Fic: Troubled Times chapter 37 Part 1

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Fic: Troubled Times

Chapter 37

Author: Emerald

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Wodehouse owns Jeeves and Wooster.

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

 

 

The next morning started earlier than Mr. Wooster preferred his mornings to begin. When I judged that he was awake enough for conversation, I cleared my throat. He ceased gazing grumpily at his coffee and directed his attention to me.

 

“Yes, love?”

 

“I added a spoon to your carrying bag.”

 

The fork he was holding paused, he blinked, and stared at me. After a long moment, he said, “I guess if that is something that pleases the lemon...”

 

I continued to eat and did not enlighten him. He had a few more bites of his egg before saying, “Any particular reason why I'm being given a spoon?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

I added nothing more and Mr. Wooster laughed. “This reminds me of our first years together. Getting information from you then could be like pulling teeth... not that I've ever pulled... never mind that. Just tell me why I need to take a spoon with me. A full explanation, let the words flow, don't hold back.”

 

“I received a letter from Erlin this morning and he informed me that even places that still serve tea often expect the customer to bring their own spoon. I suspect that is because of the government's need for silver creating a short supply of spoons. Therefore, you should not lose the spoon I packed for you.”

 

“I see all.” He examined his fork for a moment. He said, “I never thought I'd be concerned about losing a spoon. I won't let it wander off, old chap. Thank you, Reg.”

 

“You are welcome.” I looked up from my eating and said, “I shall miss you. I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

I ceased eating entirely and studied him. I must have been engaged in the pleasant occupation of scrutinising him too long since he said, “I do believe you're finding this separation to be more rotten than I am.”

 

“Possibly.” I considered our plans. I would stay here to supervise the movers loading our possessions and take a train that afternoon. I would not be going straight to Brinkley Court. Instead I would be making several calls on my way south. First, I intended to visit the Artons. They were still residing in the house that Mr. Wooster's aunt had given to him, which he had loaned to them as a place to care for evacuated children. Afterwards, I planned to go see a friend of mine, whose hobby was photography. I hoped he would have the film my employer wanted for Mr. Buchanan's wedding. I also hoped to have time to visit with my Uncle Charlie and to stop and see Mechan, another friend. Additionally, I would be inspecting the houses we had decided that we were interested in. I would narrow our choices down to three, so Mr. Wooster would have less travelling to do. Once I finished viewing the houses, I would join him at Brinkley Court.

 

In a few hours Mr. Wooster and Mr. Little would take the train towards London. Mr. Little would be going to the city, but my employer would go to Mrs. Travers' residence.

 

I knew Mr. Wooster was not likely to suddenly change his plans but still I said, “Promise me that you will not go into London.”

 

“I promise. I'll be at Brinkley Court waiting for you.” Reaching out, he clasped my hand and said, “Try not to fret, old thing. I'll be there waiting.”

 

I was still anxious, but I knew no amount of reassurance would change that. Roberts' death had shaken me. His employer had probably believed that he was safer in Coventry than in London. Just as I felt that Mr. Wooster would be safe at Brinkley Court. I nodded and said, “Just be careful.”

 

“I will be. And remember what you mean to me.”

 

“I will.” That was all anyone could give another person in these times. I wondered if Roberts had promised his employer that he would be careful before that fatal trip to Coventry.

 

I returned to eating but my eyes still gazed upon him. I noted the slump to his shoulders and the unhappy frown. How many times, I thought, has he cheered me through these dark years? I searched my mind for something that might lift the heavy mood that held us under its sway and easily found something.

 

I said, “Wright gave me his recipe for creamed carrots.”

 

Once more his attention centred on me. “He what? Are you sure?” He waved a hand in the air and said, “Of course you're sure. It's just... did you know one of Heffie's friends, Robbie, offered Wright boko clams in return for that recipe, and Wright gave him a firm nolle prosequi. And now you have it! That's jolly good! Those carrots are just as bon as anything Anatole serves up. Before food became rationed and harder to find Wright used to serve it every time I had dinner with them. I guess he knows how much I love that dish.”

 

“He mentioned your fondness of it when he gave me the recipe.”

 

He began to eat again but his mood was no longer one of unhappiness. My own sense of sadness had eased, also.

 

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

 

That afternoon I signed the papers for the movers and watched the lorry with our belongings depart. I stood there silently for a moment then turned and locked the door. I had just hid the keys where I had told Wright I would place them when I heard the sound of a vehicle approaching. I was not surprised when Wright's father pulled into the drive.

 

Leaning out the window, he said, “May I give you a lift to the station, son?”

