Chapter Text
It is always hard to pinpoint the exact moment or occasion that causes a person to change when nothing in their environment or private circle has undergone slightest alteration.
The same waking time, same breakfast, same hours at the Drones, same discussions of the evening garments, same visits to family members and same troubles which come from friends and said family. The style of this otherwise quiet life, only occasionally animated by little adventures, had remained precisely one and the same, and yet, alas.
Be it due to the close association with the gentleman or to the excellent understanding of the psychology of the individual, or perhaps it was plainly because of the attentiveness which high-standard valets are required to possess, it was, in any case, Jeeves, who had first become aware of the increasingly odd behavior of his gentleman. It was in Mr Wooster’s eyes, always so carefree and, it must be admitted, belying his mentally negligible nature, that the fire of his characteristical cheerfulness had begun to die down. Though certainly, one must not be alarmed right away — it was autumn, after all, the very beginning of September which opens way to the months famous for their distinct inclination towards melancholy; everyone tends to be a trifle more pensive this time of year. And Mr Wooster, in turn, is known for not remaining bad-tempered for more than a week.
Yet that week passed, and so did another, and the one after it, and the symptoms on the young man had only worsened. The same waking time, yet less welcome for the coming day, same breakfast, yet not finished, same hours at the Drones, yet no signs of uplifted spirits that the club sessions always brought upon him.
The worst of it was, he wouldn’t talk.
“Will you dine in, sir?” “No, Jeeves, I’ll dine out. You may take the evening off.”
“I trust you had a pleasant stay at Mr Little’s, sir?” “Yes, thank you, Jeeves.”
“Will you dine in, sir?” “No, I’ll dine out today.”
“There are three telegrams for you, sir.” “Thank you, Jeeves. If they imply the need of your assistance, feel free to respond in my name.”
“Will you dine in, sir?” “No, I’ll dine out.”
“I’ll dine out.” “I’ll dine out.”
I’ll dine out…
For the first time in all the years of their relationship, Jeeves had found himself asking for conversation. Not directly, of course, but even so the amount of remarks intended to nudge the gentleman into usual chit-chat stood out, so unlike the habitually reserved valet who hadn’t ever any need for anything of the sort due to Mr Wooster’s loquacious nature.
But after another couple of weeks, even those had lost their effect. One-word replies with Jeeves’ name attached to them, they inevitably called to mind a comparison between himself and Mr Wooster which would have been humorous in any other circumstances.
“Are you ill, sir?”
He didn’t look back at him when he asked, and the question hung in the air for some disconcerting couple of moments before the man replied: “No, Jeeves.”
And that was the only time Jeeves asked. It would be taking liberty to address the matter directly.
His voice was the last to change, the merriness and lightness clinging to it, it now seemed, merely by virtue of habit, but eventually, only remnants of the jolly self that the gentleman had always displayed remained. It stung the heart to hear him speak at home, stung to hear the nonchalant tone coming up only as a means of politeness. Indeed, Mr Wooster appeared only slightly less merry in public than the demeanor one was acquainted with, so it was unsurprising that most of his surroundings hadn’t taken notice.
Although the exceptions, thankfully, did not constitute solely of Jeeves.
“Good morning, sir.”
“Good morning, Jeeves.”
Truly a queer scene. Anyone knowing Mr Wooster would assume that the two of them had a quarrel recently, but that was not the case. On the contrary, the young man had shown rather stunning acceptance of his valet’s corrections regarding his appearance, although Jeeves had quickly grown to suspect it not to be approval but mere absence of the opposite.
“Was that the telephone I heard just now?”
“Yes, sir, that was Mrs Travers. She expressed a desire for you to return the call at your earliest convenience.”
“Right.”
Breakfasts went mutely nowadays, and it was in fact so silent in the flat as of late that Jeeves could hear the quiet sigh that the gentleman let out before picking up the receiver.
“...What-ho, Aunt Dahlia. Jeeves said you wanted to speak to me… I see. Right. I’ll get to it right away. Quite. I understand… Pardon? No, everything’s jolly good, of course, why wouldn’t it be..? Right-ho.”
And there was another sigh after he hung up.
It was a couple of days later that his gentleman could learn more about the matter of that conversation.
“Jeeves,” Mr Wooster said, entering his kitchen.
“Sir?”
“No-no, don’t stand up…” drying cups and plates, Jeeves threw a careful glance at his master who was looking somewhere past the stove before bringing his gaze to him. “There is something I want to ask you to do for me.”
“Anything, sir,” Good heavens.
