"Sir, I am certain we could find somewhere to stop for tea in the charming village of St. Mary Mead," Jeeves suggested in that off-hand way of his that usually means he has something up his sleeve.

Upon this particular occasion, Jeeves and I were speeding along a country road between here and there, having left the flat before tea time, set to arrive at our destination well after it was done, but with a few hours still before dinner.

"St. Mary Mead?" I asked. I didn't recall seeing the town on the map, but I'd only given the bally thing a few turns before giving it up as a lost cause and leaving it to Jeeves.

"Yes, sir. A quaint little town, just outside of Much Benham."

I motioned for the man to stop. "I don't care where it's outside of as long as there's tea to be had when we get there. Lead on, Jeeves."

"Very good, sir."

There really wasn't much town to speak of. I wouldn't have known it was there at all had Jeeves not directed me to turn off the main road, and then, after a few more miles of increasingly windy country roads, found myself right in the thick of it - or as thick as it got, at least. It was about what you would expect for a little town on the small-ish side; a solicitor's, a hairdresser's, a basket-weaver's, a pub, a butcher's, a dairy, a baker's, and a grocery, and that was about it.

"So," I said rather pointedly, once I had pulled up along the side of the narrow road, made for bicycles rather than cars.

"Yes, sir?" Jeeves asked all innocence.

"Where's this charming place to stop for tea of which you spoke so highly, Jeeves?"

"Such towns are known for their hospitality, sir. Or, if you would prefer, I was hoping to pay a brief visit to my Aunt Jane who lives a little ways down Lansham Road. I am certain you would be welcome to join us."

"Are you quite sure? I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Not at all, sir. She would be delighted to meet you. And her new maid makes an excellent tea."

I gave the man a look - I could very well see what he was up to - but I could tell there was no use in protesting; he already knew he had won. "Very good, Jeeves," I said at last, and put the car back into gear.

Jeeves directed me down the road, and I made my way the best I could, around bicycles that were quite content to dominate the narrow stretch as though it were their very own, and people strolling across at any odd angle without a care in the world or any reason to hurry. I even had time to listen to the old gossips beginning to stir as we passed, wondering what a young gentleman like myself was doing in little old St. Mary Mead.

At last, Jeeves bade me park in front of a charming little cottage with a well-attended garden all around it. A pleasant sort of girl answered the door and waved us in with a sort of sheepish look. She was on the diminutive side; positively dwarfed by Jeeves and a head or two shorter than myself, all in keeping with the theme of the place - Jeeves wasn't the only one who had to stoop a bit at the door.

The cottage was about what might be expected of a home of the aunt-inhabited variety; cozy and strictly neat, which to me suggested the sterner, disapproving sort of aunt. I had but to trust that Jeeves hadn't led me unaware into the lion's den, because unlike Daniel, I had not a talent for taming aunts or other wild beasts. Jeeves, of course, gave no indication that anything was amiss as he allowed the girl to lead us into his aunt's domain.

A woman not so much older than Jeeves or I greeted us about halfway between the hall and the sitting room - some in, some out as it were. She certainly looked like an aunt, her hair up in a tight bun and a shawl around her shoulders. But rather unlike the stern female I had been expecting, her eyes had a bit of a faraway look to them, as though we'd caught her dreaming. For a moment, I feared the likes of Madeline Bassett, going on about little bunny rabbits and calling stars "God's daisy chain" and that sort of sentimental rot.

And then she took one glance between Jeeves and I, and said reprovingly, but not in the damning disappointed Aunt Agatha sort of way - not that anyone, having Jeeves for a nephew could be anything other than impressed by the chap - "Jeeves, you should have told me. I would have gotten something from Much Benhamn, but there's nothing to be done now." That said, she turned to me, regarding me so keenly I could only expect a scathing revue, but after a moment or so she seemed to content herself with Bertram W. and to my even greater shock, appeared downright pleased with my presence. "And you must be Mr. Wooster. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

"Right-o!" I exclaimed. "Likewise!"

