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indeedsir_backup2010-10-26 04:15 am
Fic: Troubled Times chapter 33 Part 1
Fic: Troubled Times
Chapter 33 Part 1
Author: Emerald
Rating: Mature. NC-17
Disclaimer: Wodehouse owns Jeeves and Wooster.
Beta: 
jestana Thank you for the careful beta'ing!
A/N: Quotes used:
Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray. Lord Byron
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine. Song of Songs.
I love you with a love that is more than a love. Edgar Allan Poe.
That I should love a bright particular star and think to wed it, he is so above me. Shakespeare.
When we returned home from guard work at the factory, Mr. Wooster and I hoped to have some privacy to enjoy the days together. It was a reasonable hope as our most frequent visitor was Mr. Heflner and I knew that he would not be at our residence during our shared three days free. Wright had said nothing to me of their plans, but I had received the impression from Mr. Heflner that they planned to not leave their house until they had to report in once more at the factory. I expected only one visitor and that was George Wright. I hoped that he would call before he left to serve in the Navy.
The afternoon of our first day at home, much to my delight, Mr. Wooster announced that he would be in the study working for a time. It had been over a year since my friend had added to his current manuscript. After he had been employed at the task for almost an hour, the doorbell chimed. When we had lived in London, I often told visitors that Mr. Wooster was out when he was busy writing. Today, however, Mr. Wooster called from the study, “I'll see them.”
I escorted Mr. Little to the drawing room and was serving him coffee and biscuits when my employer arrived in the room. I did not stay to hear their conversation. Instead I returned to the kitchen to start the cabbage boiling. I was getting laundry ready for Mrs. Hodges to take when Mr. Wooster arrived in the room.
He said, “Bingo is going to be leaving us. He intends to push off to the metrop. and be an ambulance driver. They need people that can drive.”
“Does he have Mrs. Little's consent?”
“Rather. It's part of a compromise. He gets to be an ambulance driver and she gets to return to England. Algernon is to stay in America.”
I looked up from my task to scrutinise him so that I might judge what his feelings were about the matter.
As if guessing what I was searching for, he said, “I can't say I'm cheery about it, Jeeves, but he's been itching to do something besides Home Guard work for a while now. I'm legging it back to the study, old chap.”
“Very good, sir.” I did not ask how the writing was progressing because I already knew it was going well. When his writing was proceeding steadily, there were only short pauses between typing. If he was struggling the pauses were longer and often included pacing the floor and muttering things to himself.
As I went about my tasks, my thoughts were initially centred on my happiness that Mr. Wooster was writing again and not having much difficulty despite his long vacation from it. Once I heard him say, “That can't be right!” and the soft thump of a book. I smiled. Mr. Wooster was having a disagreement with the dictionary. When I peeked into the study a few minutes later, he was busily typing, and I knew he had solved the problem that had perplexed him.
He worked steadily for another hour before coming out of the study and into the drawing room where I was dusting. I marvelled at his timing as I had just begun to dwell on Roberts' demise.
He stood in the doorway and said, “Jeeves, love, do you have time for a game of checkers?”
“I would love one, sir.”
We were in the middle of the game and I was pondering my next move when I glanced up and noticed the wistful expression on his face. I withdrew my hand from where it had been above the board and questioned, “Bertie?”
“Sorry, old chap. I was just experiencing a bit of melancholy. We used to have days like this more often than not. Now I can't even remember the last time we played checkers. I know you are very busy these days. Wright is, too. Heffie and I have tried to stay out of our valets' way as much as possible but by Jove, I miss spending time with you.”
“I miss the days before the war, too, sir. Hopefully it is just a matter of time before quiet, peaceful days return.”
“I hope so, love.” His gaze centred on the board. “For now, you'd best give the game your full attention. You're about to lose.” He grinned at me and we continued with the game.
That evening over dinner I sat silently. My thoughts had returned to Roberts and I was reminiscing over his funeral. I still had brief moments when I felt that some dreadful mistake had been made and Roberts was surely not dead, only to recall his funeral which kept me in a painful reality. My reflections as I had set the table could not be said to be pleasant ones, and now I stirred my soup and took occasional bites, but I was not hungry. I was so lost in my morose thoughts that Mr. Wooster's hand on my shoulder startled me. I had not realised that he had left his seat. Looking up at him, I said, “I am sorry, sir, I did not mean to interrupt your meal.”
