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Some minds Joosters seem almost to create themselves, springing up under every disadvantage and working their solitary but irresistible way through a thousand obstacles.

--Washington Irving  

Obstacles

I woke in the late morning, feeling an unexpected sensation of warmth and comfort.  It was utterly unlike my usual solitary bed. As I adjusted to my surroundings, I realized that Mr. Wooster was nestled closely against me, clutching my hand to his breast.  I shifted slightly and he stirred, pulling my arm against him more tightly. My heart melted, and I closed my eyes to enjoy the feeling of his hand on mine and drink in the indefinable delight of his scent.

Then the terrible reality of the situation crashed down upon me. I was an invert.  I had never admitted this, even to myself. My desires were criminal, and I had exposed myself to my employer. Worse, I was in love with my defenseless and easily suggestible young master. True, we both had somewhat adaptable morals, but my feelings could prevent me from being sufficiently firm with him in future. Whatever was I going to do?

I must have flinched. Mr. Wooster stirred sleepily, seeming confused, which could have been an effect of the sedative medications he had been taking to ease his sleep.    He pressed against the arm he had injured in another larcenous activity prompted by Mrs. Travers and moaned.  “Jeeves?”  Tears rose in my eyes at the drowsy uncertainly in his voice. I had worked so hard to maintain the order and stability of our cozy bachelor arrangements, and now everything was in chaos.

I swallowed. “Yes, sir?” My voice sounded strange and gravelly.  He squeezed my hand and I snuggled him more closely. During my service to Lord Brancaster, I had occasionally been called upon to ease his pain in this manner.  Of course, he was an old man and his proximity tended to inspire disgust and pity rather than the searing warmth that Mr. Wooster’s closeness ignited in my usually solitary form.

“Is there any aspirin?”

“Of course, sir.”  I moved to get up and he clutched at me more tightly. 

“No. Don’t. Not yet.” My arm tightened around him and he pressed back against me with a charming noise.

“Sir?”

“Jeeves, I, that is in re: this sitch. Whatever are we going to do?”

“Sir?”

“Whatever are we going to do?  I can’t…I’m already so… I don’t even know your name.” He had never asked.  At first I wondered if he simply did not care, but his desire not to pry into my personal life had been a most welcome protection for many of my money-making activities.

“It’s Reginald, sir, Reginald Silversmith.”  We relaxed our hold on each other.

He tapped the back of my hand thoughtfully. “So, not Jeeves at all?”

“My mother’s father was called Jeeves, sir. I took the name when I began working so as not to be confused with my uncle.”

He turned to look at me over his shoulder. “And it’s too late, isn’t it?  Too late to go back and pretend?” My heart nearly liquefied at the worried, hopeful look in his blue eyes.

“I will endeavor to do whatever you require, sir.”

“Why?” Sometimes I underestimated Mr. Wooster, often with uncomfortable results. 

“Sir?”

“Why, Reginald ‘Jeeves’ Silversmith? Why will you try to do whatever young Bertram might require? Don’t you realize what could happen to you?”

His voice broke, and I snuggled him still more closely. I will never quite understand what came over me in that moment. “Because it would break my heart to be parted from you.” I whispered.

“Oh, Reggie.” Despite his glowing smile, he sounded almost sorrowful. “We are in the soup, aren’t we?”

“I am afraid so, sir. Would you like that aspirin now?”

“Thank-you.” I pulled on my clothes. “At least it’s not a solitary soup, what?” I felt a smile bend my lips and fled to the kitchen to gather my thoughts.

The good old embrace

In the course of my adventures, I had been engaged a number of times and several young fillies had caught the old e, as it were. Never had Bertram experienced the good old embrace during one of these interludes—Bingo had, and one wondered what the trick was. There had been a decoy embrace for me here and there, as it were, but never the genuine article as the fiancées either evaded like bantam weights or slapped the back too heartily or got distracted by roast beef sandwiches.  In this, as in all things, Jeeves stood alone. It was the best imaginable snuggle, better even than the little liaison with an unnamed chum at Oxford.

The Wooster brain was a fuzzy ball of delight, but as always when marvelousness oozes up, something else was lurking to catch the back of the neck. Jeeves shimmered back into the room, bearing tea and aspirins and bread and butter and jam. I fell on the oolong and aspirin like a starving man, and the first hint of the thing lurking about the region of the Wooster neck and poised to strike revealed itself as Jeeves hovered respectfully in the center of the carpet. 

Blast. 

