Chapter Text
“Such is my love, to thee so I belong,
That for thy right, my self will bear all wrong.”
--Sonnet 88, William Shakespeare
Jeeves once told me the name of every Muse that existed.
I remember him saying in particular that I was touched by Thalia, the Muse of comedy, and Euterpe, the Muse of music. And I remember being so taken by the extolment from the man, so thrilled—for Jeeves is ever deliberate in his ideals of worth and praise—that one night I stayed up and submerged myself within a Greek history book.
It was in hopes that I might impress him with a similarly directed compliment toward his aspiring Muses (which I am still thoroughly convinced, was all of them.)
When he quoted Shakespeare or Burns or other such romantics, I wanted to comment that he was favored by Calliope herself, the Muse of poetry.
Or when he mentioned some particularly brainy fact of some past action in some part of the world, I wanted to point out that he obviously had the blessing of history’s Muse, Clio, upon him.
I wanted to say all these things to him, and so much more, but I never did.
And forthwith, I'll never have the chance.
For Melpomene, the Muse of tragedy, writes with me tonight.
I wasn’t really planning to write about it this way, I wasn’t planning to write this at all… And if I weren’t so accustomed to this blasted business of jotting down my every thought and whim I’d probably be much better off right now.
No one will read it, by Jove, I'll make sure of that, and yet here I am putting pen to paper about what I’ve been desperately trying to put behind me altogether. It feels blasphemous, like I’m committing some sort of betrayal by the simple act of scribbling my thoughts down—an unholy act to rank up there with Pride and Lust. But since I’ve perpetrated both of those sins already, I may as well get this one out of the way too.
I should be altogether eradicating this event from the Wooster Family History—if ‘eradicate’ is the word I want (might be too strong, though I would eradicate the whole event and outcome if I could). But whatever the deuce means ‘wholly discard,’ well, that’s the ticker I’m after.
I don’t suppose anything could bring damage to my reputation now, since after the mud and the muck there’s really no place left to sink. And once I’m finished with this I'll set the blasted thing alight and be done with it! Not that there haven’t been enough flames already…
But I’m starting at the end, and even in a private and combustible log such as this I shan’t be making that fatal error! Right-o then...
~*~*~*~
It was an odd enough morning to begin with, even without knowing the contretemps of the day. That is to say, there was nothing normal about it—if anything could ever be known as ‘normal’ with the two of us—‘us’ consisting of course of myself and my man Jeeves. Or rather that’s my soon to be ex-man, Jeeves.
“I say, Jeeves, good morning and all that! And if ever there was a morning to top…” It had been my intention to take my valet unawares this fine morning, as it could not be but half past seven and I could never recall being up this early before.
But miraculously—as he is rather a miraculous being, Jeeves—without my being able to pull back the covers first, without my so much as sitting up in bed, his mysterious hidden radar that detects all the young master’s thoughts, feelings, moods, and calamitous situations—had sensed my wakefulness and in he came, armed with morning tea in hand.
How exactly he does this, mere mortals may never be privy to such knowledge.
So far things were biffing along quite nicely, deceptively.
“Agreed, sir.” And yes, the tone was a bit strained but, as I had stated, my inexperience at awakening at this early hour caused a certain lack of interest in debating the newest of quarrels my valet had with me. I let it pass, or rather I grit my teeth and bore it out.
“Time to ‘carpe diem’ and all that good stuff. Why, I never even knew a day could begin so early and be so long! Or of all the things that could be done in it! Ah, from now on, it’s ‘bon vivant’ for me Jeeves…”
“I’m sorry to hear that sir.”
My attention had admittedly been wandering, but at this I looked him square in the eye. “Are you trying to say you disapprove of my being up and about at this hour Jeeves? It is you, is it not, who is the first to whip out and swear by the old truism ‘early to bed, early to rise’?”
“I confess to enjoying a brief interval of privacy in the predawn hours before you normally call upon me, sir.”
“In other words, mornings are time for yourself?”
“Yes sir, to meditate and prepare for the day ahead, among other things.”
