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indeedsir_backupThis chapter was originally meant to end in a different way... then Bertie went and said something I wasn't expecting, which rather changed things. Silly Bertie. The angst should taper off in the next chapter to push the pendulum in this dramedy back toward comedy... and the events alluded to in the first chapter should be making an appearance. :D
Also, if you spot a lot of typos in this chapter, please be aware that I'll be fixing them later. I do apologize, but I'm working on about four hours of sleep here, so I'm not my most alert to such thingummies.
Title: Jeeves and the Missing Manuscript
Chapter: 8/16
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.
The next morning, I was roused by the gentle cough of a sheep traversing the lonely moors in search of some delicate and rare patch of grass. I rolled over to acknowledge Jeeves in the usual manner when I recalled what had transpired last night. The customary greeting died in my throat, but my man appeared unfazed by this development as I blinked up at him.
“Good morning, sir,” he said. “It promises to be a warm day with high clouds of the Cirrus firbratus variety collecting to the east over the course of the afternoon. Would you like to take your breakfast in bed or in the armchair?”
Well, what was I to do in the face of such stolidity? It was but the work of the moment for this Wooster’s sleep-fogged gray matter to arrive at the same conclusion Jeeves had. We would treat the incident last night like any other red-blooded Englishmen loyal to king and country would: as if it had never happened.
“Thank you, Jeeves,” I replied, pulling my voice from Morpheus’ grasp and sitting up. “You seem to have, once more, anticipated the young master’s every whim. I think I’ll take it here in bed and read – Jeeves! The manuscript! I fell asleep with it, and... Oh.” You may be asking: What is this ‘oh’ business, Bertram? I shall tell you.
Jeeves reached out with one hand and touched it briefly to the yellow envelope where it was sitting on the bedside table. “I took the liberty of collecting the volume before waking you, sir, so as to avoid the complications that might arise should it be knocked to the floor.”
Why he thought the v. in question might be knocked to the floor upon my awakening, I couldn’t fathom, but I was grateful for the care he’d taken. It was then that one of those rummy thoughts that were steadily increasing in frequency occurred to me. Jeeves had been in my room before I was awake. That was common enough as it happened just about every morning, but what did he do in the time between his arrival and my waking? An image of Jeeves leaning against the wardrobe, sipping tea, and watching me as I slept forced its way into the mind’s eye before I could stop it, and I fairly shot out of bed.
“The armchair, Jeeves,” I decided, announcing my intentions in a somewhat strained voice. “I’ll take breakfast in the armchair.”
“Very good, sir.” I didn’t look at him, too preoccupied in grabbing the manuscript and scuttling past to fold myself into said a., but I could hear a certain whatsit in his voice that was threatening to bring on further visions of a most fruity nature.
As with last night, to stave off such thoughts, I threw myself into Agatha’s manuscript, consuming the next chapter even as I made short work of the eggs and b. my man had procured from downstairs.
“Do you know who I feel like, Jeeves?” I asked as I flipped a page over some intermediary – Is that the word I want? Indeterminate! There’s the tricky chap. – some indeterminate length of time later, finishing another chapter and mentally preparing the Wooster onion for the next thrill.
“No, sir,” he replied, pausing in his apparent effort to reorganize the young master’s sock collection in order to focus his full attention on the y. m. I noticed that the breakfast tray had disappeared, though when he had shimmered off with the thing, I couldn’t say.
“I feel like that whatsit fellow, the one who stole fire from the gods and brought it down to earth.”
“You are perhaps thinking of Prometheus, sir. A character from Greek mythology who first appeared in the 8th-century B.C. in Hesiod’s Theogony.”
“Yes. Yes, that’s the one, Jeeves,” I said, forestalling further explanation. “Well, I feel like I’ve stolen something quite special here, and I can’t wait to share it with everyone else once Agatha publishes her book.”
One eyebrow rose a molecule. “I believe you are forgetting the ultimate fate that befell Prometheus for his theft, sir.”
“That business with the eagles?” I waved my hand to flick away his concerns, though I fear I might have looked more like I was trying to brush off a troublesome mosquito buzzing about my ear. “Well, having just come from that excellent lecture on birding by your chum Chilcott, I think I’ll be all right.”
“Falconry, sir.”
“Jeeves?”
