Fic: The Heirloom (PG)
Pairing: Berite/Jeeves
Disclaimer: Obviously this is just a hobby and I have no legal say in the works of Wodehouse.
A tired sigh escaped me as Jeeves closed the door to our flat behind my dreaded Aunt Agatha. Tired of waiting for me to come around to her place to be dressed down and insulted, as of late she had taken to demanding that I have her over for luncheon instead. There were two categories to this type of visit: the one where she scolded me for not having married and for generally enjoying life; and the one where she held her tongue just a bit, but only for the sake of the girl that she’d brought along to pitch me to. She’d cite a small list of my modest qualities in an overly earnest, encouraging way, as though I were a carpet sweeper she was selling door to door. I’d be forced to play the piano and recite family history, and generally perform like a good circus monkey for the duration of the afternoon. I really don’t know which is worse, as they both leave one with a dreadful headache.
Today had been especially horrid, as there was no girl there to shield me from her sharp comments. Maybe the fact that she hadn’t actually been able to find a girl to thrust on me this week was why she was in an especially foul mood, having looked as though she’d spent the morning smelling rotten cabbage while wading through mud in the rain. Of course she actually looked nothing of the sort. Aunt Agatha is always well dressed in about sixteen layers of frightfully proper cloth, and never walked in the rain, but was driven hither and yon. You’d never know it by her expression, though.
After the meal, she’d asked me to play for her, and I was relieved, for I have a penchant for the piano and playing eases my nerves and makes me quite happy. I’d foolishly thought that it might have the effect on my aged A.. as well. No sooner than I’d finished the song, a rather jovial, romping tune that I’d recently learned, than she turned on me, criticizing the supposed baseness and lewdness of the lyrics, which I felt were all in good fun, really. To be honest, I didn’t understand half of them, so I was sure Aunt Agatha would be well in the dark. I mean, Aunt Agatha know anything about lewdness? I’d prefer to dismiss the impossible notion.
I offered to play a classical piece, mentioning several that Jeeves is so fond of, that I like to play in the evenings. A rummy sort of expression crossed her face, and she turned on Jeeves, hurling abuse at him for enabling me in my childish behavior when I was at an age where I should be bettering myself. If I insisted in having a nanny, she sneered, he could at least do a good job of it and make sure I was kept out of trouble and acted my age, or wasn’t he paid enough for that? She said it in an acid, mocking way, as though she thought that I paid him rather too much. There was more, I think, but my mind was still reeling from what I’d already heard.
Throughout the tirade, Jeeves stood with his head respectfully bowed, occasionally offering an affirmative when she ran out of breath. In place was his impenetrable stuffed frog mask, but I could see that the words, or perhaps just the force of the rough, loud voice behind them, stung. My mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. I stared in a daze for the next several minutes, or perhaps years, before the front door closed behind her and brought us to this point, said sigh escaping from my lips.
“Shall I run a bath to soothe your nerves, sir?” he asked, preparing me a drink that he knew he didn’t need to ask me if I wanted. I nodded, still troubled over what had just occurred. I took the offered drink, a strong brandy and soda, and let it calm my thoughts as the bath was prepared.
Usually a good soak gets the old bean moving again, and today was no exception, only today my head cleared to somber thoughts. Why hadn’t I said something? I could defend the honor of girls I could barely stand, but when a rash of bile was spewed forth onto the love of my life, nothing. I sank lower into the water, feeling quite spineless, like the ribbony seaweed Gussie Fink-Nottle had once told me about. Certainly like a slimy lower life form of some sort. I watched Jeeves flit about the bedroom, laying out my clothing. For all he does for me, I should have said something, anything.
Eventually the water grew cold, and I stood, Jeeves wrapping a towel and robe about me. He seemed to be over the incident, being a confident sort of cove. The strangeness of what had occurred was still needling me, though.
“Why didn’t you say anything to her?” I asked, quietly, hoping he wouldn’t ask me the same question.
“She is your family.” He answered, simply, helping me into my shirt. I considered this.
“Jeeves, you’ve been with me what now, almost ten years? You can speak your mind, you know. As I’m lacking one, and all.” I added, flustered with shame.
“It isn’t my place to say such things, sir.” He said softly, pressing his lips to mine briefly. “It would have created a troublesome situation for you if I had.”
I’d given up on things like asking him to call me ‘Bertie’ at home, but even so, I was distressed by the lack of intimacy with my life that I could now see that he must feel. Jeeves had been essential to me for so long that Aunt Dahlia often insisted that he join the family at the dinner table, though he usually managed to be otherwise engaged at the time, preferring to eat with the servants. He’d advised nearly every member of my family and most of my friends on important matters at least once, so I assumed that he was at ease among them, at ease as much as one can be with dealing with my family, at least.
