Fic: Troubled Times chapter 36 Part 1

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Fic: Troubled Times

Chapter 36

Author: Emerald

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Wodehouse owns Jeeves and Wooster. Heffie and Wright are mine.

Betas: georgeodowd and jestana Thank you for the advice and careful beta'ing!

A/N: The songs I used were sung by Vera Lynn.

 

I was inspecting Mr. Wooster's Home Guard uniform when a sense of melancholy swept over me. I had hated the ill-fitting uniform at first but now as he stood before me with his tidily pressed khaki uniform, the buttons and buckles lovingly polished by my hand, I could not help but admire my employer. “You are a very handsome man, Bertram Wooster.”

 

He beamed at me. “So are you, old chap. I take it that you've resigned yourself to the uniform.”

 

I shook my head. “I do not believe I will ever resign myself to your having to work, but you do look good in the uniform.”

 

“Thank you, Jeeves. I'll be glad to go back to being a dewdropper when this is all over. Still, I'll miss guarding the factory.”

 

As he spoke, I realised how much I had come to love being at the farm. I felt protective of the factory we guarded, and I liked the men we worked with for four days out of every week. More than all this, I loved the equality it gave Mr. Wooster and myself. I had shared meals with him, slept in a cot only an arm's length away, paraded with him, performed exercises with him, and played games with him and the other men. Additionally, I would miss the friends I had made while in the Home Guard.

 

Mr. Wooster's hand on my shoulder shattered my reverie. “We'd best be pushing off. If we're late, we'll give Mr. Shout-and-Yell something to shout and yell about.”

 

“Indeed, sir.” I gave him one last studied glance, committing the image of him in uniform to memory, before we departed.

 

We arrived at the factory in the early afternoon and, as was required of Mr. Wooster, he reported to Chandler. When he returned, he said, “Chandler wishes to see you about something. Not that something. Another one. It's not bad news.”

 

I was aware that the 'that something' was Bletchley Park. I replied, “Yes, sir,” and made my way to Chandler's office. Once there, I stood at attention until he gestured to a nearby counter and said, “Help yourself to some coffee, if you want.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

When I had my cup of coffee he said, “Have a seat, Jeeves.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” I replied, taking a seat.

 

He scrutinised me for a moment before saying, “I have a dilemma concerning you. However, I need to discuss Wooster with you, too. It is my practice to know the men under my command. Long before I put Wooster in charge of the unit he commands, I knew several things about him including two important facts. The first is that he does not like responsibility and the second being that he tends to follow along with whatever you wish.”

 

I agreed with his appraisal of my employer. When Chandler had first placed Mr. Wooster in charge of his unit, we had both felt that the man did not have a good grasp of our relationship. Since that day our judgement had changed. We had come to suspect that Chandler felt that the two of us needed to know that I could serve under Mr. Wooster in these circumstances without my manipulating the situation in a way that meant I was the one that was actually in command. I was cognisant of the fact that should we be called up, Mr. Wooster would be given a higher rank than me and I would be expected to obey him. I was grateful that Chandler had given me the chance to prove to Mr. Wooster that I could follow him.

 

Chandler continued, “I'm very aware that some of my men will eventually be part of the Regulars. Should that be the case with Wooster, they will not start him at the bottom; they will give him a commission. He will be forced into accepting responsibility. By giving him responsibility and teaching him the correct way to use it, I increase the odds of him surviving the war and hopefully the confidence he gains in himself boosts the chances the men under him have of living through this war, too. He didn't appreciate my methods when I assigned a unit to him, but I believe he does now.”

 

I sipped my coffee while he said, “You are easy enough to understand, also. I'm not going to mince words here, Jeeves.”

 

I already knew that Chandler was a good leader, but I was very conscious of it in that moment. I was not anxious about what he might say or what he knew concerning my association with Mr. Wooster. He was the kind of commander who gave his men the feeling that they could speak to him about anything without fear of reprisal. Whatever his private opinion about inverts might be, I did not deem that he would create trouble for us.

 

He said, “You're devoted to Wooster and you'll do anything it takes to make sure he comes safely through this war.”

 

“That is an accurate estimation,” I replied.

 

He nodded. “As I said, I'm going to be frank with you. I do not like social class as it often makes it more difficult to accomplish my goal. My goal is to train men to achieve their objectives in a manner that gives them some hope of staying alive. I care for nothing else. In the last war, matters would have been easier. I would have simply done the best I could for Wooster with the understanding that when he was called up, you would follow and serve as his batman. In this war... do you realise that only a few officers have batmen these days?”

