushing the envelope beyond cruelty, and I hadn’t even purchased any bright ties or questionable footwear.
“Excuse me, M’lord.” I managed. “I must begin to prepare your meal.”
I escaped to the kitchen, and fumbled for the bottle of brandy. After two or three gulps, I felt my churning stomach settle. I disemboweled the chicken with gusto. What did he think he was playing at? I chopped the potatoes with a scowl, taking solace in the sharp sound of the knife hitting the board.
Suddenly, a sharp pain seared through my hand, and I yelped, watching helplessly as red blood ruined the white flesh of the potatoes. Within a moment, Jeeves was at my side, holding my hand with firm pressure, then under the faucet, and before I could do much but be dragged alongside him, my wound was neatly dressed.
“It’s not as bad as it looks, Wooster.” he assured me. I looked with wonder at the perfect dressing, the pain already subsiding. “Let me finish this. I would be glad of your company, however, if you would stay.”
I nodded meekly, and watched Jeeves’ skilled hands slice the potatoes with perfect precision. “I’m sorry.” I mumbled.
“There is no need.” he replied. “I enjoy making a meal when I have the time.” He moved swiftly and surely, flitting about as he had done in the old days. It make my heart ache. Soon, a cup of tea was placed before me, and we sat together as we once had over a worn kitchen table.
“I know something about Lord Farthington.” I ventured, cautiously. “I saw Stinker Pinker last week. He was asking about Lord Farthington. He was worried because Stiffy had been seen with him in a restaurant. That’s all I know.” I added, for fear that I would admit to Jeeves the shameful things that I had done in his very home.
A cloud covered his eyes. “That is something to consider, given the lady in question’s reputation for mischief.” he replied. “It may prove to be extremely helpful in the future. Thank you, Wooster.”
I was proud to have pulled something useful from my negligible brain, which took the sting out of the potato incident. Also, I was able to eat a dinner cooked by Jeeves’ own hands; so delicious that my nerves were settled completely by the evening’s end. When I closed the door to his room after seeing him to bed that night, a fond warmth spread through me. All was forgiven, and I was content.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}