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purplefluffycatTitle: Jeeves and the Artistic Verisimilitude
Chapter: Two - Drama and Divination
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Rating: This chapter: G. The story will rate NC-17 at its fruitiest moments ;-)
Characters: Bertie/Jeeves, with several of Bertie's crowd making an appearance along the way, and a couple of new faces.
Words: This chapter: ~7200 , about 52,000 overall.
Genre: Chiefly Romance, with some Drama, Angst, Humour and Fluff.
Summary:
"Surely, one would think, nothing could be more relaxing for a young Wooster than a week spent by the seaside? - Golf and sand-castle building without an aunt in sight!
One may think so, indeed, but the combination of several 'friends' with their own agendas, a theatrical production and the mysterious designs of my very own valet conspired to make that week spent in Spindleythorpe-on-sea one of the most memorable and life-changing of the lot..."
There will be fortune tellers! And Gilbert and Sullivan! And (the chaps are rather glad to hear), plenty of romantic fluffy goodness!
Chapter One - 'Escape and Entrapment'
Chapter Two - Drama and Divination
“Good morning, sir,” rang Jeeves' dulcet tones the next day.
I surfaced drowsily. “Hullo, Jeeves,” I managed, “What time is it? It feels suspiciously early, somehow.”
“It is half-past eight, sir.”
“Half-past eight?! Why on earth are you waking me three hours before holiday breakfast-time?” I must have sounded distinctly grumpy.
Jeeves produced that dratted colourful timetable and proceeded to pass it into my (somewhat limited) field of focussed vision. “My apologies, sir. However, I am sure that you would not want to be late for your first rehearsal, which commences downstairs in the hotel ballroom in thirty minutes.”
I tried to hide my head under the pillow, but Jeeves deftly managed to remove both that and the quilt from my grasp, leaving me shivering on the bed for a while before sulkily padding into the bathroom. He did had a welcoming tub all ready for me though, and was most obliging in helping to scrub my back, as the hotel didn’t provide a proper loofah.
Twenty-nine and a half minutes later, Jeeves deposited me downstairs clad in a summer suit with a straw boater (he had vetoed the American-style hat). The ballroom was large and dusty, hung heavily with faded velvet curtains, but contained a perfectly serviceable wooden floor and at least one decent piano. A throng was already assembled, most of whom I recognised, and some of whom I was sure were tone-deaf. Indeed, there were two chaps there who had once been asked which part of Africa they hailed from following an after-dinner attempt to sing the National Anthem.
“Bertie! So lovely to see you!” called a drippy voice from somewhere behind me. I soon saw that it belonged to Madeline Bassett.
“What-ho, Madeline,” I said, “So are you looking forward to this, err… cucumber business, then?”
“Oh, Bertie, it’s going to be wonderful!” she gushed, “The words are all so very meaningful, don’t you think? As Yum-Yum, I get to sing about the moon, and the sun and all sorts of lovely things. And you and I will make such a romantic couple!” She fixed me with a boggle-eyed gaze that might have been intended to hold significance.
“Oh, ra-ther…” I stammered, “Yes, cracking…” In fact, I was almost glad when Josephine-the-Terrible sailed over bearing two large-looking books.
“Hello, Bertie,” she said, “How marvellous to see you. And on time, too! Maybe Mrs. Gregson described you a little too harshly after all. Or maybe it’s all down to Jeeves.” I was about to take issue with that, but had no chance. “Here are your score and libretto - have a look through and we’re going to start the sing-through in ten minutes. This is Deirdre Whittleworth – she’s the musical director.”
Josephine gestured to her left to a girl so small and tweedy I hadn’t even noticed she was there. Deirdre looked at me from behind a pair of very thick spectacles, which gave the impression that each of her eyes was a goldfish bowl inhabited by many tiny, twitchy creatures.
“Hell- hell-o,” she said, very quietly, then looked at Josephine to check whether she had been allowed to say anything at all. When no reprimand came, she was sufficiently encouraged to say, “I hear, Bertie… that you- you’re…very good at…play- …at playing the piano.”
“Well, I do like to tinkle out the odd number, I suppose,” I replied. “Most kind of you to say so, I’m sure.” Josephine and Deirdre then departed, and I found a chair to settle down to the serious business of deciphering what this unnamed vegetable trouble was all about.
Anyone in that room in the next few minutes may well have heard not a small number of chuckles, croaks and guffaws coming from the corner that contained Bertram. The thing was, you see: this particular musical aubergine was really jolly good! Funny jokes, nifty tunes, clever twisty plot. I was pretty well won over by the time I had thumbed through that score, and would have been a whole-hearted advocate of the forthcoming performance in different circs. Unfortunately however, having the thing laid out in black and white like that also made the whole situation feel a lot more real. Digestive butterflies were definitely beginning to do the cha-cha.
Josephine called the meeting to order and we all toddled piano-wards. Deirdre was sitting at the keys, trembling, with the overture before her. I was just about to suggest that it might be sporting to skip the orchestral what-not and go straight into the gents' chorus when an enormous change overcame the girl. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and immediately metamorphosed from the bowels of goldfish-bowl tweed-land into a head-swishing, piano-bashing daemon. I was impressed, if not a little scared.
After a stunned five minutes of every tune Mr. Sulli-thingy ever wrote stitched end-to-end, most of the chaps present were herded forward by Josephine (only some of the holding their scores the right way up, I noticed). They then proceeded to bellow through the opening number, striking various harmonies that I'm sure Jeeves would have described as, ‘exceedingly modern’. Madame la Directrix did not look pleased. Not at all.
I was gently musing on how the Drones club rugby team could possibly be transformed into a musical chorus-line within a week, when someone started poking me in the ribs.
“It's you, Bertie,” whispered Madeline.
“Oh, is it? Right...” I energetically leafed through the book until seeing, ‘No. 3. Recit and Song, Nanki-Poo’. “Mmm, well. Off we go then, I suppose.” Deirdre played the opening chord pretty fearsomely, but at least I started on the right note. “'Gentlemen, I pray you tell me, where a gentle maiden dwelleth, named Yum-Yum...'”
The song that came next was rather jaunty, actually. “'A wand'ring minstrel, I...'” It was jolly good sport, what with all the trumpets blazing and sailors shantying. Yes, especially the sailors. I made a mental note to tell Jeeves that he, as usual, had been right about this kumquat-thingy, and decided to regale him with that very piece when I got back to my room.
A few more numbers pottered by, and then we reached ‘No. 5. Entrance of the Lord High Executioner.’ The gents' chorus gave another dirge-like performance, and then-
Silence. Josephine scanned the faces present to see which chap was guilty of the heinous crime of not counting their bars. Finally, she demanded of no-one in particular, “Where on earth is my Ko-Ko? Mr. Fink-Nottle?!”
Madeline looked pretty distressed at that point, too. “Augustus? Where are you? I swear he was here at breakfast.”
To the Wooster brain, this was doubly surprising – Gussie having absconded at the moment he was needed was one thing, but the idea of casting him in the first place - a lisping booby every bit as wet as his own newts – as the sharp-tongued comic lead? Well, that was quite another thing entirely.
“I regret to say that Mr. Fink-Nottle is unwell, madam,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. I turned to see Jeeves there, looking resplendently neat, as always.
“Oh, dash it!” said Josephine, “Doesn't he realise how important this is? The performance is in five days’ time. It's jolly inconsiderate of him to be ill all over the place.”
“As you say, madam,” replied Jeeves. Then he turned to leave.
“Wait a minute - Jeeves, isn't it?” she called after him.
Jeeves returned, somewhat slowly. “Yes, madam?”
“As Gussie's not here you can come and sing his lines. Chop-chop - there's a spare score on top of the piano.”
Jeeves looked utterly incredulous at that point; both eyebrows moved at least a quarter of an inch. Valet though he is, Jeeves is not accustomed to being chop-chopped at. Indeed, Josephine was clearly either braver or stupider than Boadicea herself, to chop-chop at Jeeves.
Incredulity aside, Jeeves did indeed pick up a score, and almost magically opened it at the relevant page. He nodded slightly at Deirdre and immediately picked up the piece in exactly the right place at exactly the right pitch. I cannot recall whether I had ever before heard Jeeves sing, but let me tell you now – the man is a musical marvel! His voice sounded like fruit and honey and warm summer days. It was melodious, rich and clear, and I found myself being enveloped by his singing as one might be by a particularly luxurious duvet. My only regret was that the piece was so short; as soon as I had been lulled into a happy daydream, it was all over.
I was probably gaping at Jeeves in awe when he stopped, as he afforded me a tiny quirk of his (really rather handsome) lips from across the room. And then, without warning, he catapulted himself and the by-now dishevelled pianist into a lighting-speed patter-song all about a ‘little list’ of miscreants. All of Jeeves' trademark plummy vowels were there, punctuated by constants of such superb clarity the air around him was cut up into little shining pieces of glass. I tried to follow along in my score, but Jeeves whipped through several verses that totally escaped me on the page. In particular, I remember,
“'The theatrical director of a domineering sort,
And her comrade pianist. - I've got them on the list.
