Jooster Fic: Jeeves and the Thorny Problem (Part 3)

[triedunture]

The crux of my problem, as I saw it, was this: Mr Wooster's unswerving love for this blackguard would supplant any schemes on my part to be rid of him. Mr Wooster was only acquainted with Wrexton the Charmer. Without proof of Wrexton the Scoundrel, all of my pleas to throw him aside would fall on deaf ears. Indeed, such a seemingly baseless accusation might serve to anger Mr Wooster to the point of dismissing me, which would surely leave him defenseless, and that I could not abide.

(I have seen this phenomena among many of my own friends and family members; when one is blinded by love, even warnings from a trusted source serve only to rankle. It is an annoying effect of that emotion that leaves one very often in the role of the idiot.)

So my word alone would not be enough to sway Mr Wooster. I needed something more concrete if I wished Mr Wooster to break ties with the foul Wrexton.

I am not ashamed to say I followed the man. I have often found this tactic of use when gathering information on persons in need of my attention, and I did it the very next morning, disguised well enough in a shabby coat and hat with a wide brim.

I was aware of Wrexton's familial mansion in Mayfair, and I made certain I was stationed nearby when Wrexton emerged at nine o'clock. I had a vague idea that his morning meeting, and indeed, all the other abrupt engagements he had had in the past, might not be simple financial matters. I thought there might be a criminal element to his dealings, hence the odd hours. Such a thing might provide the necessary leverage.

What I witnessed, however, was far more terrible.

Mr Wrexton proceeded to an exclusive club called Black's, which housed an extravagant dining room that afforded a view of the street via several massive French doors. It was through these that I watched Wrexton sit down to breakfast with another young gentleman whom I did not recognise. Wrexton greeted his associate warmly, and the two dined in the relatively empty club together.

Even from my vantage point across the road, I could see Wrexton reach under the table and squeeze his companion's thigh. The gentleman, who I now saw resembled Mr Wooster with his fair colouring, blushed prettily at something Wrexton said. I had seen enough. I crushed my half-smoked cigarette under my heel and made my way to the Ganymede.

There, I sought out Barnes, a young valet who was not yet an official member of the club but was hopeful of a sponsorship from a senior member. He also happened to be Wrexton's current valet, and these two purposes suited each other nicely. I told him that, in return for my sponsorship, he might indulge me in a few details about his employer.

Barnes was blunt. 'You're not thinking of trading in Wooster, are you, Mr Jeeves?'

I allowed him to think me fickle and dissatisfied, and he began supplying me with all manner of small details: how often Wrexton drank, how he liked his tea, what tailor he frequented. I gradually worked my way to what I wanted to know.

'Does Mr Wrexton entertain a very large circle of friends?' I inquired.

'He doesn't host big galas, if that's what you mean,' Barnes said, 'but he does have a steady stream of fellows that come visit him. Light luncheons or tea, nothing too fancy. Why, half the time he tells me to shove off; says he's discussing important business. I just leave a tray and—'

'Yes, quite,' I interrupted. 'How often would you say this occurs? I am very interested in allowing myself more free time and would like to know what a gentleman like Mr Wrexton is in the habit of doing, so that I might negotiate for much the same from Mr Wooster.'

'Ah, you're as clever as they say, Mr Jeeves.' Barnes sipped his tea. 'Well, I'd say almost daily! In fact, he just told me this morning that Mr Fruffington will be calling tomorrow around one, and I'm to make myself scarce until four. Not a bad deal, all told.'

'No, indeed,' I murmured. I then pressed Barnes in subtle ways to reveal to me the names of other gentlemen who called upon Wrexton at regular intervals. Barnes could recall five in the past few months. Of course, Mr Wooster was among them.

'Judge a gentleman by the company he keeps, Mr Jeeves?' Barnes asked me.

'Of course,' I replied, idly lighting another cigarette. 'One must be always collecting facts, Mr Barnes.'