He was still my valet.  Thankfully, he had asserted his mastery over the household some time ago, so I had little fear of him succumbing to unwanted advances.  But if we continued on, we would not be able to hire another valet.

Blast.  At least Jeeves was here to tell me what to do.

Then I raised the peepers. I never thought I would see Jeeves like this.  The poor fellow was showing the white of the eye in the worst way. “Please come back to the bed.” A bit off from the usual masterly discourse, the ‘please,’ but I was suddenly needing to be masterly in a way that did not involve fussing and arguing with my clever valet.  “And where is your tea? I know you can’t have eaten already because you were here, and we will need all your brain power.”

“Sir?”

“Please, Jeeves.  I need to speak to you.” As I patted the bed, his professional mask started to crack. It was the work of a moment to hop up and take him by the hand. He sort of shook himself and tried to reestablish the stuffed frog. Tears started down his face, and I dabbed at them, then pulled him back to the bed.  He tucked me in and shakingly shed his outer clothes and climbed back in next to me. I offered him my teacup and we shared the bread and butter and jam. He did not take a single bite or sip that I did not specifically offer him, but I had little enough appetite myself.

The e.s were drawn to the ragged edges of his underthings, the mismatched buttons and the little stains. It brought home to me that I had more than thirty thousand a year, and a bit more every year, it seemed, since I never spent my full income, while Jeeves had the one or two hundred or so that I paid him, plus whatever else he could scrounge.  My money and family would protect me, but he was in danger, very grave danger, if we were discovered.

I remembered once, in the very early days, speaking to him about the ragged lining in his jacket when I saw it in the kitchen.  I’d quietly gone to the tailor and gotten a newer jacket for him to serve in. He had never looked anything but impeccable since.  But as I glanced at the things he had draped over the chair, the patched hem of his shirt, the mismatched studs on his collar, and the dark button that wouldn’t show all clamored for attention.  I touched the top button on his undervest then looked up at him.  I took away the teacup and touched his face. He was shaking like an aspen.

“It’s not too late to change your mind,” I said. The tears welled back up out of him.  My first thought was that it would never do, that I’d have to take some time away and then let him decide, but he was smiling as he touched the tears on my own cheeks.  Then I was kissing him and he was kissing me and it was all too late after all.  He was lovely, touching my face tenderly as he brushed the lips, slipping an arm about the waist.  I thought I would burst with happiness. “Delicious, Reggie.”

He was smiling like a very soppy Cheshire cat. “Most delightful, sir.”

“Are you all right?”

“Rather better than that, sir.”

“Have you put your mind to the question of how we can manage the current bisque?”

“Perhaps the night train to Antibes as you suggested yesterday, sir.”

“Topping.  Just one thing.”

“Sir?”

“Please don’t be offended. I don’t understand why your things are so shabby.”

He looked deeply uncomfortable. “It has been a considerable time, sir, since I was able to make use of cast-offs from an employer, and we had the work on the door.” Silently I decided to work a few new clothes for Jeeves into the activities during our trip.

“En avant, then?”

“As you say, sir.”

I took his hand and rubbed the back of it with my thumb.  A small smile played at the corner of the Jeevesian lip. “Might we have another go?”

“Perhaps a small one, sir. There is much to be done today.” 

Irresistible

It was providential that I insisted we delay further affections as Mrs. Travers called at about the hour of luncheon. Mr. Jarvis followed behind bearing a large box. 

“I won’t be staying for lunch, blot.  I came to speak with Jeeves.”  Mr. Wooster allowed his face to register shock and dismay.  Mrs. Travers turned to him and patted him fondly on the arm. “It will only be a minute.”  She followed me into the kitchen and showed me the lunch she had brought Mr. Wooster.

“Jeeves. I wanted to thank you for agreeing to stay with my nephew.”

“You are welcome, Mrs. Travers.”

“I am not dying, but I still want you to keep your promise.” I paused, recalling that this was a woman who had bet M. Anatole in a card game. I had no illusions about her regard for me. The many times I had aided her would not prevent her making use of me without any consideration of my welfare. “I want you to stay.  He says that he can’t manage without you and…” At this point Mr. Wooster entered the kitchen.

“Aged r.” he said, his voice steady and gentle in a way I had never heard before. “Please do not take my whatsits out on Jeeves.  It’s one thingummy to make me steal things so I lose my taste for it. I know Sir Roderick recommends it, and I understand that you do not want nephew to remain a hardened pincher of helmets of the gendarmerie.  But please don’t do this.  Jeeves is a person, not a cow creamer.”

