triedunture | Jeeves Drabble #2 (Reply)

Pounding the Pavement
Rating: gen
Words: 1700
Summary: Jeeves looks for a new job.

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Mr Wooster was the fourth name on Jeeves' list of potential employers. The agency had provided him with a list of five names, and Jeeves had ranked them in order of importance. Jeeves had been hoping to procure a new position with the first or perhaps second gentleman on the list; the third was a suitable Plan B, as they say. The fourth name was only supposed to be in case of a dire emergency, and the fifth didn't attract Jeeves' notice one bit.

The first gentleman on the list was Lord Giffleton, an incredibly wealthy man living out his final years on the outskirts of London. His Lordship was a widower, and all his children were grown and married, with houses in the country. To Jeeves, it seemed like the perfectly secure valeting opportunity.

Jeeves was shown into the Giffleton manor by an underbutler who did not make eye contact and did not ask for a name. Jeeves wasn't announced to His Lordship so much as tossed into his study and left there to fend for himself. Jeeves bristled at the slackness of the staff; his own father, head butler at Wingfield Hall, would never have left anyone in a room unannounced, even if it was just a lowly prospective valet.

Perhaps it was this unease with the introduction that had Jeeves starting off on the wrong foot, as one might put it.

'Who's there?' Lord Giffleton gruffed from his armchair.

Jeeves stepped closer, remembering the agency's secretary's warning: Giffleton was nearly blind.

'I was sent by the agency, you Lordship,' he replied, bowing slightly. 'I understand you wish to employ a valet.'

Giffleton sat in his chair, gumming his lower lip. 'And?' he barked.

'I come to offer my services,' Jeeves said, trying to remain smooth in his manner.

'How old are you?' Giffleton sneered.

'M'lord?'

'How many years have you been on this earth, boy?'

Jeeves stood a bit straighter, if such was possible. He did not take well to being called 'boy'. 'I am twenty-nine next week, m'lord.'

'I didn't ask about your bloody birthday. Did you want congratulations?'

'No, m'lord.'

'Then what in blazes do you want!'

Jeeves lifted his chin a fraction of an inch and placed his bowler hat back on his head. 'I believe it prudent to take my leave now. Good day, m'lord.'

He left through the front door without waiting for an escort. It didn't matter how much money Giffleton had to throw away; no self-respecting valet should ever expect to be accosted in such a fashion.

Jeeves studied his short list while waiting on the train platform. The second name was a Mr Sheckleton, an American businessman who had relocated to Brompton. Jeeves had served such men before, and felt confident that his references would be most helpful in procuring the position. When Jeeves rang the bell at the appointed address, no one answered. Not a footman, not a maid, not a cook's assistant. Jeeves rang again, pressing his ear to the door to ascertain that the device was in working order. After several minutes, he circled round to the back of the building and peered in through a dusty window. The furniture was sheeted, and not a soul moved about the place.

This sort of thing happened often. The agency sometimes handed out faulty or out-dated information. It was possible Mr Sheckleton had not yet arrived, or had already left for somewhere else. Whatever the geographical location of Mr Sheckleton, one thing was certain: he was not here.

Jeeves moved on to the third name on his list. It was with a heavy heart that he made his way to Dr Hollingson's house in Kensington. The trip was a long one by bus, and it was made longer by the feeling of grave disappointment blooming in Jeeves' chest. He had thought he would secure a new position by that morning, and already the sun was dipping low in the sky.

He looked out the rain-streaked bus window, watching the stately buildings fly by and wondering if he would ever find work in a such a place. His last employer, Mr Todd, had been taken in by the police for embezzlement of funds. While Jeeves hadn't been a party to the illegal activities, he worried that the black stain might transfer to his own reputation. It was awful, having to marry one's own fate to that of a fallible master.

Perhaps Dr Hollingson would measure up to the required standard.

Upon arriving at the Hollingson residence, Jeeves was greeted by a polite parlourmaid and a cheery fire in the fireplace. He was met by the doctor in the hall, and the small, whiskered man shook his hand warmly. Jeeves felt hope dawn.

'I was sent by the--' he began.

'I know, I know, terribly sorry,' Dr Hollingson said. 'But the position's already been filled. So sorry you had to come all the way out here in this beastly weather. Would you take a cup of tea before plunging out into the rain again? My man Meadowes can see to it.'

