Jooster 'The Decline and Fall of the Young Master'

A Series. In Differing POVs.

First Letter: "Dear 'Uncle' Seppings". 2,000 words. Rated PG. No warnings.

Epistolary Jooster. Unbeta'd. I write happy endings, peeps; known for it. This tale may take me a bit to whip up but we'll see where it endeth and wendeth eventually, shall we?


11 July 19XX

Dear "Uncle" Seppings,

As my by-blood and esteemed Uncle Charlie Silversmith has recently strongly recommended me, I write to you, my dear sir, in your capacity as mine own Uncle Charlie's dearest boyhood friend and therefore, in your long-held and very kindly provided position as my very own relative-by-courtesy. It is best, as my Uncle Charlie says, to flee to the bosom of family when one finds oneself in a rum pickle.

There has arisen a rather dire situation: the exact 'rum pickle' to which I refer. I find myself quite concerned on behalf of my young master, Mr Bertram Wooster, and would take this occasion to beg of you your kind advice, as you are notably a gentleman of great perspicacity and sagaciousness, especially in the field of the study of human nature. Beyond that prowess but exceptionally pertinent to my circumstances, you possess in your ken a rather all-encompassing knowledge of Mr Wooster's Family, having been in service all these many years to various and sundry of Them.

Although I would normally never stoop to seek third-party counsel on any personal and private matter of Mr Wooster's, preferring to maintain his dignity and sanctity, I find that I am at loss and a standstill and therefore driven to somewhat desperate measures. I am sure you shall understand and abide by my deepest desire to keep this overtly advice-seeking correspondence of mine entirely private and completely obscured from the view of The Family and our fellow Staff.

The situation is this: Mr Wooster has recently found himself all too oft' in the company of his cousins, Masters Claude and Eustace, and Miss Angela, and in addition the rather rapscallion Mr Gussie. Most strangely and abruptly, this peculiar set of highly diverse but blood-related young people has had occasion to gather together repeatedly at various commercial establishments, such as Harrod's, ostensibly to consume tea and 'play at catch-up', or so Mr Wooster jokingly explains it. As if that were not odd enough, Mr Wooster unfailingly returns from these cousinly congregations in a foul and markedly murky mood, which while not entirely inexplicable (see the matter of our previously shared correspondence regarding 'the Family's younger set', subset 'Youth, the difficulty of controlling and guiding', not to mention the tangential but telling notes we have passed as to the 'Youth, the reckless and irresponsible behavior thereof'), is somewhat surprising in my view, given Mr Wooster's nearly unflagging manner of genial positivity. To wit, Mr Wooster generally is impervious to the fits-and-starts of his cohort of relations, excepting brief bouts of situational anxiety, short-lived, particularly evident when I am available to extract him, which is always.

Indeed, Mr Wooster has seemingly come to regard these fits-and-starts as a prolific sort of fodder for his ever-active fountain pen, a habit of which I approve, "Uncle", as perhaps it will provide him the opportunity to cogitate further upon his own self-improvement. Not that I imply, naturally, that Mr Wooster requires any improvement whatsoever to his 'corpus', as he so delightfully refers to Self, but then again, one is always wishful of the future enrichment of one's employer, by means of the Virtues.

But I fear I stray far from the difficulty I very much wished to lay before your discerning eyes, dear "Uncle" Seppings.

It is this. Mr Wooster is, I fear, has entered into a distinct decline, the bluest of funks, and it can be only directly due to these horrid 'teas' he's been attending so assiduously…which I would more succinctly define as 'Agony Aunt' sessions, bourn aloft and awash with lashings of shop-brewed tea, stale bakery goods and a positive raft of youthful low spirits. He is quite taciturn after these cousinly gatherings but I have been given to understand (via both my employer's now-and-again half-references and the sober accounts of several trusted observers, all of my professional acquaintance through auspice of Ganymede), the young relatives congregate solely to speak unto the thorny topic of 'True Love' and the difficulties inherent in attracting such and then, afterwards, retaining it for their very own, well into the misty future.

Now, not to further mince words, "Uncle", but it seems that the sum of these hapless cousins are bound and bent upon comparing notes and stratagems, perhaps with the goal of gaining some insight into their own much muddled situations. There is the case of Miss Angela's on again, off again affianced, Mr Glossop, to serve as a prime example; many a bump in the proverbial road have these two perhaps terribly mis-allied young persons encountered to date. Further, Masters Claude and Eustace appear to have both been struck victim by a singularly potent infatuation for the exact same attractive young person of their own circle of acquaintance (I have, sadly, not yet been able to ascertain the name of this individual, nor the sex). They are currently coping poorly with the darts and arrows of that 'love', all unrequited. This last blow to the young gentlemen is severely complicated a fierce competition between the two young Sirs for the objet d'amour's potential affections, should such exist, which is doubtful. Lastly, Mr Gussie, I believe, is said to be caught up in a wildly ill-judged three-party romantic quandary and has become the butt of a form of what could only be termed as an 'emotional blackmail', and that originating via the other young male involved, who is said to be quite territorial. Sad cases all, as I am sure you will agree.

May I note here that not a one of this pathos-laden lot of (may I say it, dear "Uncle", between us two?) of bleeding young fools has yet to approach me in hopes of resolving their own personal matters, not a one. Let it be known, though, that I find it to be more of a blessed relief than anything else, as it is not they but my very own employer whose precarious emotional state must always be paramount, at least in my view.

