Fic: Redemption, part 10 (PG)
Sep. 19th, 2010 01:02 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
Part 7: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/864721.html#cutid1
Part 8: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/867046.html#cutid1
Part 9: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/870100.html#cutid1
Jeeves had left by the time his elixir had worked its magic. I pondered the imponderables, and tapped a thoughtful foot on the floorboards. He had let me kiss him. He had leaned into it, and been as encouraging as a chap might be, not merely being polite. He hadn’t directly confessed to me, but to carry about a lock of one’s hair is an invitation to a fellow. I could woo him, if I tried; and yet I had never felt so bally unsuited to woo in my life. The question arises: what do you, Wooster, have to offer in the way of a helpmeet? Why would such a paragon of men quite suddenly decide that you have the goods?
The answer, of course, is discouraging as it is plain. I had not money, looks, or intellect suited for the wheeze. I could be charming in a way, but what attracted him to me was the memory of what I had been. I shouldn’t like to win him, only to see disappointment in his eyes once he had been secured. I would need to consider this from every angle before proceeding. I began with the angle of the window from the corner of my bed. I was frowning at a glare in the glass when I was broken from my reverie by the shrill ring of the doorbell.
I struggled into my dressing robe, and hurried to the door, feeling a twinge of guilt for not being properly dressed. I hoped that it was no one that Jeeves knew personally. I hastily raked my fingers through my hair, and opened the door, cautiously. Here, I startled, and lost all power of speech, for before me stood the Lady Sidcup (nee Bassett.) The Bassett’s saucer-like eyes widened, and she clamped a lacy, gloved hand over her mouth, failing to suppress a painful sounding squeak, like a mouse being caught up in a cat’s jaws.
“Oh, Bertie!” She choked through her splayed fingers. “So it’s true.”
“Ah.” I replied. I’m not at all good with these sort of conversations. She
stood before me, her eyes brimming with unshed emotion. A moment passed where I prayed that she would simply disappear, but it was not to be. She remained, and the discomfort of the silence caused me to widen the opening of the door and accept her hat, gloves, and assortment of shopping bags.
“Hullo, Madeline.” I managed. “Fancy a drink?”
Her eyes became all droopy and watery. “I shall not encourage you, dear Bertie.” She patted me on the hand, in a kindly gesture.
“Oh, right ho.” I offered her an awkward smile.
She sat, arranging her voluminous frock about her. I had to admit that the post war fashion rather suited her, as dripping over with sentimental fairytale fantasy as it is. She had aged, as well, but in a wispy, willowy way that put one in mind of a fairy godmother.
“I shall be forthright, as much as it pains me. I heard from my father that you were wasting away, losing yourself in drink.” She lisped, in that syrupy way that she has. “I felt so terrible, Bertie, that I resolved to see you, no matter what Roderick and Daddy had to say about it. Stephanie told me that you were here, working for Lord Jeeves. Oh! How painful it must be, my sweet lamb. Yet, you must be strong! You must stop pining away, dear Bertie!”
I actually startled. Could she know about Jeeves? More disturbing, could Glossop and old Bassett know?
“I shall always hold you dear in a wee corner of my heart, as I have Augustus, but you must accept that it is not to be.” She sighed, piteously. “Life is so strange, so bittersweet.”
I nearly fell over in relief. “Ah, well, it’s not as bad as all that. Stories do get exaggerated, you know.” I realized that I hadn’t even shaved. Between that and my lack of proper clothing, it sounded like a pathetic lie.
“Do you promise that you will go on, Bertie?” She asked, earnestly, fingering a strand of pearls.
“Of course.” I agreed. Madeline really is a sweet girl, after all, but it is the sort of sweet that one might associate with eating nothing but treacle for an entire year. One would get sick, one might possibly expire from it after long.
Once I’d given my word, she relaxed, visibly. “I told Daddy that he was wrong to think you mad. You simply have an artistic spirit. I hope that Lord Jeeves is allowing you to express yourself.”
“Lord Jeeves is one in a million, old fruit. I’m very happy in my position.” I offered her a manic grin as proof. “I say, what does your father have to say about Lord Jeeves?”
“He is very well respected.” She began, twirling the strand about her finger. “No one ever even talks about him having been a servant. “ A cloud went over her eyes for a moment. “I’m arguing with Roderick. He said that Lord Jeeves gives you charity. Well, I think he should have done more. He’s supposed to be able to fix people’s problems, or so everyone says. I don’t like him.” She concluded. “I don’t believe in politics, Bertie.”
One might wonder how someone who can believe in fairies cannot believe in politics, but I too stung by her dislike of Jeeves to put much thought into it.
“Stephanie wanted me to give you this.” She continued, extracting a note from her handbag. “We all miss you terribly, Bertie. I have to be home this evening, or I would take you to luncheon.”
I thanked her, and she pulled a flower from her hat and pressed it into my palm.
“Do be good, Bertie.” She lisped, sweetly.
“I shall.” I assured her. “Safe journey, and all that.”
My heart was pounding as I shut the door, and ripped open the envelope. I can’t quite recall a time when I felt my guilty conscience so acutely. However, inside was only a slip of paper, reading:
Bertie,
I need a favor. Call at once.