 

“Yes, sir, I am cognisant of that fact.”

 

“For better or worse, the Home Guard is beginning to organise itself including giving its members official ranks. I intend to promote Wooster. I would like to make you an officer before you leave but if I do I might lessen your likelihood to become Wooster's batman one day. The Regulars will probably not take a man's Home Guard rank into consideration when he is called up but there is always the possibility that they will. I will certainly be putting your rank into your record, should you accept. I expect that in this war, you have a better chance of staying with him, if I make you an officer and...” the man gave me a slight smile, “... and place it on top of your records, but I do not want to make this decision for you. I'm not giving Wooster a choice. He needs to know that I am pleased with his performance. You do not need your confidence built as he does. If anything, you are, at times, overly confident in your skills. I am sure you have thought me to be harsh with you on occasion, but I wished to ensure that your abilities matched your faith in them. I am pleased with your achievements, also. I need to know what your desire is regarding a promotion.”

 

I hesitated. Mr. Wooster and I had an agreement to discuss decisions before making them.

 

He went on, “I'm sending you and Wooster into town to get some supplies. I've already explained the situation to him. You can chat about it with him and report back to me.”

 

“Thank you, sir.”

 

He smiled, waved his hand and said, “You're dismissed.”

 

Thirty minutes later in the lorry I said to Mr. Wooster, “Do you wish me to accept Chandler's offer?”

 

“Jolly well, yes! It's an honour that you've earned. They're not going to let that massive brain of yours escape them once they get you at that station with the alphabet letter name. So I'm not worried about you losing your chance to become my batman.”

 

“I feel they are more likely to release me to be an officer than to be your batman. Accepting might aid me in keeping us together in the event that one of us is called up.”

 

“Then we're agreed that you'll accept?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

Recalling what Chandler had said about my employer, I said, “Do you view your promotion as an honour earned, sir?”

 

He did not answer me at first. I was beginning to think that he would not reply when he said, “Chandler...”

 

He paused.

 

We were nearing the town and I greatly desired his answer, so I prompted, “Bertie?”

 

“Chandler gave me a list, Jeeves, of all the things I've learned and accomplished. He wrote out two pages; one for me and one that goes into my records. I can't describe how I felt when I gave it a dekko. Then he went over it with me and told me I had done an outstanding job and that he was sorry to see me leave.”

 

Mr. Wooster parked the lorry and turned to me. “Reg, I've been summoned to offices and had someone tick me off, I've been called a dimwit by my aunts, and had chums talk as if you're the only one in the Wooster household with brains, but since my father died, you've been the only one to praise me like that. I couldn't help but think that maybe love for the old master had blinded you to the fact that I am truly a dimwit.”

 

“I have told you time and again that you are not. I love you dearly but I assure you that I am not blind when I look at you. These days, I know every aspect of you. I may have referred to you as ‘mentally negligible’ in the past, but I knew it was not true.”

 

He met my gaze and replied, “I was convinced that I wasn't bright before you came into my life. I've never known Chandler to go easy on someone. Mr. Shout-and-Yell has high standards. He wouldn't tell me I was brilliant unless he actually believed it. Some of the thingummies he listed that I've learned, I had a lot of trouble with and I had concluded that it was due to some lack on my part. Things such as first aid. When he brought that up, I thought, 'Here's where we come to Wooster's flaws', but he said that he had watched me struggle with it and saw how I persevered and eventually mastered the skills I need to know. He said he was damned proud of me.

 

“So you ask me if I believe I've earned my promotion...” he took a deep breath, “and the answer is yes, I believe I have.” He flashed me a smile and put his hand on the door handle.

 

Silently I thanked Chandler. Out loud, I said, “Wait a minute.”

 

He turned back to me and I said, “I am damned proud of you, too.”

 

In all our years together, the word damned had never crossed my lips and hearing it from me now caused his mouth to fall open and his eyes to widen. He stared at me for a moment and then his features kindled with happiness. After a second he blinked rapidly and rubbed his eyes. In trembling voice, he said, “Thank you, Reg. That means everything to me.”

 

Once more I thanked Chandler. He had repaired many years of harm that had been dispensed to my employer's sense of self-worth. As we left the lorry together, I silently vowed that I would encourage and strengthen the new view of himself that my beloved friend had gained.