For, whilst I am certain Mr Wooster has many a tale to relate on both topics (the attracting and then the retention of 'true love', such as it is), as he has suffered a whole slew of shattered engagements in recent years, on the whole (and this I had apparently erroneously believed), he had concluded most sensibly he was better off without it, this 'love', this ineluctable passion of Soul. There is rested, peaceably, for quite some time. Now, all at once, this situation has taken a distinct turn for the Worse. Nor have I been in any manner made aware he has most very recently ventured into such an inconveniently insalubrious state as 'love', nor was I apprised either by observation or outright confession that he has found himself once again hopelessly embroiled in the awful clutches—nor even been saddled by yet another unnecessary fiancé, courtesy of one of the Elders of the Family.

I fear I digress. If you will please also forgive my shattered grammatical structure, dearest of adoptive uncles, as I relate this sorry tale of mine. My brevity has been sorely tried, you understand? Thus are the untold woes of a devoted manservant. We toil always upward, as Sisyphus.

Mr Wooster is, as I am certain you're well aware, a blithe young man, and of purely sound heart and excellent physique. There is, I am proud to claim, neither a jealous nor self-serving bone existing in his body. If and ever he should have occasion to truly enter into a state of this much-abused and abusive 'love' and have his regard returned sincerely and in equal measure, I would be most highly pleased on his behalf, even if it meant the eventual loss of my own position of valet. But this, dear "Uncle" Seppings, has never once transpired, not in all my five long pleasant years of service to Mr Wooster. On the utter contrary, in every single previous case Mr Wooster's lights 'o love have proven unworthy and specious, and even, in some extreme cases, distinctly dangerous to his good health and best welfare. He has been, may I say, well shed of these flimsy (and occasionally actively 'flim-flamming'!) excuses for a pure and proper Young Womanhood. I've been delighted to provide such small services as I may to enable his ongoing convivial attitude toward this great adventure we mortals call 'Life'.

As well, and also in every case thus far, Mr Wooster has, shall we say, 'bounced back' from his short-term infatuations with the startling exuberant force of a ball comprised of freshly wound-and-bound India rubber, and with no lasting loss suffered to his nearly always over-generously forgiving view of the other gender. He has acted, in short, in a way similar to his own bath companion, the small but impervious yellow duckling, in that any lingering malaise brought on by Love's Losses doth roll off his youthful back-and-shoulders in short order. All my young master's ill-deserved aggravation by way of Cupid's misspent Arrow simply evaporates, in truth. That was the way of it, but alas. No more.

This is not the case now, not at all. He is stricken,my Mr Wooster.

Indeed, Mr Wooster is clearly afflicted, and dreadfully so. It troubles me to a vast degree, "Uncle", that my young master's face is now near perpetually sorrowful in repose, his appetite direly diminished when brought to table and his bon vivant attitude towards his usual pastimes (the Drones and so forth) has turned dim, despondent and lackadaisical. In short, "Uncle", Mr Wooster is off his feed and out-of-sorts, and this quite suddenly.

I fret for his sake, of course, and also I have turned my mind to considering the probable causes.

My suspicions are these: if these cousins are truly gathering to provide themselves a safe venue of discussion in re their own ill-fortuned issues at the hands of Cupid, and if Mr Wooster has been called into attendance merely to be amicable and provide a sanguine and cousinly ear, then why would he be affected so, and in such an adverse manner? There is most certainly something piscine rotting in Denmark! It may be but a red herring, "Uncle", but my only logical conclusion is that Mr Wooster has indeed been cast into a state of amoré, unbeknownst to us All, and is suffering vastly, due to it. My own advice, though, has not been sought by my master, nor has he even uttered the merest hint, verbal or otherwise, of broaching the matter to me, whatever it may actually be. To act in this manner is most unlike Sir, dear "Uncle". Indeed, it is so far estranged from his usual character, I dare admit I honestly fear for his mind as well as his battered heart!

I should be enormously grateful if you would deign to shed some little ray of light, given that you have been acquainted with the Family for a much longer period than I, and further, have known personally both of my Mr Wooster's unfortunately departed parents. It may be that the old adage 'the apple falls not far from the tree' applies here, at least in the aspect of familially-forwarded behavioural attributes, and Mr Wooster is perhaps following in the footsteps of his departed Father or Mother, or possibly another close relative, perhaps his uncle Henry or (Heavens forfend!) his other uncle Willoughby.

To explicate further my reasoning, as it metaphorically relates to apples and their primogenital trees, "Uncle", please permit me to lay plain my small knowledge of Mr Wooster's family history. For instance, I have been given to understand that Mr Wooster's poor departed parents were quite amazingly devoted. The late Mrs Wooster was said to over the moon for Mr Wooster by all accounts. But more specifically, and as relates to my own Mr Wooster, that the elder Mr Wooster, though of very similar positive, nay, even dare call it 'jolly', attitude as the current Sir, was the veriest pattern card of husbandly affection before his untimely departure from this vale of tears. This, despite any number of stray females vying constantly for his companionship, even after he had tied the proverbial with my young master's mater. The senior Mr Wooster, then (one can only logically conclude), was enormously capable of feeling intensely strong emotions of care and adoration for another; it follows that my young master is as equally blessed…or cursed, and by simple means of inheritance.

If this is so and Mr Wooster's honest heart has been rejected or perhaps even trampled, it would go very ill for him. I desperately fear such a situation arising may be precisely what has him laid so horribly low.

In conclusion, and if it pleases you, "Uncle", I should very much appreciate any wise words from your lips to my ear, as to how I may seek to alleviate my master's not terribly well concealed anguish of the Heart. I find I cannot bear to allow it to continue on unimpeded without doing my not insignificant all to combat it. Mr Wooster is a gentleman who is most deserving of all happinesses, in my opinion, and I have ever done my best to attend to his various needs and wishes, expressed or implied. I have absolutely no wish to fail him at this juncture.

With my best regards and hopes to receive an advisory missive in return from your sage hand in the near future, I remain your ever respectful "Nephew",

R. Jeeves.