A quick fic I thought up, it's my first Jeeves and Wooster so please be kind (and constructive)
Bertie Wooster doesn't come back the night he cycles to Brinkley Manor, Jeeves seeks him in an ever-worsening panic.
Enjoy xx
The rain poured down the drain pipes, collecting in pools that flooded the ground below, too deep to sink into the already water-logged earth. It was a hell of a storm.
Jeeves silently observed the occupants of Brinkley manor as they laughed at his master's misfortune, a minute smile on his face, too small to see with the untrained eye that spoke pure, self-pleased ecstasy.
However, as the hours whiled away and the minutes dragged on, all thoughts of 'a job well done' were pushed far from our man's mind; his master was not back.
After an insufferably long period of time the opportunity arose for Jeeves to escape the gaieties unnoticed and seek his master, unhindered by the rest of the company, who had mainly fallen into drunken stupors.
First he checked his master's rooms, just in case Wooster had slipped under his radar. "Sir?" hope reared it's head as Jeeves opened the door, he hadn't been watching for half an hour earlier on while he had tried to rustle up some food for the hungry partiers, perhaps his master had come back then?
He MUST have, where else could he be? Nothing could have happened to him! Not Jeeves' poor, absolutely dependent, childlike, master! No way Jose! Especially not if Jeeves were to be responsible! So Wooster must have snuck in, cold, tired and ever so slightly bitter at being tricked, he must have dragged him self upstairs, struggled into his pyjamas, and clambered into the nice warm bed that awaited him. He had almost instantly been lost in a dream so vivid he was now well on the way to recovering from the terrible weather he had been subjected to, and in the morning Jeeves would wake him with an extra large cup of tea and a most sincere apology. All would be forgotten.
No...
Such..
Luck.
Jeeves swallowed, hard, his room, maybe, while searching for his servant the young master had stumbled into a deep slumber in his gentleman's chambers. Jeeves walked through the corridors, his pace slightly quicker than before. Surely he had been foolish to check his master's room, Jeeves' room was on the ground floor, and it was the natural choice for his tired employer in the search for his ever evasive gentleman.
No…
Such..
Luck.
Jeeves grabbed his hat and driving gloves, heading for the car, maybe his master was resting, slumped on some grassy verge nearby? Yes, that made sense, he had grown tired. Cold. A lack of energy had led him to rest and then the terrible rain had, while bouncing off of the canopy of leaves that Jeeves convinced himself must be sheltering his master, lulled him to a soft, if mildly uncomfortable sleep.
The lights electrified the surrounding darkness of the lanes, bringing out the colours of the plants and wildlife in a new shade, one you could only see at night.
Signposts whizzed past, Jeeves was sure his master was not lost; the road seemed easy enough to follow. He looked for his resting employer, sheltered in the hedgerow.
No…
Such..
Luck.
Before Jeeves knew it he had reached Kingham, had he come this far by bicycle? That seemed cruel, Jeeves would apologise for that sorely tomorrow, if he could.. Perhaps his master had stayed here, attracted by the warmth, the Butler would know, he would help Jeeves carry the groggy master to the car, Jeeves would silently swear not to do this again.
No…
Such..
Luck.
The Butler informed Jeeves that yes, he had seen Wooster, yes, Wooster had been tired and No, he had not been invited in.
Jeeves' heart dropped below his stomach and his stomach rose to his throat, he.. had.. not.. been.. invited.. in..
The race home was unbearable, Jeeves stopped at every fence to observe the field for any sign of his master. Why was he always so cruel? He was such a bad servant. He called his master's name, "Mr Wooster? Sir?" it was all to no avail, his master had reached Kingham; his master was not lost, that left, in Jeeves' mind, almost only one other possibility, his chest clenched at the thought.
Back to the car, back to Brinkley manor, faster this time, Jeeves kept his eyes wide, maybe, just maybe..
He stopped in the grounds, something was flashing in the light, down there, beside the river, he was sure of it, something shiny, something.. Metal!
He ran faster than his legs could take him, stumbling as he overbalanced and lurched forward into the sodden ground. No time to hold his hat, he slid down the mud banks on his side, and there, before him, was a sight that shredded his heart, it was a bicycle, THE bicycle, there, by the river, surrounded by marks where Jeeves was sure he could see quite clearly the handprints of his master amongst the disturbed earth, he thought of his masters desperately tired struggle, the search for a grip as he descended into the black wisps of water below, had he thought of his valet? Had he thought Jeeves was to blame? Had he hated him? And the bicycle crouched there, like some pompous, sneering gargoyle on the roof of a ruined church.
He observed it for only a moment, the walls that had held in his last shred of reasoning crumbled to dust, Reginald Jeeves was scared, Reginald Jeeves flew into a wild panic, "Bertie!" he screamed over the rushing waters, " Bertie!" He tried to stand but he couldn't, "Bertie!" he was too tired, "Bertie!" all hope was lost "Bertie!" lost.
"Please.." He whimpered, "Please Bertie, don't die, not now, not before me, not BECAUSE of me."