I saw little of Mr. Wooster for the remainder of our stay at Brinkley Court. That was in part on account of the English weather, which, having remained unusually pleasant thus far, took an abrupt and seemingly inevitable turn for the cold rain which is widely considered the curse of our native island, precluding any possibility of my again meeting Mr. Wooster in the gardens with hopefully greater success. Instead, we were constrained to the house, where our paths occasionally intersected, ostensibly in the course of my duties, but my options were severely limited.
I believe it was partially on account of the inclement weather that Mr. Wooster soon elected to depart from Brinkley Court and return to London. As we returned to our ordinary routine, Mr. Wooster appeared to regard me more amiably than he had over the past several weeks of our disagreement. However, he still occasionally took on an imperious air and, to my disappointment, he continued to address me only as a servant rather than as a friend.
We had been in the flat for only a matter of days before Mr. Wooster ventured out into the rain and returned with a brightly patterned umbrella, with which I assure you he had not left the flat mere hours before.
"What ho, Jeeves!" Mr. Wooster greeted me cheerily, spattering water everywhere.
"Sir," I said with some suggestion of reproof, gingerly taking the device from his hands.
"Jeeves," Mr. Wooster said firmly, "I won't have any of that soupy tone of yours. This umbrella has been a great service to me in my hour of need."
"Very good, sir," I replied. If I betrayed any less disapproval, it was only by not betraying anything at all. Despite my efforts, my opinions seemed to mean no more to Mr. Wooster than they had before we departed for Brinkley Court.
"My coat, Jeeves," Mr. Wooster insisted as I occupied myself with handling the umbrella without allowing it to drip its watery burden onto every adjacent object - myself in particular.
"Yes, sir."
When, at last, Mr. Wooster had been divested of all his sodden outer garments, I was summarily dismissed, "That will be all, Jeeves."
I inclined my head toward him only a fraction, and then withdrew into the kitchen, hoping that another plan would soon be forthcoming.
It was difficult to know how to begin it all. I rather liked the notion of being pals with Jeeves and whatnot, but thinking back on that evening in the garden, I wasn't even sure what it was Jeeves really meant and how much of it was just the whole rummy atmosphere of the thing. And then nothing had really changed in the days that followed; Jeeves was perhaps a little less standoffish, a little less inclined to give the cold shoulder than he'd been of late, and I tried to be as chummy as I could in return, but dash it all, there was only so much a chap could do with aunts and cousins around every corner - it's awkward enough trying to be pally with your valet in your own flat, let alone with everyone else's eyes on you.
And then we'd gotten back to London and I'm afraid I spent too long letting I dare not wait upon I would and all that, and by that point Jeeves must have come back to his senses and realized a fellow like him would hardly want to be chums with a chap like me, if he'd ever wanted the bally thing to begin with - which seemed more absurd the longer I thought about it.
It was the return of that dashed cold shoulder that really did it. It was clear that if I'd ever had a chance with the chap, as it were, I'd surely wasted it, and I certainly couldn't wait any longer. I paced a bit across the sitting room, really looking like that cat in the adage, before finally I burst into the kitchen without even giving the door a knock - Jeeves's lair or none, it was my own flat, after all, and it wouldn't do for a chap to be afraid to roam about his own domain.
I stopped abruptly just as I'd gotten over the threshold, rather wishing I hadn't. It wasn't as though I really had anything to say. I couldn't very well ask the chap if he'd really meant all that in the garden.
"Sir?" Jeeves asked, about as close as the man gets to those chaps looking in silent surmise upon a peak in Darien - or however the wheeze goes exactly.
"I mean, I say," I stammered out.
Unlike myself, Jeeves, the remarkable cove that he is, quickly recovered. "A cup of tea, sir?" he asked, with a silent invitation to sit down at the kitchen table.
Finally, I regained my voice and drew myself up as much as I could and said with what I hoped was at least a bit of dignity, "No, thank you, Jeeves. I will be dining out this evening."
With that, I turned, and somehow without bumping into a thing, retreated from the kitchen and fled out into the dewy evening. Despite reclaiming some hold on the situation, as it were, I confess I was hardly proud of my retreat. I'd made a dashed fool of myself, and had hardly acted with the valor expected of the descendent of the proud Woosters who had made a stand at Agincourt.
I needed to do something to make up for it all and show that I wasn't just some bally coward who could hardly string a few words together - I needed to make a stand of my own, as it were. What I really needed was a plan of attack - or at the least a plan of action.
I wasn't a terribly talkative fellow that evening at the Drones, but I had the fish for dinner and by the time I returned to the flat, I had such a plan in hand. I strode home like a fellow who had risen on the stepping stones of his dead self to grander things, but I rather faltered by the door. It wasn't much of a plan, hardly one of Jeeves's gags, but there was only so much a chap could do on such short notice - even Jeeves usually takes a few days to think things over.
Finally, I barged into the flat, my heart feeling quite ready to burst out of my chest. The first hurdle appeared just as soon as I stepped in through the gate. I hadn't expected Jeeves to be there when I arrived; I hadn't even paused to consider that of course the man would ripple over to help me with my outer layers, as he often does. I faltered, without even a "what ho" to offer the chap in greeting. Instead, I stood stoically as Jeeves himself, trying to look as dignified as I could, as though I hadn't been caught by surprise at all.
