Chapter Text
"I say, Jeeves," I said, entering his lair. He was cleaning the silver, unaware of the troubling storm of feelings clouding my soul. "I say, Jeeves!"
"Yes, sir?"
"I have to talk to you."
"Very well, sir."
"It is quite a soupy matter, Jeeves. Rummy thing, the thing is, I say."
"I see, sir."
I sat down. Got up. Sat down again.
"Well. Jeeves, I have been keeping a secret from you. I strongly believe that now is the time to let the cat out of the bag, if you catch my meaning. Spill the beans and all that."
"Indeed, sir."
I noticed a note of concern and wariness in his professional tone of voice. That was the only thing that pushed me to complete my overly-practiced speech. "Um—Erm—I say, what. Um—Jeeves, I–I–I By Jove! Why is this so dashed difficult?" To Jeeves' dismay, I ran my hands through my hair, messing it all up. "I am, as some would say, in love. I have been for quite some time now. I kept it a secret not because my trust in you was lacking in any way. I do trust you. I trust you with my entire life, you see. And, well, this is me, right this instant, trusting you with my neck if you know what I mean."
"It grieves to say that you may have lost me slightly, sir."
"Right-ho. Summing up the circs. Love had wrapped itself inside my heart and my soul and I cannot live again if my breath is not for the person I love. And let me tell you, Jeeves, that this is not a passing fancy nor a sudden resolution such as Bingo's. I am truly and fully in the deepest state of love. Nothing would make my affections wobble, Jeeves. Nothing."
"Very well, sir." His demeanour had become as cold as if I had stated that I was planning on wearing a bright orange shirt with a purple tie and green waistcoat. "When will the young woman be expected, sir?"
Now, that made me frown. "Young woman, Jeeves?"
"The woman you love, sir, as you stated."
"Dash it, no! Oh, no. Most definitely , not. There's no woman—young or old or in any other state—for which I would develop such intense feelings. No, old thing, I'm talking about you ."
By the silence and the quick succession of blinks in his eyes, I knew I had—at the very least—surprised him greatly.
"Sir?" He finally managed to produce.
"I am in love with you, Jeeves!" I exclaimed for further clarification.
I suspect that you, dear reader, may be wondering what on the wholly whole world happened for this in promptu confession to take place.
First and foremost, allow me to state that I'd been looking at my man Jeeves like a scientific chap who stares constantly at the scientific thing he's studying, for quite a considerable amount of time. Analytically, constantly and with great intent, I’d say.
It was the moment when Jeeves burned the eighteen pages written about me in his club book, the one of the Junior Ganymede, with the hope of being under my employment forever that a light, if you're following, turned on in my empty head. It was not the light of an idea, but the light of hope.
For most of my life, I had been well aware of the inverted nature of this Wooster. Contrary to my aunts' constant reminder of the chumpness of my person, I am bally conscious of how dangerous the world is for me in its whole wholeness. Thus, I tucked away my love and longing for this paragon until the solemnity, if that's the word I want, of his voice when he said something or the other about the ties that bind made me wonder if, maybe, Jeeves wouldn't be the same.
Honest to the truth I should say the idea of Jeeves gazing at me lovingly when I wasn't looking, questioning the situation with my own heart, and if, someday, he would be able to take a step forward appeared to be more like some rotting plot of one of Mrs. Little's books than an actual possibility.
I dreamt about it nonetheless.
And so I ended up studying the valet's behaviour and form and customs and tones of voices and so on. After all that bally work, the thought of the stormy feelings being returned ripped.
Everything had been said. Emotions had been poured out of this Wooster's damaged heart. Silence was left and the expectation murdered my poor nerves.
"In favour of our employment relationship, I will pretend this conversation had not taken place, sir."
The sternness in his voice made me shiver in fear. "I say, Jeeves, I do not mean anything bad by it. I mean, I–I–I won't jump you or force you to accept my feelings or something like that. I just wanted to—"
"This conversation did not exist, sir." He pronounced each word with strength as he got up, standing taller than me, imposing his resolve.
My stomach was twisting and turning. I've never been afraid of Jeeves before, you see, but at that moment…
"Oh, erm—Jeeves, I say, what. Of course, if that's what you want. Let's forget the whole thing. But, um—You see, with me being an invert and whatnot, I kind of feel that you may call the authorities and—--"
Something in Jeeves' icy features softened with pity, and his shoulders relaxed. "I would not report you, sir. Not now and not ever. Never, in my life, would I ever do anything to cause you harm."
I believed him.
You may be screaming at the pages about my stupidity in doing so as you may have read of the times the young master suffered harm in any way, shape, or form, because of one of Jeeves' schemes, yet I cannot say that all the misfortune was his fault.
The dashed situation was bally uncomfortable. My body refused to obey my order to keep still and so all my lanky limbs were shaking as if I was hips-deep in snow in my pyjamas. If the earth had opened then swallowing me entirely I would have been thankful.
Tears had not been a usual occurrence for me since my parents passed. One doesn't have much time to properly cry when one has aunts and uncles looking at one disapprovingly. There was only one moment when I allowed myself to break, hidden in the darkness of my room years ago—but that's another story. That may be why, I suppose, the feeling of a big warm tear rolling down my cheek staggered me so. The last thing I wanted was to make the blighter even more uncomfortable. I mean, not only did Jeeves have to go with the whole inconvenience of having his inverted employer confessing his depraved thoughts to him, but now said employer was crying in front of him. How pathetic of me!