“Love you, old chap. Why don't we let the meal wait for us and go sit on the settee for a while? I'd like to be close to you.”
“I would like that, sir.”
Once at the settee, his arms wrapped around me and I moved so that I could place my head on his shoulder. I said, “I keep thinking about the book. Erlin and I occasionally discussed it with Roberts and sometimes those conversations were heated. I believe you were correct when you stated that I could not have been harsh with him or we would not have been friends, nevertheless I feel that I should have been more understanding.”
He held me tightly and said nothing for a moment. I did not expect him to talk. There were things in life that words could not repair.
After a moment, he asked, “Would it help, old fruit, to know that feeling guilty is normal?”
“Normal? It cannot be. I did not feel guilty after my parents' dea...” My words trailed off because I suddenly recalled that I had felt guilty. I had believed that I should have tried to see my parents more, that I should have told my mother that I loved her more often, and that I should have attempted to talk with my father more frequently.
I related this to my employer who nodded. He said, “When my parents died I thought that maybe if I had been a better son then it wouldn't have happened. I realised eventually that it wouldn't have made a difference; even if I had been perfect they would have died. Do you still feel guilty about your parents?”
“No, sir. In time, I comprehended that my father, being a butler, understood what it was like to be in the service. He knew that I was not free to visit as often as we both might have preferred. And I did tell my mother that I loved her fairly often. My emotions were not based on truth.”
Slowly my heart began to accept that guilt was probably a normal feeling and did not mean that I had not been a good friend to Roberts. My mind, no longer heavily burdened by my heart, brought forth a memory that I had almost forgotten. The event had taken place after one of those heated discussions at the club. We had come close to saying sharp words to each other because as much as I disapproved of his showing obvious affection in his writing so had he disapproved of what I had written about my employer. I had been walking home and he had caught up with me. He had said, “I want you to know, Jeeves, that I appreciate what you're attempting to do for me. I know you're only trying to protect me. I'm lucky to have a friend who cares so much.” And then he had grinned and teased, “Besides you probably don't want to have to help yet another person get out of trouble.” He had walked with me to my doorstep, and we had ended the evening with laughter and a stronger friendship.
Mr. Wooster had been silent while I mused over the matter. He held me close but said nothing. I knew he was giving me time to think. Being there for me, I thought, in a way that I could never have imagined he would have to be when our vows were spoken. To think that I had once doubted his commitment to me!
I said, “I love you, Bertie, more than words could ever convey.”
“I love you, too. I know it's a rotten ordeal.”
I held him for a moment longer before saying, “I am ready to dine now. I will heat our meal, so it will not be cold.”
“No need. I don't mind if it's not steaming hot.”
I smiled. “I, however, do mind.”
As I poured our soup into a pot and set it on the stove, I asked, “How did you know that guilt is a normal feeling?”
Mr. Wooster grimaced. “I've seen far too much of grief. I've known Bingo all his life. I was his chum when his mother died and we were still good friends three years later when his father passed away. I was already close to Ginger when his father died. And I had a good friend... he died in the Great War... that lost a sister. I didn't know Heffie to be there for him when his wife and son died, but we've chatted often enough about it.”
There was a short pause and then he said, “I'm not so sure I did you a favour. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything to you.”
I continued to stir the soup while I stated, “I do not understand your reasoning.”
My words were greeted with silence and I glanced over at him. His face was thoughtful. Noticing my observation, he said, “We can't control what happens to loved ones; we can't prevent death. Guilt may be a rotten feeling, but it gives a body a sense that there was, at least, something we could have had control over.”
I ladled the soup into bowls and answered, “You know me well.”
He replied, “I like to believe that I know the Jeeves' soul as well as I know the Jeeves' frame. And..”
His eyes roamed over my form as I placed the bowls on the table and he said, “... I know the Jeeves' frame very well.”
I smiled. “Continue to talk in that manner and you may not get to eat after all. You did help me and I am grateful. You are correct about emotions, but I do not wish to feel guilty, even if it gives me a meagre sense of having some control over events. Guilt is a most unpleasant feeling.”
