Jeeves and the Monetary Imbalance (Part 2)

[triedunture]

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I don't know if you know India? It's a dashed long way's off. There was a train, and then a boat, and then another train which led to another boat, which turned into a motorcar which got us on yet another train. Each of these modes of travel became more cramped and stuffy the farther from London we got. The upshot of the long journey, though, was that I had plenty of time to explain the whole posish to Bingo, starting with Uncle Conroy shuffling off the mortal coil and ending with the letter calling Jeeves to the iron mine.

'So Jeeves is a rich man now?' Bingo asked with amazement as we bounced along in a train somewhere in Romania, I think.

'That's about the size of it,' I said, lighting a nervous gasper. 'He could buy me twice over, in fact.'

Bingo shook his head. 'It just goes to show.'

'Show what?'

'Well, you two got on so splendidly when he was your valet and you were his gentleman. He had the brains and you had the dough, no offense, old fruit. But when the balance tips in one direction or the other, it throws the whole thing off, doesn't it?'

'I suppose so.' I stared out of the window at the snow-capped mountains we passed and tried to fight off the feelings of gloom that such conversation fostered. I suggested we visit the dining car instead of continuing in the same vein.

In the endless days of hopping from one mode of transport to the other, Bingo and I formed a sort of plan: we'd get to the town in Orissa where I remembered Jeeves' letter had come from, and we'd toddle up to his estate. I would convince him I loved him, that all must be forgiven, that he must return to London with me or I might waste away to nothing.

'I will attest to that fact,' Bingo promised. 'Egad, Bertie, you were an absolute wreck before I levered you out of bed. If he feels the smallest amount of love for you, he'll have to relent.' He paused and regarded me with a torn expression. 'He does love you, doesn't he?'

'Of course.' I discovered my cigarette case was empty, and shut it with an irritated snap. 'I mean, he never voiced the words to that effect, but it was clear to me that the love light was in his eyes. Didn't I tell you about his hands in my hair while we sprawled on the--?'

'Yes, Bertie. Many times,' Bingo said gently.

'Some things don't need to be spoken, what?'

'Very true.'

'It's not as if we'll arrive in Orissa to find him engaged to an Indian princess.' I gave a laugh that sort of tapered off at the end.

We were silent for a moment. Then: 'Would Jeeves ever consent to wearing a turban?' Bingo wondered aloud, and I pelted him with some almonds that we had been grazing on since Istanbul.

After several days, our train at last shuddered to a stop at our final destination. I stepped onto the platform and was instantly slapped in the face by the famous Indian heat. Honest sweat joined the nervous sweat on my brow, and I was completely sodden in mere moments.

'If this is how it feels in winter, what the devil do they do in the summer?' Bingo gasped, mopping his face with his handkerchief.

'I can't imagine.' I shucked my wool suit coat, but it did no good. My shirt and waistcoat stuck to me like plaster. 'Dash it, I can't turn up at Jeeves' estate looking like this!' In all the plays I'd seen, the hero always swept in to the finale with a regal air, not a sweaty one.

I cast my peepers round the crowded platform. Bingo and I seemed to be the only Londoners in the whole lot; all the other coves were Indian gents, some in turbans, some with neatly trimmed beards, and all wearing lightweight suits of what looked like pyjamas. They looked quite natty, in my opinion; very cozy.

Outside the dusty train station, I could hear the unmistakable sound of vendors selling their wares. The shouts were in another language, of course, but there is a universal call a chap makes when he wants to sell you a suit of pyjamas, if you get my meaning.

'The market, Bingo!' I said, pointing the way with my walking stick. 'We need to be properly outfitted for this adventure. When in Rome, what?'

'Bertie, really, your geography is appalling. India is no where near Italy.'

'Never mind Italy,' I said, and shoved him onward.

<><><><>

Using a series of gestures and smiles, a pyjama-seller directed Bingo and I to a secluded citrus grove to change from our soaked clothes into the wonderful cheesecloth raiments and matching slippers. Bingo had a light, breezy blue; I had chosen a lovely cream.

'I say!' Bingo looked down at his newly attired self with a grin. 'These would be perfect for tennis, don't you think? We simply must bring some home. The boys at the club will go ga-ga for them.'

'One goal at a time, my good man.' I stuffed our heavy suits, sticks and hats into our bags, eager to be gone. Tennis was not in the forefront of my thoughts. 'First, Jeeves.'

'Yes, but how will we find his-- Oh, excuse me!' Bingo had narrowly avoided a collision with a robed figure as we exited the grove. He tried to touch the brim of his hat in apology only to discover he was no longer wearing one. 'Oh, dash it,' he muttered.

The robe's hood fell away to reveal quite a pretty girl with miles of black hair coiled into a large bun on the top of her head. She giggled behind a dainty palm, and I groaned. Bingo was already down for the count.

'How do you do?' he asked, his eyes as round as saucers. 'I mean, I say. Gosh. Goodness. That is to say, wow.'

'Please excuse him,' I said. 'The sun's gone straight to his head.' I elbowed him in the ribs.

'MY. NAME. BINGO,' Bingo shouted brokenly at her. 'YOU. HAVE. NAME?'

'Oh, now wait a moment!' I cried. 'We don't have time for you to chat with every female we come across. We have to find Jeeves!'

The girl turned to me with a frown. 'Mr Jeeves? Are you gentlemen friends of his?' she said in perfect Queen's English.

Bingo gaped, so I stepped in smoothly to keep the conversation afloat. 'Yes! Do you know where we can find him?'

'I am going up to the mansion right now,' she said. 'Please, allow me to show you the way.'

She fluttered past us, motioning for us to follow through the citrus grove. Bingo turned to me and mouthed 'mansion?' I shrugged; surely the smallest hovel in this remote corner of the world counted as a mansion. I took hold of our bags and sprinted after the girl. Bingo was not far behind.

Our guide revealed herself to be Shanti, Jeeves' cook. Due to Bingo's stuttering, I made the proper introductions for the both of us. As we passed through groves and fields, Shanti chatted freely on the subject of Jeeves.

