Fic: Troubled Times chapter 39

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Title: Troubled Times

Chapter 39

Author: Emerald

Beta :jestana  and windysame Thank you very much! I greatly appreciate your work and advice!

Rating: Mature.

Disclaimer: Wooster and Jeeves belong to Wodehouse.

Summary: The story deals with the time before, during, and after WWII.

My stories: www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml

 

 

We stood in the spacious kitchen of the first residence I had selected for Mr. Wooster to inspect. He gazed out the huge window over the kitchen sink and said, “It wouldn't be easy to cover this at night.”

 

“No, sir. I will admit, however, that I like the window. It has a lovely view of the garden. My room is next to the kitchen and that should help it stay warm in the winter. There is room for your piano, and the sitting room is reinforced so it can be used as a shelter. Additionally, there is space in the garden for growing some vegetables, and two ducks come with the place.”

 

Mr. Wooster nodded. “The guest bedroom is on the opposite side of the house from my den. Your lair is the same size as what you had in our last place. Garden is a lot smaller, though.”

 

I smiled. “I take it you like the residence.”

 

“Rather. Enough so that I see no reason to look at anything else. This is your first choice, what?”

 

“It is.”

 

He turned from window and glanced around the kitchen again. “Everything here as you like it?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Then let's find the agent and I'll bung the Wooster signature down.”

 

The agent was waiting for us just outside the house. As Mr. Wooster discussed the details of the transaction with Mrs. Woolton, I studied the residence. It was set in a corner lot with no neighbours directly connected to it. The place belonged to Mr. Albert Heflner and the terms he had requested for it were what I viewed as pre-war reasonable. I knew he could get a much higher monthly rent for it had he wished. The town had been damaged by bombing but the quiet little neighbourhood the cottage sat in showed no signs of assault.

 

It would be a few days before the movers would arrive with our possessions, so we stayed in a hotel with an air raid shelter that night. Breakfast was no longer served to guests but trays were put out and I took one up to Mr. Wooster. I sat at the edge of the bed while he ate. He did not talk until he was almost finished with his food. Then he looked over at me and asked, “You did have breakfast, what?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He frowned down at the toast and said, “I don't know what they put on this but it tastes odd. I can't decide if I like it or not.”

 

“They used margarine instead of butter, sir.”

 

He took another bite of the toast. After slowly chewing it, he said, “I can get used to it. We may be eating toast plain before the war is done and I'll long for a little margarine.”

 

“If there is any toast to be had,” I said. I stated this statement in the tone he often called 'soupy' but it was not meant to irritate him.

 

He looked over at me, considered my words for a second, and then laughed. After a moment, he said, “Sorry, old chap. I know you're being serious but...” he leaned forward and squeezed my arm. “You don't do gloom half-way, do you?”

 

“I have found that nothing in life is satisfactory unless brought to completion,” I teased.

 

He clearly caught my meaning since he grinned. He said, “That's rot, old chap. Sticking with the subj. of food, for now we have toast and margarine. Tomorrow... well, tomorrow we may starve and that brings the matter to completion. Are you satisfied now or would you prefer to dwell on perhaps missing the toast?”

 

I laughed. “Your point is well made. With this subject, I would prefer that the matter be left uncompleted.”

 

He took a few sips of his coffee before asking, “Dreading today, what?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

After another bite of toast, he said, “I'm not head over heels excited about it. I've braced myself for the worst.”

 

He finished eating, and I stood up and took his tray. He said, “Let's go over the plans. We pop into the metrop. and ankle around. We can't touch, but if it's as bad as Heffie hinted it might be, I'll want my right hand man at my side.”

 

I began setting his clothes out and replied, “I will be there. I will find your presence comforting, also. Do you still wish to go by our old flat?”

 

“Rather, and the Drones Club, too. I want to see the damage. I'll have lunch with Ginger while you visit with Erlin. After the meal, I'll drop by and get an appointment to chat with the man Chandler wants me to see. From there, I'm legging it to Bingo's. You're planning to call on Baxter, what?”

 

“Yes, sir. I wish to know how Baxter and Roberts' employer is faring.”

 

Once I've seen Bingo, I'll meet you at the station. Are you going to have a pop at seeing Maggie's mother, too?”

 

“I believe I will. Remember...”