It was all I could do to maintain my professional face, but Mrs. Travers, I am certain, could not see me.  She beamed and closed my young master in a hearty embrace that made him smother a yelp. “Good.  I am proud of you, blot.”

“Will you stay to lunch, auntie?”

“I have to get back. Good-bye Jeeves.”  Mr. Wooster walked her to the door and I moved to set a place for him in the dining room.  As I reentered the kitchen, a hand came to rest at the small of my back. I turned and found Mr. Wooster’s face very close to mine.

“Sir?” 

“Jeeves, set a place for yourself.”

“I apologize, sir, but I was not planning to sit long over lunch.” Mr. Wooster required leisure to enjoy his food and I was too nervous to eat.

He squeezed my waist. “I’m too nervous to eat by myself.” Then he rested his head on my shoulder. “In a manly way, of course,” he continued.  I could not help it.  A laugh escaped me.  I had my arms around him in a trice.

Mr. Wooster was clearly a bit stung by my reaction, but was true to his usual kind, patience.  He traced along the line of my jaw with a finger. “Do you think me unmanly?” 

“You misunderstand me, sir. I was feeling too nervous to eat.” The proximity to him was too much and I kissed him tenderly. As I pulled away, I bent to murmur, “And not at all in a manly way.”

We did not eat very much.  Mr. Jarvis greatly enjoyed the sandwiches I brought him later.

A touch of oompus boompus

Bertram likes his creature comforts and the pleasures of a nice, quiet, uneventful life. Looking back, I can see how a brainy, energetic cove like Jeeves would be drawn to the soft life chez Wooster. I gave him ample free time, generous tips, and recognized his superiority in a matters intellectual, allowing him to be a man rather than a piece of furniture about the home. Of course, back in those days, I was so preoccupied with maintaining some type of mastery that it never occurred to me to think about the Jeevesian perspective. Not that Bertram was truly capable of understanding the activities of the vast amount of grey matter inhabiting his bean, but I did not see how grateful he was to me.

The aching wrist enhanced the usual discomforts of travel to no small degree. Jeeves biffed about, terribly flustered, as evidenced by his once forgetting which side of his jacket held the billfold and twice tipping the porter.  We took our compartment and scooted off for supper. The wrist felt as if wolves were gnawing at the joint and the bean simply pounded. The dial went grey between the entrée and the remove, and someone fetched Jeeves. 

“Sir?”

“Back to the compartment, Jeeves.”  He got me up under the arm and supported me down the corridor. The pain eased as soon as he touched me. A motherly impulse was awakened in several dowagers, who sent gifts of aspirins and soothing elixirs.  Some friend of Uncle George’s was there and insisted that Jeeves stay in the compartment with me.

“He’s in no fit state to be left alone.”

Jeeves agreed and silently locked us in for the night.  He looked thoroughly done in. He offered a drink, but the bean was still feeling scrambled from the morning.  “No, Jeeves.”  He paused. “Stay with me?”

“Of course, sir, but you may enjoy this whiskey.” It was much less enjoyable than curling up in the Jeevesian embrace.  He started to soothe me to sleep, rubbing the neck. I could not remember being handled so gently, and I looked up at him. “Please rest now, sir,” he murmured. 

We took up residence in a hotel in Paris and Jeeves made much of the fact that I’d been taken ill on the train and could not possibly be disturbed. Wooster staggered in, looking rather pale and interesting.  I insisted that Jeeves stay in the suite, and so we were left on our solitary way for nearly two weeks, with plenty of time to get to know each other better and plenty of excuse for Jeeves to be floating about my rooms in his pajamas. That first evening, though, we spent most of the time kissing and, er, well, thingummy.  Afterward, we snuggled together, Jeeves cupping the golden head in a hand.

“No one has ever been this tender with me,” he murmured, finally dropping the ‘sir.’

“Nor me, Reggie,” I said.  “Will we be able to keep out of the worst soup?” I wondered.

“I hope so,” he said. “I wish I could assure that you need not worry, but I will need your help.”

I forgot about my arm again and tried to cup his face in my hand.  He smiled warmly and I closed the eyes to nestle against him. “I had the solicitors secure…” I felt the bean nodding. “Can we talk about this tomorrow?”

“Yes, of course.”  He nuzzled the face and whispered in my ear, rubbing my back as I drifted to sleep.  “I love you,” he said. “I love you.”