Jeeves and the Blind Master
by Gracefultree
Chapter 2: Playing Piano
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Following my disastrous, and thankfully short-lived engagement to Honoria Glossop, Jeeves and I settled into the flat as master and man, learning each others' ways and habits. I quickly discovered that Jeeves was an encyclopedia of useful information, and took great pleasure in sounding him out him on matters of literature, poetry, and many other topics. He discovered, perhaps more quickly than most, that I appreciated fresh flowers and enjoyed the varied scents of their nectar in the sunshine. My morning tea was always presented with a fresh flower in a bud vase, which chuffed me up after a late night out. Jeeves's magical remedies helped as well, but the thoughtfulness of the flowers always brought a smile to the dial. Then, when he turned them into my buttonhole for the day, well, it cheered up the spirits quite a bit, I must say, no matter what mood I'd been in beforehand.
I've said it before, and I'll say it again. Jeeves shimmers. He moves on silent feet, oftentimes appearing in one room as if conjured from a Djinn's lamp. In many ways this is a good thing, as most men tread heavily, and Meadows, especially, stomped about the place like the giant up Jack's beanstalk when his golden harp slipped away with the young johnnie. In other ways, not knowing whether or not Jeeves is in the room with me has led to more than one embarrassing incident.
It was that first day of Jeeves's employment when I was reading a book, gasper and cocktail at my elbow, when all of a sudden Jeeves's voice rang out next to me informing me that he was off to market. I must have won a medal for the sitting high jump that day, because the book flew in the air to land somewhere at my feet, the glass of brandy shattered against the fireplace when my arm knocked it aside, and my gasper burnt a hole in my trousers when I upended the ashtray. I lost quite a few glasses those first weeks.
It's difficult for a sighted person to imagine what it must be like to be blind, for there are hundreds of little things that you take for granted, like knowing when someone else has entered the room. In the evenings, after I've come home from dinner or entertainment, I have Jeeves turn the lights down outside the kitchen and his lair, for my eyes get tired and need a break from the brightness of electricity, and I'm not able to see the movement he makes as he ankles about the flat. This led to quite a number of similar experiences with broken glass and china in the first few weeks, before Jeeves developed a way of announcing his presence in a room by tapping his fingers against the doorjamb with the Morse Code for 'entering.' We shortened it to 'ent' so it wouldn't take as long, and I've long since stopped startling at the quiet taps. It also seemed more appropriate to have such a method of announcing his presence than saying 'sir?,' as that would startle me much more than the tapping, and wasn't as appropriate when in company or out and about.
Jeeves has developed many other techniques and shortcuts to make my life easier. He's labeled many things about the flat in braille, such as the decanters upon the sideboard, so that I don't mistakenly offer someone a whiskey sour when they ask for a gin and tonic. He's made a habit of never moving the furniture without informing me, and has gone so far as to sew differently-shaped buttons into the back of my shirts and suits so I can know which color it is or which style, if he's not around to assist me. That was one of the most brilliant ideas out of the brain of a man full of brilliant ideas I'd ever heard. Countless were the times before Jeeves entered my life that I left for the Drones with a mismatched suit or a tie too gaudy even for my own tastes because my valet at the time wanted to embarrass me.
Jeeves, as a matter of course, would not allow the young master to leave the flat, or even sit about the flat, looking anything less than perfectly put together. In fact, that was one of the first things my cousin Angela noticed when I joined her at Brinkley Court a few weeks after Jeeves came to me, when she and Tuppy Glossop were in the midst of a row about Angela's shark and Tuppy's appetite.
"Bertie," she said. "You look absolutely dashing. Have you finally learned how to dress yourself?"
My Aunt Dahlia was equally impressed. "Perhaps you've managed to make one good decision in your life, young blot," she muttered, and Jeeves tells me that she gave him a very calculating once-over at this juncture, before sending him off while she told me tales of her Ladies' Weekly, Milady's Boudoir. Then she asked me to cajole Uncle Tom into writing her a check for the magazine by listening to Uncle Tom go on about silver for an entire evening. With Anatole's cooking on the line, as well, I sat and listened to Uncle Tom.