“Aunt Dahlia called a couple of days ago, she wants me to write another piece for the Boudoir named Country Fashion Of A Gentleman... My attempts have proven to be rather unsuccessful, so I wondered if you could jot down a couple of lines on the topic for me. You know my costumes better than I do.”
“Certainly, sir.”
“Right-ho, Jeeves.”
He was just about to leave when heard a quiet noise — something between clearing one’s throat and trying to subdue a hasty breath.
“If you don’t mind my asking, sir,” said the valet, bringing his young master to halt at the doorway. “What length is required for the article?”
He glanced aside, the slightly furrowed brow suggesting recollection. If the question appeared as unnecessary for him as it did for Jeeves, he didn’t show it, and if there was a barely audible note of desperation in the valet’s voice, the other likely didn’t hear it.
“About the same as What the Well-Dressed Man is Wearing, I suppose, but she made no mention of it.”
There was a pause that, it seemed, only felt a trifle uncomfortable for Jeeves who found himself at loss for other possible inquiries but one and was now gazed at expectantly by the deep blue eyes, deprived of interest.
“Very good, sir. Will you dine in?”
“No, I’ll dine out. Have the evening for yourself.”
“Thank you, sir.”
As the door swung back and forth after the man’s disappearing figure, Jeeves, whose hands kept on drying the dishes in some sort of automatic way, now lowered them slowly on the table and gazed at the white cup broodingly.
Had he not observed the progressive alteration first hand, he would have not recognized his Mr Wooster at all.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
The serene air of Curzon Street comforted with its familiarity. The dinner passed in the most pleasant spirits, and the smoke of cigars quickly filled the room as conversations arose between men of all ages in impeccable evening suits. The company of the equally-minded individuals certainly had its positive impact on one’s frame of mind, yet still, Jeeves’ half-absent involvement did not go unnoticed.
“You’ve spoken little today, Jeeves,” said Mr Langton, one of the oldest valets of the Junior Ganymede Club who sat across the table from the man. “I trust your gentleman’s behaving well?”
“Most satisfactory,” said Jeeves. “Indeed, he heeds more and more of my judgement in garments and seems to seldom fall victim to unfortunate affairs nowadays.”
An approving mutter spread over those who were listening, but the other valet kept an attentive look on the other.
“And yet you do not appear too pleased.”
It was one of the few moments when Jeeves had to steel himself in the otherwise easy company of fellow colleagues.
He glanced down, tipping ashes off his cigar.
“The gentleman appears to be weighted by some disturbance, one which he does not confide in me nor I can ascertain from his environment. No alteration had taken place, not to my knowledge, and yet his demeanor displays… despondency.”
There was a pause from the company.
“Surely, it must be nothing more than a seasonal whim,” someone suggested, and another wave of agreement washed over their half of the table. “We all know how wealthy idle gentlemen are.”
“So I thought, too,” said Jeeves. “However, it seems to last significantly longer than the brief changes of mind I had observed in him before. I had tried suggesting engagements to bring him into brighter spirits, yet he declined them. In fact… He appears to refuse more of the habitual arrangements that used to fill his schedule. I confess that I am worried for his well-being.”
His gaze sunk again as the valets and butlers began exchanging wordless glances or slight alarm. The silence that settled attracted the attention of the other half of the table who had grown curious about the sudden stillness.
Mr Langton fixed a meaningful look on Jeeves.
“I must warn you, as a colleague… and as a friend,” he began slowly, and Jeeves looked up. “not to let the circumstances affect you too much. If the gentleman isn’t ill, his affairs do not require your involvement until he says so… I realise that you are young, but do heed my words when I say that not one gentleman, however admirable an employer… and a gentleman, is worth actions that may arouse suspicion. Not one.”
Jeeves did not speak at first, but after a short while, a barely audible sigh came from him.
“Haven’t we duty to look after our gentleman?”
“Not at the cost of freedom.”
It was after another pause, filled with stares from all sides of the table, pitiful and concerned and even sympathetic, that Jeeves replies:
“Certainly. I thank you for your kind advice.”
He saw in the corner of his eye one of the butlers, whose hair was rather white than grey by now, shaking his head slowly.
“You are doubtlessly one of the most intelligent members of the Ganymede, Jeeves,” he said gravely, as the thick cigar smoke was rising in waves between their gazes. “But it was most unwise to continue your service to this gentleman. You should have resigned years ago.”
There were no mutters of agreement this time, but the mute silence expressed exactly the same sentiment.
“Be it as it may,” said Mr Langton. “We can but merely advise, and we only hope you will tread carefully. Should your reputation be destroyed, it would most definitely cast shade on all members.”
“Of course,” said Jeeves, looking back at his colleagues reassuringly. “I quite understand.”