Jooster multi-chapter series: The Long Road, Chapter 4

[triedunture]

Title: The Long Road (Chapter 4)
[Previous parts: Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three]
Rating: PG13? I feel very silly giving this a rating. Just make up your own minds!
Beta: the ever-so British hwshipper
Length: 2600
Warnings: Angst, violence, general dark themes.
Summary: A very bad thing happens. And then we must go on.

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Bertie awoke to find the unwelcome visage of Mrs Fennaweave staring down at him. Not the proper replacement for Jeeves at all.

'Why aren't you in the spare bedroom?' she asked. Bertie noticed she had brought no tea to speak of. Nothing like Jeeves in any respect.

'I thought you might want it,' he lied.

The woman snorted. 'You know very well I didn't intend to leave the patient last night. I'm here to do my job, Mr Wooster.'

'And Jeeves? How is he?' Bertie asked, sitting upright.

'Still sleeping, I expect. He barely moved a muscle all night long. You, on the other hand, look like a dog's breakfast.'

There cut through the early-morning quiet of the apartment such a howl, both Bertie and the heretofore unflappable Mrs Fennaweave both jumped.

'Jeeves!'

Bertie was out of bed in an instant, rushing down the hall towards the sound. His sleep-laden brain was convinced that the terrible gunman had broken into the flat, set on finishing Jeeves off.

Of course this wasn't the case, but the sight that met Bertie in his bedroom was awful still: Jeeves thrashing against the sheets, making the most heart-twisting screeches. But his eyes were still closed. Still dreaming. If such nightmares could be called dreams.

'Wake up! Look, look at me!' Bertie shouted from his new position atop the struggling man. He had flung himself there without a moment's consideration. All he knew was that all this shadow boxing couldn't be good for a person in Jeeves' condition; Bertie pinned his arms to the mattress to stop their wild strikes. He straddled the struggling hips below him, careful not to place any weight on Jeeves' injured torso. 'For God's sake, wake up!'

Jeeves opened his eyes, and if Bertie hadn't known better, he would have been convinced that this was not Jeeves; this was some dashed near lookalike. Because the real Jeeves whose head bulged in the back and moved in mysterious ways his wonders to perform, that Jeeves had never, ever looked frightened.

However, for the few moments that it took Jeeves to recognise Bertie's face, his eyes held nothing but real fear. This, in turn, scared Bertie.

'Jeeves, what's wrong?' he said in a shaken voice.

'The morphine's wearing off. Some people react to it in different ways,' Mrs Fennaweave said, breezing into the room with a scowl. 'No need to get so worked up over it.' She pulled her carpetbag into her arms and rooted about in it.

Bertie looked back down at the man beneath him; his cheeks were flushed as he tried to regain his normal breathing. 'Jeeves?' Bertie asked again, not letting go of his arms.

'I believe it was just a bad dream, sir,' Jeeves said softly. 'The good nurse is correct; you shouldn't concern yourself.'

Bertie glanced over to make sure Mrs Fennaweave was still occupied with her medical tools, and he whispered to Jeeves, 'Were you dreaming about it?'

Jeeves turned his head on the pillow, his eyes gazing at the far wall and not meeting Bertie's.

'I was too,' Bertie offered. 'Couldn't get a wink of sleep all night.' He swallowed.

'It is probably just an effect of the medicine, sir,' Jeeves said softly. 'To be frank, I cannot differentiate between what I remember happening yesterday and what I've imagined in these horrible dreams. But it is all over now, sir. You needn't worry.'

'So you're all right, then?'

'Of course, sir.' Jeeves appeared to attempt a sort of reassuring nod, but it was interrupted by a hiss of pain escaping his lips.

Bertie blinked. 'What...?' He looked down and saw a bright red blot spreading across the twisted bedsheets that covered Jeeves' torso. 'Oh my Lord. Mrs Fennaweave!'

The woman shoved Bertie off the bed and flipped the covers away. 'He's ripped out his stitches. We need to stop the bleeding. Hand me my suture kit, Mr Wooster.'

Bertie flew to the carpetbag that had been abandoned on the floor. 'What does it look like?' he squawked.

'It's a small leather packet. Mr Jeeves, would you please stop squirming about?' Mrs Fennaweave barked as she undid the soaked bandages.

Bertie looked up from his search for the kit to see Jeeves struggling to twist his head to meet Bertie's gaze. 'Sir, there's no need to be frightened. Please do not worry.'

'You're bleeding from a hole in your stomach, Jeeves! It seems like the perfect instance to start worrying. Now listen to Mrs Fennaweave and don't move.' Bertie returned to the carpetbag, his face growing hot. His hands finally closed around the small leather suture kit, and Bertie was struck by the chilling memory of finding the slim leather billfold in Jeeves' suit coat. He froze, his fingers gripping the kit with a death-grasp.