And certain meek young men, whom rehearsals near-abort,
Their newts should not be kissed! I've got him on the list...”
All jolly funny, I must say! - And what a coincidence that Mr. Sully-wully wrote lyrics that had such a close connection with the situation at hand.
When he had finished, the assembled company erupted into applause - with cheers and cat-calls - led from the front by yours truly, I'm proud to say. Most would have thought Jeeves to have remained completely impassive at this reception, but I could tell he was gratified – I have come to know my valet very well these years, and that purse of the lips was definitely a sign of pride from the handsome fellow. I confess to feeling a snip of reflected glory at having such a prize in my employ, in fact; we all thought he was an utter star! Well, nearly all, that is. Josephine looked distinctly icy and shot Deirdre the metaphorical daggers when she was caught clapping.
“That will be all, Jeeves,” the directrix remarked dryly.
“Very good, madam,” said Jeeves, and promptly melted from the room to a chorus of disappointed groans from the rest of us.
The remainder of the sing-through passed mostly without note, all of Ko-Ko's other material being curtly passed over, and Tuppy making a reasonable fist of Pooh-Bah – he does have the pomposity down to a 'T', that's for sure. Honoria was either splendidly terrifying or terrifyingly splendid as Katisha; the old maid who tries to inveigle Nanki-Poo into marriage. I had to remind myself several times that it was only a story when we were doing that bit, I can tell you. The mere thought of being eternally bound to Honoria was still enough to send fear along the Wooster spine. Future aunt-material if I've ever seen it, that one.
When all was done, I once again silently thanked Jeeves for saving me from a fate worse than Glossop, and left the rehearsal in pretty good spirits, all told.
*****
“I say, Jeeves, You were marvellous!” I said as I tumbled back into my room at lunchtime. “Jeeves? I say, Jeeves, are you here?”
My valet promptly shimmered into view, “Yes, sir?”
“I was just saying, Jeeves, that you were bally marvellous! The old vocal chords and that, – wow-ee!”
“Why thank you sir. I am most gratified to know that you enjoyed the rendition.”
“Gosh yes! Your voice made me feel all intense and goosebumpy. Is that the effect you normally have on chaps, Jeeves?”
He stilled for a moment, those dark eyes seeming to widen, just a little, in surprise. “Not to my knowledge, sir, but it is an interesting report to hear from you.”
There was something about that response, something that I couldn't quite place. It made me wonder if I was supposed to be picking up on something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't quite tell what it was. I just trusted that if there was something I should know, Jeeves would see fit to keep me up to speed in due course – he really was a marvel like that.
“I'm just popping out now, Jeeves,” I said, changing the subject in my confusion. “Bingo suggested a stroll, as the weather is so fine, before we have lunch.”
“Very good, sir,” my valet replied. I might have imagined it, but he still seemed a little distracted as he ushered me out of the door.
Mother Nature was indeed putting on a glorious show for us that day, and as Bingo, Madeline, Gussie (who had miraculously recovered, it seemed) and I prommed along the prom, all was right with the world. I felt totally at peace, cauliflowers notwithstanding, until of course, something happened to throw the Wooster constitution out of kilter.
“Ah, there it is, just as he said!” exclaimed Bingo, in a rare break from extolling the virtues of the dreaded Josephine.
“What’s this? Just as who said?” I asked, but no-one answered; they were all preoccupied with Madeline’s impression of some kind of flying horse in the direction of…
…Oh no. In the direction of Madam Osiris’ fortune-telling pavilion. “Let’s go in!” she called back to us, and I had no chance to protest as Gussie and Bingo dragged me along in Madeleine’s wake and we arrived, panting, at the entrance of the fronded seafront cabin.
“Fortunes for four, please,” demanded Gussie of the attendant, and slapped down half-a crown upon the counter.
“Ooh, right ‘e are, sir,” the old tar replied, “Madam Oo-sy-rees ‘ll be wi’ ya in a mo-ment. Jus’ go through that there cur’ain.”
We disappeared into the gloom of the pavilion, and my eyes were assaulted by incense thicker than Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps on a bad day. There were also lots of funny chiming sounds and more red velvet than might have been used for haberdashing an entire opera house.
My valet’s wise words came back to haunt me, then, and I began to feel a bit apprehensive about the whole affair. I wasn’t really sure if I was in the market for the profound truth of the Wooster future to be unlocked - just like that, in front of my chums. What if it was something awful? - That I was due to be squashed by an elephant escaped from the zoo, or that I’d expire as a result of a dodgy piece of liver-sausage. Of course, that would give me cause to steer a wide berth around liver-sausage from then on, but these fortunes don’t lie, you know. Someone might creep up on me in my sleep and bludgeon me with a particularly large, solid liver-sausage, just to fulfil the prophecy.
Such woeful thoughts could not be given full flight however, because no sooner as we had been admitted into the pavilion, a figure appeared at the other side of a curiously bedecked table and beckoned the four of us forwards.
Madam Osiris, as I assumed the person to be, was a very tall woman who could not be described as pretty. She had broad, masculine shoulders, wide, capable hands, and a most dignified air. Perhaps in lieu of ‘attractive’ it might have been fair to label her ‘handsome.’ My fears regarding the future of Bertram were multiplied when I saw that impressive person who was about deliver same; anything this particular gypsy queen was to say would likely be most authoritative indeed. I was doubly glad now that I had heeded Jeeves’ advice and not followed up the foolish scheme of attempting to bribe her – the mere thought at this point seemed utterly shuddersome.
As I took in her full splendour, I noticed that Madam Osiris was wearing sequinned robes that fitted her frame loosely from shoulder to floor and shimmered in the candlelight of the pavilion like a flock of fireflies - if fireflies come in flocks, that is. Her face was partially obscured by a sort of see-through fabric gauze, but the bridge of a fine patrician nose appeared above the cloth, along with very deep brown eyes. Those eyes were pretty mesmerising, to tell the truth. I might have imagined it, but they seemed to be fixed intently upon yours truly, and I was torn between glancing away to dissolve the tension and returning that captivating, fathomless gaze. Intense stuff, I can tell you.
We sat down on the plush pouffes on the visitor side of the table, and the fortune teller slid into her high-backed throne opposite us. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, almost as if she was trying to get a measure of her clients before she began, from our oar-thingies. Auras; yes that’s it.
“Welcome, my children,” Madam Osiris said. I couldn’t help but notice that her voice was extremely deep for a woman’s, and had a rhythm that seemed strangely familiar. “What is it that you wish to ask the eternal spirits?”
“We would like to know about love and romance,” said Madeleine, deeply in awe, “Please tell us about the one true kindred spirit for whom we are each destined on this earth.” She paused thoughtfully. “And I’d also like to know, if it’s not too much trouble, Madam Osiris, why God decided to make the stars into a daisy-chain.”
Madam Osiris seemed to be taking all this in, but I rather wondered whether the daisy-chain business was a bit much, even for one who communed with non-corporeal beings during breakfast. “Very well, my child,” she said, finally, “Which one of you brave young explorers will be first to venture forth with me, to the realm of the unknown?”
We all shifted in our chairs a little, and I tried to avoid her eyes, not wanting to be the guinea-pig on this occasion. I didn’t quite feel safe with the pronouncement of this woman pending over the Wooster life and limb – not to mention heart and soul - and I couldn’t help but wish that Jeeves was there. I somehow felt sure that he would have been a good match for her, on the awe-inducing front.
After what seemed an eternity of polite coughing at one another, Bingo spoke up. “Oh, go on then. If you’re all too lily-livered to go first, I will. I’m not afraid to hear of the years of married bliss that will stretch out before me, with Josephine at my side. That is what’s going to happen, isn’t it, Madam Osiris?”
“Not so hasty, my son,” the fortune teller replied calmly, “First we must perform the ancient rituals that allow me to consult the spirits on your behalf. Please place your hands on the table…Richard…Yes, I sense your name is Richard…”
Bingo looked properly impressed by that. We all did, for that matter, and any residual doubts I may have had about this gypsy being the genuine crystal-gazing, spirit-communing article disappeared out of the beaded flap of the pavilion.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m called Richard,” said Bingo. He spread his hands, palm-side upwards upon the table and looked at the fortune-teller expectantly. Madam Osiris closed her eyes and began to mutter something under her breath.
At first, the words didn’t make any sense – some sort of foreign, or perhaps even ancient language, which Jeeves, no doubt, would know all about, but I understood not a jot. Her voice rose and fell in pitch and volume and she swayed backwards and forwards and the chanting became more exciting – all dashed theatrical, I must say. At that point, when the woman might have been in a trance, she switched back to the King’s E. “Oh, great spirits, commune with me now to share the journey of these four young voyagers forward into the mists of time…”
A few deep breaths, a little more humming, and then she grasped Bingo’s hand in hers and gazed down upon it intently.
