My relations with Mr. Wooster did not improve in the days that followed. The few exchanges we had were what one might call telegraphic; I rarely dignified Mr. Wooster with more than two words in reply to his various instructions and he, in return, addressed me tersely, in stark contrast with his usual effusive manner, and matters only worsened. There was a further change in Mr. Wooster's demeanor which I initially paid little heed in light of our conflict, but which became increasingly pronounced until it could no longer be ignored.
Such was the state of affairs when, late one morning, Mr. Wooster summoned me into the sitting room, apparently making some attempt at imperiousness.
"Jeeves, pack the bags," he declared, "we're going to Brinkley Court. Aunt Dahlia has summoned and if that alone were not enough, there's a fancy dress ball in Market Snodsbury that can't be missed! I believe a Sinbad costume will do, and this time I intend to wear it! None of this rot about Pierrots or bally policemen's uniforms, stolen or otherwise."
"Very good, sir," I said.
"Jeeves, you will go ahead with the luggage," Mr. Wooster continued. "Be sure to pack my Oxford tie."
"Very good, sir," was all I could say.
"And don't forget the rest of the fish and soup, and I'll be wanting some less formal ware as well, of course, and the kit of necessaries-"
I saw fit to cut Mr. Wooster off at this point. "Very good, sir."
"Yes, well, do that, Jeeves, and I expect not a thing to be missing."
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Wooster, it appeared, had progressed from merely disregarding my opinion to questioning my competence outright, doubtless tired of me taking liberties with my humble position. I felt a not insignificant desire to demonstrate my capabilities to him in no uncertain manner, and, I admit, to exact due revenge. However, I had tread down that path before, plainly to no avail, and yet, no more promising solution had presented itself to me.
I was so deeply troubled that I selected a fish pasty to lunch upon on my travels and elected to forgo my customary book in favor of silent contemplation.
I yearned above all else for Mr. Wooster's respect. I had entered his employ expecting him to be an agreeable, malleable gentleman, and had found him to be stubborn, yet kind and, dangerously, the closest I had to a true friend despite our differences in station. However, it was plain that Mr. Wooster regarded me only as a servant who was at times useful to him. Despite my every effort, still I had failed to convince him to see my merits as a companion, and perhaps even as an equal. We only went in unending circles, each of us too stubborn to give way. It was plain that another avenue was required to convince him to see me in a new light, so to speak.
In London, I had been restricted by our typical routine, however a journey to the countryside presented some novel possibilities. Not infrequently in the course of coming to the aid of Mr. Wooster's many lovelorn friends, I have noted the advantages afforded by a sprawling country house and its abundant gardens, furnished with nooks and crannies aplenty, perfectly suited for a young couple to ensconce themselves in a pleasant atmosphere, away from the rest of the company. My intent was not entirely the same, but a similar approach seemed like a promising alternative to my thus far fruitless attempts to convince Mr. Wooster of my merits. The gardens of Brinkley Court in full bloom were a temptation to Mr. Wooster on their own, and would serve as a more than satisfactory backdrop for me to woo Mr. Wooster, in a manner of speaking.
.
I arrived at Brinkley Court well in advance of Mr. Wooster's car. I was therefore afforded ample opportunity to unpack his bags and to prepare for his arrival. It was a particularly pleasant spring day and I expected that Mr. Wooster would desire to take full advantage of the clement weather. Therefore, I positioned myself on the grounds, not so proximate that I would be within Mr. Wooster's line of sight, but only just out of view of the drive.
While I waited, I endeavored to enjoy the atmosphere myself: the fresh scent of the recent rains, which had left the grass sparkling with dew, but had fortunately not made the ground overly damp or muddy; the cheerful songs of the birds flitting between the trees; and the bright colour of gardens in the very flush of spring. In light of the notorious fickleness of English weather, I could not have hoped for better.
At last, I heard Mr. Wooster's approach. I put out my gasper and positioned myself casually beside the broad aspen growing near the house. His car came to a stop, doors closed and opened, and I overheard a brief, muffled exchange between Mr. Wooster and Mr. Seppings, the butler of the house.
