Jeeves and the Blind Master
by Gracefultree
Chapter 11: Cannes
Posted: July 18, 2015
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Wouldn't you know that just when life is swimming along all boomps-a-daisy, something comes up and gives it to you in the neck? In my life, it's either a friend or an Aunt. Aunt Dahlia, in this case. Once again, Jeeves was packing for a trip, this time for Santorini, when Aunt Dahlia came calling. It was barely a month after Biffy and Mabel became engaged again, and there had been so much to do around town to help them that I hadn't been able to have Jeeves arrange the trip until just that moment. Aunt Dahlia dropped the news while Jeeves was in the kitchen preparing tea.
"Bertie, we're going to Cannes tomorrow."
"What?" I blurted.
"You heard me, you useless thing. We're going to Cannes tomorrow. Have Jeeves pack your things."
Jeeves shimmered over at that moment to offer her tea and backed to a respectful distance in the corner after handing me mine.
"Did you hear me, Jeeves? Angela and I are taking Bertie to Cannes tomorrow."
"I shall begin preparing our things, sir," he said to me.
"No, Jeeves, just Bertie's things. I need you to stay here and mind the place."
"Now, see here, Aunt Dahlia…"
"The matter is final." Aunt Dahlia sipped her tea. "You won't mind hosting young Thos. while we're gone, will you, Jeeves? He so wants to see London."
"But he's not old enough for London!" I protested. "And you can't just drop these things on a person. I hired Jeeves, so I get to tell him what to do."
"Then tell him to watch Thos.!" she ordered me. "You're coming, Atilla, and Jeeves remains here. We've hired someone for you for the trip, so there won't be anything to worry about."
"Oh, but couldn't it wait a few weeks? We were just about to go to Greece, you see, and Jeeves tells me that this is the perfect time of year for it —"
"Greece?" she asked, her voice filled with a certain something that indicated disdain for my choice. "Why on earth would you want to go there?"
Because Jeeves wants to, I thought to myself. "I studied the Greeks in school, don't you know," I said instead. "I thought I'd like to see some of the places they talked about. It's dashed interesting."
Beside me, Jeeves coughed delicately. "If I may interject, Mrs. Travers, I do not believe that Mr. Wooster would do well traveling with an unfamiliar man, when I am available."
"You're not coming!" Aunt Dahlia roared, sounding rather like Aunt Agatha, only louder and fiercer. "You're not coming, Jeeves, and that's my final word. I'll have Tom step in with the agency if you don't —"
"Now, aged relation, you know how much I need Jeeves," I tried again. "The last valet I had burned down my cottage! And the one before that stole from me. You can't ask me to trust some stranger —"
"No Jeeves, or no Cannes," she declared, crossing her arms over her chest. "And you're going to Cannes."
"I don't want to go to bally Cannes anyway," I muttered, crossing my own arms and sulking. "I want to go to Greece, like I was planning."
"Oh, don't be like that, Bertie, dear. It'll be fun. Think of all the nice summer romances…"
"I don't want a summer romance!"
"Well, you don't always get what you want," she declared, sweeping out of the flat as if she owned it instead of me.
I turned to Jeeves.
"What do we do?" I moaned. "I don't want to go with her, not if you're not coming!"
"It seems, sir, that there is no swaying your aunt."
"You mean, I'm to do what she says?"
"Yes, sir. Much as it pains me, I believe that is the best course at this moment in time. You do not like disappointing your aunt, sir."
"I'm not letting her drop Thos. on you," I told him. "There's the limit, and there's the frozen limit," I said. "And this Wooster knows the difference."
"Indeed, sir."
I felt wilted. I must have sagged, because soon Jeeves's arms were around me and his lips brushing my forehead, though it was the middle of the afternoon. He'd never held me like that in the middle of the afternoon before, and I found that I rather liked it.
"I will miss you, sir," he murmured.
"I'll miss you, too," I answered.
We stayed like that, embracing, for a very long time. Later, when Jeeves went to redo the packing, I sat at the piano and picked out a slow dirge I remembered from some long-ago piano lesson. Dinner was a quiet affair, with none of my usual chatter, and I had no desire to go out or see friends. I settled on the settee with a book, but couldn't concentrate. Not even the excellent Jeevesian cocktail he produced improved my mood. I sighed.