Having passed the initial inspection, she allowed us entry into the tidy and bright sitting room. Jeeves pulled up a chair, and we settled around the coffee table.

Meanwhile, I did my share to keep things moving; "I say, Jeeves has told you all about me, what? All good, I hope?"

"I shouldn't hope so," she said a tad distantly, with a little shake of her head, "no."

I'm not sure what a chap ought to say to a proclamation like that, I wasn't sure then, and I couldn't say I know much better now. I settled with a wary, "Gosh, it's that bad?"

She hastily corrected herself - she seemed to be perpetually in a rather peculiar place between distractedly up in the clouds, and incisively present - "No, not at all, I mean to say that wouldn't be very honest, now would it? It's much better to get a bit of bad in with the good. If there's no bad at all then certainly someone must be lying, mustn't they?"

There was only one thing to say to that, "Oh, I mean rather!" And then I added, "It was correct parts good and bad, then, what?"

"Yes, I suppose so," she said, but she didn't sound entirely certain about it.

There was a moment's pause before the girl came in with tea and a few of the usual accoutrements. That occupied us for a little while, with cups and tea cakes and what not.

"I'm sorry, it's not very much," Aunt Jane said as the girl made her retreat, "certainly not compared to what you're used to, but my girl Emily makes a fine tea, if I may say so."

"Rather! Jeeves was telling me on the drive up, and she must be something if she's half as good as Jeeves."

"Thank you, sir," Jeeves said, the corner of his lips twitched up just a smidge.

Aunt Jane turned to him, "Oh, that's very kind of you, Jeeves. I know you must be accustomed to much nicer things, up in the big city and all."

"Not at all," Jeeves said with a graciouis nod.

"I teach the girls myself," she explained to me, "to give them a skill. They're orphans, you see. It's the least I can do."

"I say! Did you teach Jeeves, being his aunt and all?" I asked.

"No, we learned it at about the same time, I think." Then she seemed to hesitate, giving the thing a bit of thought. "It's hard to tell how we're all related, isn't it?"

I hadn't a clue what to make of that. I glanced over at Jeeves, but he was looking rather like a stuffed frog all of a sudden.

"Is it really?" I asked conversationally.

She nodded. "Dreadfully so, I'm afraid. Not that it matters so much, really. But I do sometimes wonder if Mr. Holmes didn't keep some of those old records."

"You know Sherlock Holmes?" I asked, scrambling for a foothold, so to speak.

"Why, of course, it's all thanks to him and that good doctor" - she glanced over at Jeeves, who had gone from stuffed frog to cold disapproval and cut herself off, though she seemed more exasperated by it than anything else. "Well, anyway, I meant the elder, Mr. Mycroft Holmes; I don't imagine the younger would keep a thing like that, no. But there's no use in dwelling on it, is there?"

"I would think not," Jeeves said, not so severely as I expected.

"No, you're quite right." She shook herself a little to pull herself together. She turned to me as though nothing had happened, "More tea, dear?"

"Oh, certainly!" I said. "But wait, what's all that about not knowing how you're related and what not?" It was a good thing Aunt Jane had waited a second to refill my cup, because I gave it an emphatic wave that would have certainly sent all the tea flying.

As it was, she merely pulled back and, with a glance over at Jeeves, said, "I'm sorry, I'm afraid Jeeves will have to be the one to tell you. And maybe some old ghosts are best left buried in the ground."

I gave the chap a look, but he was as stony-faced as ever. I sighed a little pointedly, but, alas, there was nothing to be done. And with all that about old ghosts, maybe I could see her side of the thing.

"But you don't mind me calling you Aunt Jane, do you?" I asked.

"Not at all," she said with a smile and a knowing twinkle in her eye.

Note: The story continues! Look for other fics with "Part of The Mysterious Mr. Jeeves" in the summary.