A Deuced Difficult Dilemma, Ch. 1
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indeedsir_backupTitle: A Deuced Difficult Dilemma
Chapter: 1/?
Pairing: Bertie/OFC, Bertie/Jeeves (eventually)
Summary: Bertie is dismayed to find that he rather likes the latest girl that Aunt Agatha is egging him on to marry.
Rating: G (so far)
Words: 2,410-ish
Disclaimer: None of Wodehouse's characters belong to me. I'm just writing this for fun.
“Jeeves,” I said, “I shall enjoy this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have it straight from Aunt Dahlia’s lips that Anatole is in mid-season form.”
“Most gratifying, sir.”
“And I’m sure you must be looking forward to a little time out in the great open spaces, what?”
“Yes indeed, sir. I find the climate at Brinkley Court to be decidedly agreeable at this time of year.”
“And no doubt you will want to get in some time chivvying the local piscine denizens.”
Those of you who are familiar with these little reminiscences of mine will no doubt have gathered by this point that self and Jeeves were preparing for a voyage, or sojourn, if you like, to my Aunt Dahlia’s country seat. We were planning to tool down in the old two-seater later that afternoon. Jeeves was in my bedroom messing about with trouserings and things in preparation for the journey, while the young master sat by providing moral support.
“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves, in reply to my most recent remark. “Mr. Seppings informs me that the fishing in Market Snodsbury is quite satisfactory this season.”
I was just formulating some sort of comeback when the telephone tinkled in the hall. I toddled over to the instrument, put receiver to ear and hullo-ed.
“Bertie, you unspeakable little blot on the landscape, is that you?” boomed a stentorian voice from the other end of the wire. I have often speculated that my Aunt Dahlia has induced premature deafness in squads of hapless switchboard operators.
“What ho, ancient ancestor,” I replied, rubbing my throbbing ear.
“Are you packing?”
“I am. Or at least, Jeeves is.”
“Well, you’d better tell him to stop. It’s all off.”
I was speechless for a moment. As you may have gleaned from my introductory obiter dicta, I had been looking forward to putting on the nosebag with this aged relative. I was stunned that she would suddenly pull in the welcome mat and give Bertram the raspberry in this heartless fashion.
“Are you there?” she bellowed.
“Yes, Aunt Dahlia, I’m here. Simply stunned.”
“Oh, don’t give me that wounded puppy routine. It’s for your own good. When your Aunt Agatha heard you were coming down, she swooped down on Brinkley Court like a malnourished vulture. She’s got some species of young female in tow that she wants to hitch you up to.”
I shuddered. “Good lord! What’s she like?”
“About the same as usual, I should think. Lots of grey hair and a sensitive stomach lining.”
“No, dash it, not Aunt Agatha. The girl.”
“I’ve hardly spoken to the poor child myself. Can’t get her alone long enough. Agatha’s always looming over her shoulder like some sort of morbid parrot. Anyway, she seems nice enough, but we’ve hardly exchanged more than a passing how-do-you-do.”
I shuddered again, for good measure. “Well, knowing Aunt Agatha’s track record, I’d keep an eye on Uncle Tom’s silver collection if I were you.”
“What are you on about, you silly ass?”
“A sordid tale for another time, old flesh-and-blood.” I heaved a wistful s. “Very well, then. I shall give Brinkley Court a wide berth until further notice.”
“That’s a good lad. I’ll make sure Anatole keeps something in the larder for you. He’s in top form these days, you know.”
I groaned. “Have mercy, aged a.!”
“All right, all right, stop sounding like a dying duck. I’ll let you know when the matrimonial menace blows over. And don’t say your old auntie never did anything for you.”
“I’m in your debt, Aunt Dahlia,” I said humbly. “Just as a matter of interest, what are you going to say to Aunt Agatha?”
“Oh, I’ll tell her you’ve come over with consumption or pleurisy or something of the sort. Just leave it to me, my young bloodhound.” And with that, she signed off.
It was with a heavy heart that I biffed back to the master bedroom. “Jeeves,” I said, “you might as well unpack the old kit bag. The whole thing is a bust.”
“I am sorry to hear that, sir.”
“That was my Aunt Dahlia.”
“So I gathered, sir.”
“Apparently Aunt Agatha got word that a visit from Bertram was in the offing and is now polluting Brinkley Court in the hopes of yoking me to some ghastly beazel.”
“Most disturbing, sir.”
