Fic: Troubled Times chapter 38

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Title: Troubled Times

Chapter 38

Author: Emerald

Rating: Mature. NC-17

Disclaimer: Wooster and Jeeves belong to Wodehouse.

Credit for inspiration and encouragement: ironicbees 

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

 

 

 

 

 

Several days later I arrived at Brinkley Court, cold and wet from the rain that was drenching the land. Once I had changed into dry clothes, I made my way to the Blue Room. Seppings had informed me that Mr. Wooster was there and it took all of my self-control to walk calmly up the stairs when I longed to run to my employer's side.

 

I opened the door and quietly walked into the room. Mr. Wooster was sitting in a chair in front of the fireplace, immersed in a book. My eyes feasted on him for a long moment before I locked the door and began to walk around the room, inspecting every possible hiding place to ensure that we were alone. I knew the second he became aware of my presence by the thud of the book and the cry of, “Jeeves!” filled with love. My spirit, which had known nothing but restless anxiety since we had separated, settled and became happy.

 

When I was certain that we were alone, I hastened to where he was now standing.

 

“All clear?”

 

“Yes...” My 'sir' was swallowed up by his joyful rush into my embrace. Then he was in my arms and all I knew was the happiness of holding him close. “I missed you so much,” I said. I began to press kisses to his face, not giving him a chance to reply.

 

He managed a “love you” before I pressed my lips to his. Taking advantage of his gasp, my tongue invaded his mouth. He clung to me as I slowly explored his mouth, reacquainting myself with his taste. His tongue found mine, twining around it in a wild caper that caused my heart to race and my hands to grip his back. With a muffled moan, I retreated from his mouth, my tongue licking his lips in farewell. I kept my mouth open against his, inviting him inside. He capably took the lead now, capturing my mouth, his tongue plunging in deeper and deeper. His growing bulge pushed against me, his frame trembled, and my need for him soared.

 

I had begun to remove his clothes even before we broke apart. Years of practice were the only reason my trembling hands were able to hastily loosen his braces and ease his trousers and underclothes down. I dropped to my knees and nuzzled into him, placing my hand firmly around his stiffening member. Slowly I encircled it with lips, skimming across the heated flesh that pulsed under my attentions. My tongue darted out to eagerly sweep around the edge of the glans.

 

A choked sound emitted from him and he said, “Reg, I need to sit.”

 

I nodded and eased away from him. Once he was seated on the bed, naked from the waist down, I moved between his wide spread legs and buried his erection within my mouth. Up and down I went, enthusiastically working his member. My lips clung to the silky flesh, my tongue savoured his taste, and my ears delighted in the moans I was pulling from him.

 

“Yes, Reg, just like that!”

 

My erection jerked within the confines of my trousers at the ecstasy in his voice. Joy surged through me while I licked and sucked his erect flesh, moaning happily around him as he thrust into my mouth. Reaching down, I cradled his testicles, rolling them gently in my hands.

 

“Oh, yes!”

 

His thrusts became harder now, and his moans were deep and needy. I cherished the years of experience that allowed me to move, smoothly attuned to him. I sucked harder while tugging on his testicles. His erection nudged the back of my throat and I relaxed my muscles, allowing him to plant himself within my throat. His hand gripped my shoulder and his face was contorted with bliss. I clung to his length, sucking harder and moving with him, wanting it all. His member swelled and I quickly pulled back just enough to taste his release upon my tongue. Our moans of elation mingled as his pleasure poured from him.

 

Once he softened I gently licked him cleaned. After a short time, he stood and let me redress him. There was a dazed expression on his face which pleased me. It was only when I started to move back from him that he spoke,“Your turn, Reg.”

 

I shook my head. “I have already received my pleasure.”

 

He grinned. “Really?” His hand cupped my swollen length through my clothes and he said, “It doesn't feel that way to me. We're practically alone in the house. The aged ancestor is out collecting for the Hospital Savings Scheme. Uncle Tom is somewhere around but he never comes to my room. They're down to five servants, including Anatole and Seppings.”

 

Long fingers rubbed and caressed my arousal as he spoke, and I could barely decipher the meaning of his words through the rising swell of passion. Placing my head on his shoulder and an arm around him, I began to rock into his strokes.