 

His friendly 'son' cheered me. He had been calling me by that term since Wright and Mr. Heflner's wedding. At first, I thought it was his way of declaring that he accepted Mr. Wooster and me or perhaps it was due to gratitude for my aid to the family. The friendly affection in his tone, however, soon had me feeling that it was an appellation used for friendship sake's alone.

 

I replied, “That would be kind of you. Thank you.”

 

I got into the lorry and said, “I regret that I have to leave.”

 

“We're sorry to see you go. Will said something about your coming back to live here after the war?”

 

“Yes, Mr. Wooster and I hope to live here for part of the year after the war.”

 

“My family and I would like that.”

 

As he drove down the long road that connected our cottage to the town, he said, “I hoped to be in London by now. There's plenty of work there; not so much here. Still, it took longer to wrap things up than I expected. I'm leaving Friday, though.”

 

“Who will be managing the business here?”

 

“Mira. You can tell me that you think it's unwise to give a woman the company, if that is what you believe. I've heard all about the so called foolishness of my decision.”

 

His tone was one that a father would address his son with; not defensive but a 'go ahead and get your objections stated and we'll deal with it' voice. I tried to determine which one of Wright's brothers would protest their father's decision and could not.

 

“I agree with your decision. Dave is far too busy to manage the business and Will would not want to. I imagine she knows a great deal about overseeing the company.”

 

He nodded. “She does. I'm not sending her out to build houses, but I am making her the boss. Although,” he grinned, “after being married to me all these years, she knows far more about building houses than most men.”

 

He stopped the lorry, gave me a quick glance, and then looked both ways before pulling out into the main street.

 

“I cannot see Dave or Will disagreeing with your arrangement,” I hinted, hoping he would tell me who had disliked his decision.

 

“One of my younger brothers cut up about it. It's his opinion that a woman can't handle a carpentry company.”

 

“Did your brother want to be in charge?”

 

Daniel Wright shook his head. “No. He wants me to put one of my sons in control. We went over and over it. Dave should have the business, he's my oldest, that's what Tom said. I explained to him that Dave is farming six lots of land now and can't possibly take the company, but he seems to believe that as Dave is my oldest, he should find the time from somewhere.”

 

“I do not see how.”

 

He nodded. “He simply can't take care of the business, too. When I insisted that Dave doesn't have the time, Tom brought up Will. We stayed on Will for over an hour with him saying more than once that Will is my second-born, as if I don't know that.”

 

“That must have been a disturbing conversation. You could hardly tell him that Will has personal reasons for remaining with Mr. Heflner.”

 

“Disturbing is a perfect way of describing it. Will is thirty-four years old and too old for me to be ordering around; he doesn't like carpentry, and he belongs to Jim now. I couldn't tell him that as far as I'm concerned Will is married to Jim and one's obligations to a spouse comes before one's duties to family.”

 

He paused and grinned. “I'm not afraid that Tom will cause trouble for them; I'm scared that my brother will drop dead on me at the very idea. Telling him that Will doesn't want to come back into the family business would have just upset him more. I'd rather that Will doesn't get blamed for anything. So I let him gripe for a time while I did some hasty thinking. I finally told him that I was worried that Will might get called up and then I'd have to come back here from London, as nobody would know who was in charge. He wasn't happy about it, but he accepted it.”

 

“That was a wise answer.”

 

He parked the lorry at the station and turned to me. “Now if you were one of my boys about to depart, I'd give you the talk that begins with how you carry around my name and for goodness' sake don't do anything to it until I'm dead and gone.”

 

I smiled. “I will greatly endeavour to not get caught doing anything that would make you regret the generous friendship you have given me.”

 

He laughed. “An honest answer.”

 

Becoming more serious, he said, “I hate being parted from Mira; she's truly my other half. I hope you and Mr. Wooster can make it through this war without too many separations.”

 

“Thank you. I believe you can be very proud of your sons. They are good, honourable men. I am grateful for the kind way you and your family have accepted Mr. Wooster and myself amongst you.”

 

“We're glad we had the opportunity to get to know you both. We are very grateful for all you've done for this family. I would be proud to have you for a son. Take good care of yourself and remember that our friendship walks with you. If there is ever anything we can do for you or Bertie, don't hesitate to ask.”

 

“Thank you. I am always willing to be of assistance to you and your family. I have no brothers but if I could have chosen brothers, I would have gladly chosen your sons.”

 

“Thank you.” He reached into a pocket and handed me a note. “Write Mira when you get a permanent address and let us know where you are.”

 

“I will.”

