Archive of Our Own ^beta

From time to time, a chap wants a change of scenery. It's only natural for a young fellow, full of vim and vigour, to want to spread his wings and see the world, after all. In addition, I'd recently had a bit of a run-in with my Aunt Agatha on the subject of some dratted beazel upon whom she wished me to bestow the Wooster name. I had issued a nolle prosequi, and things had become a bit thick between Aunt A. and self. Accordingly, Jeeves and I had somewhat hastily toddled over to New York, where we planned to stay until the auntly storm had blown over and it was clear skies over London once again.

Jeeves and I passed a peaceful few weeks and settled into our new digs quite nicely. He made a few noises about us biffing off to the Old West to see the sights there and participate in some sport with the rather improbable name of fly-fishing. I wasn't altogether certain if the fish were supposed to fly or the fishermen, but either way it held no appeal for me and I told Jeeves firmly that I was sorry for his disappointment, but we were remaining in situ.

I'd stayed in these parts before, and Jeeves was able to set us up in the same flat that we'd taken the last time we were here. I soon renewed my acquaintance with the coves I'd palled around with on my previous visit to the New World. Most of them were the starving-artist types who seemed to live off the largesse of oofy relations - delightful chaps, but forever having disagreements with the gas company which resulted in the stuff being shut off.

One of this group was a fellow named Abelard ‘Larky’ Larkmeade, who dabbled in the musical end of things, composing ditties and whatnot. He assured me that he was quite well-thought-of in certain circles, but what circles those were, I couldn't say. He was a jocular, cheerful sort, known to all and sundry as the fizziest bird between the Mississippi R. and the Atlantic O. He had a physique that might best be described as bean-pole-esque and a great deal of messy auburn hair.

One fine morning, around ten, just as I was addressing myself to the coffee and kippers that Jeeves had brought in, there was a sudden pounding at the door, causing me to upset my coffee cup and slosh the stuff down my front.

‘Who on earth could be calling at this ridiculous hour?’ I asked irritably, scrubbing at the stain darkening my previously rather spiffing periwinkle pyjamas.

‘I could not say, sir. A blotting motion, rather than a rubbing one, will likely produce a more effective result, sir,’ he said. Meanwhile, the banging at the door continued unabated.

I dabbed at the damp spot and motioned for Jeeves to go answer the door and see what misguided blighter had come to visit this early in the a.m. He floated out with one last pained look at my pyjamas, and presently I heard the door to the flat opening. A moment later, Larky came bursting into my quarters as though he were being chased by the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.

‘Bertie, I'm in a devil of a jam. You've got to help me out. That is, Jeeves has got to help me,’ was his opening gambit.

I considered some rather pointed remarks concerning his rudeness, both for calling at such an hour, and for dismissing old Bertram's help so quickly in favour of Jeeves's, but I saw almost at once that the poor wretch was truly suffering. He was actually grasping and pulling at his hair as if he were trying to tear it out by the roots, which I had always thought was just something that novelists said to get across the idea that their protago-whatsit was in dire straits - I'd never actually seen it done before. I decided to take preventative measures before he started in with the wailing and gnashing of teeth.

‘Say no more, old bean; Jeeves and I are at your disposal,’ I reassured. ‘Why don't you go make yourself comfortable in the sitting room; I'll be there in half a jiff.’

He took himself out, still looking like he might begin rending his garments at any moment. Jeeves had rematerialised in the interim, and he quickly got me shoved into the outer crust of an English gentleman. We then went out to the sitting room, where Larky had settled into a gloomy and morose silence on the settee. I offered him a gasper and took one myself, settling back into a chair across from him. Jeeves lit our cigarettes and then assumed an attitude of respectfully zealous attention.

‘Well, Larky, you wanted our help, and here we are, so tell all,’ I urged.

He hove a woeful sigh. ‘Well, as you know, I depend on a small quarterly allowance from my Uncle Gerald. He doesn't approve of my musical aspirations; he considers them frivolous. He threatened to cut off my allowance unless I 'made myself useful' by finding gainful employment.’

He paused here and gave a slight shudder; I winced in sympathy.

‘So I... well, I told my uncle that I'd taken a job as personal secretary to Devin Brennan-McBride. My uncle's a terrific admirer of his.’

The name was a new one to me. ‘Who, old fruit?’

Jeeves coughed in a deferential manner. ‘I believe, sir, that Mr. Larkmeade is referring to the well-known writer of Irish birth, educated in England, who now resides in America.’

‘Oh, ah,’ I said, still in the dark. ‘Well, if you've found a job with this writer fellow, what's the ghastly jam?’

‘No, Bertie, you don't understand. I hadn't actually taken any job. I still haven't,’ Larky said, and the light began to dawn upon me. ‘Well, what could I do? I can't have a job; I'd never have time for my music if I were slaving away in some horrible office. Anyway, my uncle was appeased, and I thought that would be the end of it. But then yesterday I got a letter.’

At this point he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tattered bit of paper. He passed it to me; I passed it to Jeeves; Jeeves cleared his throat and read it aloud. ‘Dear Abelard, As you know, I am very pleased that you have found gainful employment as personal secretary to such a celebrated author. I wish to invite you and Mr. Brennan-McBride to The Maples for a visit, and I won't hear any excuses. I'll look forward to welcoming you both this Friday afternoon. Fondly, Gerald Larkmeade.’

There was a moment of silence. ‘Well, old chum, you'll just have to oil out of it somehow. Come down with a sudden case of some dread disease,’ I said.

He groaned. ‘You don't know my uncle. If he says no excuses, he means it. He'll cut me off if I don't put in an appearance. What am I going to do?’

There was only one thing for it. ‘Leave it to Jeeves; he'll come up with a plan.’

Jeeves looked down at us with the light of intelligence burning in his eyes. ‘I believe, sir, that the best solution is simply for Mr Larkmeade to obey his uncle's summons,’ he said.

‘Show up alone, you mean?’ I queried. ‘But wouldn't Larky's uncle be rather shirty that he hadn't got the writer fellow with him?’

‘I meant, sir, that he should appear at the elder Mr Larkmeade's estate in the company of a person who would ostensibly be the younger Mr Larkmeade's putative employer.’

‘A ringer, you mean?’ I was beginning to get a glimmer of what Jeeves had in mind.

‘Yes, sir, I believe that is the vernacular.’

Larky's head had been swivelling back and forth between Jeeves and self during this exchange, and he looked a bit fogged. I translated. ‘Jeeves means that you'll ankle round to your uncle's place with a chap pretending to be this writer fellow.’

‘I suppose that might work,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘But where on earth am I going to find anyone to pretend to be Devin Brennan-McBride?’ he moaned. Then his face brightened. ‘I say, Bertie, you wouldn't mind doing a pal a good turn, would you?’

I blanched. ‘Yes, I bally well would mind. I'm sorry, old egg, but it can't be done. The last time I pretended to be a writer it ended with all involved convinced I was off my onion, and I'd rather avoid being pinned with the reputation of a loony on this side of the ocean as well. Besides, I've never heard of this what's-his-name chap; I'd be utterly useless at trying to impersonate the bird. Your uncle would ask me some simple question about my last published work and the gag would fall all to pieces.’

‘But Bertie,’ he pursued, ‘surely you wouldn't abandon a friend in need? I wouldn't have thought you had it in you.’

I stood firm. ‘Well, now you know. I'm sorry, Larky, truly, but it's out of the q.’

Larky opened his mouth to respond, but was forestalled by the sound of Jeeves clearing his throat delicately but distinctly.

We both looked at him inquiringly. ‘I believe I may have a solution. It would, however, require your approval, sir.’ I waved for him to continue - anything was preferable to my having to take part in this farce. ‘I believe that I may be capable of assuming the role, if Mr Wooster is amenable to parting with my services for the necessary period.’

We gaped at the man. ‘You, Jeeves?’ Larky said, sounding a bit doubtful, I thought.

‘Of course!’ I exclaimed. ‘Just the fellow for the task. Jeeves will have your uncle eating from the palm of his hand, and of course he'll be able to quote out the fruitier parts of the cove's work at the drop of a hat, lending veri- verisi- ... what's the word I want, Jeeves?’

‘Verisimilitude, sir.’

‘Yes, that's the chap. When you want verisimilitude, Jeeves is your man. None better. In fact, how about a demonstration, Jeeves?’