 

One hand fumbled with my clothes, easing my length out. Slowly he slid to his knees, his tongue licking the tip of my arousal, poking into the slit. My erection throbbed under his attentions, the need for release building within me. His tongue swirled over my member, massaging the head. I moaned and muttered, “So good! I'm not going to last long.”

 

Blue eyes met mine for a second then his mouth surrounded my arousal and he slowly descended, each inch followed by a shuddering gasp from me. Up and then down again, this time my erection slid into his throat. The tight vise gripped me and when he swallowed, I bit down on my lip to prevent myself from crying out. My eyes closed and I basked in the ecstasy that flowed through me as he sucked me. Up and down he moved across my length coaxing muffled cries from me. Once more he descended, welcoming me into his throat and swallowing around me. With a loud groan, I spilled down his throat in prolonged, ragged pulses. I was helpless under the swirling dance of bliss, capable only of whimpering out my rapture. The quivers of his throat as he swallowed my seed heightened my euphoria.

 

I do not know how long I stood there trembling afterwards, but I was aware of him licking me clean. It was only when he started to pull my clothes up that consciousness began to return.

 

“My clothes.”

 

“Don't worry the lemon about them, Reg. I made sure they didn't get damaged. I learned years ago that I can make you forget about the drapery...” He grinned at me, “...but only for a time.”

 

As he spoke he dressed me, and still trying to recover, I let him work. When he was finished I sank down onto the bed and said, “Come here.”

 

He sat next to me on the bed. I gathered him in my embrace and tugged us both down to rest across the bed. When my trembling finally ceased, I looked into his beloved face and said, “Time for me to report in, sir.”

 

He laughed. “That wasn't what you were doing?”

 

“No. That was the greeting.” I traced his face and said, “First, though, I would like you to tell me how you have been in my absence.”

 

I watched conflicting emotions flit across his face. The restriction of society that said that men should be stoic warred with an equal desire to be open with me.

 

Hoping to encourage him to speak freely, I said, “Has it been dreadful?”

 

“Not dreadful. Rather rummy. The aged ancestor is shaken by the war, I guess. Usually she greets me by calling me ugly blot or asking me if I'm sober. I don't mind the ugly blot but asking me if I'm sober continually feels offensive at times.”

 

Mr. Wooster paused and nuzzled into my neck. There was a gentle sigh before he continued. “I was dirty from travel, Jeeves. Covered with dust and in need of a bath. I was going to clean up and dress in a way that would make you proud. Instead I met the ancestor when I was halfway up the stairs. I expected the usual treatment or perhaps a comment about my messy state but...”

 

He took a deep breath. “Jeeves, she hugged me! And then she said, 'Oh, Bertie'. I can't begin to describe the icy chills that started creeping up and down the Wooster spine. I thought maybe someone had died. I said as much and earned myself a remark about my intelligence or lack thereof. So I believed everything was back to normal and for the most part it is, but she seems to have developed a greater fondness for Bertram Wooster.”

 

He gestured at his surroundings. “She put me in the Blue Room. She would never let me have it before. There's also something else in her attitude towards me that I can't put the feeler on; something different from the way I'm usually looked upon. It tangles my nerves.

 

“Uncle Tom is not on the velvet, either. He says that England is plundering the rich with taxes and seizure of their possessions. By the last he means that he gave most of his silver to the government. Said gov. didn't actually seize his possessions. He volunteered what he gave up for the cause, but I'm sure it stung like the dickens.”

 

Mr. Wooster leaned back to stare up at the ceiling. “It's rotten. The feelings of sympathy are deep and strong.” He looked over at me long enough to let me see the sorrow in his eyes.

 

He said, “His ARP work is giving him the pip, too. Some elderly lady is being difficult; her house is always showing light. He doesn't want to fine her or send her to court because she's close to hundred years old.”

 

My employer turned back to me and nestled into my side. “Scoffing in this house is a gloomy event. The conversation never strays far some misery or another. The aged relative sits there and tries to cheer Uncle Tom, when she is not looking like a deaf fox.”

 

“A deaf fox?”