 

He stood up and waving his hand halted my speech. “Don't fret over me while we are parted. I'll keep the old gas mask close and I'll note where the shelters are no matter where I go. I won't lose the spoon or my identity papers. I will show up at the station on time. I don't want you in the metrop. when the evening hate begins any more than you want me there. Should something come up, I have Erlin's address and will get a message to him.”

 

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

 

We stepped out of the station and my senses were instantly overwhelmed with the war's havoc. My eyes swept up to the endless line of barrage balloons that stretched across the sky as far as the eye could see and down to the rubble in the street. The air was thick with dirt. The smell of burnt timber and other unpleasant odours that I did not recognise threatened to stifle me, making me long to take a deep breath despite knowing that it would not be wise.

 

Mr. Wooster began to walk and I stayed close to his side. My employer weaved around communal shelters in the streets and past the queue outside a shop. We walked by gutted buildings and many places with sandbags stacked next to the doors. Occasionally we passed signs informing us of the location of nearby shelters. Rubble so high and wide that it blocked a street caused us to have to make a short detour.

 

The sight of a residence cleaved in half as though it had been nothing but bread to be sliced brought Mr. Wooster to an abrupt halt. The upper level protruded out in mid air with all the furnishings still inside. The curtains fluttered in the breeze. It looked like a child's toy.

 

Aghast, I stood there, my feet unable to move. Mr. Wooster shifted closer to my side until our arms brushed. He whispered, “I hope no one was hurt.”

 

I forced an, “Indeed, sir,” past a closed throat. Suddenly deciding that I did not want Mr. Wooster to linger here, I said, “Let us continue, sir.”

 

We started on our way again, glass crackling under our feet. I followed him until he came to a stop not far from the Junior Ganymede Club. He said, “Here, old chap, is where you saved me from the obituary column.”

 

“It was my pleasure, sir.” I let my eyes show him the love I could not speak.

 

“It looks much the same. A few less cars. There's still taxis.”

 

I glanced around and answered, “I am glad the accident did not just occur or I would believe you had damaged your eyesight.”

 

“The blinkers see the shelter sign and the fact that the hotel has a hole in their wall, but it's not as rummy as I expected. There's a lot still standing.”

 

I studied our surroundings again and replied, “I suppose one could look at it that way, sir.”

 

Mr. Wooster's gaze was gentle and understanding upon me. He replied, “Do you still want to swing by the Junior Ganymede Club?”

 

“Yes, sir. Erlin would have told me if the building had suffered from the bombing.”

 

The building that housed the Junior Ganymede Club was intact. There were sandbags by the door and sticky paper on the windows but it had not been damaged by bombs.

 

Mr. Wooster stood silently and let me take in the reassuring sight. Only when I said, “I am ready now, sir,” did he began to walk again.

 

The stroll down Charles Street was not unpleasant, the houses here were untouched. It was Berkeley Square that broke our hearts. Most of the trees were still standing but many of the windows in the houses were gone. The railings of the garden had been removed. Soldiers were drilling on what once had been emerald green grass and was now trampled down sand. Trenches dominated the garden and a water tank stood at the south-eastern corner. An air raid shelter had been built under the garden area. If we had stayed in London that would have been the shelter we huddled under while the Huns bombed us.

 

The destruction of the once beautiful garden took my breath away and I was about to inform Mr. Wooster that I had seen enough when he said, “At least the plane trees are still here.”

 

I forced myself to scrutinise the trees. Many were missing leaves and some were leafless. A few had bark that had been blasted and stripped away, leaking the aroma of tree sap into the air.

 

I said, “Night has come to the land and there will be no dawn.”

 

Mr. Wooster shook his head. “Dawn always comes, Jeeves, even if the night is long.”

 

We walked to where we had once lived, silently observing the changes. The buildings no longer appeared to be the dwelling places of the wealthy. While not looking poverty-stricken, the place held an air of forgotten glory. The walls of the buildings were dinged from shrapnel.

 

We stood gazing at the building that we had lived in for so many years. Gone was the doorman and the young lady hastening from the building was unknown to me. I looked up at the windows that had once been ours and barely prevented a deep sigh of unhappiness. Most of the windows had been blasted out, the few remaining were tarnished with grime. “At least the occupant could clean the windows,” I muttered. “The walls need painting and...”