As soon as the coat and hat had been dispensed with, I hastily dismissed the man, and only when he had gone into his lair did I settle on the sofa with an s. and b., light on the s. It was supposed to be a simple matter, hardly a plan at all, but the unforeseen hurdle had left my nerves in a jumble - even worse than they had been as I tarried out in the hall. It was hardly the way to prove to Jeeves that I was equal to anything, let alone a cove like him. I tried to steady the tell-tale beating as it were, but to no avail.
For a desperate moment, I thought to toss the whole thing out and start afresh with a new plan upon the morrow, but that would only show that I was capable of nothing more than turning tail and running in the hour of need. So, instead I stayed my racing heart and called for Jeeves, as masterful as you please - or at least, so I hoped.
A few seconds later, Jeeves appeared.
I hastily remembered to pick up my book from the table, opened to the middle as though I'd been reading and simply had a passing fancy to call for the chap.
"Yes, sir?" Jeeves prompted.
"Oh, yes, well!" I exclaimed, hardly the dignified chap Jeeves would want to hang about. I nearly sent the man away, but mastered myself in time. "Yes," I said again, in an intentional sort of way. "Just a small matter, what? I say, I mean…" I rather trailed off there.
"Yes, sir?" Jeeves asked again, this time a bit more encouraging somehow.
"Well, it's just, I was wondering, it's a rummy thing, but if you wanted to take a seat, to hang about, I mean, read or whatnot. Oh dash it all!" I exclaimed at last, having run out of words, and the ones I'd used already had hardly accomplished what I'd meant them to.
I'd even given Jeeves a bit of pause, deciphering it all. Finally, the man replied, "Sir, do you intend to say that you would like for me to join you?"
He seemed to get the thing all right, though he didn't seem to know what to make of it, or of me for that matter. I tried again to pull myself together.
"Yes, Jeeves," I said, chin raised and all that, "if you have completed your duties, that is, then I would welcome the pleasure of your company and whatnot."
Jeeves hardly seemed impressed, in fact I detected a bit of the bally stuffed frog in his demeanor, but at last he humored me with a slight nod and a rather indifferent, "Very good, sir."
With that, he vanished into the kitchens and for a desperate moment I feared I'd chased the man off for good. And then after an awful minute or two - or perhaps sixty - of waiting and wondering, he materialized again, the old Spinoza in hand.
"If I may, sir?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, certainly," I said, scrambling to regain my composure.
With no further protest, Jeeves sat down beside me. Really, he perched on the edge of the sofa rather than making himself comfortable, as though he was ready to stand again at any moment. His book rested closed upon his lap, his dark gaze instead fixed upon me, though I couldn't say what the chap expected of me.
I righted my posture and turned to my book, already open to some page or another. However, it was dashed difficult reading knowing that Jeeves was sitting right there beside me, perhaps still watching me. The words on the page may as well have been in Greek for all I gleaned from them - and I hadn't seen a sentence of Greek in years.
Finally, I could hold the suspense for no longer and glanced up at Jeeves. He was sitting just as I'd left him, his book now open, though I couldn't tell if he'd really been reading it, because as soon as I turned toward him, he looked up at me.
"Yes, sir?"
"Nothing, Jeeves," I insisted.
"Very good, sir."
I made a real attempt to return to my reading this time. But my eyes were inexorably drawn to the chap beside me. Jeeves's e. flickered up from the Spinoza to meet mine and I hastily returned to my own book.
That was hardly the last time such a silent exchange occurred, but with a bit of effort I was able to get back into the story, and so we spent the remainder of the evening sitting on the sofa, reading in a sort of companionable silence.
.
After all that, I confess I was hardly keen to give it another go and I rather expected Jeeves was of a similar mind - I certainly hadn't proved myself equal to the task of being a pal of his. The next few days, I did what I could to repair my reputation, as it were. I even tried to greet the mornings with near regal dignity, as far as m. go, kept an eye on Jeeves at his work throughout the afternoon, and engaged the chap in courteous conversation as he waited the table at dinner.
One afternoon, I called him to the sitting room with a particularly masterful air. "Jeeves, I say, where do you keep the books, you know, the ledgers and all that? A man ought to know the state of his own affairs, after all."
Jeeves seemed to stall a bit, bally surprised that I'd show any interest in my own estates.
"There's no need for such a look of surprise," I said firmly.
And in an instant it was gone, swallowed up by that stuffed frog expression he wears. "Indeed, sir."
Jeeves retreated into his lair and brought back out a large, weighty volume that held all the Wooster accounts, if the chap was to be believed. It certainly looked the part. I settled into the most comfortable chair in the sitting room, the volume across my lap and did what I could to peruse it.
I can tell you, it was hardly thrilling reading. I waited a good few minutes after Jeeves had vanished back into his lair and gave a few half-hearted flips through the pages in the hopes that there would be something about where the body was hidden or whatnot, but it was only numbers and names as far as the page could turn.