And then, as I had foreseen, instead of joining Mr. Seppings inside the house, Mr. Wooster strolled out onto the lawn with an intermittent cheerful whistle. I stepped out to greet him as he came around the corner, into view.
"Good afternoon, sir," I said, raising my hat for good measure.
Mr. Wooster faltered, first in surprise, and then, unfortunately, in displeasure. He adjusted his posture to make full use of his not insignificant height - though I am slightly taller - his chest protruding, narrow shoulders squared, and his chin raised in indignant pride.
"Good afternoon, Jeeves," he said dismissively, punctuated with a wave as though swatting away an irritating insect.
However, I did not betray my displeasure at such a greeting. Instead I replied, "One could scarcely desire more pleasant conditions for meandering about the gardens."
"No, hardly, but is there something you require, Jeeves?"
"No, sir. I was merely remarking upon the weather. The year's at the spring and day's at the morn; morning's at seven; the hill-side's dew-pearled; the lark's on the wing; and the snail on the thorn; God's in His Heaven- all's right with the world."
"Yes, yes, I know that one," Mr. Wooster said with some impatience.
"Very good, sir," I replied, somewhat less cordially than suited my intent.
Meanwhile, Mr. Wooster's attention turned to my duties. "You've put away my luggage?"
"Yes, sir."
"Even my new tie?"
"Yes, sir." I fear my displeasure began to show.
"Very good, Jeeves," Mr. Wooster said as though I had only just managed to meet his low expectations.
I could discern that I would make no further progress with Mr. Wooster in such a state and would not stand beside him only to be insulted. "Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, Jeeves," he said, and sent me away.
To tell the truth, there is something dashed tiring about trying to be masterful and what not all the time. Between that and the cold-shouldering, it's about as much as a fellow can bear. I confess I found myself yearning for the chap and our old easy rapport, but it hardly does for a fellow to be overly reliant upon his valet, hardly the sort of thing of which a chap like Jeeves would approve, and so I held firm and did the aristocratic thing and kept Jeeves at arm's length.
But after all that, it had rather taken the vim out of my stroll, and soon after dismissing Jeeves, I went in myself to greet the aged relative. I found Aunt Dahlia in the parlour, doing a bit of light reading.
I what ho-ed at her, and she looked up and exclaimed, as though calling over the fields in her hunting days, "There you are, Bertie, you blot, I was worried you'd never make it!"
"Then you can rest easy, beloved aunt, as I have now arrived." I then took a bit of a sterner tone. "But if you have invited me with the intent of consulting with Jeeves, I am sorry to say that he has been retired from such extraneous duties."
She put aside her reading. "You're talking nonsense! What extraneous duties?"
"I may occasionally inquire as to Jeeves's opinion if I so choose, but his duties as a valet take precedent, and furthermore, I'm afraid the man is past his prime besides. If you wish to consult, I believe I will be more than up to the task." I brushed a spec or two of dust off the Michelin lace cuffs for good measure - or, rather, lacking those, I presumed my shirt cuffs would do.
"You and Jeeves have another spat over your wardrobe?" If my deserving Aunt Dahlia has any faults, she is at times a little lacking in sympathy for the downtrodden. "You know it's only a matter of time before Jeeves gets his way."
"No, my dear relation, that is where you're wrong. You see, I may have been no more than the ordinary chump, but no longer! I am at this very moment working to prove it to Jeeves that Bertram Wooster is master of his own affairs, a proper gentleman, no less deserving of his service than any other."
"I'm sure Jeeves is pleased with that."
I did not very well like her tone and I said as much. "Aunt Dahlia, I don't very well like your tone. Jeeves is taking some time to adjust, it's true, but I'm sure he'll soon see my merits."
"If you're not careful, he'll get fed up and leave, just like he did over that banjolele, and this time he might not be so eager to come back."
"But, don't you see, that's why I have to do this!" I exclaimed. "His little mutinies are a mere portent, a stormy petrel - if that's the expression I want. Surely it's a matter of time before he gets tired of Bertram W. and seeks out a gentleman of his own caliber. And so, it's up to me to prove that I'm up to snuff."
Aunt Dahlia only shook her head - hardly encouraging, but I kept my chin up.