“Richard, my son,” said Madam Osiris, “I sense a period a great change for you. Many, many changes of heart will come your way in the near future; some might say, with almost clock-work regularity…”
“Ooh! I knew it!” said Bingo, “My life is just about to change altogether when I marry Josephine! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Madam Osiris looked slightly disgruntled. “Please be mindful, my son, that the spirits have not specified such an occurrence, exactly.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” replied Bingo, “I’m sure they can’t be that specific. But I know what it means. I’m confident. Thank you so, so much.” He positively beamed at her, and nodded toward the rest of us, meaning that someone else was to take a turn with the unseen powers.
Madeline piped up next, seemingly emboldened by Bingo’s happy outburst. “Augustus and I would like to have our fortunes read together, please,” she stated, “It seems appropriate, as we’re engaged.”
“Oh yes, quite so,” said Gussie, with a wary look toward his betrothed. Daisy-chains or no, he had the look of a man who didn’t fancy placing his chances of wedded bliss in the hands of a glitter-clad woman who spoke in tongues. A very distinct expression, that.
“Very well,” replied Madam Osiris, “In that case, please place one hand each upon this crystal ball, overlapping at the fingers.”
Gussie and Madeline did as they were told with the shiny sphere, and held their breath as the fortune-teller gazed therein.
“I am receiving a peculiar kind of message, here,” Madam Osiris said, with a slight furrow to the brow, “Does either of you have an interest in… Let me see…not frogs, but close… Not toads either…”
“Newts!” exclaimed Gussie, “Yes, newts! I love them dearly!” At this point Madeline looked somewhat disgruntled, and tightened her grip of Gussie’s hand upon the orb. “That is to say, I’m somewhat interested in newts,” he revised, “Just a passing curiosity really. They’re nothing at all compared with how much I love Madeline, for example…” Gussie seemed to think he had redeemed himself sufficiently by that point, and chanced a sideways glance at his fiancée, just to check.
“That is a very wise frame of mind to adopt, young man,” concurred Madam Osiris. “The spirits tell me that young ladies to do not well to competition of any sort, especially when it is green and slimy.”
“Yes, righty-ho,” asked Gussie, somewhat hastily, “But, err, can we go back to what Madeline asked now? About true, kindred spirits and all that?”
“Yes, please?” chimed Madeline, “Is Gussie going to be my special Dream Rabbit for ever and ever?”
Madam Osiris took her time to answer that one, and peered deeply into the crystal ball. “The supernatural forces do not seem conversant with the exact concept of a ‘Dream Rabbit,’ my child, and I’m afraid they do not often take kindly to direct questions.” She hummed and peered some more at that point. “However, I can inform you – Madeline - that you are very likely to enter into happy matrimony with a person… with whom you are currently sharing an artistic endeavour. Someone who is in the same play, perhaps?”
“Oh, yes, wonderful! I knew it had to be true!” said the pleased young filly, “Did you hear that, Gussie? It’s all going to work out for us, and everything hinges on ‘The Mikado!’ Didn’t I say how important it would be for you to be Ko-Ko in the production? – Now we know exactly why!”
I noticed at this point that Gussie’s chops achieved a distinctly greenish hue. “All hinges on ‘The Mikado,’ eh?” he said somewhat less than convincingly. “Marvellous…”
“Will that be all, my children?” Madam Osiris asked Madeline and Gussie. Madeline nodded happily with a particularly soppy expression on her features and they withdrew their hands from the crystal ball. The fortune-teller then sat upright and assumed a very hushed and serious tone. “I have one more fortune to tell now, my young wayfarers, and I sense that this will be one of the most important divinations I have performed for some time.”
Oh, jolly good! This sounds dashed exciting, I thought. I was just beginning to get into the swing of this fortune-telling business, and waited impatiently for the next show. A few moments passed without event however, and I then realised that all of the eyes in the room were focussed on B. Wooster.
Needless to say, that took the shine off things a bit, and the aforementioned nervousness returned in spades.
“Do not fear, my dear… Bertram,” said Madam Osiris gently, “You came seeking the innermost secrets of your heart, and that is what you shall learn.” It was clever the way she seemed to know what I was thinking, just then. And my name, for that matter!
“Splendid. Well, off we go then. Just as long as there isn’t going to be any liver-sausage involved.” I chuckled sheepishly.
Madam Osiris looked slightly confused, “I can assure you, my dear boy, that the spirits are not conveying messages about cured meat products of any sort.”
“Phew! That’s a relief then.” I felt somewhat better then, knowing that I was not to be told a tale of ex-porcine doom.
“Now, Bertram my dear, please take these cards and shuffle them thoroughly.” Madam Osiris held out a deck, and I suddenly felt rather more confident about the whole affair. If there’s one thing that B. Wooster knows his way around, it’s a deck of cards.
I took the cards from her, but on the way couldn’t help noticing something about the woman’s marvellous hands. They were firm, warm, and not unlike… No, that’s just plain silly, I reprimanded myself. There is no reason whatsoever that the appendage of a grand fortune-teller should remind you of the fine paws of your valet. I really can be fanciful at times, you know.
As I leafed through the cards, I couldn’t help noticing that they were dashed unusual. Not your average hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades, that’s for sure. In fact, most of them had a picture of some sort, in an oldy-worldy kind of style. In fact, they reminded me of a big rug from some Bay or other that Jeeves was reading about the other day. Dublin Bay? Bay of Biscay? Ah, ‘Bayeux’ – that was it.
Well, I showcased some of the nifty shuffling tricks that my pinkies are so good at, after all that practice at the Drones – a good generous riffle, a couple of strips and even a hindu. When I was thoroughly satisfied that not a single one of the pictures had the same neighbours as before, I handed the deck back to Madam Osiris, vaguely wondering what sort of game we were going to be playing.
On the contrary however, she didn’t make any attempt to deal, and instead just held the deck in both hands, humming quietly and muttering something about the spirits making their choice. “Now, Bertram, we are ready to make your reading. I shall place five cards on the table, and these will reveal much about your future life and loves.” Her hands hovered theatrically over the deck for a moment longer, before making a sudden swooping movement and turning over the top card with much flouncing of sleeves.
I peered at it upon the table. There was a horse draped in black banners, with a cloaked man carrying a hammer and sickle. At the top was the title-
“‘Death’?! I say! That’s a rummy thing for a chap to be told on a Monday afternoon. I said earlier that I didn’t want to know anything about the bally liver-sausage!”
“Panic not, my child,” said Madam Osiris, calmly. “The card of the reaper is rarely to be interpreted literally. It is far more likely to symbolise a sudden change of circumstances – the promise that a new kind of life is just about to begin for you.” I felt somewhat mollified at that, and nodded that she should carry on. “The next card,” she continued, “Will represent your current state, in which you begin this journey. And it is…” another flipped card joined Death on the table. I mean that figuratively of course. There might have been the odd deceased fly or woodlouse lying about, admittedly, but none that I was aware of.
“It’s ‘The Fool’!” exclaimed Bingo, with rather too much glee. Gussie then started chortling, and poked me in the ribs in a rather ungentlemanly fashion. I felt somewhat miffed.
“Ah yes, the sweet innocent,” continued Madam Osiris, “So full of potential, but in need of the right guidance in life. Young man, you have a very promising start to the tarot here; this card complements Death very well.”
“Oh, jolly good,” I said, not altogether convinced.
“Your next card will represent the other person who is significant to your romantic journey, young Bertram. Watch carefully now, this is very important. Yield for me ye cards, the secret to this voyager’s heart… It is… ‘The King of Wands’”
Madam Osiris sat back in her chair, with a somewhat smug expression of the half of her face that I could see, and I have no reason to doubt that the other half was a perfect match. “You are most fortunate, my son.”
“Am I?” I asked.
“Indeed you are. The King of Wands is an admirable person with whom to be romantically involved. The spirits tell me this soul is loyal, conscientious, and generous, not to mention entertaining and extremely passionate in the right circumstances.” She furrowed her brow slightly at that point. “I also detect that this soul harbours a very deep and genuine love for you, but cannot declare that love, lest it lead to ruin. The fondest wish of this soul is for you to return this heartfelt sentiment, and make that sentiment known.” She paused once more, then locked her dark, mesmerising eyes with mine. “Have you any idea who in your life could be represented by this card?”
“Not the foggiest,” I confessed. It all seemed quite a turn up for the books really. Here I was, muddling along, avoiding marriage with the best of them, and all of a sudden I had been told in no certain terms that an absolute paragon of human nature was my intended. I suppose I was pleased in a detached sort of way, but absolutely none of my female acquaintances came even halfway up to the mark. It was all dashed puzzling.