At last, I shut the thing with a tremendous thud, and called for Jeeves again to take it away. "Thank you, Jeeves, that will be all."
"Very good, sir."
.
If what I needed to do was prove myself to Jeeves - and there wasn't anything else for it - then it would hardly do for me to give in to cowardice, letting I dare not wait upon I would and all that. The afternoon was still young. I downed the remainder of my glass, gave it a swish for good measure, and shoved myself up onto my feet, which propelled me as best they could to the door of Jeeves's lair.
I first thought to knock and then thought better of it and merely entered.
Jeeves was in the midst of pressing my trousers and I quickly waved to preempt him from putting the iron aside on my account.
"Good afternoon, Jeeves," I said by way of announcing my presence - having stopped short of the usual "what ho" - though the man's gaze was already fixed on Bertram W.
"Good afternoon, sir," Jeeves said. "Is there anything which you require?"
"Oh, I say, I mean, just a cup of tea, what?"
"Very good, sir," Jeeves went to put up a kettle.
"I mean to say," I tried again, "that I'd like to join you for tea, if the offer still stands, that is."
"Indeed, sir," Jeeves said, to my surprise in the good sort of way that meant he really was pleased with the thing, which I'd hardly heard in days. There was even a bit of a smile twitching at the corners of his lips.
That accomplished, I sat down at the work table with a breath of relief. I hadn't exactly handled it as smoothly as a chap could have - certainly Jeeves would have done better - but I had time to make up for lost ground, as it were. I sat straight up in the hard kitchen chair and watched Jeeves with a bit of faint approval as he finished putting up the water for tea and returned to his work.
"Doing a bit of ironing, what?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," Jeeves said.
"Be careful with my new Oxford tie. See to it that you don't get careless and damage it like you did that mess jacket I was so fond of."
"Very good, sir."
The man's tone had taken a turn and I didn't very well like it. I told him as much, "I don't very well like that soupy tone, Jeeves."
That only had the effect of replacing the soup with the old stuffed frog. "Very good, sir."
It was hardly very pally of the chap - perhaps he'd thought better of wanting my company after all - but I remained in a dignified sort of silence at least to wait for the tea. It thankfully wasn't too much longer in the coming. Jeeves readied the cups and joined me at the kitchen table with a plate of biscuits for good measure.
"I say," I began, but corrected myself, instead going with a more proper, "thank you, Jeeves."
He gave a nod in acknowledgement and whatnot.
Things seemed just about ready to fall into silence, and while I'm sure there's nothing wrong with a good bit of silence under the right circs., it didn't feel quite the amiable thing.
Instead, I cast about and landed on, "A very pleasant tea, what?"
"Thank you, sir."
From there we managed to banter back and forth a bit, as it was, and by the time we'd finished off the plate and washed it down with a few cups, I was bold enough to consider it something of a success.
It appeared that my plan had succeeded after all - to an extent. Mr. Wooster increasingly sought out my company, but he was apparently conflicted in doing so, uncertain whether to censure me or approach me amicably; whether to regard me as a mere servant or as a friend.
I did what little I could to adjust the scales in my favor. I made my presence known as frequently as possible in the course of my duties; lingering in the sitting room even more so than usual when Mr. Wooster was present, and responding coolly only when I was left with no alternative. When Mr. Wooster dined at home, I remained by the table and we easily fell into conversation.
Mr. Wooster, however, remained uncertain. In the midst of an otherwise pleasant discussion he would pause to ask if I had completed some task which there was no cause for him to think that I had neglected and if I dared offer some opinion, it was invariably dismissed.
.
One afternoon, Mr. Wooster called me into the sitting room merely to ask with some attempt at imperiousness, "Jeeves, have you dusted the piano?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, my pride prohibiting me from saying any more.
"Very good. I was just thinking of playing a few bars, what?" I confess that I was surprised when he continued, "You're welcome to hang around, if you like, I mean. I could play a bit from the Jeeves songbook, if you have any particular favorites, that is, as long as it's none of that sappy rot."
"That is very kind, sir."
And so, we spent a most pleasant hour or two, talking as much as playing the piano or singing.
.
Yet, another day, when one of Mr. Wooster's friends visited to consult upon one of their many affaires de cœur, I was immediately dismissed from the room, and from outside the door I heard Mr. Wooster insist, "Jeeves has lost his touch and has no time for such extraneous matters besides! If you have any problem in need of solving you can put it before me."
Afterwards, Mr. Wooster and I did not talk for some days.
.
I was waiting the table as Mr. Wooster ate dinner one evening some time later, engaging him in conversation and occasionally pausing to refill his glass, when Mr. Wooster remarked, "I say, it's dashed silly for you to be standing about the whole time chewing the fat and just watching me eat. If you're not going to go back to the kitchen, you may as well have a bite yourself, what?"
"Sir?" I said, uncertain if I had entirely understood.
Mr. Wooster righted his posture. "I mean, if it will not interfere with waiting the table, you're welcome to join me for dinner, if you like."
"That is very kind, sir."
I retrieved an additional setting for the table and took a seat across from Mr. Wooster.