 

*****************************************

 

I met with Mr. Smith on my second day at the farm. After I had taken a seat, he asked, “Have you come to a decision?”

 

His tone implied that there was only one course open to me, if I knew my obligations to England. I disliked the implication and said slowly, “I have.”

 

I added nothing else, and he said, “Well, spit it out, man. Neither of us have all day.”

 

“I am in no hurry,” I replied. “However there is no need to prolong the matter. I will go to Bletchley Park.”

 

“Excellent! I take it Mr. Wooster has decided to allow you a little freedom then.”

 

Again the insinuation in his voice irritated me. I replied, “If Mr. Wooster graciously decides to give up his gentleman's personal gentleman with little hope of replacing that servant then his love for England is to be commended.”

 

“Mr. Wooster clearly knows his duty as the rest of us do. I remind you that what I am about to tell you is to be shared with no one.”

 

“I understand.”

 

His instructions were very brief and told me little. I was to report to Station X and someone would meet me there. He asked, “Will you need billeting?”

 

“No,” I replied.

 

A knowing smirk briefly covered his face and my annoyance rose. I gave him my best 'Your lack of intelligence amazes me' expression.

 

Curtly he said, “You may leave.”

 

**********************************************

 

There was a small ceremony the day before we departed, and Mr. Wooster and I were promoted. Officially we had another eight days in the Home Guard but Chandler had given us the last week free.

 

********************************************

 

When we arrived back at the cottage, we found that as per my instructions, the movers had already packed many of our possessions. I knew that Mr. Wooster would be spending the day with Mr. Heflner. I wanted to visit the cemetery, so I made the journey into Longhaven. Once at the cemetery, I followed the directions given to me by Wright and soon found myself in a section that was dominated by Wrights. I continued down the path a short way and then began reading the grave markers.

 

It did not take me long to find the grave I sought. I stood and read the headstone:

Amelia Grace Wright

Children are a heritage of the Lord.

 

You are forever in our hearts.

January 6, 1914--March 15, 1914.

 

Amelia's four brothers kept the grave covered with flowers. I recalled Wright saying, “The four of us did not want a sister and were very disappointed. Then she came home and we fell in love. We promised her everything. If she wanted to know all the best fishing spots and how to climb trees, we would teach her. If she wished to play dolls and tea, we would take turns playing with her. We were certain that no sister was loved as much as she was.”

 

I stood there silently for a short time, paying my respects to Wright's only sister. Finally I quietly said, “Your brothers are great men and they still miss you.”

 

From Amelia's grave, I retraced my steps and travelled along the path that led me to Mrs. Emily Heflner's grave. There was a bench near her resting place and I sat there for a while. I knew Mr. Wooster and Mr. Heflner had been here together many times.

 

I read Mrs. Heflner's tombstone, which said, “'True love is a durable fire, in the mind ever burning, never sick, never old, never dead, from itself never turning'.”

 

I studied the words underneath, “Even death cannot separate my soul from yours,” and took a deep breath. How did Wright compete with such love? Even as I thought it, the answer sprinted into my mind. Wright did not try to compete with Mr. Heflner's wife; he was grateful for the love given to him. Still Mr. Heflner was fortunate that his second love had that attitude. Something Wright had said to me recently came into my thoughts, “I am fortunate that he is able to love again.” Perhaps the good fortune belongs to both of them, I reflected.

 

Mr. Heflner's son did not have a grave marker. Under Mrs. Heflner's epitaph, his name was listed along with the words, 'What gift has Providence bestowed on man, that is so dear to him as his children?' and beneath that October 10, 1930.

 

My eyes were drawn to the grave stone next to Mrs. Heflner's. It read:

 

James Matthew Heflner

 

December 19, 1898 ---

 

I suspected that Mr. Heflner had his marker placed next to his wife's at the time of her death. I glanced back to the other side of the cemetery. I could not even glimpse the area where the Wrights rested. Even in death, I would not want to be so far from Mr. Wooster. I noted that there was room to put another plot next to Mr. Heflner, but I knew Wright would not wish to be placed there, if it would induce scandal.