Jeeves cleared his throat again and trotted out a few lines about the beauty of the English countryside and the sweet gentleness of its ladyfolk. Larky gazed up at him, awed, but I scoffed.

‘What rot!’ I said. ‘Absolute twaddle. Why, that's not poetry, Jeeves; that's propaganda - and it's not even good propaganda, at that! 'Fetching eyes of cornflower blue' indeed.’

‘While perhaps the use of metaphor leaves something to be desired, sir, I believe that - ‘

‘Yes, yes, never mind that, Jeeves. It's not important. In any event, are you convinced now, Larky?’

‘Well, I suppose...’ Larky began.

I sprang from my chair and clapped him on the back. ‘Never fear, old egg, the whole thing will go off without a hitch. Actually, I could use a breath of country air; I've been meaning to head out of the metrop. for a spell. I think I'll toddle along with you.’

‘I don't think I could do that, Bertie,’ Larky said. ‘Uncle Gerald is something of an odd bird - he doesn't much like strangers or unexpected guests. I'll have enough trouble staying in his good graces without showing up with an uninvited pal.’

I frowned a bit at this. I could see his point, and yet I didn't like to be left behind and miss the fun, especially since, for once, I would merely be an interested observer, as it were, rather than one of the principals in the scheme. Besides, I'm useless without Jeeves about to keep things ticking along smoothly. Parting with him during his annual holiday is bad enough, but I wasn't about to let him go swanning off to enjoy a relaxing retreat in the country while I was stuck alone in the city.

Luckily, at that moment Jeeves let loose another of those delicate coughs. ‘Yes, Jeeves?’ I inquired anxiously. Clearly his brain was in top form today, and I didn't want to miss out on any other corking ideas of his.

‘I believe, sir, that I have a solution to this particular dilemma as well, although it is somewhat irregular. I do not believe that the elder Mr Larkmeade would question the presence of Mr Brennan-McBride's personal gentleman.’

‘Well, yes, Jeeves, that's true,’ I said, somewhat dubiously. ‘But what would be the point of hiring you a valet just for a few days? That would be dashed silly.’

‘Indeed, sir. However, if you were to take on the role, your presence at The Maples would go unquestioned.’

I boggled. Jeeves truly was a genius. ‘I say! That's quite a topping scheme, and it just might work,’ I began, and then stopped short. There was something that Jeeves had overlooked. ‘But Jeeves, as soon as I opened my mouth the game would be up. After all, you can take the boy out of Eton, but you can't take Eton out of the boy, so to speak, and I've more than a hint of the old Etonian in my dulcet tones.’

‘To the American ear, one British accent sounds much like another, sir,’ Jeeves said.

‘That's true,’ Larky said. ‘Why, Jeeves sounds miles more intelligent than you, Bertie.’

That stung a bit, but if it would get me to The Maples without having to masquerade as some blasted scribbler of verse, then I would swallow this blow to the Wooster pride. ‘Er, yes, well,’ I said.

Larky piped up again. ‘Oh, but, Bertie, you'll need a new name. I may have mentioned you in a previous letter to my uncle, and if you go tossing your own name about, the fat would be in the fire immediately.’

‘Oh, right-ho then,’ I said. I thought for a moment. ‘Well, what about Paul? That's a nice, stout name. Has a sort of whatsit about it, I've always thought. Now I just need a surname.’ I looked at Jeeves appealingly, and he mused for a moment.

‘I believe a short, simple name would be ideal. Would 'Harris' be acceptable to you, sir? An acquaintance of mine, a fellow member of the Junior Ganymede, answers to that cognomen.’

‘Paul Harris,’ I said trying it out. ‘Yes, that will do nicely, I believe. All right, then, it's settled. We'll all oil round to The Maples in our respective roles - Jeeves as Brennan-McThingummy, self as McThingummy's valet Harris, and Larky as dutiful, gainfully employed nephew.’

So it was agreed, and Larky trickled out, good cheer restored.

***

The appointed day rolled around, and we all piled into a handsome motorcar Jeeves had procured. He had spent the last few days making arrangements of various sorts for our little charade, and he was now attired in the harris tweed of a rather natty, if conservative gentleman, while I had donned the sort of dark, sober trousering that Jeeves usually favours. It was a pleasant day for a drive in the country - the leaves were just turning, but the songbirds hadn't yet got the message that the summer was over and were continuing to warble away without a care in the world. All in all, it was a scene of pastoral and bucolic beauty. Jeeves spent the drive issuing all sorts of instructions on valeting, and I tried to listen, but the scenery and the sunshine made it somewhat difficult to concentrate on Jeeves's monologue.

Finally, we turned into a wide and impressive gravel drive which led up to an even wider and more impressive country manor house - the kind of thing made of stone, dripping with ivy, and surrounded by well-manicured grounds.

‘...which is of the utmost importance, sir,’ Jeeves said, and I came out of my reverie with a start. ‘Have you been listening to me, sir?’ asked Jeeves with a touch of asperity. He had apparently taken to this reversal of roles without a qualm. I drew myself up.

‘I shall manage very well, thank you, Jeeves,’ I said haughtily. ‘After all, how difficult can it be? Hundreds - no, thousands of chaps have managed it throughout the ages, and Bertram will be no different.’

‘As you say, sir,’ Jeeves said, somewhat doubtfully, it seemed to me. ‘I believe, sir, that we should now assume the identities which we will be using in the coming days.’

‘Yes, sir,’ I replied, adopting the respectful tone I'd often heard Jeeves use, and his breath appeared to catch a bit. Perhaps he'd accidentally inhaled an insect - it had happened to me two or three times on the drive up.

We drew up in front of the house and tumbled out of the car. I legged it for the front door, eager for some refreshment after the long drive, but was brought up short by Jeeves's unmistakable cough, the one which lets me know that I've neglected to do something rather obvious, like put on my trousers before leaving the flat. I turned around and found him still by the car. I bounded back over to him, and he said, ‘Harris, please park the car and bring the luggage in,’ in a loudish voice, for the benefit of the butler type who had by this time appeared at the front door. In a lower voice, he added, ‘You will need to use the servants' entrance, sir.’

‘Oh, right-ho,’ I said, hastily appending ‘sir’ at Jeeves's warning look, and his eyes briefly closed as a strange expression wended its way across his dial. Perhaps it was causing the fellow pain to have our roles reversed in such a way after all - the old feudal spirit must have been flaring up.

I got back in the car while Jeeves and Larky were whisked inside. After a few tries, I got the motorcar wrangled into the garage. Then I spent the next several minutes carrying beastly heavy luggage out of the car and piling it by the servants' entrance, next to an increasingly amused fellow whose job seemed to be to stand around and watch me struggle. By the time I'd finished, I was panting and blowing and in desperate need of a stiff drink and a soft chair.

The chap pushed off from the wall and ambled over to where I was standing, or rather leaning over, catching my breath. He was a handsome sort of cove, the kind that females would no doubt flock to, with fine features and wavy flaxen hair. You've always got to watch out for the chaps with wavy hair - they're dashers with the sex. He offered me a gasper, which I accepted with gratitude.

‘My, my, aren't you a fine specimen,’ were his opening words.

‘Oh, er, thanks awfully,’ I replied, somewhat bewildered. ‘I'm - Paul Harris,’ I said, remembering my assumed moniker in the nick of time.

‘Terrence Roberts,’ he said, offering his hand, which I shook. ‘When you're done there,’ he said, indicating my cigarette, ‘I'll get you settled in.’

He lent a hand with the luggage, which we had to carry up a dark, narrow stairway, leaving me groaning and panting again almost immediately. He didn't seem to feel the strain, and bounded up in a carefree manner, while I trudged after him. He showed me to Jeeves's and Larky's rooms, where we dropped their trunks, and all the while he kept up another of those monologues regarding the dinner hour, the breakfast hour, the tea hour, and apparently every other detail he could think of regarding the operation of the house. It was all I could do to carry the blasted luggage up the stairs without memorizing a lecture at the same time, so I'm afraid the details were rather lost on me.

‘The servants' quarters are small, so we don't have rooms for visiting valets. You'll have to double up with one of the staff - why don't you bunk with me?’ he offered as we went back down those endless stairs for the last of the luggage, which contained my own belongings.

‘Dashed good of you, old bean,’ I said.