 

“Rather. A fox who didn't hear the tally hos or the hounds or the cries of the hunters. She comes out of a bush and finds herself facing said h. and h. Life suddenly becomes real and earnest.”

 

Mr. Wooster frowned. “Anatole is about to blow a fuse over the lack of meat and that doesn't help Aunt Dahlia, either.”

 

He shifted to rest his head on my chest. I ruffled his hair and then began smoothing it back as he talked. “As if all that wasn't enough for my plate, Bingo is having a row with Rosie.”

 

Surprised I said, “They've only been reunited for a few days. It seems early for a rift to start.”

 

“He wrote. The letter...” Mr. Wooster sat up and glanced around the room. “I'm not sure where I put it but if you see it, you can read it. The nub of it is that Rosie has decided not to go to their house in the country as per their agreement. She's found work to do in the metrop. and plans to stay put. They've had quite a tiff over it and aren't speaking to each other.”

 

Mr. Wooster leaned down and placed a kiss on my chin. “They're in London, being bombed every eve. I'd be afraid to have a spat with you under those circs. What if something happened to one of us?”

 

“Perhaps you should mention that to Mr. Little.”

 

“I will, old chap. Now it's your turn to report in. How is Uncle Charlie?”

 

I rolled to my side and began to rub his back. “He is well. He sends his love. He is having to work very hard to manage a house with very little help.”

 

“The war is chronic.” His hand squeezed my arm. “You are worried about him, what?”

 

“Yes, he is getting older and his tasks have increased due to the shortage of servants. He does not wish to retire and his employers are happy with his work. His health is good and he is managing the house well, so I have no reason to be anxious, yet I wish matters were easier for him.”

 

“It's dashed difficult not to worry about loved ones these days.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

After a moment, I said, “I had better sit up. I fear I cannot tell you the rest of my account without some irritation in my voice.”

 

“By Jove, has it been that rummy?”

 

I replied, “It has been disturbing at times.”

 

I sat up and continued. “The train ride was arduous. I wonder if we will have the luxuries we had before the war once it is over or if those too will be gone.”

 

My employer rubbed my back. “It's not just luxuries, old chap. I may be the last preux chevalier in the world. I was on the final leg of the trip here and this young lady got on the train. She had two little ones and will have a baby in a month or so. There were all these soldiers, birds much younger than me, and not one of them offered her their seat. When I did, one of them said that women should pull their share these days and I should keep my seat. They made comments about how some women don't realise that there is a war, which...”

 

Mr. Wooster took a deep breath. “... is a real frost because they're working everywhere these days.” He looked over at me and said, “Sorry, Jeeves. Carry on with your report.”

 

“Did you have trouble because of your actions?”

 

“No. I ignored their chatter. She... her name is Doris... thanked me. Her husband is in the Regulars. She was bombed out of her house, went to live with her Mum, but her Mum didn't like the noise the children made, so she is going to live with an aunt.”

 

He paused and asked, “Did you see the Artons?”

 

I told him about my visit including my conversation with Margaret. He interrupted me once with an angry, “Are you telling me that Maggie's father hits her? A little girl?”

 

“I do not know that he has ever hit her. I just believe that there is a possibility that he might one day.”

 

Mr. Wooster stood up and then sat back down on the bed. He said, “A man should not be smacking a little girl! What do you plan on doing about it?”

 

I replied, “I do not know how I will help Margaret once her father comes home, but I will think of something. I will not have her mistreated.”

 

“Remember you're my spouse. Everything I have is yours.”

 

I understood that he was giving me his support including access to his money should I need it. “Thank you. It is possible that I could use Margaret's need for a good education to my advantage. I know you will be paying for Ralph and his brother's education. Would you mind paying for two more children to go to good schools?”

 

He smiled. “Two more, what? I take it you mean Maggie and her brother. I don't mind. I'll be glad to do it. Besides, I'm not footing the entire bill for Ralph and his brother. Heffie and Oscar are paying a share of it.”

 

I continued, telling Mr. Wooster about my visit with Mr. Miller. He was silent throughout my account, although he never ceased to rub my back. When I had completed my account, he said, “I'm sorry, old chap. It's a rotten beano but the war is making us fearful of each other. Even Heffie has experienced it. Still, it's very rummy when a person is judged by his last name or his ancestry.”