What I meant was, I had thought he’d be confident enough to tell my relations what was what when unfairly lectured. As far as I knew, Aunt Agatha didn’t strike fear into his heart as she did to me, and he hadn’t done it out of respect, not wholly, anyway. I didn’t like thinking about the things that kept him from being part of my family, from being more than a trusted servant to anyone I knew, but thinking of Jeeves thinking of them drove me mad.
“I should have said something.” I managed, weakly.
“You were wise to hold your tongue, sir.” He replied, with an almost sort of grin. I say a grin, but it was a rather sad expression. Resigned, that’s it. He’d accepted the thought that he was beneath us. It made me want to stomp my feet, to cry out against the unfairness of it all.
I was holding out my arm for Jeeves to assist with the cuffs, when it suddenly occurred to me that I could do something to show him what I felt, even though I’d been useless in sticking up for him. I put my hand over his, taking the cuff links from his fingers. Determined now, I unfastened his, which were simple sliver plate squares, and replaced them with my own. They weren’t very flashy, probably identical to any number of cuff links about London, but they were solid gold, and one of my most treasured possessions.
“Sir.,.” he began, looking down on me in a mildly disapproving way. I rose to the occasion, having found my voice again.
“I insist that you take them.” I said, feeling a bit of confidence again.
“They belonged to your father, sir.” He stated, giving me that rummy, scolding look once again.
“Yes, they did. And I want you to have them because you don’t believe that you have a place in the family. Maybe it’s not the place that I want you to have, but it’s a place, anyway. I still have his watch, you know. I won’t regret it. Take them as a reminder that I’m yours.”
He smiled then, something he almost never does, not in the way he was smiling right then.
*******
He wears the cuff links often these days. Sometimes I forget about them, but catch a glimpse of his wrist as he serves me, or when he slips off his jacket. I smile, thinking of how the tiny bits of gold mark him out as my own. It’s a dashed heady thought, and one that I hadn’t considered when I had made him a present of them. Our eyes will meet, I know that he shares the same sentiment. He knows that I am his. He knows that he belongs.
Disclaimer: Obviously this is just a hobby and I have no legal say in the works of Wodehouse.
A tired sigh escaped me as Jeeves closed the door to our flat behind my dreaded Aunt Agatha. Tired of waiting for me to come around to her place to be dressed down and insulted, as of late she had taken to demanding that I have her over for luncheon instead. There were two categories to this type of visit: the one where she scolded me for not having married and for generally enjoying life; and the one where she held her tongue just a bit, but only for the sake of the girl that she’d brought along to pitch me to. She’d cite a small list of my modest qualities in an overly earnest, encouraging way, as though I were a carpet sweeper she was selling door to door. I’d be forced to play the piano and recite family history, and generally perform like a good circus monkey for the duration of the afternoon. I really don’t know which is worse, as they both leave one with a dreadful headache.
Today had been especially horrid, as there was no girl there to shield me from her sharp comments. Maybe the fact that she hadn’t actually been able to find a girl to thrust on me this week was why she was in an especially foul mood, having looked as though she’d spent the morning smelling rotten cabbage while wading through mud in the rain. Of course she actually looked nothing of the sort. Aunt Agatha is always well dressed in about sixteen layers of frightfully proper cloth, and never walked in the rain, but was driven hither and yon. You’d never know it by her expression, though.
After the meal, she’d asked me to play for her, and I was relieved, for I have a penchant for the piano and playing eases my nerves and makes me quite happy. I’d foolishly thought that it might have the effect on my aged A.. as well. No sooner than I’d finished the song, a rather jovial, romping tune that I’d recently learned, than she turned on me, criticizing the supposed baseness and lewdness of the lyrics, which I felt were all in good fun, really. To be honest, I didn’t understand half of them, so I was sure Aunt Agatha would be well in the dark. I mean, Aunt Agatha know anything about lewdness? I’d prefer to dismiss the impossible notion.
I offered to play a classical piece, mentioning several that Jeeves is so fond of, that I like to play in the evenings. A rummy sort of expression crossed her face, and she turned on Jeeves, hurling abuse at him for enabling me in my childish behavior when I was at an age where I should be bettering myself. If I insisted in having a nanny, she sneered, he could at least do a good job of it and make sure I was kept out of trouble and acted my age, or wasn’t he paid enough for that? She said it in an acid, mocking way, as though she thought that I paid him rather too much. There was more, I think, but my mind was still reeling from what I’d already heard.
