triedunture | Jeeves fic: Conservative Tastes (Reply)

Title: Conservative Tastes
Pairing: Jeeves + Wooster gen
Words: 1450
Summary: Jeeves as a child. How he became so conservative in matters sartorial.

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'Reg, give it back!' Catherine screeched, stamping her feet. But Reginald held the doll high in the air, out of his sister's reach.

'I'll give him back to you once I put him to rights,' he said. He pulled at the doll's rag-made clothes, arranging them over its crude clothespin frame. 'A gentleman would never wear a tie of this colour with this shirt. I'm going to give him a bright blue one!'

'It's not a gentleman! She's a princess. She's wearing a ball gown!' Catherine made another leap for her toy, but Reginald spun away from her deftly.

'What's that?' He held the doll up to his ear as if listening to it whisper. 'The gentleman wishes to go for a morning ride? Well, we shall go to the stables, then.'

'Oh, no you won't, Reggie!'

But Reginald had already taken off, quick on his feet. He flew down the narrow hall and through the kitchen, dodging cook's assistants and maids. He chanced a peek over his shoulder; Catherine was in hot pursuit, her skirts pulled up to her knees so she could run as fast as possible. Reginald grinned at the sight. She was the very picture of red-faced anger.

They banged out the back door amid warning shouts from the servants to slow down, for goodness sake. Reginald veered off to the east, towards the stables, the ragdoll dangling from his hand. It was one of his favorite games, playing keep-away.

This was Reginald Jeeves at eight years of age, the youngest child of Clarence Jeeves, head butler of Wingfield Hall, and Helen Jeeves, housekeeper of the same. His sister Catherine was two years older, and his sister Rose was sixteen. Rose had just taken a position as a maid at Yuxley Manor in Woolpit, a full day's ride from Wingfield, so Reginald did not see her except on holidays. Life below stairs was the only life he knew, and he relished the scent of clean soap, of dinner roasting in the giant ovens, and of the blooming flowers in the Hall's garden.

'I'm going to dress the gentleman properly!' he shouted over his shoulder to his huffing and puffing sister. 'I believe he'd look lovely in a fawn check. Don't you agree, sir?' he addressed the poppet.

Catherine gave an inarticulate wail of indignation and redoubled her efforts at catching up to her little brother. Reginald willed his feet to be faster. He bowled through the open stable door and into the cool, dark recesses of the wooden building. He opened his mouth to provide another taunt in Catherine's direction, but the sound of a familiar voice within the stables stayed him. It was the voice of his mother.

'Really, Clarence.'

She stood there, silhouetted in the dim light, an upright lady with her long black hair coiled in a neat bun at the base of her slender neck. To Reginald, she was the epitome of elegance, with a carriage of dignity and the glint of intelligence in her eye. Standing opposite her was Reginald's father, a tall, red-haired man, impressive in his starched buttling uniform.

'You should have known better.'

This statement of his mother's gave Reginald pause. She spoke low and quiet as was her usual wont, but Reginald wondered what could have occurred to make her chastise his father. Clarence Jeeves, while a simple man, was devoted to his work and prided himself on being an expert butler. He knew everything there was to know about the running of the Hall. What transgression could he have committed, thought Reginald, to make his mother speak so bluntly against him?

He secreted himself behind a bale of straw and peered over it to observe his unaware parents. At the sound of Catherine's footsteps behind him, Reginald turned round and pressed a finger to his lips. Catherine frowned, but stayed silent to listen to the next words spoken by their father.

'Nothing could have been done about it. The poor boy.' Reginald watched his father shake his head. 'What sort of world is this, when innocent young men are hauled up in court like that for the crowds to jeer at them?'

'Who--?' Catherine whispered to Reginald, sidling up to his hiding spot. Reginald shrugged at her.

'Young master Wingfield knew the consequences of keeping such acquaintances,' his mother replied. 'He chose to move in certain circles, and he paid a hefty price.'

His father clutched at his brow. 'Do you honestly think Johnnie deserves such treatment?'

'No, of course not. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.' Her voice dropped even lower. 'But you should have prepared to fend off the suggestion that Master Wingfield is a--'

'What sort of sway do you think I held over the boy? He wasn't a lump of clay, Helen!'

'He valued your opinion,' Reginald's mother asserted calmly. 'Lord knows he couldn't rely on his own father for that.'

'What does she mean about Mr Wingfield?' Catherine hissed, referring to the owner of Wingfield Hall, Johnnie's elderly sire.

Reginald glared at her. 'You know how he always travels,' he whispered. 'He's never here.'

'I can't change what a man is, Helen. That might be within your power, but it isn't within mine,' Clarence Jeeves said after a moment of silence.

'You misunderstand my meaning,' Reginald's mother said, stepping forward. 'But perhaps it would be prudent, in the future, to pay closer attention to a young gentleman's fashions. Master Wingfield's spats, for example, were--'

'They were mere outward trappings,' the butler sighed. 'They brought him great pleasure, those spats. How could I deny him that simple freedom?'

'They are not outward trappings; they are beacons. Items such as that draw attention, not all of it wanted,' the housekeeper said firmly. 'Most people are dull, Clarence. They wouldn't have noticed anything was amiss if he hadn't given them such obvious signals. Johnnie could have made love to the Prime Minister in Trafalgar Square if he'd just made an attempt to blend in.'

Reginald's mouth dropped open. And Catherine, huddled next to him behind the straw, let loose a shocked gasp.

Reginald's father looked up sharply. 'Who's that there?' he called. Reginald ducked down and pulled his sister with him, clapping a hand over her mouth in a belated attempt to quiet her. He squeezed his eyes shut and imagined he could shrink down to the size of a fieldmouse.

'Reggie? Cath? What are you doing here?' Reginald opened his eyes to see his father towering over them. He blinked dumbly up at him.

'Reg is helping me dress his gentleman,' Catherine supplied, prying Reginald's hand from her mouth. She pointed to the doll hanging limply in her brother's other hand.

Their mother floated into view as well, her face as impassive as always. 'Oh?' she said stiffly. 'What are you going to fit him with, dear?'

Reginald worked his tongue in his dry mouth. His childish visions of bright blue neckties evaporated. 'Something grey,' he answered. 'Grey and tan. With a taupe tie.'

'Well, that sounds lovely.' His mother raised her regal head and indicated the stable doorway with a nod. 'You children should go play outside. It's so dusty in this place.'

'Yes, go on, now. Play nicely,' their father encouraged.

The two siblings trudged out into the sun-drenched yard. Catherine plucked at her brother's sleeve. 'Reg?'

Reginald handed the doll back to her. 'Here. You can make it a princess now.' And he walked back to the house in a quiet trance; he had chores to do, after all.

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'Jeeves?'

Reginald shook his head, clearing his mind of his reverie. He looked at the brightly striped spats in his hand. How long had he been standing there, staring at them and remembering that morning in the stables so many years ago?

He turned to face his young master. 'Sir?'

Bertram Wooster frowned. 'I say, Jeeves, you're not plotting on disposing of those natty spats of mine, are you? Dash it, I just bought them yesterday!'

Jeeves blinked and swallowed, attempting to radiate an outward calm. 'I had assumed they were placed there by persons who wished to harm your eyesight with blinding colours, sir.'

Bertie sighed and rubbed at his brow. 'Well, you know best I suppose. But really, Jeeves, sometimes I think your views on matters sartorial are too conservative.'

The young master left the bedroom with an airy wave of his hand, and Jeeves was left holding the offending articles of clothing. He looked back down at them and murmured, 'Indeed, sir.'

fin.

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