Jeeves came to me and sat beside me, putting his arms around me and holding me close. The physical contact felt comforting, if distressing at the same time. It was a reminder of what I would not have while at Cannes, don't you know, and knowing my aunt, it might be as long as a month or two before I saw him again.
"Jeeves," I whispered, and he interpreted my tone and kissed me.
He tasted of the coffee he drank after finishing the supper dishes. His lips were as soft as always, as gentle, but there was a subtle difference. He was more insistent than usual, and his hands wandered more freely through my hair. I let him, and stroked his cheeks with my thumbs, and kissed him back. I felt tears on my own cheeks, and he kissed them away, murmuring words of comfort and affection.
"No one will touch me until I'm back here with you," I realized, startling us both with my sudden insight.
"Would you want someone else —"
"No!"
Jeeves grunted, pleased, and took me to bed. He undressed me carefully, his hands brushing against my skin in that subtle way he'd developed in the weeks since our reconciliation. "Good night, sir," he said, kissing me one last time before leaving me in the dark.
It took me a long time to fall asleep, wondering, not for the first time, what it was like for him, as an invert, to kiss his master the way we were doing. Was it really ok? Had he gotten over his love of me? Did he really accept that what we did showed nothing but affection and communication instead of love?
I didn't ask him in the morning, and after the good morning kiss with my tea, he was the image of professionalism, as the man Aunt Dahlia hired arrived as I was eating breakfast to learn from Jeeves of my ways and needs. McIntosh, or Maguire, or something. He didn't make enough of an impression on me to remember his name longer than he worked for me.
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It was weeks before the topic of inverts, and Jeeves's own status as one, occurred to me again. I was on the trip to Cannes with Aunt Dahlia and my cousin Angela, and by the end of the first two weeks, I missed him terribly. I even sent him a postcard the third week, paying the store girl a little extra to pen the missive for me.
Jeeves had included a brailler with my things, so that I could write if I wanted, for I'd been developing an interest in writing fiction over the last few months, and I considered sending him a real letter. I wanted to tell him about the beach, and the food, and the shows I'd seen, and the time spent with Angela, and the men who wanted to take her out. I wanted to give him the gossip of Aunt Dahlia and her friends.
I wanted to complain about the forward young women who frequently threw themselves at me for no reason other than that I was attractive and rich, bad eyes be damned.
As I was sitting down to begin, the temporary man strode through the apartment, and I realized how it would seem to write a letter to my manservant. Sending a telegram about household matters would be fine, but a letter? Even a braille letter that the postmasters wouldn't be able to read. It would make me look like an invert to write to him of my true feelings, since some of the kinds of things I wanted to say weren't exactly chaste. I wanted to tell him that I missed him, that I missed talking with him, that I missed sitting with him, embracing him, kissing him…
I'd never missed someone like I missed Jeeves. It was worse than when he'd left me, which is, in retrospect, perhaps why Aunt Dahlia didn't want him to come to Cannes, punishing him by not allowing him to the Continent he'd so desired to see before. I'd never thought of her as the vindictive type, but anger and revenge are frequent bedfellows, or so Jeeves tells me.
I missed the way he would shimmer about the flat, setting things to rights that I didn't know were wrong. I missed the quiet cough he would give before coming up with a suggestion or scheme about the matter under discussion. I missed the smell of his aftershave that lingered in the morning sunlight as I ate my eggs and b. in bed. I missed having him read to me until I slept and I missed the perfect tea he delivered just after I woke. I missed the little touches I'd grown used to, for no other servant touched me in that manner, and if they touched me at all it would be to grab my arm to drag me somewhere.
I missed being able to talk to him about anything and everything. I missed how he understood me after a few vague words, and that he never hurried me to find the word I couldn't seem to locate in my often empty head. I missed how he didn't make me feel stupid. I missed his insult-free manner of speaking to me, for Aunt Dahlia, much as I love her, cannot seem to hold a conversation without saying at least two or three bad things about me. Not that what's-his-name insulted me, he was very proper, don't you know, but he was also taciturn, not speaking unless spoken to.
I missed the good morning kiss, presented matter-of-factly with my tea.
I missed the good night kisses, and the way he would stroke my hair, and the gentleness of it, and the play of his lips against mine.