'Such a quiet man,' she tsked. 'When he arrived some weeks ago, we feared he would be hot-tempered like his uncle had been. My family served Conroy Jeeves for many years. He was a fair master, but difficult to manage.'

'And the current Jeeves?' I asked. 'Can you tell me how he's been faring?'

'Mr Jeeves has exhibited exceeding grace. He has devoted himself to learning all aspects of the mine from my brother, Singh.'

'The groundskeeper?'

Shanti nodded. 'Singh was glad to learn that Mr Jeeves was a capable master. The mine is more productive now than ever before.'

Bingo tried to gurgle some sort of response, but his tongue was still tied. Shanti bestowed a toothy smile in return.

'Yes, but what about outside of business? Has Jeeves been well?' I pressed.

Shanti's eyes darted to the path ahead. 'Yes, very well. I'm sure he will be pleased to see friends from England.'

The Wooster heart sank; perhaps Jeeves was not as broken up over the whole thing as I had been; perhaps he really did prefer India to Berkeley Square. Bingo must have sensed my dejection, for he gave me a hearty pat on the shoulder.

We toddled up a small green hill, and Shanti announced, 'Maha Hall, gentlemen.' I gasped as I caught sight of it ahead. 'Mansion' didn't even begin to describe the thing. Have you ever been to Totleigh Towers? Multiply it several times over and you'll have something approaching the magnitude of Maha Hall.

'It's massive!' Bingo finally interjected. 'And Jeeves' uncle lived here all by himself?'

'The estate requires a large staff for its upkeep,' Shanti said, 'but even with all the workers moving about, Conroy Jeeves was very much alone.' She led on. We traversed the sprawling green lawn and its extensive gardens. I was still lugging the bags and cursing the weight of the things when we chanced upon a small man trimming some hedges.

'Singh,' Shanti called to him, 'these gentleman are here to see Mr Jeeves. Is he still in his study?'

'No,' the chappie answered, not looking up from his work. 'I reminded him of the clement weather and persuaded him to partake of it.'

'Eh?' Bingo said.

'Mr Jeeves has gone for a walk,' Shanti translated for him. 'Shall I take you up to the house to wait? You must want refreshments after such a long journey.'

'Oh, rather!' Bingo said. 'Come on, Bertie. We must sit and chat with Miss Shanti for awhile longer.'

I shoved the bags into his arms. 'You go ahead, Bingo. I'll track down Jeeves, if you don't mind.'

'You'll most likely find him on the northern hill,' Singh said, pointing the way. 'He enjoys gazing down at the river.'

I thanked him for the tip, and Bingo thanked me for the time alone with Shanti with a secret wink. I plodded onward north.

I could smell Jeeves before I saw him. The light scent of Virginian tobacco floated to my nose, and I followed it across the grass and up a rocky ridge. I tried very hard not to dwell on the strange jump in my chest that came with knowing I would soon be in Jeeves' presence again. After so many days without him, I wondered how he would look to me, if I had remembered his face accurately or if my imagination had changed it.

I reached the crest of the hill and saw him standing there with his back to me. He was wearing a beige suit with a brown stripe and a grey hat that was very unlike his usual bowler. As I watched, he lifted his cigarette to his lips and then blew the blue cloud up to the sky a moment later. I thought I heard him give a small sigh.

'What-ho, Jeeves,' I said at last.

He looked over his shoulder at me, and I could see he was as fit and tan as he always looked after coming home from a fishing trip. His eyes gave me no clue as to whether he was surprised to see me or not. He was silent for a good half-beat, though, which is Jeeves' version of shock, I suppose.

After the stretch of time, he said, 'What are you wearing, sir?'

I looked down at my cream pyjamas. 'They're not so bad, you know. Bingo packed nothing but my winter wools for the trip. He came with me, you see. I had no idea that winter in India would be so frightfully warm. I mean to say, it was snowing when I left Piccadilly.' I realised I was babbling, so I clammed up.

Jeeves blinked slowly. 'We are below the equator, sir. It is currently summertime in this region, not winter.'

I clacked my fists together nervously. 'You're a bevy of information, Jeeves. An absolute encyclopedia.'

He crushed his gasper beneath his shoe and turned to look at me straight-on. 'Sir, what are you doing here?' he asked.

This wasn't the reunion I had envisioned. In fact, I had hoped that my mere appearance would be enough to bring Jeeves into my arms, where tearful apologies would be whispered and gentle caresses shared. But now, looking at him on that hill, I was struck dumb. Somewhere off in the woods, a bird chirped a colourful song. A light breeze rattled some coco-nut trees. And the sun beamed down, all quite merry. Which just goes to show.

I took a step forward, one slippered foot in front of the other. 'Jeeves--' I tried.

That line didn't seem to go any further, I'm afraid. I cleared my throat and began anew. 'Please come home, Jeeves,' I said.

For a moment, his gaze seemed to soften like butter in sunlight, but then he turned away, presenting me with squared shoulders. 'Sometimes I wonder if you know me at all, sir,' he said. 'I have a duty to these people, and I cannot shirk it. They need me here.'

'But I need you, too,' I said weakly. 'You should have seen me, Jeeves, after you left. I was in an awful way.'

'Forgive me for saying so, sir, but you are but one man.' He turned his head slightly to look at me from the corner of one piercing eye. 'There are nearly a thousand people in this town who rely on the mine for employment. Will you be so selfish, sir, as to deny them even the bare necessities of life for your own comfort?'

I blinked. 'I--'

'I dislike speaking to you out of turn; it tarnishes the pleasant memories I have of our friendship. But I fear I must be firm, sir. I will not return to London with you; this is my home now.'

There have been a number of times, usually under the glowering gaze of my Aunt Agatha, where I get the most curious sensation. Although I'm still the six-foot-in-shoes Bertram that I've always been since the age of seventeen, I feel as if I've shrunk to the smallest height. I become the size of a ball of lint or a crumb of toast, if you get my meaning, and about the same import. That is how I felt as Jeeves turned away from me to continue his survey of the river below.