“That's a pity,” said Madam Osiris, although she did not seem too perturbed; perhaps she expected the answer I had given. “I shall now lay the final two cards of your tarot, my child. These will represent the journey of this nascent relationship, and then the final outcome, whether for good or for ill.” Some more flicking of sleeves followed at that point. “Ah, very interesting indeed – 'The Six of Cups'. This card tells that any love that might form will have a strong foundation in the past and the present; in your life as it is today. Something solid and true in your current existence could form the foundation for something... more. However, any journey that is undertaken must be started by you, and you alone. You must follow your heart, young man, and listen carefully to the way your feelings lie.” A lengthy pause, then no doubt for me to digest those dashed clever instructions. “And finally...”
Madam Osiris placed the final card with such flourish one could have been forgiven for thinking that she had conjured it out of mid-air. The picture showed two people entwined in a rather jammy pose. It was-
“'The Lovers'” cooed Madeline. “Oh, Bertie, you're so lucky!”
“Yes, that card certainly speaks for itself, young Bertram,” finished Madam Osiris. “I wish you and you intended every good thing. However, you must remember that the tarot is only an indication of what can happen if you strive for it; you must now search and act to make sure it comes true.”
“Right. Marvellous.” I flannelled for a moment, but was then overtaken by a rather powerful thought. Here I was, being predicted to about grand endeavours and consequences – probably the clearest insight I would ever get on the future prospects of B. Wooster – and I didn't have the faintest clue who she was on about! Bingo and Madeline and Gussie all seemed perfectly confident that they had identified the subject that was their very own Dream Rabbit, or Nightmare Capybara, or Delusional Hamster, or whatever combination of out-of-body experience with rodentia they fancied, but here was I, perfectly rudderless. I decided that I simply had to have more information about my fortune, and resolved not to leave the pavilion until I had pressed Madam Osiris further on the matter.
“Golly, well thanks very much,” I said, “But I'm afraid I'm going to need a bit more help. Any clue as to the identity of this person, do you suppose?”
“I cannot tell you, my dear child. You must make the connection yourself.”
“Well, how about just a hint then? Say, – what does this person look like? Just the basics?” I grinned entreatingly. “You see, I’m a simple fellow and I’m not likely to figure it out otherwise now, am I?”
Madam Osiris stopped and seemed to consider that last remark. Finally, she conceded. “I trust that is an accurate assessment, young Bertram, so perhaps the spirits will be willing to give a little more information. The person I sense is someone tall and dark-haired, whom you know well and see often. I predict that you will find a great deal of happiness with this person, if you embark upon the journey that I have described.”
“Right, Gotcha. Tall and dark-haired, someone I know well and see often. That's something to be going on, at least. Thanks very much.” I smiled once more, feeling as if I had at least a fighting chance with those few facts to play with. The divi-whatsit was clearly at an end, so we all stood to leave, and thanked Madam Osiris again. Before exiting the tent however, I shook hands with the harbinger of my fate, and couldn't help being reminded once more of a pair of strong, capable hands I knew from elsewhere...
We emerged from the pavilion, blinking in the sunshine like new-born babes, all no doubt with quite a lot to reflect upon. Lunch at that point seemed a capital idea, so we found a pleasant café by the seafront and downed no small amount of prawn, crab and various other types of pinkish invertebrate. My curious fortune from Madam Osiris was certainly playing on the old bean, but I couldn't for the life of me make head or tail of it, no matter how many times Madeline asked me whether I was sure I didn't know who the other person might be. In the end, I decided that only time, or perhaps more accurately, Jeeves, could tell.
However, my opportunity for querying the magnificent brain of my valet was severely postponed, as it transpired that the whole afternoon was to be taken up by another dratted rehearsal. I mean to say, a few hours of sing-song in the morning is well enough, but spending the whole day at it? That's beginning to look suspiciously like work, that is.
There was nothing that could be done though, what with being chaperoned by both Madeline in the role of ebullient leading-lady, and Bingo as the right-hand man of Josephine herself - a duty that he seemed to be taking very seriously indeed. Gussie and I were frog-marched back to the hotel ballroom by two p.m. exactly, me feeling somewhat miffed, and he looking distinctly ill all over again, actually.
When we arrived, Josephine announced that the afternoon would be devoted to bricking. No, that's not it. -Ah, to 'stoning'. Nope, not that one either, although perhaps a rather intuitive parallel there. Aha! The whole afternoon was devoted to 'blocking.' For those not conversant with the theatrical term, this basically meant that we spent about four hours practising standing up in different places at different times. There was a little bit of walking between the aforementioned standing places, but standing itself was definitely the thrust of the exercise – not a musical note in sight.
As it happened, Gussie rather cheered up when he found out about the wall-building stuff, and took an almost personal pleasure in offering to lock the piano such that it couldn't be played by accident. Standing up was obviously his forte - as much as it is possible to make a specialist skill of planting two feet on the ground and not falling over, after all.
Finally, at a time when the call of the wild dinner-gong was definitely making itself felt, we were free to go, and I dashed upstairs to talk with Jeeves about the rather pressing matter of Bertram's future, which had been sitting on my mind all afternoon.
I burst into the room and called, “What-ho, Jeeves!”
“Good evening, sir,” he promptly replied, “Do I trust that this afternoon's rehearsal progressed satisfactorily?”
“Oh, yes, yes, it was more or less fine,” I offered, happy to have a chin-wag with Jeeves before bombarding him with questions. Actually, I had a bit of a bee in my bonnet on the subject, truth be told, which could do with the opportunity to fly free. “That Josephine is a bit of a terror though, you know, Jeeves. She kept telling me off for having my back to the audience! How am I supposed to know whether I have my back to the audience when there isn’t any bally audience in the room in the first place? Am I supposed to conjure up these theatre-going creatures by force of imagination, and then attempt not to offend the self-same creations as they toddle around in their imaginary way? - I ask you! Well, for one thing, any audience that I would care to imagine would have the good grace to position themselves in a satisfactory place in the first instance, so it wouldn't ever be a problem.” I was quite pleased with that point. I felt it had a good ballast of logic to it.
Jeeves however, gave me a long-suffering look – the one with the left eyebrow slightly raised and his head a little to one side. I know that look well. “Exemplary though I'm sure your own imagined audience members would be, sir, I fear the popular convention in these matters in not nearly so enlightened. When Miss Houghton-Wright requested that you to face the audience, I believe she was merely encouraging you to project your words in a direction that in the theatre will correspond to the body of the auditorium relative to your position of the stage.”
That actually made quite a lot of sense when he explained it. Why couldn’t Josephine have said that, four hours beforehand? “Ah, well done then, Jeeves,” I conceded. “Is there anything that you don't know? No – don't answer that; you'll only say, 'I could not say, sir,' as you usually do.” Jeeves refrained from commenting there, so I went on to my next thought. “Oh, and by the way, Jeeves, how did you learn to sing so well? I forgot to ask you this morning.”
“I was a chorister at school sir, and have since read numerous books on the subject of proper vocal technique.” Impassive though Jeeves is, he did seem a little proud.
“Gosh, books again, is it? What with your books and your fish I imagine there's nothing that you aren't good at.”
“I think an exploration of every kind of pursuit would be necessary to testify to that, either way, sir,” replied Jeeves. He said this in a way that sent a little tingle along my back, almost as if there was a hidden meaning that secretly called out to my spinal chord. Not something I could quite make sense of at the time, though, so I let it pass.
“Yes, quite so,” I answered amiably. “Actually, Jeeves, there is something I'd like to tell you about.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“And some application of that enormous brain of yours to the matter wouldn't go amiss, either. It happened at lunchtime. Do you remember that fortune-teller's pavilion we saw yesterday?”
“I do, sir.”
“Well, I'm dashed glad that you didn't let me do anything foolish with it – the woman who resides there is every bit as great and terrible as you led me to believe she would be.” I then went on to recount the details of the visit, taking special care to tell Jeeves about all of the funny picture cards, and the extra clues I was given about the identity of my supposed beloved. He listened intently and soaked up all the details with such accuracy, had he been a lesser man one would have assumed he had been there in person.
When my tale was done, I appealed for help. “So, Jeeves, that's how it stands. Do you have any idea who this tall, dark-haired Dream Rabbit who I apparently know already might be? And what shall I do from here about it all?”
“Alas, I do not, sir,” he replied, “Although I do suspect that the other party might baulk at that particular lapine cognomen. I can only imagine that the spirits will work in mysterious ways, and that when the time is right, all will become clear.”
- And that was it. No helpful speculations, no brave insights. Merely a clear, final tone stating that I should trust in the supernatural. Fair enough, I suppose, but it all did seem a bit of a turn-up for the books. Jeeves had never before displayed an inclination to believe in unexplained phenommy-whatsits; he was always charging forth upon a dilemma armed with logic as his sword and wit as his shield.
“Shall we make ready for dinner, now sir?” my valet asked.
“Yes, I suppose we should,” I agreed, accepting that the earlier conversation was at an end.
I couldn't help thinking though, over my consommé that evening, how Jeeves would look jolly dashing on a white charger in full knightly get-up with sword and shield et cetera. I reasoned that his impressive height and fine dark hair would complete the picture admirably.
