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indeedsir_backupI'm not entirely certain how to rate things around here, so I might be off. I looked at the MPAA guidelines for such things and then at various ratings that have been given to fics around here. I figure a higher rating to be on the safe side. If this really is R, it is very very light R.
(EDIT: After consideration, I've switched the rating to PG-13. Don't want to give you cats and kittens out there looking for a particular whatsit false hope. XD)
Title: Jeeves and the Missing Manuscript
Chapter: 2/16
Pairing: Jeeves/Bertie
Rating for Chapter: PG-13
Summary: Bertie meets a young Agatha Christie and hits it off with her at a garden party. She even offers to let him read and comment on her latest manuscript, The Murder of Roger Ackroyd, before she posts it to her publisher. Of course, mayhem ensues when the manuscript is stolen and Jeeves and Bertie must find and return it to the rightful owner. Mix in a dash of danger, anger, angst, and unrequited feeling, and it's the perfect storm for 'certain whatsits' to come to light.
Disclaimer: Jeeves, Bertie, and all characters associated with their idyllic world belong to P.G. Wodehouse. Mrs. Christie belongs to herself last I checked.
“A telegram has just arrived for you, sir,” Jeeves announced, shimmering into the bathroom with his usual aplomb one sunny day in late May. I started with all the grace of cat whose tail has just come under assault by a cruel child’s shoe. I had been engrossed in tugging at bits of the Wooster corpus that wouldn’t do to discuss in company, polite or otherwise, and I must admit it had become rather a bad habit of late, though I couldn’t say why. Jeeves would help me out of my pajamas, bung me into the tub, and then biff himself off to do whatever it is he does when I’m not looking. As soon as he left the room, and after the requisite four or five squeaks of the good old rubber d., my hand delved beneath the surface to... well, I’m sure you can guess what a healthy young gentleman’s hands do below the surface of the bathwater when they aren’t preoccu-whatsit with resting comfortably against his chest or running a loofah around.
“Ahah! Yes, Jeeves, well you had better read it, then,” I replied, knowing that the aforementioned rubber d. was doing a poor job of hiding my not-inconsiderable problem. Jeeves, paragon that he is, barely twitched a brow at my blushing visage, though I thought I caught the whiff of a Jeevesian smirk of amusement edging ‘round the stolid mien for a fraction of a second.
“Very good, sir,” he intoned with that self-satisfied air, flipping open the little brown e.
“BERTIE. MUST COME DOWN TO TWING THIS SATURDAY. MUMMY’S BIGGEST GARDEN PARTY THIS SEASON. SPECIAL GUEST YOU WILL WANT TO MEET. REGARDS CYNTHIA WICKHAMMERSLEY.”
“A guest I’ll want to meet, eh?” I mused, forgetting my embarrassment for the intrigue. “Any idea who that might be, Jeeves?”
He coughed politely, though how the man manages to do anything impolitely is the Devil’s own guess. “I can only assume the honored guest would be a Mrs. Agatha Christie of Berkshire, sir. The famed authoress and wife of Colonel Arch–”
“Agatha Christie’s going to Lady Wickhammersley’s garden party?” I exclaimed, fairly leaping out of the tub.
“Sir...” Jeeves averted his eyes, a hint of rouge dusting his cheeks, though I took little notice as I began to pace across the slippery bathroom tiles.
“I say, Jeeves!” I I-sayed him. “This is wonderful news. No, it’s absolutely topping! No, marvelous! Better yet, the real tobasco!”
“As you say, sir,” he agreed. “But if you would like to return to your ablutions, or perhaps secure a towel about your–”
“I mean, do you know who Agatha Christie is, Jeeves?” I didn’t pause long enough for him to respond. “Well, of course you do. Who doesn’t? Only just finished The Secret of Chimneys the other day. I can’t wait! Jeeves, you will pack, and we will drive to Twing Hall directly!” I spun on my heel to point him toward the bedroom, but the water collecting about the floor provided a bit more dramatic oomph to the turn than I was expecting.
I do believe it was the first time I ever heard Jeeves squeak – not the man himself, you understand, Jeeves being above such things as squeaking, but his shoes.