'Ah,' I said, and swallowed. I dug the silky toe of my new slipper into the ground, making a little hole in the dirt. 'Of course, Jeeves. I...I never sought to, well, butt in like this. I only thought you--' I stopped that train of thought before it left the station. 'If this is what makes you happy, Jeeves, then I suppose I'm all for it.'

The Bertram who said these words was not my familiar self. It was as if I was watching a dashed convincing doppleganger say my lines while I took five minutes' break from the scene. It wasn't what I wanted to be saying, not by a long shot. I wanted to take Jeeves by the shoulders and shake some sense into him; I wanted to shout out the speech I had been saving for the cuff-links. But that Wooster had fled, leaving only a hollow copy to speak flatly from stage right. I suppose this is what it means to be hurt.

Jeeves must have noticed this; I may wear the mask, but he knows my manners well enough to tell when I am not myself. He faced me once more, this time with a pained expression on his face. I tamped down on a bit of anger welling up from my stomach's depths. It wasn't as if he had anything to complain about, did he?

'Sir,' he said, and there was that gentle morning voice again. My knees wobbled at the sound of it.

'I'll go, then,' I said, spinning round to pick my way down the rocky hill. I needed to get away quickly before I liquidated into a simpering woman. 'I just need to collect Bingo, and we'll be on our way.'

'Wait, sir.' Jeeves' hand grasped my forearm, and I looked askance at it as if it were a snake latched there instead. The old jolt shuddered through me, reminding me of happier brushes of his fingertips, and I looked up at him with curled questioned marks in my eyes.

Why would you torture me like this, I asked without words. Haven't I done what you've asked?

'You and Mr Little have travelled very far. Please, stay for a few days. If it is convenient.'

Every bit of my being screamed for me to run as fast as I could back to London, where I could boil my head in peace as per Jeeves' suggestion. I opened my mouth to say as much, but what came from me was instead a squeaked, 'Of course.'

A subtle throat-clearing caught our attention, and we looked down to the bottom of the hill to see Singh standing below. 'Would you like to take tea at the moment, Mr Jeeves?' he asked.

'Yes, and please prepare two of the guest rooms for Mr Wooster and Mr Little,' Jeeves directed. He released my arm as an afterthought.

'Very good, sir,' Singh said, and shot me a rum look before biffing off.

'Shall we?' Jeeves said, and shimmered down the hill with all the legwork of a mountain goat. I followed slowly in my own tottering way.

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Have you ever had a half-hour of tea that seems to take fifty years to end? I'll never understand how the clock stands absolutely still when you'd rather be anywhere but at tea with your present company. Bingo was no help; he slapped Jeeves on the back upon seeing him, giving him a cheery 'Hullo, hullo, hullo!' He most likely thought all had been resolved in my favour, but when he saw the Wooster face in a dashed droopy state, he realised his error. It was too late. Singh was already seating us in the parlour.

Bingo tried his best to speak cordially to Jeeves. 'So congratulations, old thing. Shanti tells me your mine is churning out the iron like never before. Sounds absolutely brilliant.'

'Thank you. It is an invigorating industry,' Jeeves said over his tea cup.

'I don't mind telling you chaps, that Shanti is a tender goddess. One in a million!' Bingo slapped his knee.

'Oh?' I said, and tore a cucumber sandwich into ever smaller bits.

'You should be advised, Mr Little, that Singh is very protective of his sister,' Jeeves informed him. 'We had an incident several days ago; a young man from the neighbouring town came to ask for Shanti's hand. Singh did not approve of him, and made no pains to conceal his assessment.'

'So what did he do?' Bingo asked with a grimace.

Jeeves looked up at us and sipped his tea. His brows made little Cs above his eyes, as if to say, 'You tell me.'

'I think I'll go have a lie-down,' I mumbled faintly. 'I fear the hours on the train have tired me.'

'Erm, I'll go with you Bertie.' Bingo rose hastily. 'Lovely to see you, Jeeves. What time shall we come down to dinner?'

'Miss Shanti will send for you when she's prepared the meal, but I won't be joining you. It is my practice to take dinner in the study while going over the day's reports from the mine,' Jeeves said.

'Right-o,' Bingo said with a false smile. 'Well, come along, Bertie.' And he practically carried my unprotesting carcass up the staircase.

<><><><>

'What in all the blue Hells happened?' Bingo cried once we were ensconced in my room. 'Where are the declarations of love and tender caresses and forgiveness all round? You look like someone socked you in the gut and left you in an alley!'

I gave a sort of moan into my pillow. Bingo beat me about the head with his handkerchief, and while it didn't hurt, it did sting around the ears. I waved him away like you would a fly.

'Cease this pitiful wallowing! Tell me all!' he shouted.

'He refuses to come back,' I said, voice muffled by the down stuffing. 'He says this is his home now. Dash it, Bingo.' I flopped onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. 'I-- I feel like someone's cracked open my chest with a pneumatic drill and let all the important bits spill out.'

'What's this? You're resolved to die of a broken heart already!? We've only just arrived, Bertie!'

'There's nothing for it, Bingo,' I sighed. 'Jeeves will not be moved.'

Bingo sat on the edge of my bed and harrumphed for a moment. 'Well, perhaps we should have the mountain come to Muhammad, what?'

'For the last time, Bingo,' I cried, 'we're in India, not Persia!'

'No, old thing. I mean to say, exactly what would you be willing to do to remain at Jeeves' side?' Bingo asked.

'Anything. Absolutely anything. I thought that was quite plain.' I rolled over on my side, facing the wall. 'But there's nothing I can do now. It's out of my hands.'

'What if it wasn't?' Bingo said, and proceeded to tell me his rum plan, a plan which I, having no vital bits left in the Wooster corpus, could only cling to with the last of my hope. 'Will you at least try it, Bertie?' Bingo pleaded.

'I have nothing to lose, old friend. Now,' I stood from my position of repose and peeked out into the endless hallway, 'which door do you think leads to the master suite?'