 

“It is. What do you mean by saying Mr. Heflner has experienced it?”

 

“When he went to the police station to sign up with the Local Defence Volunteers. He was asked if he had connections with Germany because of his last name.”

 

“What did he say?”

 

“Well, he started to say that his family was originally from Austria, but Wright didn't give him a chance. Wright gave the cove Heffie's service record. It was just as well that Wright did the talking. Heffie would have rambled on about Austria, which wouldn't have been wise, and about his cousins scattered all over England, and how his mother was from Scotland and he has family there, and that he has relatives in Chicago. He would have never arrived back to Germany to give the chap a firm “nuts to you”. He wouldn't have mentioned the Great War. Heffie wasn't bothered about being asked, but Wright was pipped about it for some time.”

 

“I do not blame him. Mr. Heflner served England in the Great War; he deserves more respect.”

 

“I believe that Wright managed to get that idea across to the blighter. As Heffie said a person can't tell a veteran or which side they served by looking at them, but Wright was not appeased.”

 

I said, “I would not have been, either. I realise that you are probably attempting to comfort me but knowing that Mr. Heflner's loyalty was questioned only increases my anger.”

 

“I've yet to find a silver lining in this. It's a bit thick to distrust someone solely because of their last name or their ancestors. It gives me the pip because while I understand that we have to be careful these days, if we go too far down this road, we'll end up like the Nazis, judging people by their ancestry. There's some saying... those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not are slaves. Isn't that correct, Jeeves?”

 

“Yes, Lord Byron, and he was correct. Unfortunately there is nothing we can do about it.”

 

His arm went round my shoulders. “There may be very little we can do about it but there is still that little. What I'm trying to say, old fruit, is that we can refuse to go along with it. You did that when you helped Miller, Wright did that when he got angry on Heffie's behalf, and I'll be blast if I'll abandon one of my chums just because of a last name or some ancestor in their lineage that doesn't meet with Ol' Blighty's approval. I'll die for England if called to, but I won't become a Nazi for my country.”

 

I smiled. “Now that does comfort me. You are correct. It may not be much but it is something. So you believe my actions were the correct ones regarding Miller?”

 

Surprise at my question entered his features. “Of course, Jeeves. What else was there to do?”

 

“I could have advised him to be even more cautious. Perhaps I should not have encouraged him to marry Miss Armstrong.”

 

“Advising him to be more cautious would've scared the wits out of the poor chap. Now that Ol' Blighty has accepted his service, he isn't in any danger of being hauled into some camp. She's safe, too. Changing her last name to Miller isn't likely to cause trouble for her in a place where no one has any reason to be looking into Miller's background.”

 

“That is how I saw matters, too, but I desired your perspective.” I pulled him back down to the bed with me. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

“I have accomplished a few things. Miller gave me film.”

 

He propped himself up on an elbow and let me see his happiness. “That's jolly good! I'll bung a line to Oscar and tell him we have film. They really want to have wedding pictures. Thank you, my marvel.”

 

“I endeavour to bring satisfaction. I have inspected the residences, too, and narrowed them down to three.

 

He put his head on my chest and said, “Tell me about them.”

 

When I was finished, he said, “The first and third sound darb but not the second. The bedrooms are all clustered together in that one. I want the bedrooms farther apart, so if Wright and Heffie stay with us at times, we all have privacy.”

 

“Then I think you will like the first one. It is the one I prefer as there is room for your piano and the sitting room is reinforced. I examined two Anderson shelters, and Dave is correct. They are damp and unpleasant. He gave me some ideas on how to determine if the sitting room is a safe place to be if we are bombed and I believe it is.”

 

“We will go there first. Tomorrow?”

 

“Yes. I intend to ask Seppings to let me serve during dinner tonight. Perhaps my presence will ease some of your gloominess. Tomorrow morning I will serve you breakfast in bed. We can leave after breakfast, if you would like.”

 

“I would!” He scooted up and placed a kiss on my chin. “Thank you.”

 

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

 

When the family arrived in the dining room that night Mr. Travers took one look at the small fire in the fireplace and said, “Let's hope spring comes soon.”