‘You English do have a charming way of expressing yourselves, don't you?’ he said. I couldn't see what I had said that was so bally charming, and I was somewhat out of breath anyway, so I let that remark pass.

We got my things bunged into his room, which contained two cot-like beds, a small chest of drawers, a few whitewashed walls, and not much else. Terrence lay down on his bed and lit another gasper while I set my bags at the foot of the other bed. As I was standing, surveying the scene and wondering what I was supposed to do next, another fellow poked his head into the room.

‘Harris, your man is asking after you - he's in his room,’ he said, and then biffed off.

‘Oh, well, ah, I suppose I'd better...’ I said.

Terrence waved a lazy hand in my direction. ‘I'll see more of you later, I'm sure,’ he said with a wink.

‘Oh, right-ho; well, tinkerty-tonk, then!’ I said, and took myself off.

I got a bit lost trying to navigate my way from the servants' quarters to the part of the house where Jeeves's room was, but eventually, after a rather embarrassing detour into the wing with the female servants' rooms, I was pointed to the correct corridor.

I entered the room and hove a sigh of relief to find it unoccupied except for Jeeves. I brightened further when I realized that there was a tea tray with some tempting-looking treats sitting on a small table, hard by a comfortable-looking armchair. Jeeves floated over to the door and locked it, saying, ‘Please, sir, have a seat.’

I gratefully sank into the armchair and Jeeves brought me a drink while I nibbled on a few of the sandwiches from the tray. This valeting business was exhausting, and I was in dire need of sustenance. Jeeves hovered respectfully in the background while I made quick work of the contents of the tray.

‘How goes it, Jeeves?’ I asked when I had quieted the rumbling from my midsection. ‘Old Larkmeade unsuspicious?’

‘We spent only a few moments in his company, sir, but he seems to have been convinced.’

‘Excellent. Larky bearing up under the strain?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Good, good. And you, Jeeves - no problems maintaining the subterfuge?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Jolly good. Well, what's next on the old agenda?’

‘I believe, sir, that the elder Mr Larkmeade was desirous of making my further acquaintance. He invited me to join him in his study for a drink when I had finished getting settled into my room.’

‘Oh, right-ho. What about me, Jeeves?’

‘Well, sir, if you would carry the tea-tray back to the kitchen, you could then join us in the study.’

We parted ways, and I was rather pleased that I only got lost once on my way to the kitchen. When I deposited the tray, I asked a passing kitchen-maid where I could find old Gerald's study. She gave me a bit of an odd look, but pointed me in the correct direction.

I found the study easily, and sallied forth. ‘What-ho, what-ho, what-ho!’ I called cheerfully as I entered, my standard opening in such situations. The conversation which had been in progress between Jeeves and an old fellow I took to be Larky's uncle immediately ground to a stunned halt. Even the maid who was drawing the curtains turned to stare at me. I quickly realized my bloomer - valets didn't usually announce their presence in such a way, but rather floated in noiselessly, or at least the better class of valets such as Jeeves floated noiselessly. ‘Oh, er, dreadfully sorry, sirs,’ I said, and went to stand behind Jeeves, since that seemed to be where he generally bunged himself when I was the one seated before an aged relation - not that old Larkmeade was Jeeves's aged r., or mine either, for that matter.

The Larkmeade fellow was one of those broad, red-faced gentlemen that seem to infest the countryside - bald as an egg, and gone a bit soft round the middle, but still quite formidable looking, in an uncle-ish sort of way. He gave me the fish-eye, but picked up where he had left off - some sort of dashed boring discussion about literature. I tried desperately to stifle my yawns, but didn't entirely succeed. Fortunately, within a few moments, Larky came into the room. I waggled my fingers at him in a jaunty little wave, and he nodded at me with a grin. Old Larkmeade glowered at this exchange, and I went back to standing as stiffly as a soldier lined up for inspection. Larky took a seat and then addressed himself to me. ‘Harris, would you mix me a brandy-and-soda?’

‘Certainly, old th-... sir,’ I said, remembering myself just in time. I biffed over to the sideboard, where there was a selection of liquors and glasses and such, and began wielding the siphon while humming a merry tune.

‘Will you be quiet!’ Larkmeade burst out. I turned to him, surprised. He had gone even redder in the face than he had been to begin with, and looked as if he might blow a gasket at any moment. He turned to Jeeves. ‘Mr Brennan-McBride, your valet behaves in the most extraordinary manner.’

‘Please, call me Devin,’ Jeeves said smoothly. ‘I must apologize for my valet's deportment. I'm afraid that he was dropped on his head as a small child and has never been quite right. Still, his mother was a faithful servant, devoted to our family, and when she was on her deathbed I promised that I would look after him. He is eccentric, but essentially harmless. I am sorry, however, for the imposition on your very kind hospitality, Mr Larkmeade.’

I stiffened a bit - I didn't quite understand why Jeeves seemed determined to go charging up and down the countryside convincing the natives of Bertram's looniness. Still, the Larkmeade blighter appeared to have melted into a Madeline-Bassett-like puddle of soppiness at this tale of woe.

‘Oh, you must call me Gerald,’ he simpered. ‘I commend you for following through on a vow made to a lady on her deathbed. You certainly are a man of honour, Devin.’

Jeeves inclined his head modestly. After a suitable pause, he said, ‘I believe, Gerald, that you were making a most intriguing point about Yeats and modernism?’

From here the discussion returned to frightfully dull literary matters. I gave Larky his drink and returned to my spot behind Jeeves's shoulder, looking down at him as he chatted knowledgeably with the Larkmeades, elder and younger. He really was a most dreadfully intelligent fellow - from this angle I could see how his head stuck out at the back, housing that incomparable brain of his. He was quite a well-put-together chap too, now that I had leisure time and the opportunity to consider the matter. I wondered why he had never biffed off to make some lucky lady happy, but my mind quickly shied away from that question. I knew he'd had an understanding with a cook once - or perhaps it was a waitress - and I was sorry for any heartbreak either party may have suffered, but I could only be grateful that the thing had failed to click. No, Jeeves belonged by my side, and I by his, and no female could be allowed to interfere.

That thought brought me up short - was this how Jeeves felt about my constant entanglements with the fairer sex? He certainly was quick to come roaring to the aid of the party whenever Wooster, B. found himself ensnared by a female. Not that I had any complaints, mind you, but now that our positions were reversed, I rather understood his perspective on the matter. This valeting business certainly did allow for a fairish amount of free time for contemplation - it was no wonder Jeeves was bursting with intelligence. I wasn't used to spending so much time in enforced idleness with only my own out-of-shape grey matter to keep me from complete screaming boredom. Of course, the e. i. also meant that I had been standing motionless like a blasted piece of statuary, and I could feel my limbs threatening to go numb. I began to fidget unobtrusively, trying to keep limber enough that I wouldn't topple over like a felled tree, which might cause old Larkmeade to blow another gasket.

Fortunately, at that moment, Jeeves's voice cut into the droning monotone that Larkmeade had adopted as he pontificated about something-or-other.

‘I do apologize for my rudeness, Gerald,’ he said. ‘However, I feel a rush of poetic inspiration coming on. I noticed the lovely gardens when I entered and I believe a walk might tempt the muses. May I take advantage of your hospitality and beg your leave to stroll about the grounds for a short time?’

Larkmeade nearly fell over himself in his eagerness to accommodate Jeeves, or rather, the writer chap he was impersonating. Dash it, I still couldn't remember the fellow's name. In any event, we were promptly given leave to exit the blighted study. Larky, however, was not excused, and cast a longing glance at us as we made good our escape.

It was a blessed relief to get outside and stretch the old Wooster props. The twittering birds and late afternoon sunshine dispelled any lingering discomfort or discontent, and it felt like old times, wandering the grounds of some manor house's gardens with Jeeves at my side. Not that we'd been to The Maples before, you understand, but one country estate is much like another, whether in England or America. Neatly trimmed hedges, manicured lawns, gay flower-beds, aged gardener, perhaps an imperious cat or two. A typical example, all in all.

We chatted of this and that, Jeeves extracting a detailed account of my movements since our parting of ways at the front door. He quizzed me thoroughly on my interactions with the Roberts fellow, and lowered his eyebrows just a trifle when I mentioned that I'd be bunking with the chap. It seemed he was afraid that I wouldn't be able to maintain my role in such close quarters. Eventually he seemed satisfied, and we meandered back, Jeeves quoting bits of poetry while I enjoyed the fresh air.