'Mr Wooster, if you've found it, would you please give it here!' Mrs Fennaweave held out one hand, as the other was occupied applying a bit of gauze to Jeeves' wound to stop it up. 'I swear, you are both the most hopeless patients I have ever—' She broke off her grumbling as Bertie shoved the kit in her waiting hand.

The next few minutes were gruelling for Bertie. Mrs Fennaweave directed him to mop at the wound with clean gauze while she replaced the torn stitches. At first, Bertie was sure he would faint, watching the needle threading its way in and out of Jeeves' skin. There was so much blood and so little hope that it would ever stop. But he knew Mrs Fennaweave needed his help to finish the job, so he averted his eyes when he could and stuck to it.

Jeeves took a sharp breath through his nose as the woman made the first stitch. Bertie grasped his wrist firmly to keep him from struggling.

'Shouldn't he be knocked out for this?' Bertie asked the nurse.

'No, please, sir,' Jeeves protested. 'The drugs do me more harm than good when they bring me feverish dreams. I'd rather,' here Jeeves stifled a gasp at the second stitch, 'stay awake for now.'

'I don't have time to administer the injection anyway,' Mrs Fennaweave grumbled. 'You've lost enough blood already. It's a wonder you haven't passed out yet.'

Jeeves shook his head and shut his eyes firmly against the third stitch. 'I'd rather stay awake, madam,' he repeated. Then he opened his eyes with steady resoluteness and regarded Bertie. 'Have you called the Junior Ganymede club, sir?'

Bertie furrowed his brow. 'Why would I—?'

'The club keeps a record of members' emergency information, sir. They will know how to contact my father if I—' Jeeves paused to grit his teeth against another stitch. 'If anything happens to me, sir. The club will also be able to provide you with a replacement valet.'

'I'm not going to replace you, Jeeves,' Bertie said.

'His recovery might take many weeks,' Mrs Fennaweave said without looking up from her work. 'At best.'

Jeeves nodded. 'You will need a substitute gentleman's gentleman.'

'I don't want one!' Bertie cried. 'I don't want any strangers flitting in and out of here.' He glanced at Mrs Fennaweave. 'Present company excepted.' The woman glared at him. He took a deep breath and held Jeeves' wrist tighter. 'You said something about your father?' he asked, hoping to distract Jeeves. 'Where is he?'

'He is the head butler at Wingfield Hall in Norfolk, sir,' Jeeves answered. 'It is unlikely that he will come to the city, but he might know of a suitable valet to serve in the interim period.'

'And your mother?' Bertie asked, ignoring the continued insistence that he hire a new valet.

'She was the housekeeper at Wingfield.' Jeeves fixed his gaze on the ceiling. 'She died when I was still a boy.'

'My mother, too,' Bertie whispered, 'when I was just a boy.'

Jeeves looked over at him. 'I know, sir.'

'I'm nearly finished,' Mrs Fennaweave mumbled, stringing the needle through flesh once more. 'How are you feeling, Mr Jeeves?'

Jeeves turned his gaze to the woman bent over his stomach with her needle and thread. 'I confess I feel a little faint, madam.'

Bertie jumped. For Jeeves, that meant he was about to fade out. 'What should we do?' he asked the nurse.

'Call the Ganymede, sir,' Jeeves whispered, his eyelids fluttering once more. 'Mr Jarvis knows the number.' And then Jeeves was out like a light. Mrs Fennaweave gave a sigh of relief and muttered something about being able to concentrate in peace. She completed her task in the blink of an eye and rebandaged the patient with Bertie's help.

It was, for Bertie, the work of a moment to rush downstairs, get the telephone number of the Ganymede from Jarvis and zoom back upstairs to dial it. He curled the 'phone cord round his finger while waiting to be connected. Finally, he had a task to perform for Jeeves, something that would actually help.

'Good afternoon,' a dusty old voice answered on the other end. 'This is the Junior Ganymede, Collins speaking.'

'What-ho, Bertram Wooster here. My man Jeeves is a member and—'

'Ah, Mr Wooster. What a pleasure.' Collins sounded almost jovial, a complete turnabout from his stuffy greeting. 'Forgive me, but we Ganymede members have heard so much about you, I feel like I know you personally. Mr Jeeves has often regaled us with charming tales of your exploits. What can I do for you, sir?'

'It's Jeeves.' Bertie turned his head to try and get a peek into the master bedroom from where he stood, but it was impossible. 'He's...confined to bed at the moment.'

'Oh, dear. I have never known Mr Jeeves to be ill.'

'He's not ill. He was...' Bertie swallowed. 'He was shot by a robber.'

