Chapter Text
My valet Jeeves is the cleverest man in the world, but in one respect he is incredibly stupid. Knowing that I have been pining for him for years, and having reciprocated my feelings, he does nothing to bring the Wooster’s corpus into his safe and strong arms. What's more, he persistently pretends not to notice my crush.
How do I know that Jeeves is in love with the last of the Woosters? Even a dullard like me would have guessed it. I had at least three pieces of evidence to support that theory. Count on your fingers.
Firstly. He'd gotten so many offers from other employers. Gentlemen didn't even ask how much I was paying Jeeves, but promised to double or even triple it, treacherously enticing him to join them. Isn't work first and foremost your daily bread? Definitely so, but for reasons that defy logical explanation, Jeeves remained loyal to me.
Secondly. Jeeves was always against my relationships with women, whether they were marital disasters or flings. He invariably upset my forced engagements. Honoria Glossop, Madeleine Basset, Pauline Stocker — this is by no means a complete list of the maidens Jeeves saved me from the bonds of matrimony. If in their image and likeness to make alabaster statuettes and put on a shelf in the living room, you'll get a whole collection.
You'll say, «What's that got to do with feelings? It's not favorable for Jeeves to have a new mistress in the person of my potential wife. It is much more convenient to exist side by side with a bachelor like himself, and not to serve the family, which, God forbid, may have children.
It sounds logical, but I have an answer for you. Jeeves is an extraordinary man with superpowers. He can cook a delicious consommé, put in order the weekend suits, and pull a dozen slackers like me out of the soup at the same time — all before dinner. It is never a problem for him, without taking time off from his direct duties, to arrange my affairs and win the favor of my friends and relatives, even — come to think of it! — Aunt Agatha, God save me from her bright face.
Where am I going with this? Jeeves would have charmed my wife, if such a woman could exist in nature. Two pairs of eyes would stare at him in admiration, two mouths open in simultaneous amazement when he said incredibly clever things. Twice as much adoration he would receive every day. So, I'm sorry, your version is untenable. Jeeves' life wouldn't have been made worse by my marriage, so his reasons for avoiding it were different.
Besides, I mentioned the flings, which, for example, I tried to have on the motor ship on the way to New York. Of course, I was hitting on the ladies on purpose to make Jeeves jealous. I wanted to encourage him to finally make the first step toward our convergence, but all I got was a low-key, «Shipboard romances are rarely successful, sir.»
Ugh, man. How many times can he torture me with that word, building a glass wall between us? I wish he'd call me asshole — it'd be closer and more familiar. Although I'm sure that's what he calls me in his wonderful head.
Thirdly. Jeeves is very particular about my appearance. From the moment he entered the service, he carefully selected my images, accessories and hairstyle. He made me look tasteful and fabulous, to the envy of the young rakes and the languid sighs of the unmarried ladies. Jeeves dressed me up like a doll, paying attention to every little detail — with love, so you understand.
If he didn't like an article of clothing, Jeeves would dispose of it without trial, with no interest in his young master's opinion. Think of the cropped off-white jacket from Cannes. Jeeves threw it away! The same fate befell handkerchiefs with family embroidery, and numerous colorful ties.
(You might think Jeeves was making me jump through all his hoops, but I'm not one of those fellows who become absolute slaves to their valets.)
And how did I try to grow a mustache? Not that I liked them, but I wanted to get Jeeves' attention. I was sure that with a mustache I would look manly — and therefore attractive, which would finally melt his stony heart. But I miscalculated, as always.
But to hell with the evidence! Have you ever seen the way Jeeves looks at me? A mixture of lust and sadness did not escape Wooster's keen eyes. I don't know a lot of things, and I can't pronounce some words, but if there's one thing I can be sure of, it's that Jeeves has a thing for me.
I needed a plan to get it out of him. I couldn't confess my feelings first and propose a relationship — after all, I was his master. If I had, I would have had to question the sincerity of Jeeves' consent for the rest of my life, whether he had given it freely, willingly, and unconditionally, or under the oppression of an all-powerful feudal spirit. Instead, I chose the path of hints of varying degrees of transparency.
Ingenious plans are not my forte, as you know, and so all my previous actions have failed. Jeeves was as impregnable as the famous Rocky Mountains in the States. But one day the lucky chance gave me a great idea.