***

Dinner in the servants' hall that evening was an uncomfortable affair; even more awkward than the time Sir Roderick Glossop dined with me and ended the meal convinced that I was mad as a hatter. The butler, a chap even more formidable than the Rev. Aubrey Upjohn, the old head-master at my private school, grilled me on every detail of Jeeves's daily routine, from how he took his morning coffee to what time he retired in the evening - as I didn't know any of these things, I'm afraid I made rather a hash of answering. I wished Jeeves had informed me that there would be an examination. The other servants giggled and whispered and stared at me while I squirmed uncomfortably under the butler's interrogation. I tried to lighten the mood by beginning a game of dinner roll cricket, always a favourite pastime at the Drones, but no one seemed inclined to join in, and it only caused more stares and whispers, until I subsided miserably. Finally, the butler, looking at me as he would a worm in his green salad, pronounced, ‘Well, I suppose you must have... other talents... which endear you to your gentleman.’ At this, the entire assemblage broke into a cacophony of laughter, while I gave a weak chuckle, not understanding the joke. The conversation then turned to the matter of the former parlour-maid's recent, and highly scandalous, elopement with the chauffeur from the neighbouring estate, and I was ignored for the remainder of the meal.

It was rather late by this point, as we had eaten after the Larkmeades and Jeeves, and I decided to turn in. When I entered the room I was sharing with Roberts, I found him lounging on his bed, reading a juicy-looking novel.

‘Where were you during dinner?’ I asked, somewhat irritably. He was the one person on the staff that I knew, and he hadn't shown his face during the meal.

‘Oh, I never eat with that pack of wolverines,’ he said. ‘I took something from the kitchen earlier. I hope they weren't too terrible; I should have warned you.’

‘Yes, well, I must say their behaviour is quite inexplicable. I'm bally well exhausted. I'm going to bed.’

‘Shouldn't you go see to your gentleman?’ he asked with a wink. The poor bloke always seemed to be squinching up one of his eyes - perhaps he had a tick or spasm of some sort, or perhaps he'd got a particle of something-or-other lodged in there; I'd had that happen to me, and it was dashed painful.

‘Oh, yes, I suppose I should,’ I said. After all, Jeeves always made sure I was comfortably tucked up in bed, so I supposed it would have seemed odd if I didn't do the same for him.

‘Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Take as long as you need.’

‘Er, jolly good of you,’ I said uncertainly. I wasn't sure why he wasn't going to tell anyone, but perhaps that was part of the normal servantly discretion. In any case, I bade him goodnight and set off for the part of the house where Jeeves's room was located.

When I got to his door, however, I was confronted with a quandary. Servants don't usually knock on doors, or at least Jeeves never knocks on my door; he just materialises in the room like a wraith. But I don't, as a general rule, invade his lair, and I didn't like to burst in on him without so much as a warning. After dithering for a bit, I finally compromised by knocking once and then opening the door.

I stepped in and closed the door behind me. When I turned around, I beheld a sight that stopped me in my tracks. Jeeves was just stepping out of the salle de bain, wearing nothing more than a towel wrapped about his midsection. His skin was flushed and rosy from the heat of his ablutions and still glistened with a layer of moisture, and his dark hair, instead of being in its usual state of brilliantined perfection, was damp and tousled. I goggled at the man, utterly gobsmacked.

He, on the other hand, seemed only mildly surprised to see me. ‘I am sorry, sir; I thought you had retired for the evening. Did you require my services?’ he asked.

I tried to collect my scattered thoughts. ‘Ah, well, that is - well, the other servants - well, one of them anyway - er, the fellow I'm bunking with, jolly decent cove, seems head and shoulders above the rest of the servants in the personality department. The rest of the servants are awfully rude, and seem to giggle a lot as well, only nothing is funny as far as I can see. Er, what was I saying?’ My train of thought appeared to have left me at the station, so I brought my confused monologue to a close, still gawping at Jeeves. I had never seen him in such a state before. Then I realized that I was staring in a most ungentlemanly manner and I tore my eyes away from his frame and fixed them on a gewgaw on the mantelpiece, feeling my face heat up.

‘I believe you were about to tell me why you came to find me, sir.’ He sounded faintly amused, and the left side of his mouth quirked just slightly.

‘Oh yes. The fellow that I'm bunking with. Anyway, he seemed to feel I ought to, that is, he suggested that I should be seeing to my man. That is, to you. That is, to get you tucked up in bed or bring you a nightcap or whatnot.’ My face felt hot enough by this point to have boiled a kettle, should Jeeves have desired an evening cup of tea. ‘Er, not that you actually need me to tuck you up in bed, but it might have roused his suspicious if I refused. Not that I wouldn't be happy to tuck you up in bed, if you want me to, or bring you a nightcap, or...’ I trailed off, since I seemed to have turned into a blithering idiot, for no reason I could fathom. That wouldn’t have surprised my nearest and dearest, Aunt Agatha in particular always having been of the opinion that in a battle of wits with a cauliflower, Bertram pulled ahead only by a very short lead, but a Wooster still has his dignity, and I attempted to salvage the remains of mine.

I snuck a glance at Jeeves and found, to my great relief, that he had donned his brown dressing-gown and was no longer in such a distracting state of undress. His hair was still dishevelled, however, and my fingers fairly itched to run through it and smooth it back. No doubt this was how Jeeves felt when my bowtie wasn't in a perfect butterfly formation - maybe there was a bit of valet in the old Wooster blood after all.

‘I appreciate the offer; however, I do not require any assistance. I am accustomed to providing for my own needs, sir,’ he said, interrupting my musings.

‘Oh, yes, of course, Jeeves,’ I said. ‘Well, then, I suppose I'd better be getting back...’ I hesitated, not sure what I was waiting for.

‘Indeed, sir,’ he said with perfect gravity, but with a sort of knowing gleam in his eye that I couldn't quite comprehend.

‘Well, good night, then, Jeeves.’

‘Good night, sir.’

I wandered back over to the staff quarters feeling rather odd and out-of-sorts. Normally I'm quite a gay, carefree fellow, as anyone down at the Drones will tell you, but tonight I felt... well, not quite my usual self. It must have been this valeting business - it was dashed draining, having to constantly hop up and down, fetch and carry, and yes-sir and very-good-sir. I don't know how Jeeves does it every day. The man is a wonder.

I opened the door to my temporary chambers and saw that Roberts was abed, the lights extinguished. I managed to locate my pyjamas with a minimum of crashing about and I was just about to make my way down the corridor to the shared lavatory when he spoke up, giving me rather a start.

‘I didn't expect you back so soon,’ he said sleepily.

‘Oh, well, yes, I'm, ah, a quick worker,’ I said.

This caused him to let out a brief snort of amusement. ‘It would seem so,’ he said, and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice. I was getting bally tired of trying to figure out these Americans and their peculiar sense of humour.

‘Yes, well, I'm just going to, er, wash up a bit and then I'll be back,’ I said, making good my escape. I could hear his chuckle following me out the door.

Thankfully, when I returned, he appeared to be asleep. I slid into bed and tried to find a position that would allow me to catch my nightly forty winks - even twenty would do in a pinch. The comfort of this mattress left something to be desired, and the single pillow - well, it hardly deserved the name at all. Add to that my mental unrest over the events of the day, and it was a wakeful and unhappy Bertram who was tossing and turning like a boat in choppy waters, although fortunately without the attendant intestinal distress which often results from such circs.

Said tossing and turning must have awakened Terrence, because I heard his voice floating from the other side of the room.

‘You're not used to sleeping in servants' quarters, are you?’ he asked.

I began to get a bit nervous. ‘What do you mean?’ I asked, as innocently as I could manage.

‘I mean that clearly you're accustomed to sleeping in the master's bed.’

I caught my breath. How could he have known? It must have been something in my bearing - he knew that I wasn't a valet at all! Still, he had no proof, and there was no point in confessing all. I decided to brazen it out.

‘I don't know what you're talking about,’ I replied stiffly. ‘I am a valet. I sleep in a valet's quarters.’

‘Fine, have it your way,’ he said, sounding strangely disappointed. ‘But I wouldn't tell anyone, you know - I'm the same, after all.’