 

Mrs. Travers replied, “It could be worse. At least there is a little wood and coal.”

 

He answered, “The war is not over yet.”

 

While I placed food before her, Mrs. Travers said to my employer, “I understand you left the Home Guard.”

 

“You know I have. We've chatted about this before,” he replied. “I hope to find something to do that is of more use to England.”

 

“Such as, Bertie?” she asked.

 

I had decided to observe Mrs. Travers that evening to see if I could discern the difference in her attitude toward Mr. Wooster. My employer was correct in stating that something in her manner concerning him had changed but I had yet to determine what had altered.

 

Mr. Wooster said, “I don't know yet.”

 

Mrs. Travers frowned. “You wouldn't be thinking of trying to get into the Regulars, would you, Bertie?”

 

I discreetly watched her face as she spoke and it was at that moment that I realised what was different in her attitude toward my employer. My mind reviewed recent events. Mr. Wooster had written her and informed her that we were moving. He had not told her the reason for our relocation because of the need for secrecy concerning my new duties. She was probably worried that Mr. Wooster was about to involve himself in something that was dangerous. Additionally we were moving from an area that was unlikely to be bombed to one that had suffered attacks. She was afraid of losing him and it occasionally showed in her manner.

 

Mr. Wooster may not have been able to tell what had changed in her attitude toward him, but he clearly perceived the difference. His voice gentled and he said, “Not at this time.”

 

His response clearly did not please Mrs. Travers. Her frown deepened and she ceased eating.

 

Mr. Travers, obviously aware that a storm was brewing, said, “Now Dahlia, don't fret. They probably wouldn't take him. He's forty years old.”

 

Mr. Wooster, wisely, made no protest to his uncle's statements.

 

As I sat a plate before Mr. Travers, he asked Mr. Wooster, “Do you have some more of those cinnamon biscuits?”

 

Mr. Wooster shook his head. “No, we ate all of them.”

 

Mrs. Travers spoke then. “Where did you get them, chick-a-dee?”

 

“Mrs. Wright gave them to me.”

 

“Do we know the Wrights?”

 

I wondered if the conversation was about to become even more unpleasant than the recent discussion about Mr. Wooster's plans.

 

Mr. Wooster replied, “I doubt it. I met her a few months after I moved to the cottage. Her sons are good men, who have worked hard all their lives, and she kindly treats me as one of them. It eases a little of the sting of not having my mother.”

 

His last statement was followed by a brief silence before Mrs. Travers burst out with, “Why, Bertie, what a thing to say! I tried...” Her speech came to a sudden halt.

 

Tried what, I thought. Tried to comfort him? Tried to be a mother to him?

 

She shook her head. “I never tried to be a mother to you, Bertie. At first, we were all grieving and then...” her words trailed away.

 

Mr. Wooster replied, “I'm not jibbing about how you treated me. No one can replace Mum. It's just I like having someone...”

 

He got no further because Mr. Travers, upon seeing his wife bring her fork to her mouth, said, “I wouldn't eat that, Dahlia. Watkins' butler served them guinea pig last week. Anatole has been complaining about not having meat. That looks like chicken, but do you suppose that it is?”

 

I viewed then what Mr. Wooster had called the 'deaf fox' expression on Mrs. Travers' face.

 

Mr. Wooster's eyes widened and he looked to me, his eyes meeting mine. I shook my head slightly, hoping he would understand that I was stating that the meat was not guinea pig. I had seen the carcass of the chicken in the kitchen earlier that evening.

 

He clearly understood my silent message as he placed a piece of the chicken in his mouth and started to eat.

 

Mrs. Travers said, “Bertie!”

 

He swallowed and said, “Jeeves wouldn't serve me guinea pig without warning me.”

 

Mrs. Travers' eyes flickered over to where I stood. She said, “Is this chicken, Jeeves?”

 

“Yes, madam.”

 

Mr. Travers' gaze settled on me. “Why are you serving? Is Seppings ill?”

 

“No, sir.”

 

“Something wrong with him?”

 

“No, sir. I wished to serve tonight, sir.”

