indeedsir_backup | A Deuced Difficult Dilemma, ch. 8 (Reply)

Title: A Deuced Difficult Dilemma
Chapter: 8/?
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: PG
Words: 1,799
Disclaimer: None of Wodehouse's characters belong to me. I'm just writing this for fun.

Gah, more of this at last! Part 1 is here, part 2 is here, part 3 is here, part 4 is here, part 5 is here, part 6 is here, part 7 is here.

To follow my aunt’s advice was, with me, the work of an instant. Or, it would have been, had I not been quite so far beneath the surface. I got lost twice on the way to my room.

When I finally staggered through the door, I found that I was not alone. At first I thought there were two or three valets in the middle of my bedroom, all standing about looking like a gang of particularly impassive stuffed frogs. But after a moment, they resolved themselves into a single Jeeves.

“You!” I said.

“Sir?” said Jeeves.

“So!” I riposted. I waited a moment, grinding a tooth or two, and then said “So!” again for good measure. In general, I am against the wanton saying of “So!” to people. I find it a deplorable habit, not fit for civilized discourse, and am inclined to leave that sort of thing to the Spodes and Stiltons of the world. But I suppose we all have our moments of weakness, and this particular moment seemed to call for extreme measures.

“If I may say so, sir, you appear somewhat distraught.”

“Distraught! Distraught, Jeeves? I ask you to get me out of the soup, and you respond by shoving me in headfirst and holding me under until I jolly well stop kicking! Where have you been all this time?”

“I beg your pardon, sir. I was waiting for an opportune moment to release you from the shed –“

“Oh, you were, were you?”

“—when I noticed a figure advancing down the garden path. I did not recognize the lady in question, but I suspected at once that she might be Miss Fernsby’s mother.”

“Well, you suspected right, Jeeves. She’s in the house right now, probably plotting my demise with Aunt Agatha as we speak.” I made an emotional gesture and nearly fell over sideways. Jeeves caught my elbow and steered me bedward.

“As I was saying, sir,” he continued, gently shoving me into a sitting position, “I felt it would be wise to intervene before she came close enough to overhear anything. I moved to intercept her, and, in my haste, I left the key to the shed in the lock.”

I groaned and massaged the bean. “Do you know who found that key, Jeeves?”

I may have imagined it, but I thought the chap looked almost chagrined. “I have a notion, sir.”

“Well, if your notion is ‘Aunt Agatha,’ then your notion is correct.”

“A highly unfortunate turn of events, sir.”

I gave in to gravity, which seemed to be putting in a better effort than usual, and sank backwards onto the bed. “Unfortunate, is it? I had a slightly stronger word in mind,” I said. “Anyway, it’s not like you to be so sloppy about this sort of thing.”

“Yes, sir. I fear I was somewhat emotionally overwrought at the time, and I allowed myself to become careless.”

If I had been my usual keen self, I might have thought to ask him why. Instead I opted for a derisive snort. “You, emotionally overwrought! How do you think I felt during all of this?”

“I can only imagine, sir. In any case, my surmise was correct. The lady was in fact Mrs. Fernsby. When I came to meet her, she told me that she had dropped in on a whim, hoping to surprise her daughter with a visit. Upon her arrival, she had been greeted by Mr. Seppings, who informed her that Miss Fernsby was in the garden. I told her that his intelligence was outdated, and that she would find her daughter inside the house, preparing for dinner. I showed her into the sitting room and informed Mr. Travers of her arrival, in the hopes that he might keep her occupied until I could arrive at a satisfactory solution.

“Once Mrs. Fernsby and Mr. Travers were both ensconced in the sitting room, I prepared to return to the garden and release you and the young lady from your captivity. Before I could do so, I was intercepted by Mrs. Travers, who informed me that you and Miss Fernsby had already been discovered. I am sure you are already aware of what transpired next.”

“I am,” I assured the ceiling. “Aware, I mean. Of what transpired. And I’m sure I don’t have you tell you I’m not too bally well chuffed about it.”

“No, sir.”

“Of course, the real question is . . . what is the real question? Ah, right. There’s the bird. The real question is, why, Jeeves?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Jeeves. Or is obtuse the word I want? Maybe it’s abstruse. Actually, I think both would fit the bill right about now. What I mean is, why the dickens did you lock me and Hecken in a shed in the first place? What did you hope to accomplish, one asks oneself? Did you simply do it for amusement? Did you run out of fresh Spinoza to keep you busy during the long evenings?”

“I was hoping to assist you in the resolution of your dilemma, sir.”

I made a futile effort to prop up the corpus, hoping to boggle at him in disbelief. Instead I gave up and boggled at the ceiling. “Oh, Jeeves,” I said sadly. “I always feared this day would come. That magnificent brain of yours has finally blown a fuse.”