Now I was positively flummoxed - what did he mean he was the same? Was he implying that he was participating in the same sort of masquerade that Jeeves and I had cooked up? That would have been a deuced odd coincidence - what were the chances of two gentlemen pretending to be two servants in the same house on the same weekend? Still, if it were true, it would be nice to have a confidante, someone with whom I could commiserate. I proceeded cautiously.

‘Er, the same? What do you mean, old chap?’

‘You know very well what I mean,’ he said somewhat sulkily.

‘Yes, well, just pretend I don't.’

‘You want me to say it? That will make you feel safer? Fine, then - like you, I am an invert. A sodomite. A man who prefers the company of other men to that of women.’ He sounded rather upset. I didn't understand the first couple of terms he had used, but the last bit I could certainly comprehend.

‘Oh, well, what right-thinking bloke doesn't prefer the company of his own kind? Females are a blasted nuisance. Always wanting to clamp the old leg irons on a fellow,’ I said hastily, anxious to soothe his ruffled feathers. This didn't seem to be going where I had expected - apparently he wasn't a gentleman in disguise as a servant after all.

‘Yes, that's true,’ he said. Then he sighed wistfully. ‘Still, you're lucky to have found true love.’

‘True love?’ I asked. This bird's conversational swerves left me utterly baffled - what on earth was he on about now?

‘Yes,’ he continued. ‘It's obvious to anyone with eyes that your man would do anything for you. He's absolutely devoted to you. That sort of love isn't easy to find, you know, especially for fellows like us. You should treasure it.’

I felt completely at sea, in the dark, without a lifeboat. I had only the vaguest idea of what he was talking about - I gathered it had something to do with Jeeves and love, but that was as far as I could make out. Nevertheless, I was intrigued.

‘Love? You think J- er, that is, my gentleman loves me? He takes good care of me, I admit, but - ‘

‘Oh, so that's how it is, is it? You think he's just after a simple tumble? No, Paul, I saw you two, walking in the garden together today. I'd thought maybe you and I could - but, well, never mind that. He loves you, all right, and what's more, you love him too, whether you want to admit it or not.’

I was awake for a while longer, contemplating these words. I ignored the bit about Jeeves wanting to take a nasty spill - clearly this Terrence fellow wasn't quite right in the head. But he raised an interesting point - did I love Jeeves? Well, I relied upon him utterly, and I certainly missed him on those occasions when he was absent from the flat for his yearly holiday. There's no doubt that his judgment in clothing tends toward the hidebound and reactionary, particularly in the matter of men's soft-fronted shirtings, but on the whole, my valet is an absolute gem. I couldn't quite picture my existence without him; the mere thought caused the cold hand of fear to clutch itself round the Wooster heart. In fact, now that I considered the matter, I didn't quite know how I'd got along before him. It was all rather a blur. In any event, as I thought about it, a calm certainty floated to the surface. I did love Jeeves. After all, if love isn't the inability to picture life without a particular someone to bring one one's morning cup and cough disapprovingly at one's choice of tie, what is it?

That question answered, I turned to the second half of the equation - did Jeeves love me? There, I was less sure. After all, how does a fellow know what's in another fellow's head, especially when the second fellow is one as inscrutable - if inscrutable is the word I mean - as Jeeves? He certainly did his utmost to see to my comfort and safety, but then of course that was his job. Still, I liked to think that he enjoyed his duties, and didn't think too harshly of the young master, even when said y. m. was constantly getting into some scrape or other and requiring rescuing. Perhaps he viewed me rather the way a mother duck views her unruly brood - quite aggravating, yet possessing a sort of redeeming charm.

This deep reflection wheeze was a new one to me. I wasn't sure I liked the sensation, and I wasn't much use at it. There was only one possible solution - ask Jeeves. That policy had seen me through any number of potential disasters. I decided to tell Jeeves how I felt on the morrow, and find out how he felt about me. That would clear the whole thing up. Thus resolved, I drifted off to the dreamless.

***

I woke to morning sunshine streaming benevolently through the window. The room appeared to be empty of any occupants but self, and Terrence's bed was neatly made. He must have already risen and biffed off to do whatever it was that he did in this house. I stretched leisurely, oddly refreshed for such an early hour. I felt rather satisfied and languorous as well, and began humming a sprightly tune. The s. t. was abruptly cut off when I shifted position a bit and felt an unusual wet stickiness in my pyjamas. I immediately blushed, although there was no one there to observe me. This was dashed embarrassing, and hadn't happened to me since I'd been a pimple-faced lad of about sixteen. I cast my thoughts back and tried to remember the subject of my dream, but all I could recall was a vague impression of dark, glossy hair beneath my fingers and a set of nicely arranged features. I certainly hoped that I wasn't developing a tendre for Pauline Stoker! Not that she wasn't a pippin, but Chuffy was welcome to her and her thug of a father - I had no desire to be hitched to the girl. I gave a shudder at the thought and hastily took myself out of bed to go wash up.

After I'd made myself presentable - rather difficult to do without Jeeves's help - I toddled over to the main part of the house. I wasn't sure whether I ought to stop in at the kitchen and bring him coffee or tea or something to eat, and perhaps something for myself as well, since I hadn't had my usual morning tray and was feeling rather hollow round the middle, but in the end I decided that I didn't have the internal fortitude to face the disapproving kitchen staff this early in the morning and I went straight to Jeeves's chambers. I was still turning over in my mind the question of love, and wanting to discuss the matter with Jeeves, so I was disappointed to find that his room was quite vacant.

Feeling a bit at a loss, I wandered downstairs, where I ran into Larky. ‘What-ho, old chap,’ I said.

‘Hello, B- er, Harris,’ he replied. I was somewhat relieved to know that I wasn't the only one having difficulty with this switched-identity gag. I lowered my voice and spoke to him confidentially.

‘I say, have you seen Jeeves? I've got rather an urgent matter I need to discuss with him.’

‘Oh, yes, he was up at the break of dawn to go out fishing. My uncle lent him some gear. The pond's about a half a mile from here.’

I legged it outside and had a pleasant walk over to the fishing hole. I found Jeeves reclining in a chair, dangling his line in the water, looking at peace with all of nature, except, one supposes, any unfortunate finned creature who happened to bite on his hook.

When he saw me approaching he rose respectfully. ‘Good morning, sir. Do you require my services?’ he asked. The words were nearly the same the ones he had used the last time I'd seen him, and I had a sudden mental picture of how he had looked at that moment - in a state of near-undress, hair disarrayed, skin glistening - and I flushed. With some difficulty, I pulled my thoughts back to the subj. at hand.

‘Good morning, Jeeves. Er, well, as a matter of fact, there's something that I wanted to discuss with you.’

He looked at me with solicitous attention, every inch the impeccable manservant. I came within a toucher of changing my mind about asking him, fearing it would offend his sense of propriety, but this was too important to lose my nerve. I steeled myself and plunged ahead.

‘I, er, that is, well, something that Roberts fellow said last night got me thinking.’

‘Indeed, sir?’

‘Yes. He made me realize that I, well, I love you, Jeeves.’

The most extraordinary thing happened to Jeeves's face. His normal stuffed-frog expression disappeared; a whole panoply of emotions shot across his map, there and gone before I could even identify them. Then he closed his eyes and when he opened them, they seemed to be shining with a strange light. His words, however, were oddly toneless.

‘You - love me, sir?’

I was a bit put out at this. I hadn't stuttered, after all, and the words were quite simple; surely an intelligent chap such as Jeeves could understand them. ‘Well, yes, Jeeves. After all, I've often told you that you're like a mother to me, or an uncle, and well, you're more family to me than most of the infernal blisters who share my blood.’

A change came over his features - I thought I glimpsed something like deep sadness, then it was gone, and the impassive stuffed-frog expression was back in place.

‘Have I said something wrong, Jeeves?’ I hadn't meant to upset the fellow. Now I was concerned - was my love a terrible burden? Perhaps now Jeeves felt an unwanted obligation to me because of my blundering declaration.

‘No, sir, you have said nothing wrong,’ he replied, but he didn't look at me when he said it, and he sounded awfully distant. I had planned on asking Jeeves whether he loved me as well, but suddenly the words stuck in my throat and I couldn't voice the question - the very subj. seemed to be painful to him, and I didn't want to put him in an awkward spot. Perhaps... perhaps he didn't care for me at all, and that was why he seemed so distressed by this topic.