But Aunt Dahlia had been adamant that Jeeves not come, so I'd left him in London. The next time, I won't let her talk me into it, I promised myself. Nor will I let Jeeves persuade me.
Though I had my new white stick, and could travel about a little more securely, I still preferred to have an arm to hold on to. Jeeves's most of all, of course. He knew how to let me lead, to amble, to walk aimlessly, the way Biffy did, though Jeeves doing it was more for my comfort than for needing directions.
One night, towards the end of the third week, I wandered away from the restaurant du jour and found myself a local watering hole. I spoke enough French to order a drink, and settled at the bar to enjoy it and take in the atmosphere of the place without worrying about my aunt or cousin feeling like they had to be responsible for me. I hated that. They seemed to think that just because I couldn't see, that I was stupid, or needed caretaking. Just because I'd grown used to Jeeves and his quiet ways didn't mean I was dependent on him, either. I could handle myself, and calling a cab to get me back to the hotel was easy enough.
I was on my second drink when I realized there were rather more coves, and rather fewer fillies, than I expected at this particular establishment. Or any establishment other than a gentleman's club. When I happened across a pair of gentlemen feeling each other up outside the water closet, mouths fused together making the small smacking sounds of passionate kisses, I figured out what was going on. I'd come to a club for inverts. A club for inverts, masquerading as a regular restaurant and bar. I knew those clubs existed in London, my friends had told me as much, but France is more lenient, so a special password isn't required to get in. Nor was it illegal.
Egads, they were so easy to find that even I'd found one.
I thought of Jeeves immediately, wondering if he'd gone to a place like this in his wild youth, and whether he'd still go, on his evenings off, just to be around men with similar inclinations. Would he feel comfortable in this sort of place? Somehow, I doubted it. He'd spent his life suppressing his desires, after all, I reasoned, so he wouldn't want anyone to associate him with that sort of place or those sorts of people.
Someone slid an arm around my shoulders and leaned in to lick my ear. I stiffened.
"Haven't seen you around here, sugar. Want to make a night of it?" asked a pleasantly-accented voice. Fortunately, the man spoke English, no doubt recognizing my suit as London style rather than Paris or Milan.
"No, thank you," I murmured, shaking him off, remembering too well what happened when men started licking my ear and calling me funny names. He didn't seem offended at my refusal and we chatted about literature for a while before he ankled away. Jeeves never licked my ear, I realized with a start. He'd done it once or twice in the first week of our agreement about kissing, but I'd reacted so poorly that he'd stopped without having to be told. I was glad that he hadn't asked the reason, for that would necessitate me telling him about that underbutler, a subject I was loathe to discuss with anyone, even him.
By the time I'd been propositioned thrice more, I decided it was well beyond time to leave. I paid my tab and was waiting for a cab on the sidewalk outside when a man I hadn't noticed in the club walked up to me on the street. Not that I'd noticed many people, though I'd chatted with quite a few, and I doubt if I'd be able to identify any of them, but that wasn't the point. He linked his arm with mine and dragged me towards the alley beside the building with a forcefulness that startled me into going with him. Fear gripped my heart, and all the tension that had been building as men touched me and offered me fruity evenings snapped, sending a shiver down my spine I couldn't control. I started breathing quickly and shallowly.
"Saw ya come out alone," the man growled, his free hand groping my unmentionables as he shoved me against the alley wall. "Knew you'd want it rough just by the look of ya." He squeezed, hard, and I gasped in pain. "Ya just need someone to take care of you, don't ya? Man who can't see, he needs someone to look after him," he continued, and the fire of anger suddenly replaced the pain. How dare he assume such things about me? I wasn't even an invert! And to think that being blind made me an easier target?
I gripped my stick tighter and knocked him over the head with it, hitting him once more for good measure when he collapsed to the ground. Then I kicked him. I silently thanked Jeeves for the sturdier stick, though I was still on the fence about it being white. I was exhilarated by my victory. Blood was pounding in my ears, and I wanted to shout.
I wanted to run home end hurl myself into Jeeves's arms.
I wanted to kiss the breath out of him and find out what all these men liked so much about being inverts.
I kicked the man once more as I got my bearings to leave the alley. There was no way I was allowing that cur to follow me. There was no way I was allowing him to do such disgusting things to me.