“My thoughts exactly Jeeves. Why is it that fate always seems to crop up with the stuffed eel-skin just when things are going along at their most swimmingly?”
“There’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip, sir.”
“How right you are, Jeeves. Speaking of cups and lips, I think I shall go indulge in a light restorative. Care for anything, Jeeves?”
“No, sir, thank you. You are most kind.”
I had just wandered off to fix myself the soothing whiskey and s. when the telephone tootled a second time. I fetched the receiver once again, and this time held it a safe distance from the bean. “Hello again, old aunt of my b.,” I shouted across the divide. “How did the news go over?”
But the voice that crackled out of the earpiece was not Aunt Dahlia’s. “Kindly stop bellowing, Bertie,” said the v., “and do not address me in that manner. How did what news go over?”
I nearly dropped the instrument in my distress. “Aunt Agatha?” I gulped. “Terribly sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Do stop blithering, Bertie. Who else could I possibly be? Am I to understand you are too ill to come to Brinkley Court?”
I gave a couple of pathetic coughs. “I’m afraid so, Aunt Agatha. Terribly under the weather, you know, and all that sort of thing.”
“Well, I shouldn’t wonder. No doubt it’s that stuffy city air and unwholesome living you subject yourself to day in and day out. Spending your time running about at all hours in low nightclubs . . .”
“Oh, now come, Aunt Agatha.”
“ . . . smoking, drinking, probably taking hot baths.”
“What’s wrong with hot baths?”
“Stop interrupting me, Bertie. If you are ill, than nothing will do you more good than spending a few days in the country.”
I coughed a few more times. “I’m sure I just need some bed rest and clear broth, Aunt Agatha.”
“Fresh air is what you need. You will come down to Brinkley at once.”
“I’m afraid I’m far too weak to make the trip.”
“Nonsense. Can’t that man of yours drive you?”
“Oh, dash it, I suppose, but you know how taxing these bumpy country roads are to the system.”
A sound floated over the wire that I took to be a tongue being clicked peevishly. “Well, if you are too ill to come to Brinkley, then I must come to you. If you can’t get fresh air, then you should at least have a woman’s touch about the home.”
I must have leaped about three feet into the air. If there was one prospect that chilled the marrow more than spending a few days closeted in the country with Aunt Agatha, it was spending a few days closeted with her in my own flat. “No, no, Aunt Agatha!” I yelped. “I mean, don’t trouble yourself, what?”
“Please do not shout! And stop talking nonsense. It will be no trouble.”
I grimaced. “Now look, Aunt Agatha, there’s no need for that. I’m sure you’re right. Fresh country air is just the ticket. I’ll be at Brinkley Court before sundown.”
---
“Well Jeeves,” I said as we sped for Brinkley in the old two-seater, “a fine turn of events this is. We shall have to be on our guard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Constant vigilance, Jeeves. That will be our mantra.”
“Just as you say, sir.”
“I say, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this latest gawd-help-us of Aunt Agatha’s, would you?”
“No, sir. I do not even know the name of the young person in question.”
“Well, I suppose it was a long shot, but things do have a way of getting back to you.”
“Yes, sir. In this case, however, I fear that my information is no more complete than your own. I shall institute enquiries when we arrive at Brinkley Court.”
“Institute away, Jeeves. And fill up on fish –I shall need all of your copious grey matter at my disposal if I am to avoid being dragged to the altar under the watchful bally eye of Aunt Agatha.”
“Very good, sir.”
---
When we pulled up to the old country estate a short while later, I was dismayed to see that Aunt Agatha herself was waiting for me on the drive. I was so overwhelmed by the presence of the formidable relative that I nearly failed to notice the willowy young female lurking somewhere off her starboard stern. I bunged myself out onto the drive, and Jeeves drove off with my luggage, leaving me gazing mournfully after him as the baleful welcoming committee bore down upon me.
“What ho, Aunt Agatha?” I said as the aged kinswoman hove to.
“Bertie. You do look dreadful,” she said, examining me as if I were something on a slab of ice.
I was about to draw myself up indignantly when I remembered I was meant to be ill. “Oh, ah, yes. But I fancy the country air is already reviving the flagging spirits.” I drew a deep breath and smote the waistcoat heartily. “How right you were, Aunt Agatha.”
“Of course I was right, you silly child,” she sniffed, patting my hand. I could see that she was in one of her rare congenial moods. No doubt she had recently slaked her appetite for blood and was flush with the milk of almost-human kindness. “Bertie, there is someone I would like you to meet. This is Miss Helen Fernsby, the daughter of a dear friend of mine. I do hope you will get to know her while you are here.” She leaned in and added in a stage whisper that froze the blood in my veins, “Not exactly the sort of girl I had in mind for you, but she comes from a good family.”