I agreed to write Barnes a letter of recommendation to be delivered to the Ganymede membership board by month's end. He was much pleased and shook my hand, offering to buy me a celebratory cocktail. I reminded him of the early hour, though I told him that we might drink to his impending membership at a later date, and I took my leave.

I had much to do.

It was too late to contrive a trap for Wrexton that morning, but tomorrow at one o'clock proved an easy target. I made inquiries of other servants of my acquaintance and ascertained the addresses of the gentlemen beside Mr Wooster who were playing the part of Wrexton's victims (excluding the fifth, Mr Fruffington, who was already slated to be where he was needed at the appointed hour). I composed four telegrams, all identical, purporting to be from Wrexton, who was desirous of seeing the missive's addressee as soon as was possible. I took great care in crafting the message, clearly stating that the gentleman receiving the telegram was to come at half past one to the Wrexton house in Mayfair. To lend extra verisimilitude, I addressed each message to 'darling,' for I was certain Wrexton did not possess the creativity to dream of new pet names for each of his conquests.

I held these telegrams in my suit coat's inner pocket. And I waited.

It was difficult beyond telling to wait, as Wrexton and Mr Wooster had plans to meet that night for dinner. I dressed Mr Wooster in his finest white tie, vengeful thoughts flickering through my mind. Let him see Mr Wooster in all his beauty, I mused. It would be the last time, after all. I only prayed all went according to plan.

I need not have worried. It is very rare for an ill-mannered dog to learn new tricks.

I sent the telegrams the next morning, delivering my own message to Mr Wooster as he woke. My employer grinned at the note, no doubt thinking it a romantic interlude planned by his lover.

'I don't mind telling you, Jeeves,' he said as I laid out his suit, 'things appeared strained between Thorny and me yesterday. Well, ever since the other night, I mean. I keep trying to ask him what in blazes that whole mess was about, but he refuses to talk of it.' He read the telegram again with a smile. 'He seeks to make amends, though. Good old Thorny.'

My resolve nearly crumbled, but I had to go forward with my plan. Mr Wooster's gentle spirit might be crushed by the truth, but I was confident I would be able to restore him to rights. Though perhaps I should be close at hand to offer assistance when the blow fell.

'Do you wish me to accompany you, sir?' I asked without thinking.

Mr Wooster twisted his lips into a frown. I realised with a start that he misunderstood my intent.

'I only mean, sir, that I will be walking in that direction to visit the haberdasher's. I might go as far as Mayfair with you, if you like.'

'Oh.' Mr Wooster grinned up at me. 'Certainly, Jeeves.'

I ventured with Mr Wooster, who was in high spirits, to the Wrexton manor, where I tipped my hat and bid him a good day, though I actually rounded the corner before doubling back to watch Mr Wooster enter the house. I checked my pocket-watch. It was one thirty-six.

One could hear the raised voices quite easily from the street. Several gentlemen were shouting in anger, disbelief, and confusion. One gentleman after another stormed from the house and continued muttering on their way past me. I counted four, one still straightening his disarrayed necktie and securing his cuff-links. The unfortunate Mr Fruffington, I presumed, fresh from his discovered tryst. Such are the dangers in handing out house-keys and then dismissing a valet from his duties for the afternoon.

Mr Wooster was the last to walk down the front steps, his face pale and his mouth hanging open as if at a loss for words. His glassy eyes did not even look at me as I approached and took his elbow gently.

'The haberdasher is not in, sir,' I said quietly. 'I will escort you home.'

And we returned to Berkeley Square without another word passed between us.

Upon arriving home, Mr Wooster removed his hat and suit coat, unknotted his tie, and in the manner of one in a trance, continued to undress as he walked to his bedroom. I followed closely behind, picking up the clothing he let drop to the floor, like breadcrumbs in a children's story. Then Mr Wooster crawled into bed without a stitch of clothing on his frame and stared unblinking at the far wall.