And to assume I was helpless just because I couldn't see? Pah! I say. Pah!
I dashed from the alley and stumbled to a stop just as a cab pulled up. I was back at the hotel in minutes, only to find a frantic Aunt Dahlia in the lobby, pacing as she waited for word of me.
"Bertie, you blister, where have you been?" she demanded as soon as I presented myself. I sagged, all the energy from before leaving me in a flash. I told her I'd gotten lost and allowed her to escort me to my room, which was, conveniently enough, right next to hers. I didn't have the energy to fight with her about my independence, nor did I have the heart to do more than loosen my tie before I collapsed into bed. And I certainly wasn't going to tell her about my misadventures.
I woke screaming, my limbs tangled in the bedding. I was in my usual pajamas, so my silent man must have seen to undressing me while I slept. Jeeves would have done the same thing, though he'd have tutted over the wrinkles and kissed me goodnight as he did it. On the third morning of night terrors, a gentle hand on my shoulder and a deep voice in my ear brought me out of my fright much more calmly than Aunt Dahlia's rough hunter's voice and powerful grip.
"Sir, sir, please wake up!"
I jerked to wakefulness, grabbed onto Jeeves as a lifeline, and started sobbing my eyes out. He held me close, murmuring nonsense words and endearments I was too far gone to pay attention to. Just having him there, having his voice in my ear and his arms around my body felt so good. I inhaled his scent, relishing his aftershave, his brilliantine, the subtle scent of sea salt.
"Jeeves?"
"Are you more yourself, sir?" he asked, wiping tears from the damask cheek with his thumb before bending to kiss me. We kissed for a few minutes until my anxiety of being discovered grew too much to bear and I called a halt, even after he reassured me that the door was firmly locked and the curtains still closed.
"What are you doing here, Jeeves?"
"I received an urgent telegram from Mrs. Travers yesterday, sir, indicating that my presence was required. I came as swiftly as I was able."
"Lord love a duck, you're just what I needed," I declared, clutching him more tightly. And deciding that another kiss or two couldn't hurt.
He held and kissed me until the tears passed and I relaxed against him.
"Sir, if you don't feel it is impertinent of me to ask, what are your nightmares about?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I growled, throwing myself away from him and crossing my arms over my chest. I might have even scowled.
"Very good, sir," he answered, his voice becoming soupy.
"Why does it matter, Jeeves?"
"It has often been said that dreams are the unconscious desires of the waking mind, sir, and the content —"
"There's no way in Hades I want that!" I barked.
"Sir, if you —"
"Run my bath, Jeeves," I ordered.
"Very good, sir," he answered, leaving me alone.
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By the end of the week, I could barely sleep, I was so plagued by nightmares. Even with Jeeves's presence to soothe me, and his voice to read to me as I drifted off, waking alone in the middle of the night in terror continued unrelentlessly. And with Jeeves ensconced with the other servants rather than down the hall as in our flat, it was left to my aunt to wake me and call for him to calm me. Within days, Aunt Dahlia had Jeeves pack my things and take me home, bleary-eyed and practically swooning. My nightmares continued, and, in point of fact, got worse once we were home, with Jeeves nearby and reminding me of what I'd rather avoid thinking about.
Grabbing folks like that… were all inverts that way? Did they all 'want it rough,' as the tough in France had said? Would Jeeves ever grab me like that?
No. I couldn't believe it of him. He might be an invert, but he had never once touched me like that. Yes, he'd put my hand on himself by accident, but he'd never touched me, and there had never been a repeat of that incident. He'd never once made me feel dirty, just by leering at me. Jeeves didn't leer. Oh, he admired. Even a blind man can tell when someone appreciates his body, and Jeeves saw to my bathing and dressing several times a day. I didn't mind that he looked, now that we'd sorted things out between us. He loved me, after all, or so I assumed. Why else would he stay with me when all I'd done was reject his tender offerings?
One evening, after reading aloud until I slept, Jeeves decided to stay with the young master, sitting in a chair by the bedside, to be close at hand should another nightmare plague me. It did, of course, and like that first morning in Cannes, he took me in his arms when I woke screaming. I clung to him, and cried, and pulled him into the bed with me, and fell asleep with our arms around each other and his scent in my nostrils for only the second time.
I slept better than I had in a month, and it gave me something to think about come morning.
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