Bingo brightened. 'I suppose this means I'll be dining alone with Miss Shanti, then?'

<><><><>

The dour clock in the hall had already chimed the midnight hour when the door of Jeeves' room finally opened again. I lay still and blinked the sleep from my drowsy eyes, watching the silhouette as familiar as my own flit in front of the rectangle of light. There was a heavy sigh, and then an old-fashioned oil lamp flickered on. Jeeves' face, handsome and unguarded, appeared, slicked with shadows, before he raised his eyes to find me in his bed.

His eyes widened, or maybe it was just the lamplight playing tricks.

'Evening, Jeeves,' I said, holding the light summer bedclothes to my chest.

I watched his eyes scan the room to find my cream pyjamas folded on the armchair.

'There appears to be a mistake, sir,' Jeeves said with a slight incline of his head. 'Your rooms are in the east wing, I believe.'

'No mistake.' I licked my dry lips nervously. 'I'm here to ask if I might stay,' I stammered.

'Stay if you like, sir. You've already made yourself quite comfortable,' Jeeves retorted with stony calm. 'I can sleep in the east wing tonight, if you prefer.'

'No, that's not what I prefer. You said you wouldn't come back to England. Well, if that's the case, then I don't want to go back either.' I swallowed and waited, but Jeeves didn't seem to have any words forthcoming. 'I could stay here. If...if you wanted.'

Jeeves made a sound akin to the normal man's exasperation and lifted his eyes to the ceiling. 'Sir, overseeing the iron mine is my job now; I wouldn't have time to fulfill my capacity as your valet.'

'No! I-- What sort of selfish poop do you envision when you look at Bertram?' I sat up straighter against the pillows and twisted the corner of a sheet between my fingers. 'Though I suppose I can't blame you, what?'

'Sir--'

'There's a balance that needs to be re-instituted,' I said quickly, flapping a hand to indicate the space between his chest and mine. 'I know I'm quite useless when it comes to labour, but I wouldn't mind giving it a go.'

Jeeves frowned, the most scrunched-up, confused frog expression I'd ever seen on him. 'I'm afraid I don't understand what you're saying, sir.'

'I could stay here, Jeeves,' I said quietly, 'and be your servant for a change, if you can't be mine.'

Very slowly, he lifted a hand to his brow and hid his eyes from me. His other hand reached out to the side table, as if he needed it to lean on. There is something I've noticed since Jeeves came into my life: I cannot abide seeing him pained. It was my instinct which forced me from my spot. I padded over to him, and I carefully wound my arms around his neck. I remembered, faintly, the morning he'd received the news of his uncle's death, and the way I'd embraced him post-bath. Except at the moment, everything was topsy-turvy upside-down.

'I wouldn't mind it here,' I murmured into his ear. 'I don't know much about pressing clothes and fetching trays, but I could learn. Just say the word, Jeeves.'

For a long moment, Jeeves didn't move. I stood on the tips of my toes and hung on to him, and each second that ticked by on the hall clocked made my heart sink an inch further.

Then Jeeves' arms came round me and clasped me tight, and I was pressed up against his chest and couldn't take in any air, his grasp was so strong around my ribs. He turned his face into my hair and inhaled a sharp breath.

'I cannot,' Jeeves whispered. 'Why do you do this, sir, when you know I cannot?'

'Why can't you?' I managed to pull back enough to look up at him. 'It would be a simple matter. I can send for my effects tomorrow. Though I don't suppose I'll need many suits if I'm going to be your--'

'I don't want you as my servant, sir,' Jeeves said against my shoulder. 'I don't want you as my concubine. I want you as something that isn't possible, so please, do not offer me these things.' And he peeled himself from me and turned away. My arms were still suspended in the air, wishing to conform to the shape of him.

'Er?' I said. I wrapped my arms across my bare torso and fought the shivers that danced through me.

The fire from the lamp made little gloomy shadows along his broad back, and he didn't face me when he said, 'I sincerely doubt you could be happy with such a life, sir.'

'Oh, do you?' I sniffed. 'You don't think I have the fortitude, what?'

'Sir, the situation would be most unusual, and, notwithstanding your many admirable qualities, I have noticed many times your inability to cope with unusual situations.' He shook his head. 'You would tire of life as a servant; you would tire of me; you would eventually return to your life in London. I only wish to stymie the pain. For both of us.'

'You think this is a mere whim?' I cried. 'You really think me so fickle? I came all the way here to get you back, and that's what I'm going to do!'

He bowed his head, baring the tanned strip of the back of his neck to me. 'Please, sir. Consider your flight of fancy concluded. Go back to England.'

'Tosh!' I threw my cream pyjamas round my frame and stomped to the door. 'I will find some way to prove to you, Jeeves, that I mean business. Good night,' I said. And I meant it to sting.

<><><><>

Bingo found me on the dusty road the next afternoon. He was wearing a proper suit again; I wondered if he'd dug it out of his bags or if Jeeves had lent it to him. At any rate, he frowned at the sight of me still in my Indian raiment with a pan in my hands.

'I say, Bertie,' he he-sayed. 'Whatever are you doing?'

I gestured down the row: there were about a dozen of us on the roadside with our pans and pots. Every so often, a villager would toddle by and drop a coin or a packet or rice in our vessels.

'I'm begging,' I told Bingo.

I suppose I should fill in the gaps of what happened between the time I left Maha Hall in a state of fury and the current point. The fact of the matter was, I'd staggered round the midnight fields and glens alternately bemoaning my fate and slapping at insects that bit at my ears. I was just about to pitch myself off the nearest cliff when I happened upon a band of vagabonds sleeping in the dark forest.

'Oh, pardon me,' I gasped as I tripped over one. 'Golly, are you all right?'

The whole chorus answered in the Indian language. No idea what they said, of course, but they seemed a good sort.

'I don't suppose you can tell me where the nearest cliff is?' I asked, dashing a hand across my tired face.

The beggars must have realised the shape of my feelings, because they immediately lit a fire and began heating a kettle for tea, gesturing emphatically all the while.