'Would you like some tea, sir?' I asked, folding his clothes back into the wardrobe.

I received no answer.

'Shall I run a bath, sir?'

Not a sound.

'Is there anything I might do, sir, to—'

'Go away, Jeeves,' Mr Wooster intoned hollowly.

I blinked. Bowed. Took my leave with a, 'Very good, sir.'

I busied myself dusting and cleaning the flat for several hours. Every so often, I would peek into the master suite, but Mr Wooster was still curled on his side under the bedclothes, having not moved an inch. It was not until five o'clock that I heard a key scrape in the front door's latch. Perceiving that swiftness was called for, I unlocked the door myself and swung it open to reveal a surprised Mr Wrexton. His key was still stuck in the outer lock, and this I reclaimed before he could protest.

'May I help you, Mr Wrexton?' I asked without bothering to hide the coldness in my voice.

'Ah. Jeeves.' Wrexton wet his lips nervously. 'Is Bertie in?'

'I'm afraid Mr Wooster is not at home to certain persons at the moment, Mr Wrexton.' I began to shut the door in his face.

However, his volatile temper chose that moment to flare. 'Look here, you low pond scum! I will see Bertie now and not a minute past that!' He wedged his shoulder in the door and prevented its closure.

'Mr Wrexton,' I said coolly, 'I must warn you that I am not above removing you forcibly from the premises.'

'Just try it, you overgrown scullery boy!' he snarled, and I was about to oblige him when a soft, low voice came from behind me.

'Let him in.'

I turned to find Mr Wooster, pale and gaunt, swathed in his dressing gown with not a trace of emotion on his normally exuberant visage.

'Sir—'

'Let him in,' he repeated firmly.

I allowed the door to loosen from my grip, and Wrexton nearly stumbled into the entryway. He looked up at Bertie with his wild, feverish eyes and at once attempted to turn into his simpering, affectionate persona.

'Bertie, darling,' he began.

Mr Wooster raised a hand with such authority that the gesture alone stopped him. 'You were in bed with that man. One of the other chaps said it was Fruffington or Frompton or something. How many others were there, Thorny?'

'Oh, Bertie, they were colourless pebbles in a deserted stream, while you are the jewel that—'

'I take that to mean about ten or so,' Mr Wooster said. He reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and extracted a cigarette from his case.

'Bertie, does it really matter?' Wrexton cried. 'You're the one I love. I'm here because I cannot live without you; I see that now; I need only you!'

Mr Wooster lit his cigarette and watched Mr Wrexton from his slitted eyes. 'Do you?' he asked.

For a moment, my heart ceased to beat in my chest, and I believed Mr Wooster would take this devil of a man back into his arms. But at Wrexton's frantic nodding, Mr Wooster went on: 'I see several hours have passed since the incident this afternoon.'

'I needed time. Time to reflect on how poorly I treated you! I—'

'I also notice a sort of bruise on you. Right here.' Mr Wooster tapped his own left cheek. 'Quite an impression. Very fresh. Looks almost like a crest. Is it Milkins that wears a signet ring?' Mr Wooster rubbed his own temple as if to jog his memory. 'I only met him for a moment. And we were very busy at the time. Lots of commotion, you understand.'

'Bertie—'

'I would be alone, Thornton. Leave, and never come back.'

'But Bertie—' He advanced suddenly, and I moved to stop him, but Mr Wooster surprised us all. I watched my master, who I'm sure has never wished harm upon a fly, as he made a fist and struck Wrexton solidly in the nose. I detected the faint crunch of bone, and blood was soon gushing down the man's shocked face.

'Get out, you miserable worm,' Mr Wooster hissed. And he meant it to sting.

Wrexton did so. I locked the door behind him.

I turned to find Mr Wooster with his cigarette between his lips, examining his hand and shaking out what I'm sure was the ache that comes with landing so hard a blow.