At this point, the dreaded female drifted forward and presented a hand to me. She was a slight, weedy sort of a girl with darkish hair and lightish eyes. Not a bad looking specimen, but not in the Myrna Loy class, either. There was something droopy and haunted in her aspect that put me in mind of a cat that’s had one too many bricks bunged at it. “How do you do, Mr. Wooster?” she said as I clasped the proffered mitt.
“What ho, Miss Fernsby?”
“I shall leave you two to get acquainted,” announced Aunt Agatha, and she biffed off. The girl and I watched her retreating into the distance, and there was a noticeable lightening of the atmosphere.
I turned back to the recent Helen Fernsby and found that her entire aspect had suddenly changed. She seemed to unfurl like a morning glory noticing that the sun has at last decided to blow in. The whole effect reminded me decidedly of the Soul’s Awakening.
“Mr. Wooster,” she said earnestly. “May I call you Bertie?”
“Oh, ah . . . well, that is, of course, rather.”
“Thank you, Bertie. I'm Helen, but my friends call me Hecken.”
This took a moment to penetrate the addled bean. “Oh yes? Oh . . . yes! Ha!”
She took my elbow and leaned in conspiratorially. “I say, Bertie. I don’t mean to speak ill of one of your relations, but . . . your Aunt Agatha. She makes me terribly nervous, don’t you know.”
I felt myself warming considerably toward the poor child. “She has that effect on everyone, old thing. Eats broken bottles for breakfast and howls at the full moon.”
She beamed, edging firmly into Myrna Loy territory. “Gracious, I’m so glad you understand. She’s been hanging around me like a dratted shadow since I got here, watching my every move, lecturing me about the dangers of eating too much red meat and the corrupting effects of lipstick and French perfume. I didn’t think I’d ever have a moment to myself.”
I clicked the tongue sympathetically. My heart bled for the little blister. “My poor, dear girl!”
“You seem awfully nice, though. When she dragged me down here to meet you, I was afraid that – Oh, hello.”
“Good afternoon, miss.”
I turned to see that Jeeves had floated silently into our midst and was standing by in a respectful manner. The girl detached herself from me and moved to greet him.
“You must be Jeeves. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Indeed, miss?”
She gave his hand a hearty squeeze and leaned up to whisper something in his ear, blushing richly as she did so. Jeeves didn’t exactly smile – he never does – but one of the corners of his mouth turned up a fraction of an inch.
“Thank you, miss,” he said, doffing his hat.
She suddenly turned back to me. “Oh, but I almost forgot! You’re sick, aren’t you, Bertie?”
“Ah, well . . .”
“You do look a bit flushed. And here I am keeping you standing around in the cold. I’m sure you want to get settled in and rest after your trip. Maybe later, if you feel up to it, you can show me around the grounds.”
“Oh, rather.”
“Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go hide in a garden shed for a while. If you see Mrs. Gregson, tell her I’ve drowned in the lake. Toodle-pip, Bertie – I do hope I’ll see more of you later. Awfully nice to meet you, Mr. Jeeves.” And she was gone.
“Jeeves,” I said, when we found ourselves alone, “if I might ask, what exactly did she say to you just now?”
“She said, sir, that Mrs. Gregson had warned her that I am a wily scoundrel, that I do not know my place, and I that am not to be trusted.”
“Good lord! Of all the blasted nerve!”
“Yes, sir. The young lady went on to inform me that, coming from Mrs. Gregson, she took this to be a resounding recommendation, and that she was sure that she and I would get along splendidly.”
I stood for a moment silently contemplating a passing butterfly. “Well Jeeves, it seems to me that events have taken a more sinister turn than I could have imagined.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Indeed, Jeeves. Heaven help me – I like this blasted girl!”
Chapter: 1/?
Pairing: Bertie/OFC, Bertie/Jeeves (eventually)
Summary: Bertie is dismayed to find that he rather likes the latest girl that Aunt Agatha is egging him on to marry.
Rating: G (so far)
Words: 2,410-ish
Disclaimer: None of Wodehouse's characters belong to me. I'm just writing this for fun.
“Jeeves,” I said, “I shall enjoy this.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have it straight from Aunt Dahlia’s lips that Anatole is in mid-season form.”
