Jeeves and the Patience of a Saint

Chapter Two

The Catamount Ladies Orienteering Club was the sort of rustic locale that allowed for well-bred young ladies to feel closer to the natural world, while simultaneously enjoying a working staff of twenty-four.

The lodge where the Drones Club had made their temporary home, was sparse and tended only by an aged housekeeper, who despaired of their dinner-roll cricket.

Conveniently, this gave the members of Mr. Wooster's club just cause to spend most of their time visiting with the Catamount Ladies. It could always be argued that they were visiting out of a craving to utilize the Catamount billiards table.

I had, at first, been hoping to direct my employer home to London immediately, but the ice storms had come in the night, and thoroughly frozen the gondola apparatus, making it impossible for anyone to come or go from the icy mountaintop. At the least, I'd endeavored to avoid the ladies' club for the duration of my stay, but it seemed that the lodge housekeeper was not fit to prepare anything close to edible, and as a result, the Drones members had begun taking their meals at the Catamout Lodge.

So it was that Mr. Wooster and his friends were braving the pink tablecloth over a breakfast of tiny scones. The women of the Catamount Club were, as I had suspected, the vicious and determined type, that would choose to remove themselves to the wilderness in the hopes that it would improve their social standing. Each of them seemed to have claimed a Drones member for their personal entertainment, and it was amusing to watch Mr. Wooster's more conniving acquaintances, following closely at the heels of these outspoken young women.

Miraculously, Mr. Wooster had managed to avoid becoming an amusing romantic diversion to a Catamount lady. He accomplished this, he had confided during our uncomfortable, snow-shoed treck to the Catamount Lodge, by allowing them to think him quite dim, indeed, by grunting into his meals and stumbling over doorsteps.

"I suppose that I quite often don't know what on earth one of these feminine dreadnaughts are discussing, anyway! I just enhanced my general confusion, and it seems to do the trick."

I allowed a small smile to curl my mouth. It was heartening to see that Mr. Wooster had been aware of the potential for what he would term "a sticky situation," amongst the Catamount Ladies, and had endeavored to protect himself in lieu of my aid.

Unfortunately, his temporary asylum ended abruptly, just as he completed his breakfast. An imposing hellenic sort of young woman, clad in an alarming combination of sporting jacket and pleated luncheon skirt, stood at the head of the table and clapped her hands for attention.

"As you Catamounts might know," she announced, as the sounds of breakfasting died down, "today is the day we will be receiving the esteemed Mr. Jeffries, the famed tableauist, to our humble mountain cottage!" There were a great many soprano exclamations, as the ladies delighted in the news. Mr. Wooster turned bewildered eyes to mine but before I could lean down to inform him of the situation, the sport jacket continued.

"Mr. Jeffries will be using club members in his tableaus, so ladies, please do volunteer as models. Gentlemen, I am certain that Mr. Jeffries will be delighted at having one or two noble heros and rugged rescuers at his disposal. Last year we were quite without anyone to play the male roles... Not that you didn't do a marvelous job, Milly," she apologized in a saccharine tone, to a lady on her right who resembled a hirsute steam engine. The Drones members had all taken on familiar expressions of bewilderment, and turned their heads nervously towards one another, like trapped animals. I leaned down, in the confusion, to attempt to soothe Mr. Wooster's confusion.

"Sir, Mr. Jeffries would appear to be a director of staged presentations-- Tableau Vivant. It is an activity that involves elements of fine art, the stage, and often a considerable quantity of alcohol. Models are directed to dress and pose in a specific fashion, often in imitation of notable classic paintings."

"Ah! Of course, Jeeves. Aunt Agatha was fond of that sort of thing, in her younger days. When I was a boy, I seem to recall being chased through the garden by a madwoman bearing a pair of cherub wings. The harridan got them on me, too, after nearly mauling me to pieces."

I paused for a moment to imagine Mr. Wooster as a small, tousled child, strapped unwillingly into feathery wings, and the corner of my mouth threatened to curl in a smile. I banished the thought.

"It was nonsense then, and I assure you it will be nonsense now, Jeeves. I will be off like a shot at the first sight of a wire halo, I can promise you that. Where lies the exit?"

I directed Mr. Wooster ahead of me to a door, as the breakfast table disbanded and the crowds had begun milling through the dining room. The Drones seemed unaware of their part in the afternoon's event, but immersed among the Catamount ladies as they were, it would be imprudent to warn them at present. Mr. Wooster seemed to agree with a look, and we made out way towards the door and a safe escape from an afternoon of costumed humiliation.