'Indeed?' This Collins seemed to have Jeeves' ability to meet any disastrous news with not a chink showing in the armour. His tone betrayed no surprise, as if valets were shot every day in the city.

'Yes, indeed he was,' Bertie sniped. 'And he instructed me to contact your club. He said you'd know how to reach his father.'

'You'll be needing a man while Mr Jeeves recovers,' Collins said. Bertie could hear the flipping of pages over the line. 'At the moment, we have several candidates who—'

'I don't need a replacement!'

There was a pause on Collins' end. 'Mr Wooster, this is the standard procedure when one of our members has been put out of commission. Now, if you would allow me to—'

'No,' Bertie growled into the phone. 'Jeeves will be better soon. There will be no strange valets waltzing through the flat in the interim. I won't stand for it!'

Collins sniffed. 'Very good, Mr Wooster.'

'I merely wish to know how to contact Jeeves' father. Can you help me there?' Bertie could feel angry sweat forming on his brow.

'I can give you the telephone number for Wingfield Hall, sir. The elder Jeeves can be found there,' Collins said, 'but I really must advise that you seek out a temporary replacement as soon as you are able.'

'I'll just have that number, thank you.' Bertie reached for his handkerchief in his breast pocket to mop at his brow, but his hand encountered no such accessory. Jeeves had always made certain he had one while dressing; Bertie, left to his own devices, had forgotten it. He deflated, his anger whooshing out of him like a leaky balloon, and he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. 'I do apologise for the outburst, Collins, my good man,' he murmured. 'I haven't been at my best lately.'

'Understandable, sir,' Collins said, and rattled off the digits for Wingfield Hall. Bertie scribbled them down on the telephone pad and thanked the man again before hanging up.

Then there was another wait for the connection to Norfolk.

'Honestly,' Bertie mumbled to himself, tapping an impatient foot, 'who lives in bally Norfolk?'

Mrs Fennaweave bustled by with the bloodied bed linens, heading for the kitchen. 'His stitches are holding,' she offered as she passed. 'We should let him get some rest now.'

Before Bertie could answer her, the 'phone crackled to life.

'Wingfield Hall,' a deep, dulcet tone said. It was incredible, a perfect copy of Jeeves' voice. 'Who shall I say is calling?'

'Is this Mr...Jeeves?' Bertie asked tentatively.

'Yes, sir,' was the answering drawl. 'This is Jeeves.'

'Mr Jeeves, your son Jeeves, I mean, your son Reginald is my valet. This is Bertie Wooster. I'm, well, I'm your son's gentleman.' He took a deep breath. 'That is, his employer.'

'Yes, sir,' the butler answered. 'I am aware of his current position of employment.' And he waited silently.

Bertie guessed he should get to the point. Repeating this line was not getting any easier, it seemed. 'Jeeves is...' He suddenly felt very small; he felt as if he were somehow on the telephone with his own father, trying to explain how he'd made a mess of things this time.

'Jeeves is hurt,' he managed to say. 'He's hurt very badly.' Bertie closed his eyes and sank onto the nearby chesterfield.

'What?' Suddenly the man didn't sound like Jeeves at all. He sounded like a worried father. 'What's happened?'

'I'm sorry,' Bertie croaked. 'There was a man with a gun, it was a robbery, and Jeeves was—' He broke off, seeing the scene again on the backs of his eyelids: Jeeves on the cobblestones, his face turned away, blood spreading across his suit coat, making the black fabric even darker. He squeezed his eyes tight, blotting out the visions as best he could.

'He was what?' the butler prompted. 'What has happened to my son?' This last part was not shouted, as Bertie had been expecting, but whispered so quietly, it may have been a mere figment.

'He was shot. The doctor has gotten the bullet out, though, and he's recovering here at the residence. It's been touch-and-go for the past few hours.' Bertie focused on a loose thread on his trouser cuff.

There was no answer for awhile on the other end of the line, and Bertie feared the worst: that somewhere in Norfolk, a butler was gnashing his teeth and rending his clothes. Then, finally, he ventured forth with a, 'Mr Jeeves? Are you still there?'

'Yes.' The voice was positively sideswiped, and Bertie was having a difficult time adjusting his ears to a Jeevesian voice that sounded overcome with emotion. 'Has Reginald...has he been asking for me?' he said.

'He's been asleep for a good portion of the time,' Bertie answered. 'He said it would be impossible for you to come to the city, but—'

'What! Of course I'm coming. He's my only boy, for God's sake.'

Bertie let out a breath he'd been holding. 'I'd be ever so grateful. To be honest, I don't know what to do. I've got a nurse in to see to his care, but it doesn't seem right not to have family here.'

'I can be on the next train,' Jeeves the Elder said. 'Don't worry, Mr Wooster. Family is on its way.'

And the call was ended.


Continue to Chapter 4.