“Most gratifying, sir.”
“And I’m sure you must be looking forward to a little time out in the great open spaces, what?”
“Yes indeed, sir. I find the climate at Brinkley Court to be decidedly agreeable at this time of year.”
“And no doubt you will want to get in some time chivvying the local piscine denizens.”
Those of you who are familiar with these little reminiscences of mine will no doubt have gathered by this point that self and Jeeves were preparing for a voyage, or sojourn, if you like, to my Aunt Dahlia’s country seat. We were planning to tool down in the old two-seater later that afternoon. Jeeves was in my bedroom messing about with trouserings and things in preparation for the journey, while the young master sat by providing moral support.
“Yes, sir,” said Jeeves, in reply to my most recent remark. “Mr. Seppings informs me that the fishing in Market Snodsbury is quite satisfactory this season.”
I was just formulating some sort of comeback when the telephone tinkled in the hall. I toddled over to the instrument, put receiver to ear and hullo-ed.
“Bertie, you unspeakable little blot on the landscape, is that you?” boomed a stentorian voice from the other end of the wire. I have often speculated that my Aunt Dahlia has induced premature deafness in squads of hapless switchboard operators.
“What ho, ancient ancestor,” I replied, rubbing my throbbing ear.
“Are you packing?”
“I am. Or at least, Jeeves is.”
“Well, you’d better tell him to stop. It’s all off.”
I was speechless for a moment. As you may have gleaned from my introductory obiter dicta, I had been looking forward to putting on the nosebag with this aged relative. I was stunned that she would suddenly pull in the welcome mat and give Bertram the raspberry in this heartless fashion.
“Are you there?” she bellowed.
“Yes, Aunt Dahlia, I’m here. Simply stunned.”
“Oh, don’t give me that wounded puppy routine. It’s for your own good. When your Aunt Agatha heard you were coming down, she swooped down on Brinkley Court like a malnourished vulture. She’s got some species of young female in tow that she wants to hitch you up to.”
I shuddered. “Good lord! What’s she like?”
“About the same as usual, I should think. Lots of grey hair and a sensitive stomach lining.”
“No, dash it, not Aunt Agatha. The girl.”
“I’ve hardly spoken to the poor child myself. Can’t get her alone long enough. Agatha’s always looming over her shoulder like some sort of morbid parrot. Anyway, she seems nice enough, but we’ve hardly exchanged more than a passing how-do-you-do.”
I shuddered again, for good measure. “Well, knowing Aunt Agatha’s track record, I’d keep an eye on Uncle Tom’s silver collection if I were you.”
“What are you on about, you silly ass?”
“A sordid tale for another time, old flesh-and-blood.” I heaved a wistful s. “Very well, then. I shall give Brinkley Court a wide berth until further notice.”
“That’s a good lad. I’ll make sure Anatole keeps something in the larder for you. He’s in top form these days, you know.”
I groaned. “Have mercy, aged a.!”
“All right, all right, stop sounding like a dying duck. I’ll let you know when the matrimonial menace blows over. And don’t say your old auntie never did anything for you.”
“I’m in your debt, Aunt Dahlia,” I said humbly. “Just as a matter of interest, what are you going to say to Aunt Agatha?”
“Oh, I’ll tell her you’ve come over with consumption or pleurisy or something of the sort. Just leave it to me, my young bloodhound.” And with that, she signed off.
It was with a heavy heart that I biffed back to the master bedroom. “Jeeves,” I said, “you might as well unpack the old kit bag. The whole thing is a bust.”
“I am sorry to hear that, sir.”
“That was my Aunt Dahlia.”
“So I gathered, sir.”
“Apparently Aunt Agatha got word that a visit from Bertram was in the offing and is now polluting Brinkley Court in the hopes of yoking me to some ghastly beazel.”
“Most disturbing, sir.”
“My thoughts exactly Jeeves. Why is it that fate always seems to crop up with the stuffed eel-skin just when things are going along at their most swimmingly?”
“There’s many a slip ‘twixt cup and lip, sir.”
“How right you are, Jeeves. Speaking of cups and lips, I think I shall go indulge in a light restorative. Care for anything, Jeeves?”
“No, sir, thank you. You are most kind.”
I had just wandered off to fix myself the soothing whiskey and s. when the telephone tootled a second time. I fetched the receiver once again, and this time held it a safe distance from the bean. “Hello again, old aunt of my b.,” I shouted across the divide. “How did the news go over?”