Only for the doors to be flung wide as we neared them, parting to allow entry to an enormous wild animal, that I could only assume was a bear.

I'd already begun to step in front of Mr. Wooster to shield him from the beast's attack, when I made out the small face of a man, within the fur.

"Ladies!" cried the animal man, "I have arrived, and brought you the beauty of the ageless arts!" He flung his furred arms wide, as if to embrace the room, and grinned beneath his hat.

I have been galled by the apparel of many I have had the misfortune to meet, in my days, but never have I beheld such a strange adornment as this man and his furred coat with matching hat. He appeared as nothing more than a misshapen pile of brown hair-- a creature entirely enclosed within a foreign skin. That selfsame skin he then shucked into the waiting arms of an assistant, revealing a garish pinstripe, and a pointed, pouted face, framed by bootpolished black hair.

"Mr. Jeffries!" exclaimed the sport coat, rushing to bestow a european greeting on his pointed face. "We're so pleased you're here at last! What fun we're going to have!"

"Of course, Olivia, my petal. I've the most splendid selection for us, this year. You're all going to be damask goddesses! Lilies of the valley!" He paused, to take in the room, and it's stunned male inhabitants. With a gasp, he flung his arms wide. "Is it true I'll have the use of some gods, this year?"

There was a distinctly uncomfortable pause, as many a Drone considered possible routs of escape.

In the hallway, a small convoy of assistants were transferring racks of costumes into the drawing room and library. The volume of Mr. Jeffries' assortment was intimidating, and I wondered, for a moment, how he had managed to have it all brought up the mountain. At present, the mayhem of costume arrangements were blocking any escape attempt. Mr. Wooster looked at me with panic in his eyes, but we were effectively trapped.

There was another astonished gasp from Mr. Jeffries, and I turned, startled, to see that he was examining my employer with an openly lascivious gaze.

"You! You, my lotus blossom!" For a moment, the lady to Mr. Wooster's left fluttered her hand at her cheek at the flattery, until Mr. Jeffries bustled past her to clap a hand familiarly on Mr. Wooster's shoulder. "I have just the masterpiece for you! I've been yearning for the right model for some time now-- You shall be my most breathtaking opus!"

"Well!" said my flustered employer, feeling at the gap in his collar. "...Well!"

"I shall swathe you in the finest linens, my pet, and your visage will shine through the ages--immortalized in silver tones!"

"It sounds like an awful lot of trouble-- He isn't even a club member!" this from the flushed lady to Mr. Wooster's left.

"Madam," replied Mr. Jeffries, as he pulled his protesting quarry into the hallway, "Do be patient. There are plenty of roles for goddesses of bounty... Alfred!"

With Mr. Wooster still in tow, he clapped his hands to summon an assistant, who scurried to his side with revealing haste.

"See that these ladies receive their costumes and instructions. I'll begin their shoot this afternoon. Please prepare the drawing room for a special session, immediately."

And with a "yes sir," the assistant went to work, organizing the dining room occupants into categories.

I made to follow Mr. Jeffries, who was still pulling my dazed employer towards the drawing room. But they suddenly halted.

"You! Who are you?" he inquired, imperiously.

"I am Jeeves, Sir, Mr. Wooster's personal gentleman. It would be my pleasure and duty to assist in his costuming."

"Who's?"

"The, ahem, lotus blossom whose lapel you have thoroughly crushed in your grip."

"Oh!" said Mr. Jeffries, smoothing his hand lovingly along the aforementioned lapel. "No, no, my good man. I am an artist, and my models are dressed to my own specifications. You'd simply be in the way, I'm afraid."

"Jeeves!" whispered Mr. Wooster, in desperate tones.

"Mr. Jeffries, I am certain that I could be of assistance. If you would allow me to accompany Mr. Wooster, I could--"

"He's in very good hands," he interrupted, "I must insist that you allow me my artistic freedom. I'm sure that Alfred can find you some way to be of assistance..." He looked me up and down, peering closer than I would have liked, before waving a limp hand in my direction, "Dismissed."

I would have persisted, despite his imperious behavior, but at that moment, a bevy of assistants began to usher me out of their way. I stepped back to let pass an enormous rack of costumes, and by the time the last glittering silken robe had fluttered by, Mr. Wooster had been dragged into the drawing room, and locked inside.