“Mr. Chilcott’s chosen profession is falconry, sir. Birding, or birdwatching, is a hobby that enjoyed no small measure of popularity during the Victorian era. It involves, as the title would indicate, watching any avian species one might encounter in the course of daily events or during expeditions framed around such activities.”
“Why would anyone want to sit and watch birds, Jeeves?” I asked, pulling a face. It was all well and good to cast a friendly e. upon the lark when he’s chirruping in a nearby tree, but to go looking for one? Seemed a dashed odd way to spend a day out.
“I could not say, sir. There are many reasons for which one might acquire a particular hobby. You have often mentioned your late-uncle’s fascination with rabbits in his final years.”
“Yes,” I mused, “Uncle Henry was always a bit of an odd bird.”
A cough, as the sheep upon the moor who, having found his patch of the green stuff, wished to inform his fellows. “Was it your intention, sir, to spend the remainder of the morning in your nightwear?”
“Eh?” I glanced down at the Wooster corpus and saw that I was, indeed, still robed in the old heliotrope pajamas. I raised my sights to Jeeves again and recognized the tiniest crease of disapproval along his brow. “Well,” I said, a devilish grin tugging at the corners of my mouth, “I suppose I could make like Rocky Todd, eh, Jeeves? Toss a jumper over the old jimjams come teatime.”
I realized I’d gone too far as Jeeves’ eyebrows took a tilt toward the dramatic and raced to meet his hairline. “Sir?” A lesser man would have stuttered, or gaped in abject horror. Jeeves, to his credit, kept the upper lip stiff, but it certainly looked to be a near thing.
“I-I’m only having you on a bit, Jeeves,” I rushed to reassure him, setting the manuscript aside on the table that had once held my breakfast. “Really, very sorry, old thing. It was a mad notion. The young master would never do anything like that to you, what? Banish the thought from your brain, set fire to what’s fled, and chuck the lot in the proverbial roadside ditch!” I found myself in a standing posish – having risen at some point – wringing my hands together with no small amount of conster-whatsit.
“Do not trouble yourself unduly over the matter, sir. I shall be better directly,” my man, my paragon of a manservant, flipped the sitch, now trying to assure Bertram that all would be right in the world; the snail would be upon his thorn, and the lark upon his wing, singing some tune to entertain the those birder chappies. “If you would like to remove your pajamas, sir, I will run your bath.”
I nodded and hurried to comply, stripping to the all together in less time than it takes for Stinker Pinker to spot the nearest valuable object in the vicinity and trip over it.
Jeeves glided back into the room. “The bath will be ready... soon, sir,” he finished with a long pause, taking in an eyeful of the young master’s skinny form. It wasn’t as though he’d never seen me in a state dishabille – as he’d pointed out, we’d been together for over five years – but it had become different as of late. Some unknown beast stirred within the Wooster tum... or rather, a bit south of that particular organ.
I suddenly found myself quite aware of the temperature in the room. Sweet-scented steam wafted from the adjoining doorway in which Jeeves stood, wreathing my man in an ethereal mist of white.
“Well, I’m ready whenever it is, Jeeves,” I related in a key that would have made any Eton chorus boy jealous. “I say, is it a bit warm in here? M-maybe you should open the window.”
His eyes snapped up from where they’d been drifting rather lower than was entirely proper. Of course, that was nonsense. Jeeves was always proper – the feudal spirit, you know – I would need to reassess my definition of that particular word.
“I apologize, sir,” he said, striding window-ward. “I should have anticipated the temperature rise due to the warm water.”
As he flung wide the windows, I took the opportunity to run my own e.’s over my man’s corpus. He’d done it to me, so why not return the favor? There was much to admire about Jeeves, even from the back. Sunlight reflected off his black brilliantined locks, the likes of which hid his massive brain from view. His broad shoulders led off on either side to longish arms that had large, capable hands attached to the ends. His coat obscured his waistline, but having seen him in his shirtcuffs, I knew there lurked a belly with the slightest hint of fluff around the middle. It was a comforting sort of fluff, assuring the young master that his man was feeding himself well enough. Rare was the evening when I would see Jeeves enjoying a cup of tea, let alone all those fish he’s undoubtedly consumed over the years.
“Sir?”