“Well, now that that has been established, I certainly am most sorry to encroach upon your routine Jeeves—it is ‘encroach’, isn’t it?”
“Yes sir it is, but in this instance, no sir, it isn’t. You have not intruded upon my personal time, as this is so rare an occurrence. May I enquire as to why you have risen so prematurely today?”
By now he had not only sorted and laid out what I was to wear, but drawn the bath, prepared the shaving tools, tidied up the room, straightened the bed sheets, fluffed my pillows, rearranged my collection of shoes and socks, brought in and endeavored to remove my breakfast tray, and left me with just my cup of Darjeeling.
I seriously doubt whether ten minutes had passed. This being the norm for so long I hardly took notice. I find it imperative, however, that I do not disregard his remarkable skills as a manservant when faced with all the additional wonders of his that never cease.
“Of course you may enquire, Jeeves. Do you really need to ask? I gave up long ago withholding any aspect of my life from you.” That was how matey our relations had become—my every foible known to him.
“I’m honored by your confidence, sir, but I do not wish to overstep my boundaries.”
“That would be quite impossible, Jeeves, for as I have said, I hold no secrets from you, and surely by now there are no boundaries to separate our respective selves. Yes, well, what the truth is, an old chum of mine—rather, I haven’t seen him in a while, and you certainly haven’t met him, Jeeves, so I guess that makes him a new, old chum of mine for you—has just arrived via cruise liner.”
I swirled my tea a bit, looking down into its swirling depths whilst reminiscing of old times. “See, upon our escape from Oxford, this boy actually had the conviction to go the full distance. So many long years of boarding in prep school, public school, and university had been more than enough for me, but apparently not for him. He became a doctor of all things, a healer of the sick! And a good one too I might add. Making him the only one among our group to go out and actually do something with his life, in the helping industry no less!”
I took a thoughtful sip of my tea at this time for good reason. For when one is reflecting on another’s life accomplishments, one can’t but help to compare with his own accomplishments—or lack thereof, as my case may very well be. I tried to banish these deliberations lest I be disappointed with the result. I wasn’t in the mood to be sour at that hour.
“Well, the only one of us unless you don’t count Rev. Stinker Pinker,” I amended respectfully, “What with being a reverend and all, saving souls, he’s got to be up there in good name and the helping trade, but that’s beside the point. This chap was always the most chipper of chaps too, never lacking in energy this pal of mine, a little too much enthusiasm though Jeeves, if you get my drift. Bouncing around at all hours of the day and night is one dalliance that we didn’t quite agree on. But while most doctors are doing what they do today for the wealth and the prestige—or because some unfortunate soul had an aunt who had gone and planned their whole life before them, as aunts are ought to do—this guy actually did it because he has the best heart around.”
“A moving story sir,” Jeeves verbalized.
“Yes, quite, isn’t it? Of all the bally places anyone could be, guess where he’s spent these last few years?”
“I couldn’t say sir.”
“India! Pah! All that sun, he’s probably as red as a burnt lobster.” Thankfully here Jeeves pluckily restrained himself from mentioning that lobsters aren’t very likely to get burnt, seeing as how they live down deep in the sea, and even the preferred cooking method is either boiling or steaming.
“And before that I got a letter postmarked from Afghanistan. I won’t mention the contents since it’s somewhat lewd, involving these cliques of girls called ‘harems’ and such…” I shuddered; he had definitely mentioned a lot of girls. I for one couldn’t imagine being around so many at once.
“If I have to mention a fault is that this fellow is an absolute womanizer. Even Bingo Little, before he got married, didn’t hold a candle to this one. Til this day it rather beats me how. He was never very much of a looker. Must be his smooth-talking talents that captured the hordes!”
“Indeed sir? And what, pray tell, is this gentleman’s name?”
“Have I really not mentioned it, Jeeves?” Well obviously I hadn’t, or Jeeves wouldn’t be inquiring about it. He’s quick on the uptake like that, never misses a trick, Jeeves.