Jeeves nodded firmly, not allowing a sigh to escape his lips. Meadowes had been given the position? While possessing a few admirable qualities, Meadowes was not a valet of any kind of excellence. Jeeves felt pity for this kindly doctor who had invited the insufferable Meadowes into his home.

Still. Nothing for it but to keep the stiff upper lip, as one might say.

'Thank you for your hospitality, sir, but I do not wish to intrude. I should be going. Good evening, sir.'

Hat back on, Jeeves walked back out into the rain. It was pouring in earnest now, and by the time the bus arrived to take him back to the Highbury boarding house where he'd been lodging, he was soaked through to the bone.

Once back in his small, dusty rented room, Jeeves stripped off the sopping wet jacket and tie, shirt and waistcoat, trousers and socks, and draped them over the radiator in an effort to dry them. Now dressed only in his damp undershorts and undershirt, Jeeves remembered the list of names and retrieved it from his waistcoat pocket. The ink had smeared somewhat, and the fourth name was barely legible. Jeeves exercised his brain to remember what the gossip-laden secretary at the agency had said about this gentleman.

Jeeves squinted at the blurred writing. Ah, yes. B. Wooster. A young gentleman of considerable energy. Not particularly known for his intelligence. Such a report had made Jeeves' wary, which is why he'd placed the gentleman in the fourth position on the list. He had known many of these young idle rich in his days: too much money, not enough brains. Rife with feelings of entitlement, they were apt to treat their valets and other servants rather poorly. Jeeves did not look forward to being ordered about by a brat nearly ten years his junior.

What had his father said in situations like these? Jeeves recalled: 'Beggars can't be choosers.'

The next morning, Jeeves woke up early to press his just-dry-enough suit. He shined his shoes and combed his hair. He packed his small suitcase; he hadn't the funds to pay for any more nights at the boarding house. If he couldn't find employment today, he'd have to seek asylum at his sister's house for a short time, and he wasn't looking forward to that prospect. He loved Martha, of course, but she would press him on why he hadn't been hired yet, and she'd report back to father, and it would all be very embarrassing.

Jeeves rang the bell of Mr Wooster's flat with all this pressure heaped upon his shoulders. At first, there was no answer. Jeeves frowned, wondering if he luck was so poor that the agency had given him incorrect information on two gentlemen. He rang again.

A groan sounded from the other side of the door.

At this sign of life from within, Jeeves pressed his thumb to the bell and didn't let up. Desperate times, desperate measures, he reasoned. He wasn't leaving without speaking to this Mr Wooster.

The door opened to reveal this: a young man with ruffled golden curls, his collar undone and sticking straight up in the back, his clothes (obviously from the night before) wrinkled and untucked. Mouth slack. Blue eyes unfocused. A bit of drool on the chin.

But instead of recoiling in horror, Jeeves forced himself to exhibit a calm, collected exterior. It was clear he'd need to take charge if he wanted this position.

'I was sent by the agency,' he said, raising his hat an inch from his head in salute. 'I was given to understand you required a valet.'

A gurgle was his only answer.

'Very good, sir.' Jeeves breezed in, taking stock of the disordered sitting room. That could be dealt with later; he forged on to the master bedroom.

While Mr Wooster could be heard stumbling and croaking wordlessly in the hall, Jeeves tidied as quickly as he could. He set down his suitcase and collected the clothes strewn about the floor, folded the clean articles and set them in the wardrobe. Could he honestly work under these circumstances, he wondered to himself. The man was obviously a slovenly, self-serving, little--

Jeeves turned to see Mr Wooster leaning in the doorway. He was still the mussed, unkempt young man who had opened the door, but now his eyes shone with shocked amazement. Jeeves looked round the room as well; yes, he had done a good job of putting things right. But this Mr Wooster was now gazing at Jeeves as if he'd hung the moon.

Jeeves pursed his lips in thought. When the young gentleman regarded him like that, he almost looked...well, he was quite beautiful. Even with the undone collar.

With a discrete cough, Jeeves pushed through to the kitchen and began hunting down the necessary ingredients for a morning pick-me-up. The young man would need one help him find his voice, and maybe with that voice, he would hire Jeeves as his valet.

And if the voice was as lovely as the blue eyes and flushed cheeks, Jeeves might even accept.

fin.

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