Chapter Three - 'Predictions and Predilections'
Chapter: Two - Drama and Divination
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Rating: This chapter: G. The story will rate NC-17 at its fruitiest moments ;-)
Characters: Bertie/Jeeves, with several of Bertie's crowd making an appearance along the way, and a couple of new faces.
Words: This chapter: ~7200 , about 52,000 overall.
Genre: Chiefly Romance, with some Drama, Angst, Humour and Fluff.
Summary:
"Surely, one would think, nothing could be more relaxing for a young Wooster than a week spent by the seaside? - Golf and sand-castle building without an aunt in sight!
One may think so, indeed, but the combination of several 'friends' with their own agendas, a theatrical production and the mysterious designs of my very own valet conspired to make that week spent in Spindleythorpe-on-sea one of the most memorable and life-changing of the lot..."
There will be fortune tellers! And Gilbert and Sullivan! And (the chaps are rather glad to hear), plenty of romantic fluffy goodness!
Chapter One - 'Escape and Entrapment'
Chapter Two - Drama and Divination
“Good morning, sir,” rang Jeeves' dulcet tones the next day.
I surfaced drowsily. “Hullo, Jeeves,” I managed, “What time is it? It feels suspiciously early, somehow.”
“It is half-past eight, sir.”
“Half-past eight?! Why on earth are you waking me three hours before holiday breakfast-time?” I must have sounded distinctly grumpy.
Jeeves produced that dratted colourful timetable and proceeded to pass it into my (somewhat limited) field of focussed vision. “My apologies, sir. However, I am sure that you would not want to be late for your first rehearsal, which commences downstairs in the hotel ballroom in thirty minutes.”
I tried to hide my head under the pillow, but Jeeves deftly managed to remove both that and the quilt from my grasp, leaving me shivering on the bed for a while before sulkily padding into the bathroom. He did had a welcoming tub all ready for me though, and was most obliging in helping to scrub my back, as the hotel didn’t provide a proper loofah.
Twenty-nine and a half minutes later, Jeeves deposited me downstairs clad in a summer suit with a straw boater (he had vetoed the American-style hat). The ballroom was large and dusty, hung heavily with faded velvet curtains, but contained a perfectly serviceable wooden floor and at least one decent piano. A throng was already assembled, most of whom I recognised, and some of whom I was sure were tone-deaf. Indeed, there were two chaps there who had once been asked which part of Africa they hailed from following an after-dinner attempt to sing the National Anthem.
“Bertie! So lovely to see you!” called a drippy voice from somewhere behind me. I soon saw that it belonged to Madeline Bassett.
“What-ho, Madeline,” I said, “So are you looking forward to this, err… cucumber business, then?”
“Oh, Bertie, it’s going to be wonderful!” she gushed, “The words are all so very meaningful, don’t you think? As Yum-Yum, I get to sing about the moon, and the sun and all sorts of lovely things. And you and I will make such a romantic couple!” She fixed me with a boggle-eyed gaze that might have been intended to hold significance.
“Oh, ra-ther…” I stammered, “Yes, cracking…” In fact, I was almost glad when Josephine-the-Terrible sailed over bearing two large-looking books.
“Hello, Bertie,” she said, “How marvellous to see you. And on time, too! Maybe Mrs. Gregson described you a little too harshly after all. Or maybe it’s all down to Jeeves.” I was about to take issue with that, but had no chance. “Here are your score and libretto - have a look through and we’re going to start the sing-through in ten minutes. This is Deirdre Whittleworth – she’s the musical director.”
Josephine gestured to her left to a girl so small and tweedy I hadn’t even noticed she was there. Deirdre looked at me from behind a pair of very thick spectacles, which gave the impression that each of her eyes was a goldfish bowl inhabited by many tiny, twitchy creatures.
“Hell- hell-o,” she said, very quietly, then looked at Josephine to check whether she had been allowed to say anything at all. When no reprimand came, she was sufficiently encouraged to say, “I hear, Bertie… that you- you’re…very good at…play- …at playing the piano.”
“Well, I do like to tinkle out the odd number, I suppose,” I replied. “Most kind of you to say so, I’m sure.” Josephine and Deirdre then departed, and I found a chair to settle down to the serious business of deciphering what this unnamed vegetable trouble was all about.
Anyone in that room in the next few minutes may well have heard not a small number of chuckles, croaks and guffaws coming from the corner that contained Bertram. The thing was, you see: this particular musical aubergine was really jolly good! Funny jokes, nifty tunes, clever twisty plot. I was pretty well won over by the time I had thumbed through that score, and would have been a whole-hearted advocate of the forthcoming performance in different circs. Unfortunately however, having the thing laid out in black and white like that also made the whole situation feel a lot more real. Digestive butterflies were definitely beginning to do the cha-cha.
Josephine called the meeting to order and we all toddled piano-wards. Deirdre was sitting at the keys, trembling, with the overture before her. I was just about to suggest that it might be sporting to skip the orchestral what-not and go straight into the gents' chorus when an enormous change overcame the girl. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and immediately metamorphosed from the bowels of goldfish-bowl tweed-land into a head-swishing, piano-bashing daemon. I was impressed, if not a little scared.
After a stunned five minutes of every tune Mr. Sulli-thingy ever wrote stitched end-to-end, most of the chaps present were herded forward by Josephine (only some of the holding their scores the right way up, I noticed). They then proceeded to bellow through the opening number, striking various harmonies that I'm sure Jeeves would have described as, ‘exceedingly modern’. Madame la Directrix did not look pleased. Not at all.
I was gently musing on how the Drones club rugby team could possibly be transformed into a musical chorus-line within a week, when someone started poking me in the ribs.
“It's you, Bertie,” whispered Madeline.
“Oh, is it? Right...” I energetically leafed through the book until seeing, ‘No. 3. Recit and Song, Nanki-Poo’. “Mmm, well. Off we go then, I suppose.” Deirdre played the opening chord pretty fearsomely, but at least I started on the right note. “'Gentlemen, I pray you tell me, where a gentle maiden dwelleth, named Yum-Yum...'”
The song that came next was rather jaunty, actually. “'A wand'ring minstrel, I...'” It was jolly good sport, what with all the trumpets blazing and sailors shantying. Yes, especially the sailors. I made a mental note to tell Jeeves that he, as usual, had been right about this kumquat-thingy, and decided to regale him with that very piece when I got back to my room.
A few more numbers pottered by, and then we reached ‘No. 5. Entrance of the Lord High Executioner.’ The gents' chorus gave another dirge-like performance, and then-
Silence. Josephine scanned the faces present to see which chap was guilty of the heinous crime of not counting their bars. Finally, she demanded of no-one in particular, “Where on earth is my Ko-Ko? Mr. Fink-Nottle?!”
Madeline looked pretty distressed at that point, too. “Augustus? Where are you? I swear he was here at breakfast.”
To the Wooster brain, this was doubly surprising – Gussie having absconded at the moment he was needed was one thing, but the idea of casting him in the first place - a lisping booby every bit as wet as his own newts – as the sharp-tongued comic lead? Well, that was quite another thing entirely.
“I regret to say that Mr. Fink-Nottle is unwell, madam,” came a familiar voice from the doorway. I turned to see Jeeves there, looking resplendently neat, as always.
“Oh, dash it!” said Josephine, “Doesn't he realise how important this is? The performance is in five days’ time. It's jolly inconsiderate of him to be ill all over the place.”
“As you say, madam,” replied Jeeves. Then he turned to leave.
“Wait a minute - Jeeves, isn't it?” she called after him.
Jeeves returned, somewhat slowly. “Yes, madam?”
“As Gussie's not here you can come and sing his lines. Chop-chop - there's a spare score on top of the piano.”
Jeeves looked utterly incredulous at that point; both eyebrows moved at least a quarter of an inch. Valet though he is, Jeeves is not accustomed to being chop-chopped at. Indeed, Josephine was clearly either braver or stupider than Boadicea herself, to chop-chop at Jeeves.
Incredulity aside, Jeeves did indeed pick up a score, and almost magically opened it at the relevant page. He nodded slightly at Deirdre and immediately picked up the piece in exactly the right place at exactly the right pitch. I cannot recall whether I had ever before heard Jeeves sing, but let me tell you now – the man is a musical marvel! His voice sounded like fruit and honey and warm summer days. It was melodious, rich and clear, and I found myself being enveloped by his singing as one might be by a particularly luxurious duvet. My only regret was that the piece was so short; as soon as I had been lulled into a happy daydream, it was all over.
I was probably gaping at Jeeves in awe when he stopped, as he afforded me a tiny quirk of his (really rather handsome) lips from across the room. And then, without warning, he catapulted himself and the by-now dishevelled pianist into a lighting-speed patter-song all about a ‘little list’ of miscreants. All of Jeeves' trademark plummy vowels were there, punctuated by constants of such superb clarity the air around him was cut up into little shining pieces of glass. I tried to follow along in my score, but Jeeves whipped through several verses that totally escaped me on the page. In particular, I remember,
“'The theatrical director of a domineering sort,
And her comrade pianist. - I've got them on the list.