I stumbled backwards towards the exit, my hands bussing themselves on wiping the traitorous water pouring out of my eyes.
Jeeves, always a paragon of valetness, offered me a cup of tea and to retire myself to my own bedroom to calm down. I refused both ideas with the chirpy smile I perfected over the years, assuring the old thing that some fresh air would do unbelievably good for my agitated state.
I ran away.
There's no other way to put it, really. I grabbed my coat and hat, passing the threshold with long and fast strides, yet I did not wear them until I had put some distance between my crushed heart and the source of all my joy and sorrow.
Some chap or the other told me once that I became idiotically poetic when I was sad. I did not really understand it at the time, you see, because my sadness occupied most of my emotions back then. If there’s anything poetic in my thoughts in these words I couldn’t say.
February's freezing air gave my body an excuse to have glassy teary eyes as I walked and walked and walked and walked. I did not stop moving until my feet protested in agony and my fingers threatened to turn black and fall. Then, and only then, did I head to the Drones where the warmth and the smell of dinner soothed my spirits.
"Welcome, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Jeeves had been calling, sir. He seemed preoccupied," said Johnson at the door as he took my coat and hat.
"Oh! I say, Johnson, what a misunderstanding. I told him I was heading to the Drones, you see, but I may have failed to explain that I would take a bit of a stroll before. New Year's resolution and whatnot, I say, what."
"Should I call him, sir, to make him know you are finally here?"
The idea made my stomach twist and burn in a not-so-funny way. "Do what you deem pertinent, old thing. I leave it up to you. Now, is Bingo here?"
Talking to Bingo in hushed whispers, eyes darting around making sure not to be overheard, was a familiar occurrence. Bingo Little has been my friend since school, the blighter knows all my secrets just as I know his. We may not be overly furnished in the brain department, you see, but when something is bound to be secret, we keep that a secret by all means. Bingo didn't offer me any solution, just a compassionate nod and a pad on the shoulder.
I did not reach the old flat until past midnight, certain that Jeeves would be asleep by then. However, I moved slowly and silently through the place to my bedroom, unwilling to chance a sudden encounter with my valet.
Whether my quietness worked or Jeeves was just as keen as I was to avoid the confrontation, it doesn't matter. The point is that I changed into my pyjamas and entered my bed, yet sleep only came in waves. By the time Jeeves entered the room with my morning tea, I had been looking outside the window for quite some time.
"I did not know you were awake, sir. My apologies."
"Not at all, Jeeves. Bad night of sleep, I suppose. The colours of dawn are quite sad, don't you think? All that grey and that." I said without turning to look at him. I just couldn't.
"During the wintertime, there's more fog in the air, sir."
"Would that mean that in, let's say, June, the dawn would be more colourful?"
"Perhaps not very colourful, sir, but it would be more yellow."
"Huh. The things you know, Jeeves. The things you know…"
"Indeed, sir"
Silence surrounded us once again. I refused to tear my eyes away from the window’s scenery even if my feet were cold and my lower back hurt from the hours I'd been standing up there.
As it was customary of Jeeves, he stood at his spot by the feet of the bed, emitting soft coughs. That, if you don't know by now, means that he wants to talk to me about something, but won't do it until I ask him. Well, I wasn't going to do so this time because I was utterly terrified of what would come out of his mouth.
"Jeeves," I said after the sixth cough.
"Sir?"
"Get the bath ready, would you? I'm feeling rather cold this morning."
"Very good, sir."
He hadn't liked that I ignored his insistence, yet he slipped into the bathroom.
Only then did I turn to look at his back. Just a glance before eyeing the Oolong waiting for me in the tray next to a couple of scones. The sight made my stomach twist. I sipped at the tea, going back to my previous position. I heard Jeeves getting everything ready for my bath and a later change of clothes, sipping small amounts of tea and just letting the liquid go cold between my hands.
"Would you like my help with the disrobing, sir?"
As I approached the cup to my lips for another sip, the question made me nauseous. What would Jeeves think of me if I answered positively? Would he think the young master was a pervert who forced the object of his inverted affections to touch his body under the pretence of work?
"Absolutely not, Jeeves! Don't need to worry about that. Here, take the tray back to the kitchen if you will."
I managed to put my almost full tea on the tray and bypass him without really looking at him. I had no idea I could be this athletic.
"Do you not feel well, sir? Your tea is untouched." His concern was hard to dismiss.
"My stomach is feeling a bit on the funny side, I suppose. Twisting and turning and turning and twisting."
"Should I call the doctor, sir?"
"There's no need for that, old thing. I'll be fine in a jiffy!" I lied closing the bathroom door behind me. I'd never closed the door before, but I knew I had to start doing it from then on.
The proper ingestion of food was virtually impossible for me until the first week of March. Jeeves got more and more concerned as my appetite was missing. Even Johnson, from the Drones, informed me that Jeeves had been calling wondering if his Mr. Wooster was eating properly at the club. Well, the answer was a pitiful no.
In that time I got my emotions under control again. I could look at Jeeves again without wanting to vomit. I could play again on my piano, although the music wasn't as chirpy as it once was. I did my best to treat Jeeves just as I always did and he did the very same. The only difference that made Jeeves' mood grow colder sometimes was that I did not ask him to speak his mind anymore when he lingered in my bedroom with soft coughs.
Then the letter arrived and everything changed.
To be continued…