But the voice that crackled out of the earpiece was not Aunt Dahlia’s. “Kindly stop bellowing, Bertie,” said the v., “and do not address me in that manner. How did what news go over?”
I nearly dropped the instrument in my distress. “Aunt Agatha?” I gulped. “Terribly sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Do stop blithering, Bertie. Who else could I possibly be? Am I to understand you are too ill to come to Brinkley Court?”
I gave a couple of pathetic coughs. “I’m afraid so, Aunt Agatha. Terribly under the weather, you know, and all that sort of thing.”
“Well, I shouldn’t wonder. No doubt it’s that stuffy city air and unwholesome living you subject yourself to day in and day out. Spending your time running about at all hours in low nightclubs . . .”
“Oh, now come, Aunt Agatha.”
“ . . . smoking, drinking, probably taking hot baths.”
“What’s wrong with hot baths?”
“Stop interrupting me, Bertie. If you are ill, than nothing will do you more good than spending a few days in the country.”
I coughed a few more times. “I’m sure I just need some bed rest and clear broth, Aunt Agatha.”
“Fresh air is what you need. You will come down to Brinkley at once.”
“I’m afraid I’m far too weak to make the trip.”
“Nonsense. Can’t that man of yours drive you?”
“Oh, dash it, I suppose, but you know how taxing these bumpy country roads are to the system.”
A sound floated over the wire that I took to be a tongue being clicked peevishly. “Well, if you are too ill to come to Brinkley, then I must come to you. If you can’t get fresh air, then you should at least have a woman’s touch about the home.”
I must have leaped about three feet into the air. If there was one prospect that chilled the marrow more than spending a few days closeted in the country with Aunt Agatha, it was spending a few days closeted with her in my own flat. “No, no, Aunt Agatha!” I yelped. “I mean, don’t trouble yourself, what?”
“Please do not shout! And stop talking nonsense. It will be no trouble.”
I grimaced. “Now look, Aunt Agatha, there’s no need for that. I’m sure you’re right. Fresh country air is just the ticket. I’ll be at Brinkley Court before sundown.”
---
“Well Jeeves,” I said as we sped for Brinkley in the old two-seater, “a fine turn of events this is. We shall have to be on our guard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Constant vigilance, Jeeves. That will be our mantra.”
“Just as you say, sir.”
“I say, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this latest gawd-help-us of Aunt Agatha’s, would you?”
“No, sir. I do not even know the name of the young person in question.”
“Well, I suppose it was a long shot, but things do have a way of getting back to you.”
“Yes, sir. In this case, however, I fear that my information is no more complete than your own. I shall institute enquiries when we arrive at Brinkley Court.”
“Institute away, Jeeves. And fill up on fish –I shall need all of your copious grey matter at my disposal if I am to avoid being dragged to the altar under the watchful bally eye of Aunt Agatha.”
“Very good, sir.”
---
When we pulled up to the old country estate a short while later, I was dismayed to see that Aunt Agatha herself was waiting for me on the drive. I was so overwhelmed by the presence of the formidable relative that I nearly failed to notice the willowy young female lurking somewhere off her starboard stern. I bunged myself out onto the drive, and Jeeves drove off with my luggage, leaving me gazing mournfully after him as the baleful welcoming committee bore down upon me.
“What ho, Aunt Agatha?” I said as the aged kinswoman hove to.
“Bertie. You do look dreadful,” she said, examining me as if I were something on a slab of ice.
I was about to draw myself up indignantly when I remembered I was meant to be ill. “Oh, ah, yes. But I fancy the country air is already reviving the flagging spirits.” I drew a deep breath and smote the waistcoat heartily. “How right you were, Aunt Agatha.”
“Of course I was right, you silly child,” she sniffed, patting my hand. I could see that she was in one of her rare congenial moods. No doubt she had recently slaked her appetite for blood and was flush with the milk of almost-human kindness. “Bertie, there is someone I would like you to meet. This is Miss Helen Fernsby, the daughter of a dear friend of mine. I do hope you will get to know her while you are here.” She leaned in and added in a stage whisper that froze the blood in my veins, “Not exactly the sort of girl I had in mind for you, but she comes from a good family.”
At this point, the dreaded female drifted forward and presented a hand to me. She was a slight, weedy sort of a girl with darkish hair and lightish eyes. Not a bad looking specimen, but not in the Myrna Loy class, either. There was something droopy and haunted in her aspect that put me in mind of a cat that’s had one too many bricks bunged at it. “How do you do, Mr. Wooster?” she said as I clasped the proffered mitt.