I felt rather like my noble ancestors at Agincourt, trying to surmount insurmountable odds, but my posish. was direr still, as it was Jeeves on the line and I could not bear to lose him, not only for his uncanny propensity for fishing the y.m. from the soup and those fantastic restoratives he whips up, but also because I had grown rather fonder of the fellow than I can rightly put into words.
.
A few days later, I was taking a break from the whole masterful routine to stroll about the grounds and take in a bit of that fresh country air - a perfectly respectable pursuit, if I did say so myself. Though some chaps may be able to live out their days in the countryside, I could never bear to leave the metrop. However, I can't deny that the countryside does have its own merits: the sloping lawns and labyrinthine gardens, especially when the flowers are in full bloom, the trees leafed in green, and all set against a clear blue sky, occupied only by the occasional cloud. It was the sort of day to make a Madeline Bassett out of even the most well-grounded chap - though I was thankfully still a ways from cooing about bunny rabbits or pondering whether the stars were God's daisy chains.
Truly, Bassetts or Crayes or their ilk were the furthest thing from my mind. I'd had the grand fortune to leave the metrop. to find myself dogged by not a single marriage-minded female. Instead it was only me and the roses, and it was more than a small relief to have gotten out of a flat that was beginning to feel more than a bit cramped. The fresh spring air was just the thing to bring a bit of a spring to my step.
The chap had just idly crossed my mind when I nearly ran into him at a crossroads in the path, as it were.
"Good afternoon, sir," Jeeves said graciously, perhaps a little less cold than of late, but I had probably just caught the chap off guard, in the midst of admiring some roses, no less - the last place he'd want to run into the young master.
He'd certainly caught me off my guard and I floundered about a bit before finally pulling myself together and giving the chap a formal, at least somewhat terse, "Good afternoon, Jeeves."
His attention had not entirely left the rose bushes growing along the path and now he returned to them. I was about to dismiss the man before he made it absolutely clear that my presence was unwelcome when he instead spoke again.
"What a lovely thing a rose is, sir," he remarked with the air of one of those old poet chappies he likes to quote.
I couldn't imagine the words were really directed at me, though there was hardly anyone else the man could have been speaking to. "I say-" I began to say, at least, when Jeeves looked up at me with those inscrutable black eyes of his.
When he continued, his words were very definitely directed at me, though I hadn't an inkling as to why. "Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers." And he punctuated it with a very nearly questioning, "Sir?"
I suppose a brainy cove like Jeeves can't help but burst into poetry at times and I couldn't deny it suited him, tall, dark and impressive, with those chiseled features of his, and framed by roses no less. It all put just about any man to shame. I thought I recognized the wheeze from somewhere, but couldn't possibly say where - another mark against Bertram W.
"I say-" I began again, but stopped myself short; it was hardly the aristocratic bearing. I drew up my chest and shoulders, proud and masterful and all that and replied with a distantly approving - because any proper gentleman ought to approve of such improving stuff - "Very good, Jeeves."
"Thank you, sir," Jeeves said, though I could hardly tell what the chap really meant by it. But he didn't seem to be quite done with me yet - not that he was one to be making such decisions - "I expect you are enjoying your promenade on such a pleasant afternoon."
"Yes, indeed," I replied without too much enthusiasm; it was a difficult balance to strike. "Contemplating the virtue of the flowers and whatnot," I put in, not to much avail.
Jeeves's lip seemed to twitch upward a bit.
"Something amusing you?" I retorted.
"No, sir," Jeeves said, his expression gone all stuffed frog in an instant.
I'm afraid I rather missed the twitch of a smile, even if it was at my own expense.
"Right ho," I said, again without enthusiasm, though this time it was hardly a feat.
"Sir," Jeeves remarked, making as though to continue on through the gardens.
It seemed we were heading the same way after all, and it would hardly do to balk, even as I could feel the dispute brewing upon the horizon. I still hadn't given up my Oxford tie and Jeeves handled the thing as though it would at any moment uncoil itself and bite the hand that held it.
However, instead of disparaging my taste in formal wear, Jeeves took a rather different approach.
"In the spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove," he mused, his attention seemingly on the trees in bloom around us, but I caught him looking at me out of the corner of his eye.