Over the meal, we talked in depth about the bereavements we had experienced in life. Beyond a few brief conversations, we had not discussed these tragedies before. He was open with me and encouraging and before the meal was over I was once more aware of how much I had to be thankful for despite my sorrow.
I was washing the dishes after dinner with Mr. Wooster rinsing them when there was a knock at the back door. Years of having to hide our relationship caused my employer to instantly dart from the room.
I opened the door and let George Wright inside. We exchanged greetings and he said, “My last night in Guard uniform. I wanted to chat with you before I push off. If you hadn't helped me, I'd be leaving and Will and I would still be at odds. I just left Jim's and I'm glad that I could tell them both goodbye with no harsh words hanging between us.”
Offering me his hand, he said, “Thank you, Jeeves.”
I shook his hand. “You are welcome. I hope you come back to us soon.”
After George had said his farewells to Mr. Wooster, my employer joined me at the sink once more. He was pensive and quiet.
I let him think for a time. When he began drying the dishes while I put them away, I asked, “Would you like to talk about it, sir?”
He handed me a plate and answered, “I wish George didn't have to go. I hate this war. There's only Wright and Dave left now, and I suppose it is only a matter of time before Heffie and his valet are called up. Ginger is in the metrop. and soon Bingo will be there, too.”
Placing a kiss on his cheek, I said, “I know it is hard, sir. I hate the war, as well.” I ceased with my activities and put an arm around him.
He said, “The bean doesn't like to think of Bingo working during the evening hate but perhaps... maybe we should push off to the metrop., too. We'd be of more use there.”
In my thoughts I saw Mr. Lewis bent and silently weeping as Roberts' coffin was lowered into the ground. Roberts may have died from bombing in Coventry but that did not make London safe. Looking into his eyes, I said, “No. I do not want you back in London.”
He studied me a moment before nodding. A silence fell between us. He was quiet but a quick glance at his face told me that he was not angry or preparing an argument.
When the last dishes were being put away, I said, “I know we agreed to make decisions together, but I cannot consider it now. Perhaps in a few months...”
“I understand, old chap. I really do, Jeeves.” He gathered me into his embrace. Undoing a few buttons of my shirt, he pressed warm, soft kisses along my neck. Between kisses, he said, “Have I told you how wonderful it felt to have you put your arm around me at the reception; how bon it was for us to be acknowledged?”
More buttons were undone and his kisses moved downward. “Yes, sir, I believe it has been mentioned once or twice.”
In fact, my employer had not only stated his feelings, he had expressed them. The evening after the ceremony, we had retired to my bed and had spent the night taking and being taken. As he had laid open and spread for my pleasure Mr. Wooster had repeatedly told me how much he had enjoyed being able to freely display our love at the reception. Later as my spouse's erection had penetrated deeply within me, my master had paused between thrusts to pant out his delight in being allowed to make our relationship known.
“Once or twice, what? That's not enough. It's another silver lining to the bally cloud we live under these days.”
***************************************
Mr. Buchanan called upon us the next day. As he stood inside the vestibule, I started to take his coat, but he backed away from me and said, “No, Jeeves. We serve in the Guard together. We're friends. If I let you serve me, I'll lose that friendship and gain a servant. I'd rather have the friend.”
Meeting his eyes, I said, “I consider Mr. Wooster to be a good friend.”
My reply puzzled the man for a moment then understanding shone into his features as he realised that if I could be friends with my employer then I could serve him and still be his friend, too. His hands ceased gripping his jacket and fell to his sides. “That's ducky then... only don't sir me, what?”
“I will not.”
I took his jacket and escorted him to Mr. Wooster. As soon as he entered the room where my spouse was, he said, “What ho, Bertie. You're looking at a soon to be married man! I took your advice and it worked marvellously!”
“Congratulations! Sit down and tell me all about it.”
While I served them refreshments, I learned that the wedding was to take place in May. Whenever I served Mr. Buchanan something, he would pause and thank me. I understood that he was reaffirming our friendship and was careful not to say 'sir' to him at any time.