And certain meek young men, whom rehearsals near-abort,
Their newts should not be kissed! I've got him on the list...”
All jolly funny, I must say! - And what a coincidence that Mr. Sully-wully wrote lyrics that had such a close connection with the situation at hand.
When he had finished, the assembled company erupted into applause - with cheers and cat-calls - led from the front by yours truly, I'm proud to say. Most would have thought Jeeves to have remained completely impassive at this reception, but I could tell he was gratified – I have come to know my valet very well these years, and that purse of the lips was definitely a sign of pride from the handsome fellow. I confess to feeling a snip of reflected glory at having such a prize in my employ, in fact; we all thought he was an utter star! Well, nearly all, that is. Josephine looked distinctly icy and shot Deirdre the metaphorical daggers when she was caught clapping.
“That will be all, Jeeves,” the directrix remarked dryly.
“Very good, madam,” said Jeeves, and promptly melted from the room to a chorus of disappointed groans from the rest of us.
The remainder of the sing-through passed mostly without note, all of Ko-Ko's other material being curtly passed over, and Tuppy making a reasonable fist of Pooh-Bah – he does have the pomposity down to a 'T', that's for sure. Honoria was either splendidly terrifying or terrifyingly splendid as Katisha; the old maid who tries to inveigle Nanki-Poo into marriage. I had to remind myself several times that it was only a story when we were doing that bit, I can tell you. The mere thought of being eternally bound to Honoria was still enough to send fear along the Wooster spine. Future aunt-material if I've ever seen it, that one.
When all was done, I once again silently thanked Jeeves for saving me from a fate worse than Glossop, and left the rehearsal in pretty good spirits, all told.
“I say, Jeeves, You were marvellous!” I said as I tumbled back into my room at lunchtime. “Jeeves? I say, Jeeves, are you here?”
My valet promptly shimmered into view, “Yes, sir?”
“I was just saying, Jeeves, that you were bally marvellous! The old vocal chords and that, – wow-ee!”
“Why thank you sir. I am most gratified to know that you enjoyed the rendition.”
“Gosh yes! Your voice made me feel all intense and goosebumpy. Is that the effect you normally have on chaps, Jeeves?”
He stilled for a moment, those dark eyes seeming to widen, just a little, in surprise. “Not to my knowledge, sir, but it is an interesting report to hear from you.”
There was something about that response, something that I couldn't quite place. It made me wonder if I was supposed to be picking up on something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't quite tell what it was. I just trusted that if there was something I should know, Jeeves would see fit to keep me up to speed in due course – he really was a marvel like that.
“I'm just popping out now, Jeeves,” I said, changing the subject in my confusion. “Bingo suggested a stroll, as the weather is so fine, before we have lunch.”
“Very good, sir,” my valet replied. I might have imagined it, but he still seemed a little distracted as he ushered me out of the door.
Mother Nature was indeed putting on a glorious show for us that day, and as Bingo, Madeline, Gussie (who had miraculously recovered, it seemed) and I prommed along the prom, all was right with the world. I felt totally at peace, cauliflowers notwithstanding, until of course, something happened to throw the Wooster constitution out of kilter.
“Ah, there it is, just as he said!” exclaimed Bingo, in a rare break from extolling the virtues of the dreaded Josephine.
“What’s this? Just as who said?” I asked, but no-one answered; they were all preoccupied with Madeline’s impression of some kind of flying horse in the direction of…
…Oh no. In the direction of Madam Osiris’ fortune-telling pavilion. “Let’s go in!” she called back to us, and I had no chance to protest as Gussie and Bingo dragged me along in Madeleine’s wake and we arrived, panting, at the entrance of the fronded seafront cabin.
“Fortunes for four, please,” demanded Gussie of the attendant, and slapped down half-a crown upon the counter.
“Ooh, right ‘e are, sir,” the old tar replied, “Madam Oo-sy-rees ‘ll be wi’ ya in a mo-ment. Jus’ go through that there cur’ain.”
We disappeared into the gloom of the pavilion, and my eyes were assaulted by incense thicker than Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps on a bad day. There were also lots of funny chiming sounds and more red velvet than might have been used for haberdashing an entire opera house.
My valet’s wise words came back to haunt me, then, and I began to feel a bit apprehensive about the whole affair. I wasn’t really sure if I was in the market for the profound truth of the Wooster future to be unlocked - just like that, in front of my chums. What if it was something awful? - That I was due to be squashed by an elephant escaped from the zoo, or that I’d expire as a result of a dodgy piece of liver-sausage. Of course, that would give me cause to steer a wide berth around liver-sausage from then on, but these fortunes don’t lie, you know. Someone might creep up on me in my sleep and bludgeon me with a particularly large, solid liver-sausage, just to fulfil the prophecy.
Such woeful thoughts could not be given full flight however, because no sooner as we had been admitted into the pavilion, a figure appeared at the other side of a curiously bedecked table and beckoned the four of us forwards.
Madam Osiris, as I assumed the person to be, was a very tall woman who could not be described as pretty. She had broad, masculine shoulders, wide, capable hands, and a most dignified air. Perhaps in lieu of ‘attractive’ it might have been fair to label her ‘handsome.’ My fears regarding the future of Bertram were multiplied when I saw that impressive person who was about deliver same; anything this particular gypsy queen was to say would likely be most authoritative indeed. I was doubly glad now that I had heeded Jeeves’ advice and not followed up the foolish scheme of attempting to bribe her – the mere thought at this point seemed utterly shuddersome.
As I took in her full splendour, I noticed that Madam Osiris was wearing sequinned robes that fitted her frame loosely from shoulder to floor and shimmered in the candlelight of the pavilion like a flock of fireflies - if fireflies come in flocks, that is. Her face was partially obscured by a sort of see-through fabric gauze, but the bridge of a fine patrician nose appeared above the cloth, along with very deep brown eyes. Those eyes were pretty mesmerising, to tell the truth. I might have imagined it, but they seemed to be fixed intently upon yours truly, and I was torn between glancing away to dissolve the tension and returning that captivating, fathomless gaze. Intense stuff, I can tell you.
We sat down on the plush pouffes on the visitor side of the table, and the fortune teller slid into her high-backed throne opposite us. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, almost as if she was trying to get a measure of her clients before she began, from our oar-thingies. Auras; yes that’s it.
“Welcome, my children,” Madam Osiris said. I couldn’t help but notice that her voice was extremely deep for a woman’s, and had a rhythm that seemed strangely familiar. “What is it that you wish to ask the eternal spirits?”
“We would like to know about love and romance,” said Madeleine, deeply in awe, “Please tell us about the one true kindred spirit for whom we are each destined on this earth.” She paused thoughtfully. “And I’d also like to know, if it’s not too much trouble, Madam Osiris, why God decided to make the stars into a daisy-chain.”
Madam Osiris seemed to be taking all this in, but I rather wondered whether the daisy-chain business was a bit much, even for one who communed with non-corporeal beings during breakfast. “Very well, my child,” she said, finally, “Which one of you brave young explorers will be first to venture forth with me, to the realm of the unknown?”
We all shifted in our chairs a little, and I tried to avoid her eyes, not wanting to be the guinea-pig on this occasion. I didn’t quite feel safe with the pronouncement of this woman pending over the Wooster life and limb – not to mention heart and soul - and I couldn’t help but wish that Jeeves was there. I somehow felt sure that he would have been a good match for her, on the awe-inducing front.
After what seemed an eternity of polite coughing at one another, Bingo spoke up. “Oh, go on then. If you’re all too lily-livered to go first, I will. I’m not afraid to hear of the years of married bliss that will stretch out before me, with Josephine at my side. That is what’s going to happen, isn’t it, Madam Osiris?”
“Not so hasty, my son,” the fortune teller replied calmly, “First we must perform the ancient rituals that allow me to consult the spirits on your behalf. Please place your hands on the table…Richard…Yes, I sense your name is Richard…”
Bingo looked properly impressed by that. We all did, for that matter, and any residual doubts I may have had about this gypsy being the genuine crystal-gazing, spirit-communing article disappeared out of the beaded flap of the pavilion.
“Yes, that’s right. I’m called Richard,” said Bingo. He spread his hands, palm-side upwards upon the table and looked at the fortune-teller expectantly. Madam Osiris closed her eyes and began to mutter something under her breath.
At first, the words didn’t make any sense – some sort of foreign, or perhaps even ancient language, which Jeeves, no doubt, would know all about, but I understood not a jot. Her voice rose and fell in pitch and volume and she swayed backwards and forwards and the chanting became more exciting – all dashed theatrical, I must say. At that point, when the woman might have been in a trance, she switched back to the King’s E. “Oh, great spirits, commune with me now to share the journey of these four young voyagers forward into the mists of time…”
A few deep breaths, a little more humming, and then she grasped Bingo’s hand in hers and gazed down upon it intently.