I was walking home from the Drones with old man Barmy, and suddenly I caught a glimpse of Roderick Spode through a store window. I shuddered: the damn fascist was one of the people I hoped never to see again. But when I looked more closely, I discovered a most curious thing. The formidable dictator was holding in his hands a woman's nightdress and was enthusiastically telling something to an elderly lady — probably a customer.
The lacy thing looked terribly out of place in his hands, but it seemed even more delicate and airy in contrast to his rough fingers. I stared at the fine silk flowing, at the way the fabric rippled with each of Spode's movements, as if beckoning to me. New, unrecognized feelings came over me.
"A nightdress doesn't suit him," said Barmy.
"Not for him," I muttered thoughtfully.
On the window glass was the inscription: "Еulaliе". That's when I put two and two together. That was the magic word that turned a villain into a docile fellow. When he heard it, Spode took the blame for stealing the police helmet, embarrassed himself in Sir Watkyn's eyes and made a laughing stock of himself.
When I got home, I told Jeeves about the episode. He told me that Spode owned and designed a lingerie store and did his best to hide it. As for me, the lingerie business is far less shameful than wearing black shorts and being the founder of a cult, but the British Führer thought otherwise.
However, it is not for me to judge him for the hidden facets of his personality. Spode's creation revealed the dark side of my soul. That nightdress was imprinted on the inside of my eyelids. It stood before my eyes during breakfast at home and dinner at the Drones. It kept me awake on walks and while playing golf. I remembered it when I smoked, played the piano, and talked to Jeeves.
Especially when talking to Jeeves.
As if hypnotized, without realizing it, I returned to the store a week later. God proved merciful and I did not meet Spode there. At my request, the assistant showed me an assortment of nightdresses, and I stood there with a smart look, trying to take away the trembling in my knees.
I persuaded myself that a man in this dwelling of feminine beauty would not arouse suspicion, for to buy fine lingerie as a present for one's sweetheart was an act worthy of a true gentleman. But I thought it was written on my forehead that the purpose of the visit was not to please the other half.
Wait a minute, why not? Without specifying the person's gender, it was. With one nuance: I was going to try on the new clothes myself. It was a risky endeavor, but it was worth the gamble.
Hoping that a medium-sized nightdress would accentuate the gracefulness of Wooster's torso, I chose the powder pink one. Jeeves would have said it was the color of a peony of some sort, but I certainly wasn't good at remembering all those complicated names. After I paid, I sprinted out of the store and ran away as if it's owner was chasing me.
The bundle burned my fingers. Now that the item had been purchased, there was no way back. Of course, there was nothing to stop me from throwing it in the nearest trashcan or pleasing some girl on the streets of London. But then I would have lost all respect for myself. We Woosters had never been known for cowardice, and I decided to demonstrate the family courage that very evening.
The trouble began as soon as I got home. When the door was opened, Jeeves, like a perfect servant, reached for my burden to free my hands. But I dodged with the grace of a panther and placed it on the dresser. Jeeves raised his perfect eyebrow a tenth of an inch and silently accepted my coat and hat.
But the further it went, the worse it got. Jeeves' constant presence made fitting impossible. And I had to see the nightdress in action to make sure I was irresistible, because I couldn't take any risk. If I failed to impress Jeeves with the splendor of the lace, no other method would do. I would have to give up my vain hopes of reuniting with my love and drown my sorrows in the Drones' bar for the rest of my life.
Then I called on Wooster's wit.
"Jeeves, will you go out and get some pudding? I've been craving pudding."
He raised his magnificent left eyebrow one-fifth of an inch.
"You had pudding for breakfast, sir."
Of course, how could I have forgotten! I should have thought of something else. Rich imagination has never been my strong point (unless it's about getting in trouble, in which case I'm a master).
"Oh, yeah. It was delicious! I'd like some more," I said.
"Very good, sir. I have a couple of pieces of pudding left. I'll get it from the pantry."
Oh, damn it!
Jeeves poured the tea and I had to choke on the pudding. Don't get me wrong, it was good — I mean the pudding, not Jeeves. Although Jeeves was even better. Though I don't think it's appropriate to compare Jeeves and pudding… Anyway, what am I saying? I mean, Jeeves is a great cook, but at the moment I couldn't get a bite down my throat. I needed a good reason to send him out of the house for a while.
"Jeeves, aren't you tired, old man? When was the last time you had a day off?"