I noted that he addressed all his remarks to both of us. Mr. Wooster must have noticed this, also, because as soon as I had finishing serving them, he said, “Have a seat, Jeeves.”
I hesitated and observed the flicker of insecurity in Mr. Buchanan's eyes as a result of my indecision. Deciding not to refuse, I took a seat, replying to Mr. Wooster, “Yes, sir.” I put warmth in my voice, so that if I accidentally said 'sir' to Mr. Buchanan he would not view it as an end to our friendship.
Mr. Buchanan relaxed once I was seated. He said, “Jasmine and me are going to make calls tomorrow and tell everyone the news but...” He grinned, “I thought I'd burst if I couldn't tell someone the happy news and Jasmine didn't mind if I legged it over here and told you.”
The man was overflowing with joy and chattered excitedly about their future plans. After he had departed, Mr. Wooster leaned back on the settee and said, “Well, Jeeves, another success for you.”
“One that belongs partly to you, sir.” Going to him, I placed a hand on his shoulder. “I made sure they met and you gave Mr. Buchanan the courage he needed to propose. We work well together.”
My statement earned me a joyful smile.
*********************************
The morning of Mr. Wooster's 40th birthday arrived along with a pile of letters that I stacked on my employer's breakfast tray. After he had eaten a few bites, he shuffled through them and to my amusement put them back in the same order I had set them on his tray. He opened Mrs. Travers' missive and read silently, grimacing at one point. Once finished with the communication, he said, “Tuppy is pushing off to Canada to be with Angela. Thank you, Jeeves.”
“You are welcome, sir. What did the letter state that you found disagreeable?”
Mr. Wooster did not question my knowledge of his emotions. He replied, “She has been bunging down on paper her memories of my childhood. Rummy. I shall tell her that while I'd like reminiscences of my parents, but she should not waste paper on my childhood. Paper is not abundant these days.”
“Well, sir, I would not mind having those memories of your childhood.”
He studied me and I wondered if he would change his mind in favour of what I wanted. I suspected that he would not. Memories of battles over clothes, the banjolele, and the moustache came to my mind.
He finished his egg before saying, “Very well, old chap. I'll say nothing and if she follows through on her threat, you may have whatever is given me.”
My surprise must have shown since he said, “Today I'm forty, Jeeves, and the times are gloomy. That makes a man far too aware of how important loved ones are. You're my heart, old man. If you want rummy things, rummy things you'll have. I dare say they'll give you something to laugh about.”
Giving him a smile, I said, “Thank you, sir. To me such first hand accounts of your early years would be priceless.”
“Priceless, what?”
“Yes, sir.”
Waving a piece of his toast in the air, he said, “Then much though the Wooster person would prefer not, I'll tell her to let the words flow. However...” he gave me a stern glance. “Anything the aged ancestor writes is either burned after you read it or you hide it with our journals. No dashing it down into books or sharing with all and sundry. It's for your peepers only.”
“I give you my word that I will keep anything you kindly allow me to have a secret; I will share it with no one. I love you, Bertie Wooster, with a deep and abiding love.”
“Jolly good because the old master loves you with all he is.” He shuffled through the letters again. “Are you finished eating?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then will you join me?”
His fingers ran lightly over my arm and I marvelled at how a simple touch could provoke so many feelings inside me. The love I kept carefully controlled the majority of the time so as not to disclose our relationship surged forward fuelling a desire that made my breath short and caused heat to gather within me. “I would love to join you.”
**********************************
A birthday party was given at Mr. Heflner's as it had been the previous year. Once more Mr. Wooster's friends came from various parts of England to celebrate with him. I had been happily surprised when they had done so last year; I was more so this year when enough petrol for a long journey was impossible to acquire and the trains were so crowded, noisy, and dirty that travelling was arduous. It was a quieter party than last year. Although Mr. Wooster's friends did not discuss the war, I could tell the reality of it had come home to all of them.
Chocolate of any kind was currently rare and it was impossible to obtain enough for my employer's favourite cake. Wright had, however, acquired enough of the item to make a chocolate swirl cake. I did not ask him how he managed to get chocolate just as he never questioned me when I found something he needed. There was no ice cream but if Mr. Wooster missed it, he did not mention it.