 

We said our good-byes and I headed into the congested station. The train itself was even more crowded. I managed to find a seat and perched there catching fragments of people's conversations. A soldier was complaining to the other young men around him that he had been unable to find any chocolate to give his girl before he left. A woman drooping with exhaustion spoke to her companion of the great fire of London and the continual raids on the city. A young lady said to anyone around her that would listen that there would be a Bomber's Moon tonight. Nearby an elderly couple huddled together, their faces sagging with anguish.

 

One unfortunate young woman, who sat not far from me, missed her stop and discovered the fact an hour too late. The lack of signs, and the overcrowded conditions making it difficult to hear when the designation was called out was responsible for her misfortune. I had no intention of making the same mistake. Several times, however, I became lost in my thoughts. I was having more difficulty with this brief separation from Mr. Wooster than I had experienced with longer ones in the past. I understood that it was due to a combination of the sadness of leaving behind friends and a place at which I would gladly have stayed, and my sorrow over Roberts' death. I could not shake the knowledge that Roberts' employer had graciously allowed him to visit his family and had never seen his valet alive again. It was foolish to dwell on it. I could not stay at Mr. Wooster's side continually for the rest of his life. Still, I longed for my employer and knew my spirit would not be at peace until I held him close once more.

 

It was drawing close to evening when I arrived at the first place I intended to visit. Mr. Wooster had asked me to talk with the Artons. The government paid them for caring for the evacuated children but it was not a great deal of money. Mr. Wooster supplemented what they received and he wanted to be sure they still had enough to support the children adequately despite the rising cost of what food and clothing were available. Moreover, I wanted to see Margaret. We had exchanged letters since my last visit and I felt I knew well the little girl that reminded me of my niece. I went round to the back as I had on the previous visit and knocked on the door.

 

Mrs. Arton opened the door and exclaimed, “Mr. Jeeves! Come in!”

 

The smell of apples and cinnamon greeted me as I stepped into the kitchen. Abigail sat at the kitchen table, flour decorating her face in spots. Upon seeing me, she stood up and said, “Hello, Mr. Jeeves.”

 

“Good afternoon, Miss Abigail.”

 

She smiled. “I've been cooking. Grandmother says I'm a good cook.”

 

I knew Abigail called Mrs. Arton Grandmother because if the Nazis invaded us, the appellation would help to hide the fact that she was Jewish. Although Abigail had come to England via kindertransport and had not spoken English when she had arrived here, I was glad that currently her speech was almost as good as any British child her age. I was happy, too, to hear affection in her tone and to see Mrs. Arton smile fondly at her and say, “She's a very good cook.” Abigail's mother was in Sweden. While no one could take the place of her mother, I was pleased that Mrs. Arton loved the little girl.

 

Mrs. Arton said, “What would you like, Mr. Jeeves? Do you want something to eat or would you rather be shown your room?”

 

“My room, please.”

 

She nodded and went to the door. Opening it, she said to the little boy who was playing marbles in the hall, “Donald, please show Mr. Jeeves to his room.”

 

The child tried to hastily shove the marbles into a bag. Instead they rolled across the floor as nervous fingers refused to cooperate with his intentions. Recalling that I had reprimanded him the last time I had been here, I said gently, “There is no hurry. How many marbles do you have?”

 

Glancing up at me, he said, “Ten. I used to have twelve, but I lost one in a battle.”

 

Which equals eleven, I thought with amusement.

 

Having gathered up the marbles, he straightened up and said, “This way, Mr. Jeeves.”

 

I followed him down the hall and up some stairs. Hoping to prevent him from becoming nervous again and in an attempt to make sure he could subtract, I said, “So how many marbles did you lose in a battle?”

 

“One and now I only have ten because I lost another one.”

 

“I am sorry.” I was relieved that both of the missing marbles were accounted for, but I had sympathy for the child. Toys of any kind, including marbles, were hard to replace.

 

“Yes, it's bad because I love marbles.” He halted at a door, shoved the marble bag into a pocket, and put his hands behind his back. He said, “This is your room. May I help you with anything else?”

 

“No, thank you.”

 

Comments

[ironicbees.livejournal.com]

Good for Mr Wright, putting Mira in charge of the business. I hope Tom comes around eventually and sees she's sufficiently capable.

I'm glad Jeeves is checking up on the girls. I had forgotten all about Margaret! :)

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the reply! They've been married a long time, he sees her as an equal partner. Tom will come around after a few months and he realizes that the business hasn't been harmed.

It's been some time since Margaret was brought into the story.

Thank you for sharing your thoughts!