“Well, a fine tirade I must have given. To set before you all these vivid details and images and you without a face or a name or whatnot—poor fellow, having no idea where to put it all! I shall make amends immediately! I am sorry, Jeeves. Must be this early morning rising business. Doubtlessly the brain’s not functioning at its peak—if it ever was in the first place, more than a few might argue.”
“I wouldn’t say that, sir.” Jeeves looked almost horrified at the suggestion—that is to say, if he showed any emotion at all, horror would be the most likely candidate at this point.
“I’m not suggesting that you would, old bean,” I hastened to reassure. “But others might. You cannot dispute it. With a reputation like mine, people are bound to talk.”
The slightest lowering of the shoulders made me realize my poor valet was with the misgivings that this was his fault too, which it was more than partially true, but we Woosters don’t keep grudges, especially against those we consider near and dear—and he was my nearest and dearest.
“Let them talk, Jeeves!” I dismissed, “It doesn’t matter what people say or think. I’ve certainly never been one to depend on the praise or criticism of the masses!”
“No sir, it is one of your more admirable traits.”
“Who was it that talked about reasonable and unreasonable men Jeeves?”
“Perhaps the citation you seek is one from the playwright Shaw, sir. I believe his line of thought was as follows: ‘The reasonable man adapts himself to the world: the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man.’ It is a fine quote, sir, one that tries to relay the virtues of not adhering to the public opinion.”
“That’s the one, whatnot. I must say, Jeeves; I can hardly believe you to be in approval of anything so closely resembling anarchy. You toe the line far better than anyone I know. Why, I doubt if even an impending stampede of rhinoceros could push you over it!”
“There are points on which the law and I disagree at best, sir. And I find I follow my own set of conduct as I see fit. There have been times when certain indiscretions have called for even I to act accordingly—and not always within what society’s rules would decree.”
It then struck me, with Jeeves showing as close to a pained expression as he got, how far off the bat I really was this morning. I mean, I was acting a right bally fool!
“Call me daft and thick Jeeves.” I had completely forgotten about the Ganymede club book! How he had gone against the very code of honor he spoke of, something he lived his entire life by, to save me from blackmail. So much for my not caring about what others thought! “I am sorry to bring such an agonizing memory for you to the forefront. It is agonizing, is it not?”
“I did my duty sir.” His words were beset with conviction, his entire countenance grave, and over the rim of my cup I let my gaze dwell on him in study a bit longer than usual. I had pondered more than once what would happen if anyone bothered to check those requirements he spoke of, and if Jeeves would indeed be branded a traitor and exiled if they were to be found out. It was a wearisome matter, and for once there simply seemed to be no perfect solution, or if there was one, neither Jeeves nor I could come up with it. And that’s saying something.
“Of course you did—you always do.” I remained quiet for some time afterwards, threatening again to fall into thoughts of insufficient self-worth and whether or not I really deserved the man at my side. (I was being unusually completive this morning). Thankfully, Jeeves caught this in time and cleared his throat before I could really slide myself down that slippery slope.
“Sir, I believe we both became side-tracked for the moment. You were about to give me the name of your acquaintance…?”
“Wha…? Oh, yes! Yes, of course! Thank you, Jeeves, I shall endeavor to correct this error immediately. And without further ado, his name is: Goose.”
A quite noticeable pause ensued.
“Excuse me, sir, but it sounded as though you said ‘Goose’.”
“Well, Jeeves, it rather sounded that way because that is what came out, ‘Goose’.”
“’Goose’ as in reference to the waterfowl, sir? An anseriform bird, from the family Anatidae…”
“Exactly as the bird Jeeves, though infinitely kinder than the ones you have been known to save the Wooster hide from. It’s a nickname mind, as you’ve indubitably guessed at, stemming from the resemblance the two have—particularly in the nose and neck area.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Yes, the whole thing is rather odd isn’t it? Especially since his Christian name is either Barney or Barnabas, one of the two anyway, I forget which. But someone must have shouted out ‘Goose’ one day and it stuck to him like wet spaghetti. Old Goose…” and here I must confess I got a bit dreamy-eyed in anticipation of the day ahead, so Jeeves silently removed cup and saucer from my grasp and took his leave with a slight bow.