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"I say, Jeeves?" I called. Jeeves appeared beside me where I sat on the piano bench.
"Sir?"
"Can you play, Jeeves?" I asked, motioning to the piano.
He cleared his throat. "While I am self-taught, sir, I have some familiarity with the instrument and can read music proficiently. My tastes, however, tend toward more classical compositions than to your preferred modern pieces."
"Ah, well, that's not a problem, old thing. Do you have a favorite?"
"Handel's Messiah, sir, or Mozart's Coronation Mass spring to mind."
"Religious man, Jeeves?" I asked, my fingers automatically playing the beginning bars of Messiah. While not my usual style, the piano teachers of my youth had drilled the classics into my brain and fingers so strongly that I need neither sheet music, nor even a wakeful state of mind, to play many tunes, the application of a ruler to the Wooster knuckles more than enough incentive to memorize the notes and tempo.
"Not particularly, no, sir," he answered, his voice softer than usual so as not to disturb my playing. "But I find both compositions most agreeable, sir."
"Well, then, mix up a b. & s. and have a seat, my good man. I look forward to sharing the bench and keys with you."
"As you wish, sir."
Jeeves shimmered away and returned, placing my drink at my left hand and joining me on the piano bench on my right. I took a sip of my drink and sighed. "Perfect, as always, Jeeves. What shall we play?"
"Perhaps a continuation of the Messiah you so graciously started, sir?" he asked. I grinned at him and counted us in. We played for half an hour, learning each other's styles on the keys. It was glorious. I'd never had a valet who could do more than read me the music before, if I had something without braille, and certainly none who could play as well as him. I found myself grinning at him as we finished, and though I couldn't see his face, I hoped he was smiling back at me in return.
"I took the liberty of acquiring a new piece for you at Mr. Simon's shop today, sir, when I did the marketing. He indicated it was something you had ordered," Jeeves said as he rose to refresh my drink.
"Ah! Excellent!"
Jeeves placed the music on the piano and I reached forward to read it. Notes and words filled my mind as I read. As I've said, I love music, and it's one of my great pleasures to learn new songs. I sang the notes through a few times, then read the words, smiling at the whimsy. '27 Ginger-Headed Sailors' would become a favorite of mine, I was sure. I started playing, with Jeeves standing attentively near me to turn the page when I required it. After a few bars, however, I lost the thread of the notes.
"Jeeves, be so kind as to remind me of the melody, would you?"
He gave a small cough, like that of a sheep bleating on a far-distant hillside. "If you'll pardon the liberty, sir," he murmured, and stepped up behind me. He was so close that I could feel the heat of his body through our clothing, the press of his waistcoat buttons into my back as he leaned closer still. Then I felt the wool of his morning coat against my right ear, and knew he had raised his arm so that his fingers could reach the braille on the music sheet. It all combined into the most sensual sensation I had ever experienced, and I felt a strange stirring below the belt. It was unlike anything else, knowing that he was right there behind me, reading my braille music as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.
Looking back after all these years, it seems inconceivable that I didn't realize that I fell in love with him that very moment.
"By Jove, Jeeves! You read braille?" I demanded, my heart clenching in a strange way that accompanied the tightening of my trousers. I wondered what it all meant, as I hadn't been afflicted with that particular issue since I left school, and rarely even then. "Why don't you just read the notes?"
"This particular piece, sir, does not come with written instructions, as so much of your sheet music does," he explained, as he continued reading slowly. He wasn't fluent, I could tell, but that he could read braille at all astounded me. My body took the opportunity of his reading to settle down.
"I must apologize, sir, but I am unfamiliar with the musical notations and some of the words used in the lyrics," he said after a few minutes, his voice stiff with what I assumed to be embarrassment.
"Can't read — Jeeves, how much braille do you know?"