‘Well, Jeeves, I'll leave you to your fishing. I just... thought you should know, that's all,’ I finished dejectedly.

The walk back to the house seemed much longer than the walk out had been, and I trooped moodily through the front door, ignoring the scandalised glare of the butler, back through the house, and into the room I was sharing with Terrence. I felt the urge to give the blighter a piece of my mind, but luckily for him, he wasn't there. I fell onto my bed and closed my eyes, wanting nothing more than for this day to be over. I must have dozed off, because I awoke to a hand shaking my shoulder.

I opened my eyes to find Terrence looming above me. ‘Oh, it's you,’ I said.

‘Paul, what are you doing? It's the middle of the afternoon! Shouldn't you be with your gentleman?’

I glared at him. ‘Yes, well, thanks to you, he no longer desires my company.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, after we talked last night, I - well, I told him that I loved him. It made him dreadfully unhappy and he clammed up like a stuffed frog and it was awkward and awful and now here I am and I know you meant well but it's your fault, you know, old chap.’ I brought my confused explanation to a halt.

He sat on the bed next to me and was silent for a time. ‘I... I'm not sure what to say, Paul,’ he said in a subdued sort of way. ‘I'm awfully sorry. I could have sworn... but, well, I seem to have blundered.’

The fellow looked so remorseful that I couldn't bear to rub it in any further. ‘Yes, well, you were only trying to help,’ I said miserably.

‘Let me make it up to you,’ he said with a goodish amount of throb in his voice.

‘Er, what did you have in mind?’ I asked somewhat suspiciously. I didn't need any more of his schemes, which seemed to have the tendency to go hideously awry, much as my own sometimes have an unfortunate way of doing.

He gazed at me with melting eyes in a way that was deuced familiar... if only I could place it. He rested his hand in an uncomfortably chummy sort of way on my leg, causing me to start a bit. I gave him a puzzled look.

‘Oh, just some innocent fun,’ he said. ‘Or perhaps not so innocent, but still fun.’ And with that, he moved the hand that was resting on the Wooster leg to a portion of the Wooster corpus which cannot be mentioned in polite society.

I let out a yelp and scrambled out from under his hand, ending up wedged against the wall, with Roberts moving towards me with intent in his eyes. Suddenly I recognized that look - it was usually plastered on the face of some dratted beazel who had decided that Bertram was everything she had always wanted in a mate.

‘It doesn't have to mean anything. We could just have a good time,’ he cajoled.

‘A good time?’ I bleated. ‘I rather think that, well, I don't think - ‘

‘I know you're not over him, and I'm not trying to take his place,’ he said, inching closer.

‘Take whose place?’ I asked somewhat desperately, flattening myself further against the wall.

‘You don't need to pretend with me, Paul,’ he said. ‘I know you still love him, even if he doesn't love you in return. It's all right. I'm not asking for your heart, just your - ‘

‘I say!’ His hand had once again descended, and this time I propelled myself past him, off the bed, and right across the room to the door. In fact, I was out of the house and into the gardens before I finally stopped for breath. I was feeling rather unsteady on my pins, and I sank gratefully onto a handily placed bench, conveniently located in a small, secluded nook.

It was beginning to dawn upon me that there had been some sort of colossal misunderstanding. The Roberts cove apparently felt about yours truly the way that Madeline Bassett, Florence Craye, and a whole host of other females had professed to feel about Bertram Wooster - that is, a sentiment deeper and warmer than ordinary friendship. But the fellow was, well, a fellow - I had never heard of such a thing!

Although... now that I came to think of it, there had been a few birds at school who had been rather cosy with one another. In fact, one time I had walked into Bingo Little's room and found him wrestling Boko Fittleworth on the bed. I had thought it deuced odd at the time, and had asked them why they couldn't just work out their differences like gentlemen, then I'd shaken my head and left the room. Now, in retrospect, their actions took on an entirely different - and altogether less adversarial - complexion.

Thinking back on my conversations with Roberts, it appeared he had assumed that Jeeves and I shared such an understanding. I wondered what on earth could have led him to that conclusion. After all, there had never been anything even slightly improper in the way that Jeeves behaved towards me. And he hadn't attempted anything at all, er, amatory when I had told him that I loved him -

Good lord, what an ass I had made of myself! I wondered if Jeeves had thought I meant, well, that I loved him in the Bingo-Boko sense of the word.

Well, don't you? a small, quiet voice seemed to ask.

I looked around wildly, but there was no one there. This was getting dashed serious - now I was hearing voices! Still, the s. q. v. had posed a reasonable question, and it deserved an answer. I mulled it over, picturing Jeeves, the quietly dignified expression and bearing, the perfectly pressed vestments - I fleetingly thought of him again in that towel and wondered how he'd look without it - the unfailing loyalty and devotion, the astounding fish-fed brain, the finely chiselled features, and I wondered how anyone could not love the man.

I felt an utter imbecile. I had apparently developed a passionate attachment to my valet, and I hadn't even noticed. I had even confessed my love to him before I understood what I actually meant. It didn't matter, though; clearly he didn't return my feelings. Jeeves was the only person I had ever truly loved - and I knew somehow that he was the only person I ever would love - and he didn't love me at all; in fact, the mere existence of my affection caused him deep pain. How could it not? Why would anyone, much less a marvel like Jeeves, want to be loved by a bumbling half-wit such as myself? I closed my eyes, and a whimper escaped my lips. I felt a lump in my throat the size of a smallish island, and I tried to swallow it down, but it didn't want to go.

Just then, I heard a familiar restrained cough. ‘Are you quite all right, sir?’

My eyes flew open, and I quickly scrubbed away the suspicious dampness that had gathered there. I must have looked a fright - red-eyed, hair and clothing rumpled from my nap and subsequent flight across the grounds - because Jeeves was eyeing me with concern.

‘Oh, yes, Jeeves, fine,’ I said with forced heartiness.

‘If I may make the observation, sir, you appear to be somewhat distressed. You have also been absent for several hours. Is something amiss?’

‘Oh, well, I've just been thinking, Jeeves. I was in my bedroom before, having a bit of a lie-down, but I had to get out of there - that Roberts fellow - he, well, he...’ I trailed off, unsure of what to say. I wasn't looking at Jeeves, so I was unprepared for what happened next.

In a fraction of an instant, Jeeves was gripping my shoulders, his face only inches from mine. ‘What did he do to you, sir?’ he asked in a tone of deadly calm that I had never heard from him before. I'd never seen anything like the look in his eyes, either - he looked as if he could wrestle a grizzly bear to the ground without breaking a sweat and then go back for all of its aunts, uncles, and cousins as well. The look wasn't directed at me, you understand, but I wouldn't have put odds on Terrence surviving the hour unless I spoke up forthwith.

‘Oh, nothing, nothing,’ I said hastily. ‘That is, he, well, he, er, expressed an interest in the Wooster person.’ Jeeves's face darkened even further, and I hurriedly continued. ‘But nothing happened! I, er, well, I rather fled, and ended up out here,’ I concluded lamely.

He searched my eyes for a moment longer and then, seemingly satisfied by whatever he found, he released my shoulders - a bit reluctantly, it seemed to me. He straightened and said, ‘Very well, sir. Are you certain that you are well?’

‘Well, no, Jeeves, to tell the truth, I'm not well, but it's got nothing to do with that Roberts fellow,’ I said, remembering the thoughts that had brought me so low, and feeling the old despair creep over me. ‘I expect you'll be wanting to find a new place. You needn't worry; I'll write you an excellent letter of reference.’

‘Find a new place, sir? Why should I wish to do that?’

I looked at my shoes - they were perfectly polished, as always. My chin trembled slightly at the thought that Jeeves would never again polish my shoes. ‘Jeeves, I made a blasted fool of myself this morning, and obviously my words upset you, so I thought that, well, you wouldn't want to stay on with me. I understand completely, Jeeves.’ I closed my eyes again as they threatened to spill over with rather unmanly moisture.

I heard him heave a small sigh, and then the bench creaked as he sat down beside me. ‘No, sir, I don't believe that you do,’ he said quietly. ‘I wish to apologize for my conduct this morning. Your words... took me by surprise, but they were not unwelcome, sir. Far from it, in fact.’

I felt a faint stirring of hope. ‘But then why did you look so bally sad, Jeeves?’