'No, really, thank you, but I must--' I tried to step away, but they pulled me to sit amongst the leaves and dirt while they poured me a cupful. I have to admit, it was the absolutely best tea I'd ever tasted. I tried to tell them as much with a rub of my tummy and a smacking of my lips.

One of them, a fellow with a great bushy beard, laughed at me. 'I speak English, you know,' he said, and we both had a good chuckle over that.

Over the course of several cups, the bearded fellow told me about their merry band. Yes, they were beggars, but not like the ones you and I know from the dark alleys of London. These chappies were quite welcome by all and sundry. They were mystics of a sort; they'd given up all their possessions and were roving round the countryside looking for Truth and Light and Other Things that I didn't quite grasp.

'I was once the son of a very wealthy man,' my friend the mystic told me. 'But now, I am at peace.'

'Sounds marvellous,' I said, setting aside my rudimentary tea cup. 'How do you go about it?'

'First you must renounce your worldly goods.'

I sat up as if a bolt of Zeus' finest had hit me. Great Scot! If I didn't have any w. g.'s, then Jeeves couldn't accuse me of having that safety net to fall back into if I got bored. It would be just the thing to prove how serious I was about the whole proposal. 'I'll send off a telegram from the village at first light!' I cried. 'I'll have my banker give away every last shilling.'

'And then you must embark on a long journey.'

'Done and done.' I nodded. 'And I have the ticket stubs to prove it.'

'And finally, you must learn to deny pleasure, as it ultimately leads to pain.'

I lit a hesitant cigarette. 'Maybe I'll just work on the first couple for now, what?'

I explained this all to Bingo as I panhandled on the roadside. Bingo, to put it mildly, was not pleased.

'You what!? You gave away all your money?'

'Well, nearly,' I said. 'The banker returned fire wanting to know exactly where I wished it to go. I've been thinking about it all morning. Do orphans sound right to you? Or should it be the elderly?'

'You can't do this, Bertie! For one thing, you need to buy my return ticket back to London.'

'You can help yourself to the bankroll in my luggage, old thing. I shan't be needing it. My flat is already up for sale; the banker at least saw to that.' I gave a cheery 'ho!' to a cove who dropped a coin in my pan. He had a pick and shovel over his shoulder; another worker heading to the mines. 'Thanks very much!' I called after him.

'Bertie...' Bingo groaned.

Another shadow fell over me, and I blinked up to see Singh, the groundskeeper. 'What-ho, Singh,' I said with a grin. I shook my pan a little. 'Here to give alms, what?'

'No, sir.' He looked as pleased as a thundercloud at the sight of me. 'I've been sent by my sister, against all my protests, to inquire as to your preferences for the noontime repast.'

'Er?' Bingo asked.

'He means lunch,' I said. I could still speak Jeevesian well enough; I suppose all good servants know it. 'Yes, thank you, Singh. Please tell your excellent and deserving sister that all of her fare is music to my ears. What was that little nibble of chopped whatsit we had yesterday at tea?'

'Chutney, sir.'

'Dashed tasty stuff. Anyway, I'll toddle up in a few moments, I suppose.'

'Yes, sir.' And he rolled off, taking his overcast air with him.

'He doesn't seem to like you,' Bingo noted.

'Yes. And I'm not even the one sniffing round his sister.' I shrugged. 'Ah, well. You just can't control some things in this world.' I hummed to myself. 'I do believe I'm getting the gist of this mystic business.'

I handed my clinking pan to my bearded friend, who was next to me in the line, and said, 'See you after luncheon, what?'

He frowned at me. 'Luncheon--?'

'Tinkerty tonk!' And Bingo and I biffed off.

<><><><>

'Won't you at least change into some clean clothes, Bertie?' Bingo hissed as we sat down to partake of Shanti's Tabasco-ish fare. 'You look like a mongrel.'

'I would change, Bingo, if someone hadn't packed my case full of nothing but wool suits!' I said in a hushed hiss. 'Where did you get that summer suit, anyway?'

'Jeeves. Apparently, his uncle was quite trim.'

'You're wearing a dead man's suit?'

'You're wearing dirty pyjamas. Which of us is the bigger ass, Bertie?'

Shanti breezed in just then with a tureen of something-or-other, and I hailed her like the ally she seemed to be. 'I say, Miss Shanti, won't Jeeves be joining us?' I wanted nothing more than to fill him in on the events of the past few hours; surely he would see how serious I was about sticking to my word now that I was dirt poor.

'I'm afraid Mr Jeeves doesn't often eat at table,' the girl answered, doling out the goods. 'He prefers to work.' To herself, she muttered a cross, 'I worry about him.'

'What?' I asked, startled. 'But my dear, you said just the other day that Jeeves was very well. I distinctly recall you saying so. Is he in very poor health?'

'Bertie, you must taste this!' Bingo said, wolfing down his soup. 'I think there's coco-nut in it.'

Shanti smiled gently at the enraptured Bingo before addressing me. 'Forgive me, Mr Wooster. Of course Mr Jeeves is in excellent health.' She hesitated as if bouncing between telling me a truth or leaving it at that. 'I'm sure his missed meals are only the product of a busy mind,' she finally said with some delicacy.

'He's not eating?' I was nearly hysterical at this point. 'Is he getting enough sleep, at least?'

'His lamplight is always on when I retire, and it still shines under the door when I rise in the morning,' Shanti said.

'Absolute, unfiltered rum!' I declared. 'Where is he now? I'll get some lunch into him if I have to force it on him!'

'I was just about to take his tray into the study.' Shanti tapped her cheek with her finger. 'Perhaps you could take it for me, Mr Wooster? It would be such a help.'

'Oh, topping idea!' Bingo said, gazing up at his goddess with a soppy grin. 'Why don't you go along, Bertie?'

So armed with the tray and Shanti's quick directions to the study's location, I toddled off. My heart was brimming; hope was on the horizon. Jeeves, mask-wearer that he may be, could wear the thing no longer. It was plain to me now that he needed me as I once needed him. Who else would keep him fed and well-slept if not Bertram?