Throughout the tirade, Jeeves stood with his head respectfully bowed, occasionally offering an affirmative when she ran out of breath. In place was his impenetrable stuffed frog mask, but I could see that the words, or perhaps just the force of the rough, loud voice behind them, stung. My mouth opened and closed several times, but no words came out. I stared in a daze for the next several minutes, or perhaps years, before the front door closed behind her and brought us to this point, said sigh escaping from my lips.
“Shall I run a bath to soothe your nerves, sir?” he asked, preparing me a drink that he knew he didn’t need to ask me if I wanted. I nodded, still troubled over what had just occurred. I took the offered drink, a strong brandy and soda, and let it calm my thoughts as the bath was prepared.
Usually a good soak gets the old bean moving again, and today was no exception, only today my head cleared to somber thoughts. Why hadn’t I said something? I could defend the honor of girls I could barely stand, but when a rash of bile was spewed forth onto the love of my life, nothing. I sank lower into the water, feeling quite spineless, like the ribbony seaweed Gussie Fink-Nottle had once told me about. Certainly like a slimy lower life form of some sort. I watched Jeeves flit about the bedroom, laying out my clothing. For all he does for me, I should have said something, anything.
Eventually the water grew cold, and I stood, Jeeves wrapping a towel and robe about me. He seemed to be over the incident, being a confident sort of cove. The strangeness of what had occurred was still needling me, though.
“Why didn’t you say anything to her?” I asked, quietly, hoping he wouldn’t ask me the same question.
“She is your family.” He answered, simply, helping me into my shirt. I considered this.
“Jeeves, you’ve been with me what now, almost ten years? You can speak your mind, you know. As I’m lacking one, and all.” I added, flustered with shame.
“It isn’t my place to say such things, sir.” He said softly, pressing his lips to mine briefly. “It would have created a troublesome situation for you if I had.”
I’d given up on things like asking him to call me ‘Bertie’ at home, but even so, I was distressed by the lack of intimacy with my life that I could now see that he must feel. Jeeves had been essential to me for so long that Aunt Dahlia often insisted that he join the family at the dinner table, though he usually managed to be otherwise engaged at the time, preferring to eat with the servants. He’d advised nearly every member of my family and most of my friends on important matters at least once, so I assumed that he was at ease among them, at ease as much as one can be with dealing with my family, at least.
What I meant was, I had thought he’d be confident enough to tell my relations what was what when unfairly lectured. As far as I knew, Aunt Agatha didn’t strike fear into his heart as she did to me, and he hadn’t done it out of respect, not wholly, anyway. I didn’t like thinking about the things that kept him from being part of my family, from being more than a trusted servant to anyone I knew, but thinking of Jeeves thinking of them drove me mad.
“I should have said something.” I managed, weakly.
“You were wise to hold your tongue, sir.” He replied, with an almost sort of grin. I say a grin, but it was a rather sad expression. Resigned, that’s it. He’d accepted the thought that he was beneath us. It made me want to stomp my feet, to cry out against the unfairness of it all.
I was holding out my arm for Jeeves to assist with the cuffs, when it suddenly occurred to me that I could do something to show him what I felt, even though I’d been useless in sticking up for him. I put my hand over his, taking the cuff links from his fingers. Determined now, I unfastened his, which were simple sliver plate squares, and replaced them with my own. They weren’t very flashy, probably identical to any number of cuff links about London, but they were solid gold, and one of my most treasured possessions.
“Sir.,.” he began, looking down on me in a mildly disapproving way. I rose to the occasion, having found my voice again.
“I insist that you take them.” I said, feeling a bit of confidence again.
“They belonged to your father, sir.” He stated, giving me that rummy, scolding look once again.
“Yes, they did. And I want you to have them because you don’t believe that you have a place in the family. Maybe it’s not the place that I want you to have, but it’s a place, anyway. I still have his watch, you know. I won’t regret it. Take them as a reminder that I’m yours.”
He smiled then, something he almost never does, not in the way he was smiling right then.
*******
He wears the cuff links often these days. Sometimes I forget about them, but catch a glimpse of his wrist as he serves me, or when he slips off his jacket. I smile, thinking of how the tiny bits of gold mark him out as my own. It’s a dashed heady thought, and one that I hadn’t considered when I had made him a present of them. Our eyes will meet, I know that he shares the same sentiment. He knows that I am his. He knows that he belongs.