Jeeves fic sort of? OC ficlet

[triedunture]

Clarence Jeeves adjusted the black armband on his black sleeve; it had been in danger of slipping from his upper arm, and that simply would not do. He took a moment outside of Lord Wingfield's study to take a breath, compose himself, and allow his face to pass into that mask of marble that so characterised the best butlers in the world. He then glided into the room without a sound.

He found the master of the house sitting in his favoured armchair before the crackling fire in the grate.

'You called for me, m'lord?' Clarence asked.

'Yes,' Wingfield said thoughtfully, still staring into the flickering orange flames. 'Quite a turn-out this morning for the funeral, wasn't it? Nearly everyone in the village was there.'

Clarence gave a shallow bow. 'Thank you for attending as well, m'lord.'

'Of course, of course.' Wingfield gave a wave of his hand, brushing the notion aside. 'Your father has served this house since before I was born. Least I could do.'

'He would have been pleased to hear so, m'lord.'

'You'll be taking over the post of head butler, certainly.'

Though Clarence had been preparing himself for it, the statement shot a bolt of fear through his insides. The other underbutlers were all older than he, and the murmurings of disagreement about this decision would certainly be difficult to bear. Clarence was only twenty-six; his father had only been dead for two days; how was he supposed to take responsibility for an entire household so soon? But it was not his choice.

'As you wish, m'lord,' Clarence said softly. He bowed once more before turning to leave. He would have to announce the promotion to the staff and undertake a reading of the organisational material that his father had left behind in his pantry. Everyone would be expecting him to make the transition as smooth as possible, and there was so much to do.

'Jeeves,' Wingfield said suddenly, causing Clarence to halt. (Jeeves had been what his father was called, but now, even that mantle was being passed on, it seemed.) 'You should know I've hired a new head housekeeper. Mrs Laramie was planning to retire soon anyway, and I thought it best to get it all over and done with in one fell swoop.'

'Most astute, m'lord,' Clarence said slowly.

'Well, you'll meet Miss Silversmith when she arrives next week, I suppose. Monday morning, on the 11.55, I believe.'

'I will arrange for a footman to meet her at the station, m'lord.'

'Good, good,' Wingfield muttered under his breath. 'My condolences once again, Jeeves. Your father will be sorely missed.'

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Clarence finished inspecting the laying of the silver with a satisfied nod and pocketed his measuring stick in his morning coat's inner pocket. 'Excellent, Mr Finn. Please direct the maids to bring in the covered dishes.'

'Right away, Mr Jeeves.'

'Mr Turner, please tell the gardener to dispense with his watering today. The barometer indicates rain this afternoon.'

'Yes, Mr Jeeves.'

'Miss Gilmour, has his Lordship's misplaced novel been found?'

'No, Mr Jeeves, but I sent one of the boys into town to order a new one like you said.'

'Very good,' Clarence said almost to himself. All around him, the bustle and din of the servants provided a backdrop of organised chaos. It was still strange to think that he was the conductor leading this orchestra, this tightly controlled dance of parlourmaids and page boys, cooks and chambermaids. Luckily, his father had left behind a sturdy ship that seemed to sail of its own accord; Clarence hoped no one noticed that he hadn't the faintest idea if he was succeeding as a head butler.

The gong was rung for the morning meal, and the household descended into the dining room. The staff left to allow the Wingfields and their children to serve themselves, as was traditional for breakfast, while Clarence alone stood quietly by, waiting for a directive to fill an empty teapot or make a note for future travel plans.

After the meal was cleared away, Clarence found himself in the east wing, running his white-gloved hand over a banister to check for wayward dust. He heard a small noise from one of the guest rooms, nothing sinister, merely a small cough. He stripped his glove from his hand and went to investigate. Often, the younger staff would sneak away from their duties for a quiet moment alone in an empty guest room. Clarence had no qualms with occasional respites on the whole, but if he knew it now fell to him to discipline such breaches of decorum.

He stepped into the guest bedroom and, upon finding the young woman making up the guest bed, said quite articulately, 'Oh.'

The woman, who straightened to her full height, was tall as women go. Clarence himself had shot up to nearly six and a half feet after his seventeenth birthday, making him the tallest member of the staff, so the appearance of a woman of more than five and nine was very odd. She had a glossy head of black hair which was secured in a neat bun at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were grey. Her posture was regal.

Clarence supposed she might be a queen, if not for her stark black and white maid's clothing.

'Oh, I do beg your pardon,' Clarence continued after the woman merely stared back at him with what appeared to be silent derision. 'I was not aware that this room was going to be made up for a guest in the near future.'