 

Mr. Travers did not ask for further explanation. Instead he turned his attention to Mr. Wooster and said, “They've called up so many people these days that servants are hard to find. You're lucky to still have him, Bertie. It's just a matter of time before the government wants him, too.” He started to dine.

 

The rest of the meal continued in a similar fashion. Mrs. Travers repeatedly tried to discover why Mr. Wooster was moving and what he intended to do in the future. As my employer could not tell her about Bletchley Park and was unsure of his own plans, there was little he could share with her. She became increasingly frustrated and Mr. Travers' comment that it was best not to question people these days only annoyed her.

 

Mr. Travers inspected everything placed before him as if he was expecting to be served some unmentionable dish. I was glad that Anatole was unaware of his reaction. Anatole did not need an additional reason to be unhappy. As the meal drew to a close, Mr. Travers commenced on a tirade about his ARP duties and having to go out into the rain to perform them, only to return to a chilly house. I happened to be observing his face when the complaints began and wondered if his grievances were being aired in part to divert Mrs. Travers' attention from her nephew. If that had been Mr. Travers' goal then he was successful because his wife instantly started trying to comfort him.

 

I was relieved when the repast was finally over.

 

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

 

That evening when Mr. Wooster arrived in his room, he handed me a journal and said, “Aunt Dahlia's memories of my childhood. You said you wanted them.”

 

“I do. Thank you!” I longed to find a quiet place to just sit and read but duty came first. “Are you ready to dress for bed?”

 

“No, I'm going to curl up in front of the fireplace and read for a while. I'm sure you're itching to get at those remembrances. Pull up a chair and join me by the hearth.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

While he settled into a chair and I got an eiderdown from the bed to wrap around him, I said, “Has Mrs. Travers repeatedly questioned you about your plans?”

 

“Not really. It's slowly built up. She doesn't like my moving close to the metrop. She kicked about that, and the dissatisfaction with my answers seems to have spread out and grown since.”

 

I moved a chair next to him and took a seat. “She is worried about you. I believe that the change you are sensing when she speaks with you is due to her anxiety. As you stated it is difficult not to worry about loved ones these days. I would not advise you to try to comfort her. If you do, you will increase her anxiety, as she will feel that you see a need to give her reassurance. I would suggest that you write Mrs. Travers more often.”

 

He nodded. “Right-ho, old chap.” He opened his book and started to read.

 

I began to read, greatly enjoying Mrs. Travers' recollections, and occasionally glancing over at him. He was reading 'In the Teeth of the Evidence' and was absorbed in the book. I thought of all the hardships that the times had bestowed upon us and felt that I could consider them all mere trifles. Everything that was truly important was next to me, safe and if not completely happy, at least content at the moment. We were together and the unhappy anxiety I had felt while parted from him had vanished like storm clouds pushed away by a strong wind. The rain outside might batter the window, the world might be in a tempest, but with him by my side my heart knew no tumult.

Tbc

 

Comments

[hazeltea.livejournal.com]

This is such an amazingly detailed chapter, thank you! Poor Aunt Dahlia :( I just adore this story so much.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I'm glad you are enjoying the story!

[gini-baggins.livejournal.com]

Oh reunited at last <3 Am so enjoying this story. Thank you!

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading and commenting!

[cicerothewriter.livejournal.com]

Another great chapter! I'm so glad that they're back together again. :0)

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you for reading and for the reply!

[ironicbees.livejournal.com]

Despite everyone's worries over the war, this was a rather calm and comforting chapter. I liked the reunion, and the end where they're just reading and enjoying each other's company.

I'm looking forward to finding out what's in Dahlia's reminiscences. :) Hopefully some good things abut Bertie?

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I try to make the angst as easy as possible. It can't be avoided in a war story but as much as possible I concentrate on their love.

I've used the war to soften Dahlia a little because I think it would have. So there won't be anything in the reminiscences that would make Bertie flinch.

[chocolate-frapp.livejournal.com]

this is very sweet. Bertie is unusually wise here.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I like to write Bertie that way.

[chocolate-frapp.livejournal.com]

Icon love! Jeremy Brett was the best Sherlock Holmes.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

He's my favorite Holmes, too.

[saylee.livejournal.com]

This is a lovely chapter!