“What ho, Miss Fernsby?”
“I shall leave you two to get acquainted,” announced Aunt Agatha, and she biffed off. The girl and I watched her retreating into the distance, and there was a noticeable lightening of the atmosphere.
I turned back to the recent Helen Fernsby and found that her entire aspect had suddenly changed. She seemed to unfurl like a morning glory noticing that the sun has at last decided to blow in. The whole effect reminded me decidedly of the Soul’s Awakening.
“Mr. Wooster,” she said earnestly. “May I call you Bertie?”
“Oh, ah . . . well, that is, of course, rather.”
“Thank you, Bertie. I'm Helen, but my friends call me Hecken.”
This took a moment to penetrate the addled bean. “Oh yes? Oh . . . yes! Ha!”
She took my elbow and leaned in conspiratorially. “I say, Bertie. I don’t mean to speak ill of one of your relations, but . . . your Aunt Agatha. She makes me terribly nervous, don’t you know.”
I felt myself warming considerably toward the poor child. “She has that effect on everyone, old thing. Eats broken bottles for breakfast and howls at the full moon.”
She beamed, edging firmly into Myrna Loy territory. “Gracious, I’m so glad you understand. She’s been hanging around me like a dratted shadow since I got here, watching my every move, lecturing me about the dangers of eating too much red meat and the corrupting effects of lipstick and French perfume. I didn’t think I’d ever have a moment to myself.”
I clicked the tongue sympathetically. My heart bled for the little blister. “My poor, dear girl!”
“You seem awfully nice, though. When she dragged me down here to meet you, I was afraid that – Oh, hello.”
“Good afternoon, miss.”
I turned to see that Jeeves had floated silently into our midst and was standing by in a respectful manner. The girl detached herself from me and moved to greet him.
“You must be Jeeves. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Indeed, miss?”
She gave his hand a hearty squeeze and leaned up to whisper something in his ear, blushing richly as she did so. Jeeves didn’t exactly smile – he never does – but one of the corners of his mouth turned up a fraction of an inch.
“Thank you, miss,” he said, doffing his hat.
She suddenly turned back to me. “Oh, but I almost forgot! You’re sick, aren’t you, Bertie?”
“Ah, well . . .”
“You do look a bit flushed. And here I am keeping you standing around in the cold. I’m sure you want to get settled in and rest after your trip. Maybe later, if you feel up to it, you can show me around the grounds.”
“Oh, rather.”
“Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go hide in a garden shed for a while. If you see Mrs. Gregson, tell her I’ve drowned in the lake. Toodle-pip, Bertie – I do hope I’ll see more of you later. Awfully nice to meet you, Mr. Jeeves.” And she was gone.
“Jeeves,” I said, when we found ourselves alone, “if I might ask, what exactly did she say to you just now?”
“She said, sir, that Mrs. Gregson had warned her that I am a wily scoundrel, that I do not know my place, and I that am not to be trusted.”
“Good lord! Of all the blasted nerve!”
“Yes, sir. The young lady went on to inform me that, coming from Mrs. Gregson, she took this to be a resounding recommendation, and that she was sure that she and I would get along splendidly.”
I stood for a moment silently contemplating a passing butterfly. “Well Jeeves, it seems to me that events have taken a more sinister turn than I could have imagined.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“Indeed, Jeeves. Heaven help me – I like this blasted girl!”
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Date: 2011-11-16 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 02:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 08:43 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 04:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2011-11-16 08:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 08:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 06:42 am (UTC)I'm sure Jeeves will save him from himself, as is his wont. ;)
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Date: 2011-11-16 08:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 10:31 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-16 11:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-17 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-17 03:15 am (UTC)can hardly wait for more!
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Date: 2011-11-17 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-20 11:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-21 10:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-21 10:38 am (UTC)Wouldn't it be funny if both Bertie and Jeeves found themselves attracted to Helen? But she is bound to marry someone. Perhaps the dreaded twins will lob in. Or perhaps she has someone in her sights already, and mummy and daddy don't approve because he isn't rich, or something. That last is my guess. I suspect from the small clue you planted that she only wants Bertie as a friend.
Looking forward muchly to more!
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Date: 2011-11-21 10:43 pm (UTC)(Honestly, I am still trying to figure out exactly how this is all going to resolve. I have the basic plot worked out, but I have a feeling it's going to get complicated!)
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Date: 2012-01-10 04:07 pm (UTC)