Mr Wooster's Memoir
Mr Wooster does not write: he scrawls. Few people take the time to interpret my employer's scrawl beside Mr Wooster and myself. Since my employer's publisher prefers to receive typed manuscripts rather than handwritten ones, typing Mr Wooster's memoirs has become one of my duties as his valet. It is one of the more enjoyable duties required of me in Mr Wooster's employ. Quite frequently, my employer's written words have brought to mind my own memories of the events he was relating. Many of those memories are pleasant to recall and I have spent many agreeable hours typing my employer's memoirs.
After observing Mr Wooster spend an hour typing an entire page of his writing, I offered to do the typing for him and he accepted my offer gratefully. My employer's memoirs are typed more quickly this way and I truly enjoy typing them for him. It has reached the point where Mr Wooster doesn't need to request that I type his memoirs. He simply leaves the pages he has written by our typewriter, wherever it happens to be located, and, when I have the time, I type the words for him.
One morning, having found myself with very little to do and several hours until I needed to begin preparing Mr Wooster's lunch, I sat down to type his latest memoir. In the middle of the story, when my employer had found it necessary to continue on another sheet of paper, I was surprised to find that the story Mr Wooster had been relating did not continue immediately on the next page. Instead, a new thought started altogether: his need, or lack thereof, for a wife. On this page, my employer clearly indicated that he has no plans to marry at all and, in fact, is in love with someone else already: namely, myself.
At this point in my narrative, I must confess that my feelings for my employer have, for some time, been of the warmest and deepest affection one person can feel for another. In short, I love Mr Wooster. I cannot say for certain when my regard for my employer grew beyond what is socially acceptable between a valet and his gentleman, or even between two men. I can only state that I fully realized the depth and breadth of my feelings when Mr Wooster caught influenza and I spent much of my time by his bed while he slept.
Though it pained me to do so, I attempted to leave Mr Wooster's service once shortly after I came to the revelation I mentioned above. I claimed it was the trombone playing, but it was really the fact that I hoped removing myself from Mr Wooster's presence would cause my warm feelings for him to cool and dissipate. However, I found myself missing him more than I thought I would and was extremely pleased to return to Mr Wooster's employment in the end. Never again have I attempted to leave it, but neither have I acted on my feelings for him, because he is my employer. I do not wish to risk losing my employment with him by declaring my feelings and having them rejected. I have contented myself with performing my duties as Mr Wooster's valet to the best of my abilities and preventing his marriage to any of the numerous women who find my employer to be a favourable matrimonial prospect.
As I was still absorbing the revelation that my feelings for my employer were, in fact, requited, the object of my feelings entered the kitchen, anxiety in the blue eyes that figured so prominently in my dreams. "Ah, Jeeves, there you are. Oh, ah, you already started typing that new bit?"
"Yes, sir." I had turned from the typewriter and risen to my feet when Mr Wooster appeared, prompting his inquiry.
His eyes dropped to the papers I was still holding in my hands and a slight frown furrowed his expressive brow. "I say, Jeeves, are your hands shaking?"
I glanced down and saw that the papers were shaking like leaves in a strong wind. "It would seem so, sir."
"May one ask why?"
"This particular page of your memoir was most...illuminating, sir." I extracted the page containing Mr Wooster's thoughts regarding his feelings for me.
"Which page?" Mr Wooster plucked the paper from my grasp and blanched when he realized which one it was. "You read this, Jeeves?"
"I did, sir."
When he looked at me, fear had appeared in the extraordinary blue of his eyes. "Will you be giving notice?"
"No, sir."
"No?" Relief and hope replaced the fear in his eyes. "You are not offended?"
"Far from it, sir," I assured him, allowing the feelings I had kept buried to show in my gaze.
"Far from it? You mean--"
"Yes, sir. I have long been in love with you."
Mr Wooster gazed at me for several moments, joy and delight dawning on his features. Finally, he flung his arms around my neck and proceeded to kiss me. I gladly enfolded him in my arms and reciprocated the sentiment.
End