'I chanced to overhear the lady of the house dictating a letter for her mother. Though no serious issues were raised in the missive, her Ladyship's tone was such that one can only assume her mother will decide to visit Wingfield Hall to see for herself that the situation is not unbearable. I endeavoured to prepare for such a surprise visit, and so I am making up this room,' she said.

'I'm sorry, Miss...?'

'Silversmith. Helen Silversmith.'

'Ah, the new head housekeeper.' He paused. 'You weren't supposed to arrive until Monday.'

'I thought it prudent to spend as much time as possible acquainting myself with the layout of the household. I arrived early this morning and a very kind young man let me in the back door when I told him I was here to measure for new curtains.' The young woman straightened the sheets, tucking them with military precision under the mattress.

'And so you've been creeping around the house all this time?' Clarence put his hands on his hips in consternation. What sort of crazed madwoman had Lord Wingfield hired? She had even found herself a uniform!

Miss Silversmith said, 'I desired an opportunity to view my staff before they were aware that I was their superior. Do not be concerned; I have concealed myself for the most part in the background, listening to conversations and taking notes in my mind about certain persons who may need a firmer hand.'

'You've been spying, is what it sounds like,' Clarence said, wagging a warning finger. 'I've half a mind to--'

'They respect you, you know,' Miss Silversmith said suddenly.

The wagging ceased. 'They what?'

'The staff. They say you've been doing an admirable job since the death of the last head butler. You're surely the youngest to hold the post that I've ever seen, Mr Jeeves, but you've apparently done very well.'

'Be that as it may,' Clarence said, flustered that she had somehow read his insecurities on his face, 'I don't like the idea of anyone sneaking into the house without my knowledge. You've put me in a very awkward position, Miss Silversmith. I shall have to inform his Lordship of your actions.'

The woman put a single delicate finger in the air and tilted her head as if listening. Clarence heard footfalls in the hall, and Finn the underbutler appeared in the doorway.

'There you are, sir. Lady Mildred, her ladyship's mother, will be arriving shortly. We'll need to prepare a--' Finn stopped and gazed with wonder at the dressed and polished guest room. Even a bowl of fresh flowers resided on the dressing table; all that needed to be done was arranging the remainder of the bed linens. 'Well, I see you've already heard, Mr Jeeves. But how?'

Miss Silversmith averted her eyes from Finn and continued laying out the bedclothes, humming to herself nonchalantly.

'Thank you, Finn,' Clarence said in a dismissing tone, and the man left on fast feet. Clarence then focused all his attention on this infuriating woman. 'Miss Silversmith, this doesn't change the fact that you've--'

'Oh, these pillows are too large for their cases,' the housemaid murmured to herself. Her thin hands were endeavouring to shove an overstuffed down pillow into a clean cover to no avail. 'However does one manage?' she sighed.

Clarence stepped forward to lend a helping hand somewhat grudgingly. 'I find it easier to turn the case inside-out like so,' he demonstrated, 'and slip it upwards onto the pillow instead of the other way round.' He put actions to words and handed the newly covered pillow to Miss Silversmith.

She was standing very close to him when she took it. 'Very good of you to show me, Mr Jeeves,' she said. 'I am sorry I entered the house under false pretenses. I do hope you don't decide to bother his Lordship with such a trifling breach of etiquette.' Miss Silversmith tucked her chin to her chest and looked up through her dark eyelashes at Clarence.

Clarence cleared his throat unsteadily. 'I can't say I agree with it, but I suppose no harm's been done. In the future, however, I would ask that you would inform me of any unconventional plans you have before going through with them.'

Miss Silversmith seemed to weigh this in her mind before nodding. 'Yes. We would do well to forge a strong alliance, Mr Jeeves.' Her soft grey eyes drifted lower to fasten on Clarence's mouth. 'For the good of the staff,' she clarified.

'Yes, of course,' Clarence said, though in truth he wasn't hearing her words so much as watching her lips form them. He could feel himself being overcome by her spell; surely her words had been carefully chosen to quell his ire, but did she know what other effects they had? Up close, she really was quite beautiful.

'Well.' Miss Silversmith regarded the nearly finished bed. 'I suppose I'll complete this task before--'

'Please, allow me to assist you,' Clarence said, taking hold of the eiderdown duvet.

'If you have no pressing business...'

'None whatsoever.' Clarence smiled then, breaking his carefully constructed butler facade to beam brightly at this strange and wonderful creature. 'If you do not mind.'

Miss Silversmith seemed shocked at this breach of decorum, her spine stiffening and her bearing turning even more rigid. But her eyes searched Clarence's face and, evidently pleased with what she found there, she allowed her own lips to quirk slightly on the left side.

'I would be delighted,' she said, and helped him unfold the duvet evenly over the bed.




fin.