 

I gazed at the oak that shaded Mrs. Heflner's grave but my mind was thinking of a girl of sixteen who had bravely bid her young man farewell, letting him go fight a war, one of her handkerchiefs embroidered with her name against his chest. A lady who had so impressed Wright with her kindness that even now eleven years after her death, he spoke of her with love in his voice when he could have so easily been jealous of her. A woman who had sat at the side of a man fighting for his life in a hospital and whose hands had steadied him when he had taken his first hesitant steps after the accident that had almost killed him. She had been far more than a wife to Mr. Heflner; she had been a friend whose love had never wavered. A love so strong that the soft rustle of the leaves of the tree seemed to speak of it. It was a quiet, peaceful place. I could understand why Mr. Wooster did not mind coming here with Mr. Heflner.

 

Finally, I stood up. There was a party at Mr. Heflner's that night and I had told Wright that I would get some things in town for him. Still, I did not hasten from the cemetery. Before departing, I walked through the section where the Heflner family members had been placed. Many of them had stories that I was very familiar with, having heard Mr. Heflner exchange his family history with Mr. Wooster over the years they had known each other.

 

I paused briefly at Mr. Heflner's parents' graves. They had their own testimony of the power of love, and I reflected on the tale I heard Mr. Heflner share with Mr. Wooster one rainy day when they had been trading accounts of their families and their lives. The dates of their deaths caught my attention. Mrs. Aileen Heflner had died on January 8, 1918 and her husband had passed away on January 10, 1920. Almost exactly two years apart, I thought. I remembered, too, that Mr. Heflner had been in New York with his wife on their honeymoon when his father had died. Mr. Albert Heflner had insisted that his brother not be told about his father's demise until he arrived home. The funeral could wait for his brother's return; he was determined that his sibling be permitted to have those days of happiness untouched by sorrow.

 

I had expected to walk out of the grounds depressed, but as I left the churchyard that afternoon, I realised that I was not sad. A cemetery was an odd place to find love yet I had no doubt that I had indeed felt it there.

 

 

*******************************************

 

The party was a farewell party not just for Mr. Wooster and myself but also for Mr. Little.

 

Andy Martin, another member of our unit, would be leaving in the near future, too. He had been retired from teaching for some years but so many men being called up had created a shortage of teachers. He would be returning to the position he had retired from five years previously.

 

The function was difficult for Wright. His kitchen had been taken over by a kind elderly man, a Mr. Ackuin, who was managing affairs. Mr. Heflner and Mr. Wooster had both been of the firm opinion that as the party was only for our unit, Wright and I should not be serving. I was comfortable enough with the matter that I did not protest, but I suspected that Wright had objected at first.

 

I experienced some unease myself when I noticed Ralph partaking of the wine. He was two months shy of his fifteenth birthday and I did not like the idea that he would be ill the next morning from having ingested too much alcohol tonight.

 

I went to Wright and spoke quietly to him of my concern. He glanced over at Ralph and frowned slightly. He said, “I gave specific instructions that he was to be watched and not allowed to become intoxicated. I will find out how much he has been given.”

 

I started to return to Mr. Wooster, but something made me pause and study what was occurring. My employer was standing with a glass of wine by a blackened window. Mr. Buchanan stood close by on his left, and Mr. Heflner was near his right. I could not hear what Mr. Wooster was saying, but I discerned the expressions on his two friends' faces; respect, admiration and friendship. Mr. Heflner's countenance also held an emotion that could only be described as devotion.

 

A memory flashed into my mind. We were newly under Chandler's command, our unit not yet formed. We were part of an exercise. We were to advance when the signal was given. Normally, Mr. Wooster had no difficulty obeying commands, and he had started forward on time, but something had halted him. And before Chandler could shout instructions, Mr. Buchanan had turned and dashed to Mr. Wooster, almost colliding with Mr. Little, who had also doubled back. Mr. Heflner and I had never left Mr. Wooster's flank, having stopped when he did. Wright, always attuned to his employer, had paused at the same time his master had.

 

Chandler had begun a stern reprimand, rightly stating that he should not lose five other men when one fell. Probably because Mr. Heflner was a Great War veteran, Chandler had continued his censure with the man by saying to him, “Just what were you thinking?”

 

Mr. Heflner did not have a chance to answer before Mr. Buchanan, who never took orders well, broke in with, “You said we were to behave as we would in a battle. If Bertie falls, I'm going back for him, sir.”

 

I could perceive the rebellion in Mr. Heflner's face, too. I cringed when, added to their defiance, Mr. Little had said, “Bertie and I went to school together, you can't possibly expect me to leave him on some battlefield for the Huns to finish drilling, sir.”