His eyebrows crept up another quarter of an inch.
"Last week, sir."
"I suppose you want to have a rest?"
"Not at all, sir. I'm full of energy and ready to follow your orders."
"Yeah, yeah… When you don't work, you don't earn — I understand. I'll give you a bonus and you take a little walk, okay?"
"To be honest, I find your offer a little disorienting. May I ask why, sir?"
"I've been tiring you out. You're here with me all the time."
"Do you wish to get rid of my presence?"
"No!" I exclaimed, cursing his insight and my own stupidity. "I'm just worried about you. You're not resting at all."
Jeeves suppressed a sigh, heading for the hallway.
"As you wish, sir. What time should I be back?"
I felt like a fiend for kicking a good man out of the door. But privacy was essential to my scheme. I figured I had half an hour to deal with the contents of the package, and the same time for possible force majeure.
"Come back in an hour."
"Very good, sir," said Jeeves, in his unruffled manner, but the misunderstanding and suspicion in his eyes shouted louder than words.
Patience, Jeeves, you'll find out everything very soon.
With trembling fingers I unwrapped the thing. How unusual it looked in the house of an inveterate bachelor! Like an alien from another planet, the nightdress promised to bring something new into my life, something as beautiful as the tatting around my chest.
Undressing, I fiddled with the buttons for a long time. I thought about how much Jeeves was a part of my routine. I couldn't get a step without him, either in domestic matters or in more serious things like getting rid of my aunts' whims and the brides that had fallen over my head.
Finally my clothes were on the floor (it was good Jeeves hadn't seen it — he would have been horrified). I took a deep breath, as if before jumping into an iсе hole, and put on a woman's rag.
What can I say — I got the size right. But it was… unusual. The thin straps weightlessly touched my shoulders. Where women have appetizing bulges, I had nothing — and the fabric did not fit tightly. But the lace tickled my breast pleasantly — and, I must say, my nerves. On my cheeks there was a blush a few tones brighter than the color of the outfit.
The hem of the nightdress reached to my knees — and you could call it modest, if it weren't for one fact. It was translucent and showed off all the charms of Bertram's body. A pair of pointed nipples and firm loins looked back at me from the mirror — if, of course, loins have eyes. (Remarkably, I had no doubt that the nipples had eyes too.)
I ran my hand from my solar plexus to my waist, as if to familiarize myself with the new item of my wardrobe. The touch felt comfortable — I should confess, Spode was good at that sort of things. I imagined Jeeves' hand instead of mine and swallowed.
I twirled around in front of the mirror, turning sideways and back and looking over my shoulder coquettishly. The hemline followed my movements, lifting in the breeze. It was funny.
The thought came to me that I lacked feminine shoes, makeup, and a lot of other feminine things to complete the look. Perhaps that would have given me an even better chance of impressing Jeeves. But I should work with what I had: I wasn't going to delay the demonstration of the nightdress.
The plan was as simple as a stroke of genius. When Jeeves went to prepare my bath in the evening, I would take advantage of his busyness, change into the nightdress, and call him over. He'll freeze on the doorstep, amazed at the unforgettable sight, the feudal spirit will evaporate, shattered by Spode's design talent, and then there will be the spark, the storm, the madness, and all the other stuff of paperback ladies' novels.
Maybe Jeeves, seized by passion, will rip off my only article of clothing at once. Or maybe he'll want to admire the sight of the young master in the nightdress longer. Perhaps we would take a bath together…
Perhaps I would have thought of many other possibilities, but the turn of the key in the lock completely deprived me of the ability to think.
I froze with horror, but only for a moment, for the next moment I was crawling under the chesterfield.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I'm early. It started raining outside, and I didn't take an umbrella. I remember you wanted some privacy. I'll stay out of the way, I'll sit in my room… Sir?"
I was silent, clasping my hands over my mouth. My heart was beating loudly, and that pounding alone would give me away. Jeeves came into the room — I could see his feet from my hiding place. Usually he moved silently, like a ghost. But now every approaching footstep sounded like a drum in my ears.
"Are you at home, sir?" He stopped beside a pile of jacket, pants, vest, shirt, and tie. Somewhere in the depths of that heap lurked my underwear. "Oh, my God."
He was damn right: oh, my God! And I don't care if "oh, my God" and "damn" shouldn't meet in the same sentence.