For me the most memorable part of Mr. Wooster's birthday were the events that occurred after the party. My employer chatted happily as we walked home. I could almost forget that we were at war if I had not noticed that Mr. Wooster frequently gave the sky a quick studied glance. Observing this led me to the awareness that his eyes wandered over our surroundings constantly. At first, I thought that he was nervous despite the cheerful tone of voice then I realised that his training in the Home Guard had taught him so well that he was merely behaving out of habit not from fear and anxiety. His behaviour was similar to my own conduct since the war had commenced yet for a brief moment I resented the war with so much ire that I could feel the bitterness on my tongue. The resentment vanished as quickly as it had arrived. This new habit of scrutinising his surroundings would help him stay alive through the danger of the times. However much I felt responsible for his safety, it was best that he knew how to survive without my aid. As much as I had previously hated his newly developed habit of surveying his environs, I was now glad for it.
He was saying, “Do you think this winter will be as cold as last year's?”
“No, sir.”
“I hope not. At least the cold nights seem to have killed the bally wasps that plagued us all summer. Worst summer for wasps that I can remember.”
We had arrived at our door and his voice lowered, “Jeeves, old chap, will you dance with me tonight? We haven't danced together since the war started. I miss it.” He grinned at me and added, “I'll even let you lead, for a time anyway.”
“I would love to dance with you.” Indeed his request brought forth joyous memories of evenings when we had danced together with no thoughts spared for the clouds gathering on the horizon. I recalled the first time that he had moved into my arms as we had prepared to dance and how I happy I had been. The happiness at that moment had seemed overwhelming and now it felt like the joy from that time spilled over into today, granting me gladness once more.
Once we were in the drawing room, he commenced to look through the records. I suspected that he would choose a lively tune and was surprised when he pulled out a Chopin waltz.
Handing it to me, he said, “I want to dance close.”
I readied the phonograph and placed the record on it. As the tone arm was set on the record, the soft strains of music danced into the room. I switched all the lights off with the exception of one lamp, leaving the room in shadows. Mr. Wooster offered me his hand.
Our steps were awkward at first due to the amount of time that had elapsed since we had last enjoyed this activity and the fact Mr. Wooster had to readjust to not being in the lead. Gradually, he aligned his steps with mine, and we moved smoothly together. He said, “We should have done this sooner, Jeeves.”
I whispered into his ear, “We should do this more often. I love dancing with you.”
By silent accord, we simply swayed to the music, holding each other close. The world with its sorrows slipped away. The music became a distant soft sound in my ears. I was enclosed in his embrace, and nothing else mattered. Time seemed to slow, each minute prolonging itself to be cherished inside my heart forever. Our shadows on the wall were so close that I felt as one with him. I tightened my hold on my friend, and he sighed with contentment. I wanted to express my love for him, but the feeling was so breathtaking that the words did not come. Instead, I gazed into his eyes, letting my love show and within my spouse's bright orbs I received love in return.
Slowly we rocked, and I thought nothing could make me happier until he whispered in my ear, “I can't play the piano and dance, Jeeves, but I can sing.”
He sang, “It's very clear, our love is here to stay. Not for a year but ever and a day. The radio and the telephone and the movies that we know may just be passing fancies and in time may go.”
My happiness soared as we leisurely weaved, and Mr. Wooster sang, “But oh, my dear, our love is here to stay. Together we're going a long, long way. In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble. They're only made of clay. But our love is here to stay.”
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I do like how you include so much historical detail, but it doesn't seem like we're getting a history lesson. That's the mark of a good writer — your readers are learning in spite of themselves!
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Sometimes I feel I should stick with just the history, not go into so much story telling because it makes the story long. If I did that, though, I wouldn't feel I was accurately showing the times. The war may have dominated everything but life continued despite it. I appreciate your comment. It helps me feel I'm doing well with this important aspect to the story.
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That's cute. :)
I'm glad things are going well for Buchanan, and I hope Bingo won't come to serious harm in London.
I love Jeeves and Bertie dancing. Such a nice image.
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I love thinking of Bertie as a writer.
I've had the dance scene written for some time. It was one of several things I really wanted to show in my story. I'm glad it worked! Thanks for the advice about phonographs.