 

I was certain that we were about to be thoroughly dressed down and disciplined due to their attitude when Mr. Wooster smoothed things over by saying, “It's my fault, and I'm dashed sorry, sir. It won't happen again, sir.”

 

We had still received a lecture, but we had not been disciplined for the event. Later, Chandler had tried to train us to accept that we could not always aid friends in a battle.

 

Mr. Wooster never explained to his friends the reason for his sudden halt in action. In private, however, he gave me an explanation for it. “My hands were sweaty, Jeeves, and I didn't think. I just stopped so as to get a better grip on the bally pea shooter. How was I to know that if the Wooster person paused, half the men around him would freeze, too? I'm not proud of it. I can promise you it will not happen again.”

 

Indeed it had not happened again. Mr. Wooster, having become aware that missteps on his part led to unfortunate consequences, was on his alert not to falter in following commands.

 

It had not been the last time, however, that someone faltered during a drill. Only two weeks after that incident we had been training, and Mr. Buchanan had stumbled. He would have fallen, but Mr. Wooster had grabbed him, jerking him up onto his feet. My employer had been quick in his actions, and Mr. Buchanan had recovered just as swiftly, so there had been only a brief break in their movements. They had received no reprimand. I had discovered later what had caused Mr. Buchanan to trip, because after the exercise, the man spent almost ten minutes muttering about the incompetence of people that would chop down a tree yet leave the roots in the ground for someone to fall over.

 

As Mr. Little joined the three of them, I recalled Mr. Wooster telling me shortly after I entered his employ that his friends looked to him to help them. I did not take the words seriously as Mr. Wooster's schemes never seemed well-advised. Now I wondered if I had stolen from my employer some of the respect he deserved from his friends by my interference in every aspect of his life including his friendships. The thought pained me, and with that uncanny skill Mr. Wooster had of sensing my emotions, he suddenly looked up, his eyes seeking mine. When he had located me, he motioned for me to return to his side, which I gratefully did. I marked that Mr. Heflner instantly moved, giving me the place closest to Mr. Wooster, once I arrived.

 

The night was getting late when Wright made his excuses and disappeared into the kitchen. Mr. Ackuin had declined Mr. Heflner's offer of a room for the night, wanting to go home. Wright had volunteered to wash the last of the dishes, so the man could leave a little earlier.

After five minutes, I followed Wright. “Would you like some help?” I offered.

 

Comments

This is so beautiful

[krisreinke.livejournal.com]

I mean, everything you write is a treat and more - but the scene in front of the graves was just... art. Pure art.

Also, in a different part of the fic? I really appreciate the way you are handleing the questions of rank and status. The shifting - if not quote shattering - of the class structure was one of the real impacts of the War. Something W & J will have to work though. I have more faith that they will, however, because of the way you have structured Bertie's promotion. He will - IMHO -be more comfortable being an officer - and so better at it -if when/if the time comes he thinks he honestly deserves the job and can do it.

This whole thing was really touching. Thank you.

Re: This is so beautiful

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you very much! You're very kind.

I appreciate your thoughts on how I'm dealing with rank and status. The world is changing on them. WWII may not have completely removed class distinctions but it came close to doing so. It was very different after the war. You view Bertie's promotion exactly as I wanted it to read. It's very helpful to me to know that I'm reaching the goals I set.

Thank you! Your comments are very helpful to me.

[storyfan.livejournal.com]

You know, I never thought of Bertie as having a poor sense of self-worth, but I can see now that he easily could have had one. Before Jeeves, no one ever believed in his intelligence. Jeeves had nurtured that intelligence through the years, and now Bertie's reaping the rewards.

A lovely installment, my friend.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

In the early stories, Bertie calls himself a dimwit and makes other comments that speak of a low self-esteem. In the later stories, he seems more self confident.

Thank you!

[ironicbees.livejournal.com]

I'm so proud of Bertie, and glad that he feels he deserves his promotion. He has much to be proud of besides that, but he can be so self-deprecating. It's great that he's finally getting some real confidence in his abilities.

I wish I could see Bertie in his uniform. I bet he's as handsome as Jeeves says. :D

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Bertie was good at putting himself down. The Home Guard had its troubles but given a good commander it was a perfect place to build confidence. And I intend to use every circumstance I can to strengthen the characters and their relationship.

I'd love to see them in uniform.

Thank you for the reply!