Jeeves squatted down to gather my clothes. His movements were as if in slow motion — he was taking his time, looking at the wrinkled things, sighing heavily. I hadn't been this anxious even before my etiquette exam at Eton.
Mentally, I begged Jeeves to get up and retire to his room, which would give me time for embarrassing escape. I mean, for tactical retreat. But either he was an atheist or telepathy was not among his many virtues, because instead of it, Jeeves turned his fourteen-size bowler toward me.
His perfect eyebrows raised a full third of an inch. Quickly pulling himself together, however, Jeeves showed impeccable restraint:
"Sir?"
"Yes, Jeeves. I… well, the cufflink fell off, yes. I thought it might have rolled under the chesterfield. By the way, have you seen it?"
"Unfortunately, no, sir. But I'll look for it right away. There's no need for you to be under the chesterfield."
With those words he held out his hand to help me out, but I yanked mine away like a scalded man. Jeeves' touches had always been manna from heaven to me, but not in this case.
"No, no, don't, old man! I'll do it myself."
In response, Jeeves raised his eyebrows again — at least half an inch — and it seemed to me that his face took on a slightly insulted look. He straightened up like I'd wanted him to minutes earlier, and suddenly my back lost contact with the bottom of the chesterfield. Jeeves lifted it up, giving me the freedom to get off.
The problem was, I didn't need a damn about that "freedom".
You might wonder why I wanted to stay under the chesterfield like a dog in a cramped kennel, while nature had given me an upright posture and the ability to tower over said animal and other creatures.
But if you have been following Wooster's flight of thought, you will certainly remember that I was in an unfortunate nightdress. And there was no way Jeeves could have seen me in it now.
Everything had to happen differently.
Cursing my stupid plan and the day I'd come into the world, I rose to my feet. Jeeves set the chesterfield on the floor and froze, keeping his eyes on me. I'd never seen a look like that before — not even the day I came back from the Wild West in a pimp fur coat, white hat, and with mustache on my face. But most importantly, the eyebrows. They barely reached his hairline.
The silence between us lasted forever. The air had thickened to the point where you could cut it with a knife and serve at a dinner party at Aunt Delia's estate. Though I doubted that the peerless Anatole would have fed guests at Brinkley Court with such a dubious dish.
I looked at Jeeves, and he looked at me. I could see the flared nostrils and the twitching of his adam's apple. I saw crimson cheeks that would be the envy of boiled crayfish. I even saw him furtively adjust the hem of his jacket. But the voice that broke the silence was as cold as the Atlantic waters on the way to the New World.
"I apologize, sir. I realize I saw something that was not meant for my eyes."
Huh. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"It's nothing," I replied, shivering. "Could you give me a dressing gown, please?"
"Certainly, sir."
"And pour me scotch and soda."
"Yes, sir."
"And leave me alone."
"By all means."
As soon as he was out of the door of his room, I drained the glass in a gulp. This time Jeeves poured the whiskey generously, deviating from the usual proportions, and it was just what I needed. The alcohol burned my throat, distracting my attention from the burning pain in my chest.
Grabbing the bottle, I went to the bedroom — it was impossible to be at the scene of the accident. Once I was safe, the first thing I did was rip off the damn nightdress that had been the cause of all my troubles. How could I have imagined that Spode's creation would bring anything good into my life?! Everything that man touched was cursed.
Taking a sip or two straight from the bottle neck — Jeeves would have judged me, but who cared now — I buried myself in the blanket and sank back into the gloom. Jeeves probably hated me now. What if he wanted to get away from the filthy pervert? If I lost him… I just wouldn't survive it.
On the other hand, how can we continue to exist under the same roof? This kind of thing divides life into before and after. Pretending like nothing happened? What a load of crap! Jeeves and I have always been honest with each other. I certainly have.
Sure, he'd fooled me more than once, hiding the details of his brilliant plans, but it was always for the greater good. Even the bicycle ride to Kingham. But in all emotional things, Jeeves was honest with me.
I just won’t be able to look into his beautiful eyes and see judgment or, God forbid, contempt. I'd rather let him go myself so as not to make him work for an unpleasant type. I'd rather go to Argentina and fish under the name of Alejandro for the rest of my life! Meaning that Alejandro would be my name, not the fish's. Though who knows what the fish's name is…
My musings were interrupted by a short knock on the door.