“Richard, my son,” said Madam Osiris, “I sense a period a great change for you. Many, many changes of heart will come your way in the near future; some might say, with almost clock-work regularity…”
“Ooh! I knew it!” said Bingo, “My life is just about to change altogether when I marry Josephine! Isn’t that wonderful?”
Madam Osiris looked slightly disgruntled. “Please be mindful, my son, that the spirits have not specified such an occurrence, exactly.”
“Yes, I know, I know,” replied Bingo, “I’m sure they can’t be that specific. But I know what it means. I’m confident. Thank you so, so much.” He positively beamed at her, and nodded toward the rest of us, meaning that someone else was to take a turn with the unseen powers.
Madeline piped up next, seemingly emboldened by Bingo’s happy outburst. “Augustus and I would like to have our fortunes read together, please,” she stated, “It seems appropriate, as we’re engaged.”
“Oh yes, quite so,” said Gussie, with a wary look toward his betrothed. Daisy-chains or no, he had the look of a man who didn’t fancy placing his chances of wedded bliss in the hands of a glitter-clad woman who spoke in tongues. A very distinct expression, that.
“Very well,” replied Madam Osiris, “In that case, please place one hand each upon this crystal ball, overlapping at the fingers.”
Gussie and Madeline did as they were told with the shiny sphere, and held their breath as the fortune-teller gazed therein.
“I am receiving a peculiar kind of message, here,” Madam Osiris said, with a slight furrow to the brow, “Does either of you have an interest in… Let me see…not frogs, but close… Not toads either…”
“Newts!” exclaimed Gussie, “Yes, newts! I love them dearly!” At this point Madeline looked somewhat disgruntled, and tightened her grip of Gussie’s hand upon the orb. “That is to say, I’m somewhat interested in newts,” he revised, “Just a passing curiosity really. They’re nothing at all compared with how much I love Madeline, for example…” Gussie seemed to think he had redeemed himself sufficiently by that point, and chanced a sideways glance at his fiancée, just to check.
“That is a very wise frame of mind to adopt, young man,” concurred Madam Osiris. “The spirits tell me that young ladies to do not well to competition of any sort, especially when it is green and slimy.”
“Yes, righty-ho,” asked Gussie, somewhat hastily, “But, err, can we go back to what Madeline asked now? About true, kindred spirits and all that?”
“Yes, please?” chimed Madeline, “Is Gussie going to be my special Dream Rabbit for ever and ever?”
Madam Osiris took her time to answer that one, and peered deeply into the crystal ball. “The supernatural forces do not seem conversant with the exact concept of a ‘Dream Rabbit,’ my child, and I’m afraid they do not often take kindly to direct questions.” She hummed and peered some more at that point. “However, I can inform you – Madeline - that you are very likely to enter into happy matrimony with a person… with whom you are currently sharing an artistic endeavour. Someone who is in the same play, perhaps?”
“Oh, yes, wonderful! I knew it had to be true!” said the pleased young filly, “Did you hear that, Gussie? It’s all going to work out for us, and everything hinges on ‘The Mikado!’ Didn’t I say how important it would be for you to be Ko-Ko in the production? – Now we know exactly why!”
I noticed at this point that Gussie’s chops achieved a distinctly greenish hue. “All hinges on ‘The Mikado,’ eh?” he said somewhat less than convincingly. “Marvellous…”
“Will that be all, my children?” Madam Osiris asked Madeline and Gussie. Madeline nodded happily with a particularly soppy expression on her features and they withdrew their hands from the crystal ball. The fortune-teller then sat upright and assumed a very hushed and serious tone. “I have one more fortune to tell now, my young wayfarers, and I sense that this will be one of the most important divinations I have performed for some time.”
Oh, jolly good! This sounds dashed exciting, I thought. I was just beginning to get into the swing of this fortune-telling business, and waited impatiently for the next show. A few moments passed without event however, and I then realised that all of the eyes in the room were focussed on B. Wooster.
Needless to say, that took the shine off things a bit, and the aforementioned nervousness returned in spades.
“Do not fear, my dear… Bertram,” said Madam Osiris gently, “You came seeking the innermost secrets of your heart, and that is what you shall learn.” It was clever the way she seemed to know what I was thinking, just then. And my name, for that matter!
“Splendid. Well, off we go then. Just as long as there isn’t going to be any liver-sausage involved.” I chuckled sheepishly.
Madam Osiris looked slightly confused, “I can assure you, my dear boy, that the spirits are not conveying messages about cured meat products of any sort.”
“Phew! That’s a relief then.” I felt somewhat better then, knowing that I was not to be told a tale of ex-porcine doom.
“Now, Bertram my dear, please take these cards and shuffle them thoroughly.” Madam Osiris held out a deck, and I suddenly felt rather more confident about the whole affair. If there’s one thing that B. Wooster knows his way around, it’s a deck of cards.
I took the cards from her, but on the way couldn’t help noticing something about the woman’s marvellous hands. They were firm, warm, and not unlike… No, that’s just plain silly, I reprimanded myself. There is no reason whatsoever that the appendage of a grand fortune-teller should remind you of the fine paws of your valet. I really can be fanciful at times, you know.
As I leafed through the cards, I couldn’t help noticing that they were dashed unusual. Not your average hearts, diamonds, clubs and spades, that’s for sure. In fact, most of them had a picture of some sort, in an oldy-worldy kind of style. In fact, they reminded me of a big rug from some Bay or other that Jeeves was reading about the other day. Dublin Bay? Bay of Biscay? Ah, ‘Bayeux’ – that was it.
Well, I showcased some of the nifty shuffling tricks that my pinkies are so good at, after all that practice at the Drones – a good generous riffle, a couple of strips and even a hindu. When I was thoroughly satisfied that not a single one of the pictures had the same neighbours as before, I handed the deck back to Madam Osiris, vaguely wondering what sort of game we were going to be playing.
On the contrary however, she didn’t make any attempt to deal, and instead just held the deck in both hands, humming quietly and muttering something about the spirits making their choice. “Now, Bertram, we are ready to make your reading. I shall place five cards on the table, and these will reveal much about your future life and loves.” Her hands hovered theatrically over the deck for a moment longer, before making a sudden swooping movement and turning over the top card with much flouncing of sleeves.
I peered at it upon the table. There was a horse draped in black banners, with a cloaked man carrying a hammer and sickle. At the top was the title-
“‘Death’?! I say! That’s a rummy thing for a chap to be told on a Monday afternoon. I said earlier that I didn’t want to know anything about the bally liver-sausage!”
“Panic not, my child,” said Madam Osiris, calmly. “The card of the reaper is rarely to be interpreted literally. It is far more likely to symbolise a sudden change of circumstances – the promise that a new kind of life is just about to begin for you.” I felt somewhat mollified at that, and nodded that she should carry on. “The next card,” she continued, “Will represent your current state, in which you begin this journey. And it is…” another flipped card joined Death on the table. I mean that figuratively of course. There might have been the odd deceased fly or woodlouse lying about, admittedly, but none that I was aware of.
“It’s ‘The Fool’!” exclaimed Bingo, with rather too much glee. Gussie then started chortling, and poked me in the ribs in a rather ungentlemanly fashion. I felt somewhat miffed.
“Ah yes, the sweet innocent,” continued Madam Osiris, “So full of potential, but in need of the right guidance in life. Young man, you have a very promising start to the tarot here; this card complements Death very well.”
“Oh, jolly good,” I said, not altogether convinced.
“Your next card will represent the other person who is significant to your romantic journey, young Bertram. Watch carefully now, this is very important. Yield for me ye cards, the secret to this voyager’s heart… It is… ‘The King of Wands’”
Madam Osiris sat back in her chair, with a somewhat smug expression of the half of her face that I could see, and I have no reason to doubt that the other half was a perfect match. “You are most fortunate, my son.”
“Am I?” I asked.
“Indeed you are. The King of Wands is an admirable person with whom to be romantically involved. The spirits tell me this soul is loyal, conscientious, and generous, not to mention entertaining and extremely passionate in the right circumstances.” She furrowed her brow slightly at that point. “I also detect that this soul harbours a very deep and genuine love for you, but cannot declare that love, lest it lead to ruin. The fondest wish of this soul is for you to return this heartfelt sentiment, and make that sentiment known.” She paused once more, then locked her dark, mesmerising eyes with mine. “Have you any idea who in your life could be represented by this card?”
“Not the foggiest,” I confessed. It all seemed quite a turn up for the books really. Here I was, muddling along, avoiding marriage with the best of them, and all of a sudden I had been told in no certain terms that an absolute paragon of human nature was my intended. I suppose I was pleased in a detached sort of way, but absolutely none of my female acquaintances came even halfway up to the mark. It was all dashed puzzling.