'Sir,' I said. Pride for my master was welling up in me like a fountain; he had been so strong, so assured. 'Sir, that was wonderful.'

Mr Wooster looked at me sharply. 'Don't you speak to me, Jeeves,' he said with no modicum of fondness.

I was taken aback. 'Sir?'

'You don't think I know? Five chaps all showing up at Thorny's at the same time? He's not that shabby at schedule-keeping, Jeeves. This has your mark all over it.'

My silence was answer enough for his suspicions. He gave a dry laugh. 'I wish I'd never gotten that telegram,' he said softly, his vacant eyes staring at the carpet. 'I wish I'd never known.'

'You would have rather lived in ignorance, sir, than—?'

'Yes!' Mr Wooster exploded. 'Yes, of course I would rather live in bloody ignorance! Can you imagine how it feels, Jeeves? How humiliating it was, how stupid I look! Good God, a lifetime of deception would have been preferable to this.'

'Sir, I—' I took a step forward, but he turned and strode back to his bedroom. I followed, pleading, 'I did not know what else to do. I saw that Mr Wrexton was not a suitable gentleman for you and—'

He slammed his bedroom door in my face.

I haunted about the silent flat for some time, trying to bend my mind to any number of small chores but ultimately failing. I wondered if I should instead be readying my bag in preparation for dismissal. That thought put me in an even blacker mood, and I found myself sitting at the kitchen table with my head in my hands.

I felt as if I'd made a grave error. I replayed my actions in my mind a thousand times, devising other ways I could have disposed of Wrexton without causing Mr Wooster so much pain. But I arrived at the simple conclusion that I had not been thinking of Mr Wooster's feelings. I had assumed that I would naturally be allowed to mend Mr Wooster's broken heart; that I would open my arms and he would run to me. I was guilty of hubris, the most awful of all sins. I had been selfish and conniving and manipulative, all the traits I had hated in Wrexton.

I did not deserve to be Mr Wooster's valet, let alone his lover.

I rose from the table on shaking legs, determined to pack my things and leave the flat quietly so that Mr Wooster would not need to trouble himself with dismissing me.

I had only been packing a few minutes when Mr Wooster came into my quarters. He was still wearing his dressing gown, and his colour had returned somewhat though his face was still a blank mask. He watched me place some black socks in my old valise before saying, 'I'm sorry I shouted at you, Jeeves. You were right. I would have found out sooner or later, and it was better to be sooner.'

'Very good, sir,' I said, and placed a treasured volume of Spinoza, inscribed by my employer, into the case.

'Jeeves, stop packing. I can't let you leave now.' Mr Wooster smiled weakly. 'You know too much, old thing.'

The joke fell short of the mark, and I paused in my work to stare into the open maw of my valise and think of what to say. A wave of misery overcame me, and I fear I was speechless.

'I— I need someone who understands, Jeeves,' Mr Wooster said in a choked voice. He fidgeted with the belt of his dressing gown. 'Dash it, I feel like my insides have been systematically removed and trampled on with hob-nail boots. And there's not a soul who can know why, except you.'

I closed my eyes. Mr Wooster still needed me. I would be strong for him; I had to be.

'Jeeves? You don't want to go, do you?' Mr Wooster asked in a small voice.

My eyes flew open. 'No, sir!'

He nodded kindly, but his lip trembled and his eyes became red with checked tears. 'He told me he loved me,' he said.

'Oh, sir.' I abandoned my pathetic attempt at packing and guided him to the sitting room, where I sat him in his favourite armchair. I arranged an afghan about his shaking shoulders and brewed a pot of tea, though he did not drink much.

'I could prepare coq au vin for dinner, sir,' I offered. 'I managed to procure the recipe from Monsieur Anatole himself when we stayed at Mrs Travers's last month.'

'I'm not hungry,' Mr Wooster replied.

'Would you like a brandy, sir?'

'I'm not thirsty.'