I blinked and realized I’d been staring far too long. Jeeves had turned back around and was returning my gaze, though his sights tracked a bit lower for a moment before shooting up again to study my map.
I could empathize with his discomfort quite physically as I turned away, sprinting into the bathroom at top speed and skidding to a halt before the tub. Jeeves followed at a more sedate shimmer and bent down to turn off the taps.
“Do you require assistance, sir?” he asked in that rum tone I couldn’t twig to for the life of me as he straightened once more.
“No, Jeeves. No, no!” I said, using my hands and turning my body as best I could to hide my embarrassment.
“There is no need to be embarrassed, sir. It is a perfectly natural reaction in a young gentleman.” Well, if he wasn’t a bally mind-reader, I’d eat my magenta waistcoat.
“Not when the reaction comes about as a result of ogling one’s valet, Jeeves!” I’m afraid I rather snapped.
That old scoundrel, silence, popped in for another visit, feeling out the lay of this new land, deciding he liked it, and proceeding to set up shop.
It was Jeeves who broke the unnatural stillness, raising an eyebrow and saying, “Sir, would you care to ex–”
Unfortunately, once broke, it left room for Bertram to go interrupting. “I think you should lay out my suit for the day, Jeeves.”
“You do not wish to pursue the previous conversation to its natural conclusion, sir?”
“No, I jolly well do not want to do anything of the sort, Jeeves.” The parts of the Wooster corpus that had taken a distinct interest in the sight of the Jeevesian backside had begun to wilt as blood was redirected to color my map what must have been the brightest shade of red seen on God’s green e. since the invention of the tomato. I needed something to distract Jeeves with, something to call forth the frog until I could sort out the meaning of this absolutely ludicrous proclamation.
“I should like to wear my plaid trousers today, so lay those out.”
“Sir?” My ploy worked like one of those mystical baubles you can collect off any seasoned seaside fortuneteller. He sounded soupy. Beyond soupy, even. Positively stewy, what?
“Don’t ‘sir’ me, Jeeves,” I reprimanded, latching onto the familiar argument with the vigor of a drowning chappie adhering to his rescuer. “I promised I wouldn’t wear them yesterday, but I’m determined that Agatha should see them today.”
“Do you think it wise to wear a pattern that might cast your ancestral heritage into doubt, sir?”
“Very wise. Incredibly wise. Indescribably wise, Jeeves!” I challenged. “Off you go then.” I risked raising one of my hands to shoo him away.
“Very good, sir,” he deferred - the stuffiest of stuffed frogs masking his face - bowed, and biffed off.
I bunged myself into the wet stuff, but by that time, whatever beast had been stirring had decided to return to bed for the requisite forty winks. I can tell you, it was a Bertram lacking in the usual gruntlement who spent the next fifteen minutes rinsing away the grime of the night gone by and mulling over recent events.
I caught glimpses of Jeeves fluttering about outside the bathroom door and tried not to think about him... which was a bit difficult when I was also trying to sort through our last conversation.
“Oh, bother!” I grumbled, swiping moodily at my rubber ducky. He squeaked in protest, and I felt a bit bad to be abusing him so after all we’d been through together.
“Really, though, my good chap,” I whispered, shoving him below the bathwater and releasing him to bob back up, “what is wrong with young Bertram?”
(Back to Chapter 7)
(Onward to Chapter 9)
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Date: 2010-10-27 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 02:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-28 03:05 am (UTC)Oh wow!
Date: 2010-10-27 08:22 am (UTC)PS: Love the ducky.
Re: Oh wow!
Date: 2010-10-27 02:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 09:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 02:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-28 09:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 07:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 07:28 pm (UTC)P.S. I love your icon.
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Date: 2010-10-27 08:01 pm (UTC)I'm actually tempted to write a story from the POV of Bertie's rubber duck based on your line:
"“Oh, bother!” I grumbled, swiping moodily at my rubber ducky. He squeaked in protest, and I felt a bit bad to be abusing him so after all we’d been through together.
“Really, though, my good chap,” I whispered, shoving him below the bathwater and releasing him to bob back up, “what is wrong with young Bertram?”"
looking forward to more!
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Date: 2010-10-27 09:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-27 11:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-28 06:32 pm (UTC)lol alright, I'll start working on it
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Date: 2010-10-29 10:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-10-30 12:23 am (UTC)