I knocked on the door of the study, a heavy wooden affair with some imposing carved beasts. There was no answer, so I pushed in, carefully balancing the tray in my hands. 'Jeeves?' I called. But the room was empty.

I ankled over to the large mahogany desk that dominated the landscape. Papers and financial reports littered the thing; Jeeves would never leave things in such a state for very long, I knew. It was likely he would return in a moment, so I set down the tray and had a look round while I waited.

There was a thick oriental rug under my slippered toes, and a strange mural of blue-skinned coves on the ceiling above my head. The walls were lined with impressive-looking leather-bound volumes. The window overlooked the grounds, and I peered out to see if maybe Jeeves had ventured into the garden. I caught no sight of him, but I did find a slim volume on the windowsill.

I picked it up an examined the cover: poetry from some Indian chap. I don't know any Indian, but luckily, a glance at its contents proved it was in English. The book was an old one, dog-earred and worn. When I opened it, the pages fluttered by owing to the cracked spine, and stopped somewhere in the middle. I read the passage on this, the well-read page:

It is the pang of separation that spreads throughout the world and gives birth to shapes innumerable in the infinite sky.
It is the sorrow of this separation that gazes in silence all night from star to star and becomes lyric among rustling leaves in rainy darkness of July.

'Oh, Jeeves,' I sighed to myself. In my haste to procure my rightful place at his side, I had nearly forgotten how difficult the whole thing must have been for him. Jeeves is a man who adapts to new situations with fantastic grace, but he still has a heart, you know. I had caught a glimpse of it that afternoon on the hilltop. He was very much alone here. It must have been rather awful.

I heard the door creak open, and I spun around expecting to see my love come through it. But it was only Singh, carrying his own little tray.

'Ah, Mr Wooster,' he said smoothly. 'Shanti said you had come here looking for Mr Jeeves.'

'Yes, quite. Do you know where I might find him?' I fidgeted under his gaze. Aunt Agatha could have taken his correspondence course on How To Look Down at Bertram.

'He was called away to the mine to deal with a matter of some importance. Perhaps you would enjoy a cup of tea while you await his return?' He lifted the tray slightly to showcase the tea accouterments.

I hadn't had sustenance of any sort that day, barring the mystics' tea, so I heartily accepted. Singh set down his tray on a sidebar and puttered round with the strainer and such.

'Have you been enjoying your stay in India, Mr Wooster?' Singh asked, I suppose to fill the unfriendly void in the air.

'Oh, intensely,' I fibbed. 'Though one hopes it will turn into a more permanent sitch, what?'

Singh blinked slowly at me as he poured. 'You intend to reside here for a great deal of time?'

'That's up to Jeeves, of course, but I think I'll convince him.' I placed the slim volume back on the windowsill, smiling to myself.

The teaspoon clicked round the cup with an agitated ringing. 'How...fortuitous it will be, Mr Wooster, to have more residents in Maha Hall,' he said, though I don't think he felt it, if you get my meaning.

'Thanks awfully,' I said as I took the cup and saucer he handed me. A judicious sip proved it to be of the same high quality as the mystics' tea. 'How is it that the tea is so bally good in this town?' I asked Singh.

'One could possibly attribute it to the freshness of the leaves, Mr Wooster.'

I hummed in cheery agreement and set about sipping the life-restoring brew. As I enjoyed the cup, I turned to glance out the window, once more looking for Jeeves. As luck would have it, I spotted his solemn shape in the garden below, facing away from the mansion with his hands clasped behind his back.

'Jeeves!' I yelped, nearly spilling my tea into its saucer. I put my hand to the glass that separated us, my mind racing. Should I go down to him? Should I pound on the window to get his attention? I had to tell him about my new penniless life, and quickly. But my feet felt rooted to the spot, and my eyelids drooped as if someone was pulling them down over the old baby blues.

'Suddenly, I'm very tired,' I murmured. 'All this excitement...finally catching up to me, what?'

'Undoubtedly,' Singh agreed.

'Need to...speak to Jeeves.' My words had dissolved into pitiful mumbles, as if I were tight as an owl. But spirits hadn't wet my lips for weeks! 'Need to...'

The floor tipped a bit, and the next thing I knew, I was on the carpet with my teacup rolling on its side in front of my face. My fuzzy eyes looked around blearily, but the only thing I could make out in the haze was the glowering Singh, staring down at me with a gleam in his eye. The rest, as they say, is blackness.

<><><><>

I woke up with Bingo Little's elbow in my ear. A hard jolt of what I soon ascertained to be the train we were on brought me back to the land of the living. I sat up with a swiftness that pained my swollen head.

'Bingo!' I cried, keeping a hand to my ailing brow. 'Are you alive, Bingo!?'

Bingo groaned at me. 'Five more minutes, Nan,' he pleaded.

I shook the blighter awake, shouting all the while. 'Wake up, wake up! We're on a bally train!'

'A what?' Bingo finally roused and took in our current scene: a stuffy second-class compartment, the kind with only two benches and nothing else. We were sprawled on one of these benches like sacks of grain. 'How the devil did we get on a train? The last thing I recall is lunching with Shanti. Oh, but she's a beauty, Bertie.'

I struggled into a more dignified sitting position and dragged Bingo upright with me. 'Think, man, think! I remember waiting for Jeeves in his study, and then poof! I was out like a light.'

'Dashed if I know what this wheeze is about, Bertie. Why, one moment I'm drinking some tea that Singh had brought in...'

'Singh!' I cried. 'He brought me tea as well.'

'But tea keeps you awake, Bertie; it doesn't put you to sleep, what?'

I slapped my own forehead to keep from slapping Bingo. 'Don't you see? We were drugged!'

'Oh come now.That couldn't possibly--'

My frantic eyes caught sight of an envelope sitting propped up on our bags on the opposite bench. It was labeled in an unfamiliar script: Bertram Wooster.

'Hold on, we have a clue,' I said, grabbing it and tearing it open. The letter it contained was typed and brief.