'Perhaps a fire in the grate to keep the chill away?'

He hesitated. 'I don't think so.'

I took this as assent and set about lighting a fire.

It seemed that all Mr Wooster truly wanted, however, was for another human being to sit with him. I pulled up a straight-backed chair when Mr Wooster ordered me to stop hovering round, and I listened to him speak for a minute or two about some small detail of his relationship with Thornton Wrexton before lapsing into a period of silence and then repeating the cycle.

'What I don't understand,' he said during one of his sudden spells of vocal practice, 'is why he'd want five or ten of me anyway. They were all like me, Jeeves. The resemblance was obvious.'

I felt compelled to respond. 'Though you may have had the same hair and eyes as the other gentlemen, I am convinced none had the same strength of heart, and it is with this oversight that Wrexton doomed himself.'

'What, he thought us all pushovers and creampuffs, you mean?'

'It does seem he miscalculated your capacity for forgiveness towards the undeserving, sir.'

Mr Wooster seemed to meditate on this a moment. 'I wonder. He was the jealous one, almost flying into a rage if a cove so much as glanced at me. And yet he was the one with half a dozen affairs on his plate.'

'So it is often the way, when one party is unfaithful, to suspect unfaithfulness in a perverse fashion,' I said.

Mr Wooster digested this as well. 'Have you ever loved and lost, Jeeves?' he asked suddenly.

I started to a near-visible degree. 'Sir?'

'Surely you were young once,' Mr Wooster said.

'I'm thirty-two, sir.'

'Ah. I am sometimes under the impression you've been around since time immemorial; you're just too full of information.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'But I mean, you must have once been a younger man, what?'

I considered keeping my peace, but instead I spoke truthfully. 'Yes, sir. When I was a much younger man of sixteen, I lost my first love.'

Mr Wooster toyed with a loose string from his afghan. 'Is it a story that might shed some light on the Wooster predicament? I could use some wise words, Jeeves.'

I struggled to frame the story from my past in such a way. It had been so long ago, I truthfully did not think of it any longer. It was one of those painful adventures of the heart that is left buried in childhood.

'I fell in love with the child of my employer, in whose house I was working as a footman,' I finally confessed.

Mr Wooster winced in sympathy. I nodded. 'We were both young and very foolish. We would meet clandestinely at night, though the meetings were innocent for the most part. There was idle talk of running away to be together, and we would hold each other's hands and walk through the woods that bordered the mansion.'

'What happened to her?'

I looked up and held Mr Wooster's questioning gaze. In this, at least, I could state the truth.

'He died of typhoid.'

The teacup in Mr Wooster's hands clattered to the carpet, and he cursed the hot liquid that splashed on him. I hastened to clean the mess while Mr Wooster sputtered.

'Sorry, Jeeves. He?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good Lord! No wonder you didn't bat an eyelash when it came to keeping my secret. I was so afraid you would go to the police, but— Jeeves, I didn't know you were like me!'

'I would hope, sir, that even if I were not an invert, my regard for you would still prevent me from handing you over to the authorities on such a charge.'

'Of course, of course.' My employer descended into silence again. I folded the soaked afghan to dry in front of the fire.

This morose mood of Mr Wooster's continued for several days, during which time he refused to dress, admit the company of friends or relatives, receive calls, or, for the most part, leave his bed. He also lost his appetite and ate only the smallest meals of toast and tea, though I attempted to entice him to eat his favourite foods. He seemed to feel no need to play the piano or read his thriller novels either.

I lived in fear that the carefree, joyful man I'd fallen in love with was forever gone, leaving only a broken shell behind. I confess that, late at night, when Mr Wooster had fallen into restless sleep, I would find myself alone in my quarters, overcome with emotion at seeing him so pained, and all over a man who was so very unworthy of him. But I could not let him see my own misery, not when he was burdened so heavily already.


Continue to Part 4, the final part.