"I am newly proficient in the Grade One braille and am in the process of learning Grade Two," he answered. "Musical notations, it seems, are of the latter variety."
"Well, yes, that's true, but where did you learn Grade One?"
"I have engaged a tutor to instruct me, sir."
"Really? When did you start?"
"After you offered me employment, sir," he answered. "I felt it was my duty to be able to assist you in all matters of correspondence, and learning has always come naturally to me. I did not expect it to be as… time-consuming as it has become."
"But when do you have time?"
"Most mornings before you wake, sir, I have an hour or two of instruction. I often practice in the evenings when you are at your club, to further my understanding."
"But— You—" I broke off, not sure what I was trying to say. A warmth flooded my body, and I felt my cheeks heating as if I'd lain on the beach all day. "Good Lord!"
"Sir?"
"Get me my checkbook, Jeeves. I'll add to the household account for the lessons."
"Sir, I must protest."
"Why? You're doing it to help me, aren't you? That counts as a household expense, what?"
"Indeed, sir, however it is my own responsibility to —"
"Piddledy-tosh. It costs a bally fortune for the lessons, I'd wager, and I don't want it coming out of your salary!"
"But, sir, the self-improvement of your staff is hardly your responsibility," he argued. "It is my pleasure to —"
"My checkbook, Jeeves," I interrupted, holding out my hand. I could hear the reluctance in his footsteps as he went to retrieve the checkbook and special cover that allowed me to fill it in. Ordinarily, I would have Jeeves write it out and then simply sign it where he indicated, but this was a matter of pride. I slipped on the cover and painstakingly filled in each section with the proper information, each in its own cutout. I had to hold the thing right up at my nose, but I'd spent years learning to write and I wasn't about to let something like this stop me. My handwriting, alas, isn't what my tutors would approve of, for it was messy, but I took pride in the skill my doctors said I would never learn. I signed the cheque and ripped it off, handing it, and the checkbook, to Jeeves. I waited for the exclamation.
"Sir!" Jeeves's voice seemed almost scandalized. "This is too much," he added.
"Nonsense."
"But, sir, ￡100!"
"Jeeves, indulge me. You are the first valet who has ever taken an interest in braille, let alone attempted to learn it, and it makes the Wooster heart glad to assist you."
There was silence, then, and though Jeeves is not generally a man given to shifting his feet, twitching, or anything untoward like that, the air seemed to vibrate with tension.
"Now, if we're done with this small matter, let's go back to the Messiah, shall we?" I asked, patting the bench next to me.
After Jeeves had returned the checkbook to the desk, the cheque to his pocket, and refreshed my drink, he settled onto the bench and with a heavy sigh.
"Sir?"
"Say no more, Jeeves," I said, finding his hands where they rested on the keys. I squeezed his nearer hand with mine and gave him what I hoped was an appropriate smile. It's not the done thing to touch one's manservant, but I had no other way to express my gratitude but with a touch and kind words. "Thank you, Jeeves, for taking the time to learn. If you'd like some help… well, you can come to me, old fruit."
"Thank you, sir, for your generosity and understanding." He covered my hand with his, so that it was sandwiched between both of his, and we sat like that for a moment. I almost asked to see his face, but I was loathe to break the moment. Even I can figure out when silence is required, sometimes.
We played for hours that evening, moving from Handel to Mozart to Beethoven to Chopin.
"Is it true, sir, that none of your previous valets have learned braille?" he asked as he tucked me into bed that evening.
"None, Jeeves. Not a single one." I paused. "You have no idea what it means to me that you'd do it," I added, feeling a bit emotional. "The milk of human kindness flows strongly within you, Jeeves."
"I endeavor to give satisfaction, sir."
"It's more than satisfaction, Jeeves. It's — It's, well, I don't think there's a word for it, really. It's jolly good and corking and topping and boomps-a-daisy all at once. With some ooja-cum-spiff thrown in."
I could hear the amusement in his voice. "Indeed, sir. Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, Jeeves, that will be all. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, sir," he said, closing the door behind him as he left me to my dreams.