Wooster:

By now you'll have realised that I had you and Bingo Little dosed with sleeping medicine before putting you on the train bound for Bombay. From there, it will be a simple matter to procure passage back to London if you can manage the cost of the tickets. I regret that we must part like this, but I cannot possibly give you what you wanted from me. Please do not return to ask me to reconsider; our friendship is now severed.

R. Jeeves

PS: Please tell Bingo Little not to send telegrams or letters to Shanti. She is a good girl and does not need to hear from the likes of him.

'I say!' Bingo said after reading the missive over my shoulder. 'That last bit is quite harsh, don't you think?'

'I find it harsh in toto,' I said quietly, folding the letter back into its sleeve. 'I've lost him, Bingo. I've lost him completely.'

'Oh, there, there.' Bingo slung an arm around my neck and bumped his temple to mine. 'I know it doesn't feel like it now, Bertie, but the pain will slowly fade.'

'How would you know?' I asked hollowly. 'For you, the pain be gone at the first sight of another filly in a tight dress.' He looked hurt, and I sighed. 'I'm sorry, old friend. I'm just awfully shocked. I mean, Jeeves writes about me needing money for the trip back to London, but I hadn't yet told him about my new life of poverty.'

'Which isn't even fully realised yet. Remember, you still have your money in the bank.'

'Exactly. So why would he speak as if I was already a pauper? Especially if he didn't know I planned to be one.' I scratched at the Wooster melon. 'It's a rummy letter any way you look at it. He didn't even sign his name. Does he despise me that much, to not even wet a pen?'

Bingo leaned back in against the compartment wall and rooted around in his coat for his cigarette case. 'You tried your best, Bertie. When we get back to London, a few nights at the Drones and a couple games of snooker and you'll have forgotten all about it,' he said as he lit a gasper.

'I don't think so,' I said slowly. 'Dash it, without Jeeves none of it's worth anything to me. The flat, the two-seater, the furniture... How will I even look at them without thinking of Jeeves?' I shook my head. 'I'm going to get rid of everything, Bingo, just like I planned to do. I don't need it; I don't want it. The only thing I wanted is--'

And I'm afraid I couldn't go on. I covered my mouth with my hand and closed my leaky eyes.

Bingo patted my shoulder all the way to Bombay.

<><><><>

When I arrived back in London, an estate agent was waiting. The flat already had a buyer. Bingo pleaded with me not to sell the old homestead, to think about it for awhile longer, but my mind was made up. I signed the bally papers without much of a glance at them. Price didn't matter to me. I had no desire for any more money. The stuff had brought me nothing but trouble.

'But where will you live?' Bingo demanded. I said I supposed I'd go to at my Aunt Dahlia's for a spell.

'That Anatole of hers will surely help put you on the mend,' Bingo supplied. I doubted it; even the promise of that delectable fare didn't fill me with any sort of desire. I was a flat, steam-rolled Bertram. I could barely muster a laugh or a smile for my friends, who, save for Bingo, had no idea what had happened to me.

'Lost your taste for the city?' they said. 'It happens. Good luck to you in the country!'

The morning of my last day of residence in the Berkeley flat dawned at last, and Bingo came round to make sure I had gotten out of bed.

'Are you absolutely certain you want to leave, Bertie?' he asked for the fifteenth time.

I put my toothbrush in my luggage with a firm nod. 'Yes. That's the last of it. Some chaps are coming to take my bags to the train station.' I was leaving with only my clothes and a few letters. The furnishings of the place were staying put, as I had sold those with the flat along with the car. The whole kit and caboodle, as they say.

'Wait.' Bingo picked up the two velvet jewel cases from my writing desk: the matching cuff-links. 'Don't you want to pack these?'

'Leave them,' I said. 'I consider them sold with the rest of the place.'

Bingo put them back with a frown, bid me a safe journey, and left quietly. I then made a slow rotation around the flat, checking for anything I'd missed while packing. I touched the sleek side of the baby grand in the sitting room; it was a shame to leave the old girl behind, but I didn't imagine I'd want to play any time in the near future.

There was a knock at the door. I went to answer it, expecting it to be the bag-carriers.

A bowler hat tipped in my direction. 'I was given to understand,' Jeeves said, 'that you required a valet, sir.'

I gaped at the vision of this ghost before me. Clearly I was losing all my marbles. 'Jeeves...' I whispered.

He looked down at the toes of his black shoes and then up at me again. 'May I come in, sir?'

I opened the door wider, wordless. Jeeves glided in and removed his hat. He was carrying a small suitcase which he set on the floor in the hall. As he turned to face me, his hat in his hands, I saw, for perhaps the first time in his eyes, hesitation.

I shut the door.

'What are you doing here, Jeeves?' I asked.

'I'm here to put things right, sir. And to tell you how very, very sorry I am.' His face, usually as blank as a new canvas, was pinched in sorrow.

'You regret drugging me and bunging me on a train, then?' I shot back. 'Have you thought of a better, more subtle plan in the meanwhile?'

'Oh, sir,' he sighed. 'Those actions were not my own. I could never send you away like that.'

'But the letter--'

'Was from Singh,' Jeeves finished.

'The bally groundskeeper?' I was beside myself.

'Singh proved to be an incredibly protective employee,' Jeeves said to me. 'He saw you and Mr Little in your hastily purchased garments and assumed you were old acquaintances seeking a part of my new fortune.'

I sputtered. 'He thought we were touching you for cash?'

'Indeed, sir. He felt his suspicions were confirmed when he saw you panhandling on the road with the local beggars.' Jeeves pursed his lips in thought. 'It didn't help matters that he also wanted Mr Little to cease the courtship of his younger sister.'

'And you discovered his treachery?' I cried. 'Tell me all! Did you give him the sack?'

'No, sir. I gave him the mine.'

'You what!? Why would you do such a thing?'

'I suspect Singh will prove to be an excellent businessman, sir. He was already involved in the mine's daily operations, and the workers regard him as exceedingly intelligent and fair. He has a certain energy, sir, that I believe will now be put to better use.'