His arms wrapped around me in less than a second, preventing the young master’s head from making an intimate acquaintance of the y.m.’s floor. I stared up at him as his eyebrows jumped to an alarming height. If it wasn’t bad enough that Jeeves was now hugging my naked corpus, hugging my half-aroused n.c. certainly took the chocolate-covered confectionary.
“Are you unharmed, sir?” There was a thingness in his voice I might have called ‘flustered’ were it any other person.
“Yes,” I squeaked, as we Woosters are more prone to mice-like utterances than Jeeveses.
We stood in silence for five seconds as I willed myself to sink into the tiles and my man studiously ignored the fact that I was no longer half-aroused, but rather in a more embarrassing way, if you can imagine it. I mean, what could a chap expect, though, with the sudden application of woolen pinstripes to person?
“Well,” I ventured. “Well,” I continued when this appeared insufficient. “Well, perhaps I should finish with the bath, Jeeves.”
“Indeed, sir,” he said, disengaging himself and assisting me into the tub once more. “If it is not too bold to question your instructions, sir,” he added as he was straightening up – I noted that he was now quite wet, which only served to exacerbate my current predicament for some indefinable reason, “I think a telegram responding in the affirmative to Lady Cynthia’s invitation would be a more appropriate action to take at the present.”
“Why’s that, Jeeves?”
“It is Tuesday, sir.”
“Ah... I see your point. Wouldn’t want to wear out the welcome before the big day.”
“I would not phrase it precisely so, sir, but the sentiment is sound given our previous sojourns to similar country estates.”
“Right, well, see to it, Jeeves,” I directed with a quick wave. “Or... hold on just a tick. How on earth did you know Agatha Christie was attending Lady Wickhammersley’s garden party?”
Another regal cough, though this might have been to cover the squeal of his shoes as he shifted slightly. “The head falconer at the Wickhammersley manor is a childhood acquaintance, sir.”
“I didn’t know the Wickhammersleys had a falconer... or falcons for the matter,” I interrupted. Cynthia had never mentioned it at any rate.
“Yes, sir. I am given to understand Lord Wickhammersley turned to the sport with great fervor after Lady Wickhammersley restricted his access to the family funds on account of his Lordship's gambling habit. As to your question, a maid overheard Lady Wickhammersley making the arrangements for Mrs. Christie’s arrival. It has been the talk of the servant’s hall ever since.”
“And this falconer chappie decided to drop you a line, eh?”
“Mr. Chilcott is aware that I have a great fondness for literature, sir.” He shifted again, which was unusual, but it had the effect of reminding me why I had tried to shoo him away earlier.
“Er... yes, well that’s all quite interesting, but off you go, Jeeves. Send the telegram, then make the necessary arrangements for the drive down to Twing Hall after lunch on Friday.”
“Of course, sir.” He bowed slightly and oiled away with only the tiniest whine of shoe on wet tile.
My ducky stared at me as I returned to my bath and other... matters of interest. “What are you looking at?” I demanded before turning his suddenly-accusatory yellow face away.
Perhaps I needed to get out more. Yes, a lack of exercise explained my excess energy in the morning. A ramble around the countryside with the inimitable, and very much married, Mrs. Christie would be just the ticket.
(Back to Chapter 1)
(Onward to Chapter 3)
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*grin*
Date: 2010-10-21 04:51 pm (UTC)FIne, funny, and much appreciated.
Re: *grin*
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Date: 2010-10-21 08:57 pm (UTC)I especially liked Bertie's mention of Agatha Christie's matrimonial status :-))
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Date: 2010-10-21 11:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-21 10:28 pm (UTC)"...having been engrossed in tugging at bits of the Wooster corpus that wouldn’t do to discuss in company, polite or otherwise."
What a perfectly Wooster-esque turn of phrase!
I'm loving this! Also enjoying the delivery in bite-sized pieces, too. Tasty!!!
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Date: 2010-10-21 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-22 02:27 am (UTC)I heart this story so much.
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Date: 2010-10-29 02:32 pm (UTC)