‘If you will recall, sir, it was not your expression of affection which caused the emotion to which you refer. It was, rather, the words of explanation which followed it.’

I felt somewhat bewildered - I wasn't in the mood for riddles, and I wished that Jeeves would just speak plainly. But this was important, and so I resolutely cast my mind back to the morning's uncomfortable interchange. I had told him that I loved him, and he had looked... well, now that I thought about it, he hadn't looked sad at all. He had looked... hopeful. As if he were a young lad again, about to be given a Christmas gift that he had always wished for but never quite imagined he would actually receive. What had I said next? I wrinkled the brow in thought. I had said... something about Jeeves being like a mother to me, or an uncle. Why on earth had I said such a thing? That wasn't how I felt at all! It had caused Jeeves to look as if that corking Yuletide treasure had been cruelly snatched away and replaced with a pair of woollen socks - still a serviceable gift, but not exactly the stuff of a boy's dreams.

Suddenly an idea burst upon me - the brightest, happiest, most smashingly brilliant thought to ever cross the Wooster bean. It seemed quite too good to be true, but perhaps... perhaps Jeeves did love me! Perhaps, in fact, he loved me in the same way that I had only just twigged that I loved him. Perhaps that was what caused his sadness when I compared him to an aged relation. The idea was jolly well incredible, but it seemed to fit the facts of the case.

The result of these cogitations brought to mind the old wheeze about being blinded by the light, and I realized that I was blinded because my eyes were still shut. I hurriedly opened them, and turned to look at Jeeves, still on the bench beside me. He was watching me silently, and I could see that it was up to me to undo my earlier bloomer. There was some risk involved in wading back into these deep waters, but the prospect of having Jeeves's love was worth any amount of danger. I screwed the Wooster courage to the sticking place, if that's how the gag goes - never made much sense to me; courage isn't sticky, after all, not like lemon-drops or ginger-beer. In any case, I screwed up the old courage and ventured forth.

‘Jeeves, when I told you how I felt about you this morning, I'm afraid I misspoke,’ I began.

‘Indeed, sir?’ he said, and his eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch. His face was still carefully blank.

‘Yes, Jeeves,’ I said firmly. ‘I do love you, you understand, but those feelings in no way resemble any sort of familial bond. I fancy, in fact, that my emotions toward you are, ah, rather more romantic in nature, and they seem to be accompanied by certain, er, improper thoughts, largely centring around the sight of you in a bath towel.’

At the conclusion of this speech, Jeeves bestowed upon me a look of such undisguised ardour that my heart nearly pounded itself right out from between my ribs. If we had been in a film, this would have been the bit where the music swells and a passionate kiss ensues. Although there were no violinists about, the p. k. was still a distinct, and quite appealing, possibility, at least until Gerald Larkmeade came bursting into the scene, spoiling the mood entirely.

‘Ah, there you are, Devin,’ he panted, rather red-faced and out of breath. ‘I've been looking for you.’ Then he noticed me, and he squinted at me disdainfully for a moment before turning back to Jeeves.

‘Has your valet been crying?’ he asked incredulously.

‘He became lost in the gardens and was most upset. It happens not infrequently, I'm afraid,’ Jeeves said smoothly.

‘You really are a sterling fellow,’ Gerald replied obsequiously. ‘That man of yours would try the patience of a saint.’ I bristled at this, but Jeeves shot me a warning glance and I reluctantly subsided.

‘Very true,’ Jeeves said, turning once more to Gerald. ‘However, he has many fine qualities, not least of which are his open, honest nature and his kind heart.’ I thrilled to hear these words, and a rather soppy smile spread itself across the Wooster dial.

‘Well, you know best, of course,’ Larkmeade said doubtfully. ‘Anyway, what I've come to tell you is that a dear old friend of mine is coming to visit, a lady from your own country. I haven't seen her in many years - since before her marriage, in fact. She was quite a spirited girl, was young Agatha Wooster.’

Jeeves and I shared a look, and I knew instantly that we were of the same mind. Skinflint uncles and overly amorous servants were one thing, or rather two things, but when my fire-breathing Aunt A. hove into view, it was time to execute a strategic withdrawal to our cosy digs in the metrop.

‘When will the lady be arriving?’ Jeeves asked.

‘I should think in no more than two or three hours,’ he said. I gulped.

‘Oh dear, this is most unfortunate,’ said Jeeves sombrely.

‘My dear fellow, what is it?’ asked Larkmeade.

‘Harris was attempting to find me because I have just received an urgent communication from my publisher in New York that my presence is required in the city. I'm afraid some difficulty has arisen with my latest manuscript and I must leave with all due haste. I apologize most profusely, Gerald.’

Old Larkmeade looked dreadfully disappointed, but he rallied gamely. ‘Ah, well, such is the life of an author, I suppose. It can't all be autographs and high-society balls, can it?’

‘Indeed not,’ Jeeves replied. ‘On the subject of high-society balls, I have been meaning to speak with you about your nephew. I do apologize for my forthrightness; however, I have noticed that Abelard seems not to have sufficient funds to dress in an appropriate manner at the many social events that we must attend, or to live in a desirable part of the city. I do wish that I could increase his salary; however, the royalties I earn are not large, and I must support Harris as well as myself. I hate to impose in such a way, but if you could see your way clear to increasing his quarterly allowance...’ Jeeves trailed off delicately.

‘Say no more,’ Larkmeade declared. ‘Consider it done. I'll double it - triple it!’ he amended when Jeeves cleared his throat. I myself was well aware of the persuasive power of the Jeevesian throat-clear, and evidently old Gerald wasn't immune either.

‘You are exceedingly generous,’ Jeeves said. ‘And now, I'm afraid, I must supervise Harris's packing. I have greatly enjoyed your hospitality, Gerald.’

With that, I found myself whisked off to the house with Jeeves, and in a trice he was packed and ready to go. I had to venture back to Terrence's bedroom to retrieve my belongings, and when I poked my head in, he looked up from the book he was reading and broke into a rather rueful smile.

‘All's well that ends well, eh?’ he said.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I can tell by the look on your face that all is well with your gentleman once again. I take it he does return your feelings after all?’

I blushed and began stammering. ‘Oh, ah, well, that is to say, er, I suppose...’

He chuckled. ‘He really is lucky, you know. Your loyalty to him is touching, and you blush so fetchingly as well.’

‘Oh, well, thanks, old bean,’ I said, blushing even harder. ‘I'll just be getting my things; we're going home a bit earlier than expected.’

‘Enjoy yourselves,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we'll see more of each other someday.’ And with that, he gave another of his winks and went back to his novel.

***

The ride back to the city was torturous. Larky was practically bursting with gratitude and glee at the success of the scheme and his newly increased allowance. I was happy for the fellow, but I rather urgently wanted to be alone with my valet, and the most I could do was sneak glances at him. Jeeves was the very epito-whatsit of decorum, but when Larky wasn't looking, he shot me a few heated looks of his own, while flexing his gloved fingers on the steering wheel in a most distracting manner. I'm afraid we barely contributed to the conversation, but luckily Larky was fully capable of maintaining a constant stream of chatter all on his own.

Finally we bunged the chap and his things back into his apartment, and then Jeeves was steering me out of the lift and into our own flat, depositing the luggage as softly as he would a basket of eggs. No easy feat, that. I know.

Just as I was beginning to feel a touch awkward, wondering how to get back around to one of those music-swelling and passionate-kiss moments, Jeeves resolved my quandary by taking matters into his own hands. Or, well, by taking me into his own hands, that is. I suddenly found myself encircled by Jeeves's strong arms, staring into his deep blue eyes. I wound my own arms round his neck and sighed happily. This time there were no blasted Larkmeades to interfere, and as Jeeves lowered his mouth to mine, I could practically hear the violins.

The first touch of his lips to mine was soft, almost tentative. I hadn't been quite certain of what to expect from Jeeves's kiss, but it was bally well perfect, just like Jeeves himself. I pressed up against him eagerly, wanting more contact, and he tightened his arms around me, pulling the young master flush with his own body. He kissed me again, this time with more vigour, and I moaned appreciatively. Then his tongue got into the act and matters instantly became much more heated. As his tongue stroked along my own, I thought vaguely that I had never known that anything could feel so corking.