"Yes, yes," I said because it seemed I ought to say something and most of my usual exclamations were hardly of the right sort.
"Sir?" Jeeves asked, his voice quiet.
"Yes, what is it Jeeves?" I asked imperiously.
"Nothing, sir."
I faltered. "Oh, very good, then."
"Yes, sir."
The man was still looking at me, but I didn't very well know what he expected. So, I simply held my chin high and walked with all the poise I could muster. It didn't exactly make for easy going. There is only so high a chap can raise his chin and still see where he's going, and so I regret to say that it wasn't long before I stumbled upon some misplaced stick and nearly fell upon my face; or I would have, had Jeeves not caught me by the arms.
It all happened very quickly to tell the truth; it's hard to know the exact order of it all. I think first came a bit of an undignified shout as I saw the ground rushing upward to meet the Wooster map. And then came that soaring relief at having been rescued from inevitable demise - or at least a less than pleasant tumble. It's just like Jeeves to rescue me from the soup when I find myself struggling, out of my depths, and I felt a glowing sort of warmth for the chap, looking at me in that brainy way of his, my guardian angel incarnate and all that.
And then I believe it was the soft smile playing across those finely chiseled features that jolted me back into the reality of the thing and in an instant my soaring heart came down with a thud. Of course the chap was as good as laughing at me. I could only imagine how much a fool I looked, seemingly unable to walk a single step without the man there to give me a hand. My face flushed beet red, or at least it felt it.
I hastily stumbled back upright and pulled away from Jeeves's steadying grasp.
"Yes, very good, what?" I said sharply.
"Yes, sir," Jeeves said, dashed unreadable, but at least no longer on the verge of laughter as it were.
"I believe that'll be all, Jeeves," I dismissed the man with as much dignity as I could maintain and, as he made no indication of leaving, I turned and paraded back to the house, my walk apparently at its end.
I came in through the french window and settled in the sitting room with a glass of the needful.
Seppings was about and I greeted him with a downright dreary, "What ho."
"Good afternoon, sir," he said, pausing in his duties. "If you'll pardon my asking, are you quite all right, sir?"
I sighed, hardly in the mood to be aristocratic; I didn't seem to be getting me any closer to Jeeves's level anyway. And Seppings, in particular, has always been something of a pal of mine - ever since I was a lad, I would drop by the pantry for a glass of port to chew the fat about the weather and his lumbago. However, I made some attempt at squaring the shoulders and whatnot. One must wear the mask, after all.
"Quite," I said with an airy confidence that I didn't truly feel.
Seppings didn't seem to believe it much more than I did. "Very good, sir. But if there is anything you require, you only need to ask."
I would have smiled at the chap, but caught myself in time and settled for a gracious nod, which hardly seemed to do it justice, but was more befitting and all that.
"Will that be all, sir?"
"Yes, yes, thank you, Seppings," I said a bit awkwardly.
He seemed no more convinced, but gave a bit of a bow and retreated from the room, leaving me to my drink and my thoughts.
Mr. Wooster and I had been at Brinkley Court for nearly a week when Mrs. Travers called me into her study. She approached the matter very directly, in her usual fashion.
"You and Bertie are having another one of your disagreements?"
I could not deny it. "Indeed, ma'am."
"Then let's have it, what's the plan to bring my stubborn nephew back into the fold?"
"Ma'am?"
"You must have one," she insisted. "And if you don't, you'd better come up with something quick, because I have a tidy sum on you getting him back into shape by the time the week is out."
I cannot deny that it grated to hear that my own personal affairs, as limited a form as they may take, had become such a matter of public interest, but I answered delicately. "Your encouragement is appreciated, ma'am, however I am afraid such matters cannot be rushed."
"Come now, Jeeves," she insisted.
"My apologies, ma'am. These things inevitably take time. Is there anything else you require, ma'am."
"Oh, very well, but I expect you to strain your faculties to the fullest next time I find myself in a tight spot."
"Very good, ma'am," I said, and withdrew from the room.
There are things which cannot be rushed, which inevitably take time. However, I could not dismiss some measure of disappointment as my every effort came to naught, nor could I dismiss the feeling that this called for some more drastic course of action.