“That's a pity,” said Madam Osiris, although she did not seem too perturbed; perhaps she expected the answer I had given. “I shall now lay the final two cards of your tarot, my child. These will represent the journey of this nascent relationship, and then the final outcome, whether for good or for ill.” Some more flicking of sleeves followed at that point. “Ah, very interesting indeed – 'The Six of Cups'. This card tells that any love that might form will have a strong foundation in the past and the present; in your life as it is today. Something solid and true in your current existence could form the foundation for something... more. However, any journey that is undertaken must be started by you, and you alone. You must follow your heart, young man, and listen carefully to the way your feelings lie.” A lengthy pause, then no doubt for me to digest those dashed clever instructions. “And finally...”
Madam Osiris placed the final card with such flourish one could have been forgiven for thinking that she had conjured it out of mid-air. The picture showed two people entwined in a rather jammy pose. It was-
“'The Lovers'” cooed Madeline. “Oh, Bertie, you're so lucky!”
“Yes, that card certainly speaks for itself, young Bertram,” finished Madam Osiris. “I wish you and you intended every good thing. However, you must remember that the tarot is only an indication of what can happen if you strive for it; you must now search and act to make sure it comes true.”
“Right. Marvellous.” I flannelled for a moment, but was then overtaken by a rather powerful thought. Here I was, being predicted to about grand endeavours and consequences – probably the clearest insight I would ever get on the future prospects of B. Wooster – and I didn't have the faintest clue who she was on about! Bingo and Madeline and Gussie all seemed perfectly confident that they had identified the subject that was their very own Dream Rabbit, or Nightmare Capybara, or Delusional Hamster, or whatever combination of out-of-body experience with rodentia they fancied, but here was I, perfectly rudderless. I decided that I simply had to have more information about my fortune, and resolved not to leave the pavilion until I had pressed Madam Osiris further on the matter.
“Golly, well thanks very much,” I said, “But I'm afraid I'm going to need a bit more help. Any clue as to the identity of this person, do you suppose?”
“I cannot tell you, my dear child. You must make the connection yourself.”
“Well, how about just a hint then? Say, – what does this person look like? Just the basics?” I grinned entreatingly. “You see, I’m a simple fellow and I’m not likely to figure it out otherwise now, am I?”
Madam Osiris stopped and seemed to consider that last remark. Finally, she conceded. “I trust that is an accurate assessment, young Bertram, so perhaps the spirits will be willing to give a little more information. The person I sense is someone tall and dark-haired, whom you know well and see often. I predict that you will find a great deal of happiness with this person, if you embark upon the journey that I have described.”
“Right, Gotcha. Tall and dark-haired, someone I know well and see often. That's something to be going on, at least. Thanks very much.” I smiled once more, feeling as if I had at least a fighting chance with those few facts to play with. The divi-whatsit was clearly at an end, so we all stood to leave, and thanked Madam Osiris again. Before exiting the tent however, I shook hands with the harbinger of my fate, and couldn't help being reminded once more of a pair of strong, capable hands I knew from elsewhere...
We emerged from the pavilion, blinking in the sunshine like new-born babes, all no doubt with quite a lot to reflect upon. Lunch at that point seemed a capital idea, so we found a pleasant café by the seafront and downed no small amount of prawn, crab and various other types of pinkish invertebrate. My curious fortune from Madam Osiris was certainly playing on the old bean, but I couldn't for the life of me make head or tail of it, no matter how many times Madeline asked me whether I was sure I didn't know who the other person might be. In the end, I decided that only time, or perhaps more accurately, Jeeves, could tell.
However, my opportunity for querying the magnificent brain of my valet was severely postponed, as it transpired that the whole afternoon was to be taken up by another dratted rehearsal. I mean to say, a few hours of sing-song in the morning is well enough, but spending the whole day at it? That's beginning to look suspiciously like work, that is.
There was nothing that could be done though, what with being chaperoned by both Madeline in the role of ebullient leading-lady, and Bingo as the right-hand man of Josephine herself - a duty that he seemed to be taking very seriously indeed. Gussie and I were frog-marched back to the hotel ballroom by two p.m. exactly, me feeling somewhat miffed, and he looking distinctly ill all over again, actually.
When we arrived, Josephine announced that the afternoon would be devoted to bricking. No, that's not it. -Ah, to 'stoning'. Nope, not that one either, although perhaps a rather intuitive parallel there. Aha! The whole afternoon was devoted to 'blocking.' For those not conversant with the theatrical term, this basically meant that we spent about four hours practising standing up in different places at different times. There was a little bit of walking between the aforementioned standing places, but standing itself was definitely the thrust of the exercise – not a musical note in sight.
As it happened, Gussie rather cheered up when he found out about the wall-building stuff, and took an almost personal pleasure in offering to lock the piano such that it couldn't be played by accident. Standing up was obviously his forte - as much as it is possible to make a specialist skill of planting two feet on the ground and not falling over, after all.
Finally, at a time when the call of the wild dinner-gong was definitely making itself felt, we were free to go, and I dashed upstairs to talk with Jeeves about the rather pressing matter of Bertram's future, which had been sitting on my mind all afternoon.
I burst into the room and called, “What-ho, Jeeves!”
“Good evening, sir,” he promptly replied, “Do I trust that this afternoon's rehearsal progressed satisfactorily?”
“Oh, yes, yes, it was more or less fine,” I offered, happy to have a chin-wag with Jeeves before bombarding him with questions. Actually, I had a bit of a bee in my bonnet on the subject, truth be told, which could do with the opportunity to fly free. “That Josephine is a bit of a terror though, you know, Jeeves. She kept telling me off for having my back to the audience! How am I supposed to know whether I have my back to the audience when there isn’t any bally audience in the room in the first place? Am I supposed to conjure up these theatre-going creatures by force of imagination, and then attempt not to offend the self-same creations as they toddle around in their imaginary way? - I ask you! Well, for one thing, any audience that I would care to imagine would have the good grace to position themselves in a satisfactory place in the first instance, so it wouldn't ever be a problem.” I was quite pleased with that point. I felt it had a good ballast of logic to it.
Jeeves however, gave me a long-suffering look – the one with the left eyebrow slightly raised and his head a little to one side. I know that look well. “Exemplary though I'm sure your own imagined audience members would be, sir, I fear the popular convention in these matters in not nearly so enlightened. When Miss Houghton-Wright requested that you to face the audience, I believe she was merely encouraging you to project your words in a direction that in the theatre will correspond to the body of the auditorium relative to your position of the stage.”
That actually made quite a lot of sense when he explained it. Why couldn’t Josephine have said that, four hours beforehand? “Ah, well done then, Jeeves,” I conceded. “Is there anything that you don't know? No – don't answer that; you'll only say, 'I could not say, sir,' as you usually do.” Jeeves refrained from commenting there, so I went on to my next thought. “Oh, and by the way, Jeeves, how did you learn to sing so well? I forgot to ask you this morning.”
“I was a chorister at school sir, and have since read numerous books on the subject of proper vocal technique.” Impassive though Jeeves is, he did seem a little proud.
“Gosh, books again, is it? What with your books and your fish I imagine there's nothing that you aren't good at.”
“I think an exploration of every kind of pursuit would be necessary to testify to that, either way, sir,” replied Jeeves. He said this in a way that sent a little tingle along my back, almost as if there was a hidden meaning that secretly called out to my spinal chord. Not something I could quite make sense of at the time, though, so I let it pass.
“Yes, quite so,” I answered amiably. “Actually, Jeeves, there is something I'd like to tell you about.”
“Indeed, sir?”
“And some application of that enormous brain of yours to the matter wouldn't go amiss, either. It happened at lunchtime. Do you remember that fortune-teller's pavilion we saw yesterday?”
“I do, sir.”
“Well, I'm dashed glad that you didn't let me do anything foolish with it – the woman who resides there is every bit as great and terrible as you led me to believe she would be.” I then went on to recount the details of the visit, taking special care to tell Jeeves about all of the funny picture cards, and the extra clues I was given about the identity of my supposed beloved. He listened intently and soaked up all the details with such accuracy, had he been a lesser man one would have assumed he had been there in person.
When my tale was done, I appealed for help. “So, Jeeves, that's how it stands. Do you have any idea who this tall, dark-haired Dream Rabbit who I apparently know already might be? And what shall I do from here about it all?”
“Alas, I do not, sir,” he replied, “Although I do suspect that the other party might baulk at that particular lapine cognomen. I can only imagine that the spirits will work in mysterious ways, and that when the time is right, all will become clear.”
- And that was it. No helpful speculations, no brave insights. Merely a clear, final tone stating that I should trust in the supernatural. Fair enough, I suppose, but it all did seem a bit of a turn-up for the books. Jeeves had never before displayed an inclination to believe in unexplained phenommy-whatsits; he was always charging forth upon a dilemma armed with logic as his sword and wit as his shield.
“Shall we make ready for dinner, now sir?” my valet asked.
“Yes, I suppose we should,” I agreed, accepting that the earlier conversation was at an end.
I couldn't help thinking though, over my consommé that evening, how Jeeves would look jolly dashing on a white charger in full knightly get-up with sword and shield et cetera. I reasoned that his impressive height and fine dark hair would complete the picture admirably.
Chapter Three - 'Predictions and Predilections'