Stephanie.
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
Part 7: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/864721.html#cutid1
Part 8: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/867046.html#cutid1
Part 9: http://community.livejournal.com/indeedsir/870100.html#cutid1
Jeeves had left by the time his elixir had worked its magic. I pondered the imponderables, and tapped a thoughtful foot on the floorboards. He had let me kiss him. He had leaned into it, and been as encouraging as a chap might be, not merely being polite. He hadn’t directly confessed to me, but to carry about a lock of one’s hair is an invitation to a fellow. I could woo him, if I tried; and yet I had never felt so bally unsuited to woo in my life. The question arises: what do you, Wooster, have to offer in the way of a helpmeet? Why would such a paragon of men quite suddenly decide that you have the goods?
The answer, of course, is discouraging as it is plain. I had not money, looks, or intellect suited for the wheeze. I could be charming in a way, but what attracted him to me was the memory of what I had been. I shouldn’t like to win him, only to see disappointment in his eyes once he had been secured. I would need to consider this from every angle before proceeding. I began with the angle of the window from the corner of my bed. I was frowning at a glare in the glass when I was broken from my reverie by the shrill ring of the doorbell.
I struggled into my dressing robe, and hurried to the door, feeling a twinge of guilt for not being properly dressed. I hoped that it was no one that Jeeves knew personally. I hastily raked my fingers through my hair, and opened the door, cautiously. Here, I startled, and lost all power of speech, for before me stood the Lady Sidcup (nee Bassett.) The Bassett’s saucer-like eyes widened, and she clamped a lacy, gloved hand over her mouth, failing to suppress a painful sounding squeak, like a mouse being caught up in a cat’s jaws.
“Oh, Bertie!” She choked through her splayed fingers. “So it’s true.”
“Ah.” I replied. I’m not at all good with these sort of conversations. She
stood before me, her eyes brimming with unshed emotion. A moment passed where I prayed that she would simply disappear, but it was not to be. She remained, and the discomfort of the silence caused me to widen the opening of the door and accept her hat, gloves, and assortment of shopping bags.
“Hullo, Madeline.” I managed. “Fancy a drink?”
Her eyes became all droopy and watery. “I shall not encourage you, dear Bertie.” She patted me on the hand, in a kindly gesture.
“Oh, right ho.” I offered her an awkward smile.
She sat, arranging her voluminous frock about her. I had to admit that the post war fashion rather suited her, as dripping over with sentimental fairytale fantasy as it is. She had aged, as well, but in a wispy, willowy way that put one in mind of a fairy godmother.
“I shall be forthright, as much as it pains me. I heard from my father that you were wasting away, losing yourself in drink.” She lisped, in that syrupy way that she has. “I felt so terrible, Bertie, that I resolved to see you, no matter what Roderick and Daddy had to say about it. Stephanie told me that you were here, working for Lord Jeeves. Oh! How painful it must be, my sweet lamb. Yet, you must be strong! You must stop pining away, dear Bertie!”
I actually startled. Could she know about Jeeves? More disturbing, could Glossop and old Bassett know?
“I shall always hold you dear in a wee corner of my heart, as I have Augustus, but you must accept that it is not to be.” She sighed, piteously. “Life is so strange, so bittersweet.”
I nearly fell over in relief. “Ah, well, it’s not as bad as all that. Stories do get exaggerated, you know.” I realized that I hadn’t even shaved. Between that and my lack of proper clothing, it sounded like a pathetic lie.
“Do you promise that you will go on, Bertie?” She asked, earnestly, fingering a strand of pearls.
“Of course.” I agreed. Madeline really is a sweet girl, after all, but it is the sort of sweet that one might associate with eating nothing but treacle for an entire year. One would get sick, one might possibly expire from it after long.
Once I’d given my word, she relaxed, visibly. “I told Daddy that he was wrong to think you mad. You simply have an artistic spirit. I hope that Lord Jeeves is allowing you to express yourself.”
“Lord Jeeves is one in a million, old fruit. I’m very happy in my position.” I offered her a manic grin as proof. “I say, what does your father have to say about Lord Jeeves?”
“He is very well respected.” She began, twirling the strand about her finger. “No one ever even talks about him having been a servant. “ A cloud went over her eyes for a moment. “I’m arguing with Roderick. He said that Lord Jeeves gives you charity. Well, I think he should have done more. He’s supposed to be able to fix people’s problems, or so everyone says. I don’t like him.” She concluded. “I don’t believe in politics, Bertie.”
One might wonder how someone who can believe in fairies cannot believe in politics, but I too stung by her dislike of Jeeves to put much thought into it.
“Stephanie wanted me to give you this.” She continued, extracting a note from her handbag. “We all miss you terribly, Bertie. I have to be home this evening, or I would take you to luncheon.”
I thanked her, and she pulled a flower from her hat and pressed it into my palm.
“Do be good, Bertie.” She lisped, sweetly.
“I shall.” I assured her. “Safe journey, and all that.”
My heart was pounding as I shut the door, and ripped open the envelope. I can’t quite recall a time when I felt my guilty conscience so acutely. However, inside was only a slip of paper, reading:
Bertie,
I need a favor. Call at once.
Stephanie.
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