Then he began rubbing himself against me in a way that felt even more corking, and all rational thought was lost. When I next had enough wit to look around, I found that we were in the master bedroom. I wasn't entirely certain how that had happened, but I wasn't about to object. In the time that it took this thought to zoom through the old coconut, I found myself lying on the bed, with Jeeves on top of me. Somewhere along the way we'd lost our shoes and jackets, but the rest of our clothing was still intact. It would take too much time to do anything about that now, and I wanted to get back to that awfully pleasant rubbing thing we'd been doing earlier. Apparently Jeeves felt the same way, because he was pressing his fully clad body against mine, causing the most delightful sensation of friction. His arms were braced on either side of me, and as he leaned in for another kiss, I finally got the chance to run the Wooster digits through that captivatingly glossy hair of his. It felt just as topping as it had in my dream... good lord! Suddenly I remembered the sequence of events of that rather risqué dream that I'd had at The Maples - it had involved Jeeves and self, in just the positions we were in now, but with a dashed sight less clothing. I'd been combing through his dark locks with my fingers, and he'd been staring into my eyes as he pressed our nether regions together, just as he was doing now. The remembrance, combined with the reality, caused a flood of excitement that was bally well overwhelming and suddenly I realized that I'd better warn Jeeves.

‘Jeeves!’ I gasped. ‘I'm going to - ‘

‘Yes, sir,’ he breathed as he dexterously unfastened my trousers and pulled me free of my undergarments. At the first touch of his hand, I released explosively, throwing my head back and squeezing my eyes shut as a strangled ‘Jeeves!’ escaped from my throat. He held me in his arms as I shook in the aftermath, murmuring soothingly in my ear. I was far too blissfully dazed to make out what he was saying, but I suspect it was more of that Brennan-whatsit fellow's not-poetry, and I found I didn't mind it so much this time.

Some indeterminate quantity of time later, I floated back to earth enough to notice that I had been stripped of my garments and that Jeeves's arms were no longer around me. I was rather new to this intimacy thingummy, but I had the sinking feeling that it was meant to last a bit longer than it had, and involve more than one simple touch. Apparently I was as hopeless a bungler at this as I was at the valeting wheeze - I must have been an awful disappointment to Jeeves. I opened my eyes and turned to him to apologize, but what I saw stopped the words in my throat, my mouth still hanging open.

Jeeves was completely nude, apparently having discarded his own apparel along with mine. He looked just as appealing as I remembered, bringing to mind the old saw about not hiding one's light under a bushel - Jeeves had certainly not been heeding that advice, and it seemed to me that he had been quite unfairly hoarding his considerable luminescence. He was lying on his side facing me, his head propped up with one hand. With the other hand, he was stroking himself deliberately as his eyes travelled up and down the Wooster frame. His complexion was ruddy, and his breathing somewhat laboured. When his eyes met mine and he saw me watching him, his hand stilled and he let out a low groan.

‘May I...?’ I asked uncertainly.

‘Please do, sir,’ he said, moving his hand. I studied his length for a moment - it was similar to my own, and yet not the same - it was fascinatingly large, just for a start. I hesitantly reached out and touched it, causing Jeeves to let out a hiss like air escaping from a tyre. I snatched back my hand immediately.

‘Did I hurt you, Jeeves?’ I asked with alarm.

‘Not at all, sir,’ he reassured.

I reached out and touched him again, this time stroking the tips of my fingers up and around him. The skin there was delightfully soft, and yet the flesh underneath was impressively firm. Jeeves was watching my explorations intently, still breathing heavily. I noticed that a drop of moisture had appeared at his tip, and I brushed it away with my index finger, then, feeling a bit curious, I brought that digit to my mouth and licked away the drop - it tasted pleasantly tart. Jeeves let out another of those deep groans and closed his eyes momentarily while clenching his hand into a fist at his side. I felt a thrill of pride that I could so easily wring such a reaction from my manservant.

Then I noticed that his hips were thrusting forward minutely, and I realized that he was surely rather desperate for his own release by this time. I didn't want to prolong his suffering, so I grasped him firmly in my hand and began stroking up and down in the manner that I had occasionally employed on myself. I had always found it a dashed agreeable sensation, and apparently Jeeves enjoyed it as well, because he moaned in an encouraging manner and increased the movement of his hips. The angle was different than I was accustomed to, and it was a touch awkward, but worth it to see the expression on Jeeves's finely chiselled features. Then I remembered the last time I'd seen that e. on his f. c. f.'s, and on a sudden whim, I increased the speed and pressure of my hand just a bit, leaned in, and, locking my eyes with his, said in a low voice, ‘How does that feel... sir?’

With that, he gave a wordless shout and surged forward, throbbing in my hand as he spattered us both liberally with the unmistakable evidence of his pleasure. I was somewhat gratified that my normally immaculate valet had made an even larger mess than I had done just a few moments ago. He pulled me to him forcefully and I willingly yielded, wrapping my arms around his bare torso as he drew me in for another of his thrilling kisses.

Eventually, our rather inconvenient need for oxygen overcame our need to continue exploring one another's mouths, and I settled contentedly into his arms, my head resting on his chest, listening to the thumping of his heart as he combed his fingers through my hair. It seemed that I wasn't the only one with a fascination for the other's coiffure.

Now that the urgency of the situation had passed, there was something I'd been meaning to discuss with Jeeves since I'd made my confession to him, before old Larkmeade had come bursting upon us.

‘You do love me, don't you, Jeeves?’

‘Of course I love you, sir,’ he said, sounding somewhat affronted at the mere suggestion that there could be a contrary answer.

‘And I suppose... it's the forever kind of love? You're not going to biff off and leave me alone, are you?’ I queried with some trepidation.

‘Never, sir,’ he said seriously. I sighed happily.

‘How long have you been in love with me, Jeeves?’

‘Since shortly after I entered your employ, sir.’

‘I rather fancy that I've loved you for an equally long time, only I didn't tumble to it until just recently. I'm sorry I was such a dunce, Jeeves. I don't suppose you... knew how I felt?’

‘I had suspected it, yes, sir, but it was clear to me that you were not aware of your own feelings in the matter.’

‘Why on earth didn't you just slosh me on the head with some handy obj. to knock a bit of sense into me?’

‘It would not have been proper, sir,’ he said severely. ‘I will confess, however, that I entertained the hope that our recent reversal of roles would prompt an awakening of sorts on your part. I will further admit that such hope was one of the reasons I suggested the plan.’

‘Jeeves, you are one in a million. You must have been full to the brim with fish when you thought up that scheme; it truly was one of your best efforts to date. Why, just look at how splendidly things have turned out for all concerned - even old Larkmeade got to spend a weekend in the company of a man he supposed to be his favourite writer - ‘

I broke off as a sudden, highly unwelcome thought hit me with the force of a thunderbolt. ‘Great Scott, Jeeves!’

He looked at me with concern. ‘Sir?’

‘My Aunt Agatha! Well, you heard old Larkmeade - she's here, in America! As soon as she's finished sucking all the joy out of The Maples and its surrounding environs, she'll be moving on to suck the joy out of our own environs. I have no desire to face the blasted nephew-crusher. I don't suppose you could come up with some scheme to get rid of her?’

‘I believe, sir, that the simplest method of handling the threat will be to absent ourselves from the area.’

‘Jeeves, you never fail. I don't suppose there's any location that's equally free of both overbearing aunts and chums wanting favours, is there?’

‘If you will recall, sir, some time ago I proposed a visit to the American West. I believe that such a trip will render you safe from the importunities of both friends and relations.’

‘Ah, and you'll have the opportunity to get in a bit of fly-fishing, eh, Jeeves?’

‘The thought had occurred to me, sir.’

‘Well, it's as good a place as any to make our escape. I've always wanted to see San Francisco, Jeeves - I think we should add that to the itinerary as well.’

‘That would be most enjoyable, sir.’

‘Jolly good. Er, on this trip, I imagine we'll be able to conduct further, ah, mutually agreeable explorations?’ I asked hopefully.

‘Indeed, sir,’ he said with a slight quirk of the left side of that delectable mouth, bringing an end to the conversation as I applied my lips to said d. m.

We suited word to deed, and before the dreaded Aunt A. could darken our doorstep, we had skipped town, as I believe the phrase has it, leaving no forwarding address. I had anticipated a quiet, peaceful sojourn out West, but of course things never seem to turn out that way for old Bertram. Instead, Jeeves and I faced our most gripping affair yet, when... but that's a story for another day, what?