I shook my head. 'But that doesn't explain what you're doing on my doorstep in your old uniform, Jeeves. You should be reclining in Maha Hall, eating grapes, what?'

'No, sir. Maha Hall is no longer mine, and the entirety of my inheritance is gone.'

My eyes nearly bugged out of their sockets. 'How is that possible?'

'A good portion of the funds were needed to convert Maha Hall into a boarding school and procure a top-notch staff of teachers. The region did not have any such facilities, but now the children of the miners will be able to obtain an education. Miss Shanti is overseeing the project in my absence.' Jeeves coughed lightly into his fist. 'As for the remainder of the money, I bought a new piece of real estate, sir.'

'Where?' I asked, agog.

Jeeves looked around the room with an innocently raised eyebrow.

'You!? You bought the flat?'

'I did, sir.' Jeeves frowned. 'Did you not notice my name on the papers?'

'They could have been a tea shop menu for all the attention I paid them,' I huffed. I regarded Jeeves with a serious look. 'So all of your uncle's money is gone now, is it?'

'Well, sir, I made one last purchase.' Jeeves reached into his winter coat and pulled out two blue velvet boxes. 'I know I eschewed them for fear of what people would say, sir, but it might be possible to only wear them--'

'Great Scot, Jeeves. Hold on!' I ran to my bedroom and returned just as swiftly, bearing my own two blue boxes.

Jeeves looked at the boxes in my hands and then down at his own. His mouth opened, then closed. Without words, and with a huge grin spreading across my own face, we popped open our jewel cases in tandem.

There, gleaming back at us, were four sets of the cuff-links.

'I suppose we bought out the entire stock!' I laughed. 'Quite Gift of the Whatsit, don't you think?'

'Sir, when did you...?' Jeeves sounded absolutely in awe. He examined my gifts as if to be certain they were all alike. They were, by Jove.

'Immediately after we quarreled,' I said softly. 'If only I could have found the proper words, Jeeves. I wanted to give you a pair and keep a pair for myself so--'

'--so we could be to each other as a husband is to his wife,' Jeeves whispered. 'Oh, sir. I have been a fool. I didn't believe you could ever love me as I love you; even when you made your overture to me, I guarded my heart out of fear. You shame me by giving yours so freely.'

'So you do love me?' I promised myself not to turn into a soppy puddle of happy tears.

Jeeves did something I'd never seen him do before: he dropped what he was holding. Just allowed the cuff-links to fall from his slack fingers. They thumped to the floor, and he caught me up in an embrace so tight, I had to drop my boxes as well and hang on to him.

'I will never, ever allow you to doubt it again,' Jeeves said in my ear. 'I love you so much, sir. At times, it's nearly too much to bear. But I will learn to be stronger.'

'My dear, dear man,' I sighed into his shoulder. 'If anyone has the strength to love Bertram, it is you.'

Jeeves pulled away enough to look me in the eye. 'I would be infinitely grateful, sir, if you allowed me to resume my duties as your valet.'

'You mean to serve me in your own home?' I asked with a raised eyebrow. 'That's a bit backwards.'

Jeeves tilted his head in consideration. 'Perhaps we could call it our home, if you would do me the honour?'

All the firm, manly sentiments in the world couldn't stop me from smiling soppily then. 'A dashed good pleasure it would be, Jeeves. As long as you promise to occupy the master bedroom as well.'

'That strikes me as very fair, sir,' he murmured, and dipped his head. His lips pressed to mine, sealing the deal with a goodish amount of vigour.

Oh yes, I thought, threading my fingers in his dark hair. The balance has been restored.


fin.



You can download the podfic of this story here.

Comments

[cadeira.livejournal.com]

I´m just here to leave the fic a message telling it, it´s not forgotten. It was sobbed at, several times. It´s also loved to the tips of the commenter´s fingers.

[theempress14.livejournal.com]

as always, listened to the podfic (so convenient to have Jooster during the house hold chores!) and I liked the scale of it! starting small in the flat and then growing out to India!

Oh Bertie, you heart is SO in the right place. I loved his mopiness of doom without Jeeves around and his attempt to find enlightenment through Jeeves. And believe it or not, for a good chunk of the fic, I was convinced that Sari (I believe that was his name; the grounds keeper gentleman) disliked Bertie so terribly because he was in love with Jeeves! XD Wattatweest!

[clairefry.livejournal.com]

Why didn't I know about this before?! I've only just discovered it! It made me cry almost as much as The Long Road. My heart was in my mouth as I read most of it and has only just settled back down now I know the outcome!

Wonderful piece of work - I LOVE it! It's kept me up til quarter to five in the morning reading, and I'm off to read it again to make sure it isn't a dream! :D xxx

[solitaire55.livejournal.com]

My second time reading this story, and it's still wonderful. I just can't keep this grin from my face!

[charie-caphine.livejournal.com]

I cannot pass by without commenting on extraordinary tale this is; a flawless piece of thrilling fiction up there with the best of the world's literature, - and I am exaggerating only slightly.
It is rare that a story shakes one up to the very core, going beyond thoughts and emotions; 'Monetary Imbalance' does not disappoint for a word.

Bertie reads like a Wodehouse character dropped in the real world. It is painful to follow the many blunders he commits while all the more involving for that.
The situation with the groundskeeper Singh gets unfolded as totally unexpected (to me), realistic and refreshingly sober.
The only thing that may possibly come up where one to seek a blemish is Jeeves' extreme emotional masochism, however this plot device blends in and drowns in the grand total of the captivating effortless-looking rollercoaster of a tale.
(As a side note, it's wonderful to see Bingo as a likeable character and a real friend).

Thank you very much for sharing; this is one of the best stories I've ever read.

[seularen.livejournal.com]

Stupid, stupid Jeeves! (And it's not often one can say that.) This fic made me want to shake him so hard his bally bowler fell off. But all's well that ends well, as the chap said. (Though I wish the sorry's and I love you's had gone on longer, they're just so heartwarming!)