 

I paused and swallowed, “If we had stayed in London, we would have been in the flat when the windows were shattered and...”

 

“We'd have been in the shelter when it happened.”

 

His words calmed the billowing upset in my heart. I glanced at my employer. There was a tightness about his mouth and his eyes were shadowed. I tried to think of something comforting to say.

 

Before I could find words to force past the ache in my heart, he said, “Seen enough, Jeeves?””

 

“More than enough, sir,” I replied.

 

Mr. Wooster spoke quietly to me as we made our way toward Dover Street. “You said to me once that you pushed us out of the metrop. earlier than necessary. Remember that, what?”

 

“Yes, sir.” I wondered if he was about to complain about the time that he could have been in London but instead had been residing in the country due to my belief that another war was coming.

 

“I'm glad for it, Jeeves. As rummy as all this is, that extra time in Cumbria helped me feel I have a home some place besides the metrop. I have a home and people that care for me elsewhere. More importantly, I learned something long ago when we did live here that makes all the difference.”

 

He halted at the corner and said, “You're home, Jeeves.” In a slightly louder voice, he said, “I know the Jerries hit the Drones Club. I'm braced for it.”

 

A short time later, we stood in front of the Drones Club. As I took in the missing wall and the debris scattered around, anger torpedoed through me. Time stopped while I shook with fury. I suddenly became aware that Mr. Wooster was speaking to me. I could not conquer the wrath within me, but I managed a strained, “I beg your pardon, sir?”

 

“I said that it's time for us to be ambling on. You look like you need a stiff b.-and-s.. I can't provide that but let's find some place to sit.”

 

I followed him, barely noticing the destruction around us. I let the fury and hate build, tending it with memories of Roberts' death, and the Great War, and every injury I could imagine done to us by the Huns. I allowed Mr. Wooster to usher me into a small café. While I listened to him discuss with the attendant what was available, the fiery heat of anger ebbed away, leaving me weak with a cold wrath.

 

Neither of us said anything until hot cups of tea were placed before us. When the attendant had departed, Mr. Wooster said, “Erlin was right. No spoons for the tea but at least they had tea.”

 

Leaning forward, he said in a much quieter voice, “Jeeves, old chap?”

 

“I...” I paused, swallowed, and struggled with my emotions. The rage felt like cloth stuffed in my throat and I feared what would pour from my lips when I did speak. Clearing my throat, I said, “I have never been so irate in all my life. I hate that Roberts died, I hate what has been done to the city, and I hate them for doing it.”

 

I risked a quick glance into his eyes, apprehensive of his reaction to my words. Seeing only a sad understanding in his blue eyes, I continued, “I'm ready to fight them now. I was not before but now...”

 

I halted and met his steady gaze. My thoughts crashed into a stone wall. I still beheld the same innocence in his beloved eyes that had been there when we first met. I was very aware that he was not innocent; I knew his body as well as I knew my own. He is forty years old and not innocent, I told myself, yet a phrase he had said to me once, while talking about his prize for Scripture Knowledge, invited itself into my mind: pure of heart.

 

I had intended to state that I wanted to fight the Huns; that I would find a way to join the Regulars. Now, looking into his eyes, the words died in a smouldering heap, leaving not even a burning ember. If I decided to enlist, I would either have to leave him behind or make sure he went with me. Both choices were unsatisfactory. The first would steal joy from those eyes and the second might vanquish the innocence from the bright blue.

 

I took a careful sip of the hot tea and said, “How are you doing?”

 

“I'm angry, too, but I feel less like fighting and more as if I've already been defeated. You're acknowledging the death, but I'm attending the funeral.” He began to sip his tea.

 

“Sir?”

 

He sat the cup down carefully and said, “I've already accepted that things in the metrop. are a real frost. When Ginger wrote and said that the Drones Club had been bombed, I saw it as a death. The death of our time and the demise of the London we knew. Viz. I'm attending the funeral whereas you're dealing with the death still. And it's damned hard. I know that, Reg.”

 

It was the first time that he had used any name besides Jeeves to address me in public and the quiet sympathy soothed the open wound of umbrage.

 

He continued, “Is there anything I can do that will help?”

 

Almost feeling myself again, I said, “I need a silver lining to all the clouds and rain, but I am afraid that would be beyond even your optimistic nature.”