“I think not, sir.”

“In that case, you’ve grown tired of the young master and decided to cruelly toss him aside like a soiled glove.”

“Not at all, sir. It was my hope that, by enclosing you in a confined space with the young lady and freeing you from your inhibitions by means of an ample supply of ardent spirits, I might induce you to confront your true feelings regarding Miss Fernsby, whatever those might be.”

“I see,” I said, although I wasn’t sure that I did.

Jeeves unshipped a gentle cough. “I have noticed, sir, that alcohol tends to have a fortifying and disinhibiting effect on many young persons, including yourself. If you will recall the occasion on which you expressed your opinion to Mrs. Gregson, whilst under the influence of a particularly strong brandy and soda, that she was ‘talking rot.’”

“It was one of my finer moments,” I agreed wistfully.

“It was most impressive, sir. I was hoping that a similar effect might be achieved in this case.”

“You wanted me to tell Hecken that she was talking rot?”

“Not necessarily, sir. I merely hoped that you would be forthright with her.”

“In vino whatsit, and all that?”

“Precisely, sir.”

“Well, I think you underestimated alcohol’s other major effect on young persons, which is that it causes them to act like absolute asses. Did you really expect this bally situation to end with me not proposing to the little blighter?”

“Did you, sir?”

“Did I what?”

“Propose to her.”

“Well . . . not precisely. But I came within a toucher. And I said some dashed peculiar things to her, too. It was all decidedly un-preux. I wouldn’t blame her if she never wanted to speak to me again.”

“Would you be averse to such an outcome, sir?”

I managed to lift the lemon long enough to glare at him. “Yes. Er . . . not entirely. Dash it, I don’t know, Jeeves! What’s the matter with you, anyway? You’ve never made such a fuss about scuppering one of my engagements before.”

“Your previous amatory entanglements were . . . decidedly inadvisable, sir. In this case, I thought it only fair to both you and the young lady that I allow you to come to your own decision.”

“Pah, Jeeves!”

“Well,” said a voice from somewhere in the hinterlands around the bedroom door, “I don’t think it was such a terrible idea.”

---

It’s a good thing I was lying across the bed sideways, or I probably would have rolled off of it. “Hecken?” I gargled.

“Miss Fernsby,” said Jeeves, swiveling to greet the interloper.

“You two both have the same problem, you know,” said the girl, a little louder than was strictly necessary. She seemed to have shaken off the hiccups, but she was teetering alarmingly. “Neither of you big poops knows how to just talk to someone. I mean, it’s all well and good, what you were trying to do, Jeeves. But you can’t ask him to make a decision like that when he’s got incomplete information.”

“What do you mean, miss?” asked Jeeves’ back.

Hecken staggered over and gave him a prod or two in the chest. “I think you know dashed well what I mean,” she said. “Do mean to tell me you haven’t figured out that this poor boy’s in love with you? And worse, he thinks it’s . . . oh, hell, I’m too far gone to try that one again. Bertie, what do you think it is?”

“Unrequited?” I squeaked manfully.

“There,” she said. “That one.” She crossed her arms in a final sort of manner and waited for a reply.

I stared anxiously at the back of Jeeves’ neck, which was being slowly suffused with a darker hue. Hecken, meanwhile, stared at his front, a look of defiance plastered on her lovely – if somewhat sozzle-eyed – map.

Jeeves slowly pivoted in my direction and stood there gazing at me with a positively rummy look on his face. I clutched at an apprehensive pillow.

I was too well marinated to try to formulate a coherent denial. I wilted under his gaze like a soggy kipper. “I know it sounds peculiar, Jeeves,” I croaked. “Chaps pining over other chaps and all that. But it does happen, you know. In French novels and that sort of thing.”

“It is a phenomenon with which I am familiar, sir.”

“I mean, I like girls, too. It’s a dashed confusing business, if you ask me. I didn’t really realize how I felt about you until I started feeling the same way about her.” I tilted the bean toward Hecken.

There was a long silence, one of those pregnant ones. I rather hoped that I might suddenly liquefy and seep quietly into the mattress, but it didn’t seem to be in the offing. I decided to take refuge behind the pillow instead.

“Well, go on,” said Hecken, giving Jeeves another prod. “Tell him, for crying out loud. Tell him you love him passionately or tell him to go boil his head, but don’t let him just sit there in agony.”

He gave her a pained look.

“All right, all right,” she said. “I can take a hint. If either of you needs me, just yell.” She leaned in, gave Jeeves a quick kiss on the cheek, and toddled unsteadily into my bathroom, leaving me alone with my man.