 

For the first time since we had arrived in London, he gave me a genuine smile. “That I can provide. I know the Drones Club put the lid on it for you but, Jeeves, the building can be repaired. It could be nothing but ashes. It still stands. The Junior Ganymede Club is still there. I may feel defeated, but I can look around and see we are not. Take a dekko around the café. No Nazis. We're bloody but unbowed. Bombed but not defeated. That's a silver lining.”

 

He paused, drank a little tea and said, “The odd thing is that what stings me the most about the flat is the window boxes. All empty. You used to keep such pretty flowers in them. They smelled good, too. But the tender grace of a day that is dead will never come back to me. Still, the flat is no longer our home. The silver lining for me is that I realised long ago that you are home. So it stings but it doesn't hurt like billy-o.”

 

“There are other silver linings, too.” He glanced around the place and satisfied that no one was paying any attention to us said, “There was a time when you wouldn't let me see that you were pipped and even after...” he scrutinised our surroundings once more, “... there were some changes in our friendship, you wouldn't always pipe up and tell me what you needed. So here we are and life is dashed bally awful but there are silver linings. And...” he gave me another smile and said, “... it could use more sugar but we have tea.”

 

I recalled my feelings the rainy night at Brinkley Court. He was at my side and despite all we had seen, he was not miserable. Everything else was of little importance.

 

Mr. Wooster finished his tea and said, “Can you find any silver linings for yourself in all that?”

 

I smiled. “Indeed, sir. So many that I can add one of my own. We are together and our...” It was my turn to survey the people nearby. A young lady sat not too far from us, stirring her tea with a pencil. Neither she nor anyone else were giving notice to us. “... our friendship is strong. It thrives despite the hostile environment and the discord of the times.”

 

I was rewarded with another smile. I placed my cup down. “Thank you, sir. I am ready to continue.”

 

When we came upon the Carlton Hotel, I realised just how right Mr. Wooster's attitude was. The Drones Club could be repaired, but the Carlton Hotel was beyond repair. Warped and scorched beams were scattered about the area. A bleak empty shell was all that remained of the hostelry.

 

We continued on our way to my sister's shop. As we passed a parked car, covered with dirt and glass, I reminded myself that Mr. Wooster's solicitor would have informed us had my sister's shop been damaged or destroyed. Despite knowing this, I was relieved when we came in sight of the shop and found it unharmed.

 

I stood in front of the store for some time, Mr. Wooster silent at my side. Finally, my gaze travelled over the nearby shops. A store at the end of the street was missing windows and had a huge sign that read, 'More open than usual.' My eyes lingered for a moment on another store's banner that said, 'Completely British.' I wondered if the unfortunate soul that owned the shop had some connection with our enemies due to a last name or their ancestry. Perhaps it was a statement of prejudice. My attention returned to my sister's shop, taking in the sandbags at the door and the queue.


Mr. Wooster waited patiently until I said, “I am ready to leave.”

 

“Do you want to go inside the store?”

 

“No, sir. Simply knowing that the place is fine is satisfactory.”

 

I walked with my employer to The Ritz, where Mr. Wooster was to meet Mr. Winship for lunch. I saw that the hotel still had a doorman along with the sandbags at the door but my concentration was on my friend. “Be careful, sir.”

 

“I will. Remember that I need my right hand man.”

 

“I will, sir.”

 

 

Comments

[gini-baggins.livejournal.com]

Yes yes yes!! No time now but I can't wait to begin reading!! Thank you :)))

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the happy greeting!

[hazeltea.livejournal.com]

Finding the good in things like this is never easy. I'm so glad that they have each other, because I don't think either of them could have done that alone.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

It is hard to find something good in so much destruction. The amount of damage done was heartbreaking.

Thank you for the reply!

[ironicbees.livejournal.com]

I'm glad the JGC is still okay, but it's sad to think of the damage done to the Drones Club and Berkeley Square. :(

Not sure I'd share the feeling in his place, but I admire Bertie's optimism.

[emeraldreeve.livejournal.com]

Thank you for the reply! As you know, I try to stay with what actually happened as far as places that were damaged/changed by the war. It's been heartbreaking to think about.

Bertie is trying to be strong for Jeeves. I couldn't do it for myself. I get all tearful just watching the bombing and looking at the damage. I think I could be optimistic for someone I love, though.