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purplefluffycatHere is Chapter Six of 'Jeeves and the Artistic Verisimilitude,' which may or may not bring the moment that Bertie has been waiting for... I hope you enjoy it, nevertheless!
This is a long chapter, so LJ's word-limit has necessitated posting it in two parts.
Title: Jeeves and the Artistic Verisimilitude
Chapter: Six - Passion and Performance
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Rating: This chapter PG-13. 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: ~12,250 , 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'
Chapter Three - 'Predictions and Predilections'
Chapter Four - 'Sentimentality and Subtext'
Chapter Five - 'Review and Rumpus'
Chapter Six - Passion and Performance
“This is it then, Jeeves. The dreadful day finally dawns.” My lids were barely open when Jeeves shimmered into view, bearing the accustomed cup of tea and expression of polite composure.
“If you are referring to this evening’s performance, sir, your assessment of the date is indeed correct.”
I tried to bury my head under the pillow (old habits die hard) but Jeeves chose exactly that moment to fluff up the thing, thus making my hiding place less than effective. I emerged looking sulky. “Ah, well, you might as well just dispatch me now then, Jeeves old thing. I’d be much obliged if you could just add a pinch of cyanide to my morning cupful instead of the lemon.”
“I do not believe that course of action will be necessary, sir,” Jeeves replied, completely unruffled, “And the respiration-inhibiting substance to which you allude would most probably disagree with the flavour of the leaf somewhat unpleasantly.”
I harrumphed a little at that, but took my tame, citrus-filled version from him anyway. As I drank, I tried not to think about exactly what the evening would bring. For that matter, I didn’t really have much to go on. Not a lot had happened after the dress rehearsal the previous day. We had eaten dinner and then gone to bed early, most people avoiding the subject of tomatoes altogether. Gussie was still missing, and as far as I knew, he remained so. His hotel room had not been slept in, apparently, but neither had he packed up his belongings and checked out.
One might have thought that losing one of the principal actors at this stage would result in the whole debacle being cancelled, but unfortunately there was no such luck to be had. Josephine had decreed that the show would go on regardless, and no-one had mustered the courage to argue when she had stated that the role of the Lord High Executioner would be adequately accounted for, and that we had no cause to fret.
It all seemed so perfectly, laughably disastrous that I was tempted to up sticks myself and hare back to London that morning, but Josephine’s threat re. her friendship with the accursed Aunt Agatha weighed heavily upon the Wooster regard, forcing me to stay and see it through.
Sighing, I handed the empty cup back to Jeeves, suppressing a squeak of delight as our hands touched in the process. He fixed me with one of those bone-meltingly intense expressions for the slightest second, and then slipped away to draw my bath.
During the course of the night, my confused sentimental state regarding Bassetts, Glossops and the man of my dreams seemed to have straightened itself out a little. I do mean a little here, by the way; the picture of clarity, I certainly was not. Nevertheless, I had reached a solid conclusion of sorts - namely that it was far better to contemplate a future with Jeeves at my side as my valet, than to not have him at all. The melancholy wanderings of resigning myself to fate and throwing all of life to the wind had lost their shine a bit; I think that I’m the kind of chap who is too fond of his afternoon tea and game of golf for the tragic poet countenance to be a very good fit.
Following this logic through therefore, if I was going to retain Jeeves on a modest man-and-master level (given the lack of opportunity for anything else), I had to make damned sure that I didn’t end up married. It is a well known fact that the first thing a beazel will do when she has snagged an unsuspecting chap is to get rid of his valet, and besides, Jeeves has in the past made a point of saying that he will not work for married men.
I hadn’t the foggiest what to do about the Bassett problem, and simply hoped that Jeeves might come up with an improved scheme for sorting that one out. He didn’t usually fail me, after all, and I suspected that the previous evening’s soggy suggestion was a mere aberration.
That aside, and considering the fact that I was trying to be a man of system and action, I resolved that my first task for the day was to try to whittle down the list of obstacles in the way of remaining a be-valeted bachelor where I could - namely garnering Honoria’s hearty disapproval.
*****
I encountered Miss Glossop as she was locked in an urgently whispered conversation with Josephine in the hotel lobby, and straight away saw my first window of opportunity – namely the chance to interrupt rudely. I therefore sailed right up to the pair of them and called, “What-ho, Honoria! Do you mind if I borrow you for a moment right now?”
Josephine looked rather put-out at this, and I was fully expecting Honoria to concur and send me away with a flea in my ear. However, the course of true non-love never does run smooth. Or at least it never does for me, at any rate. Honoria threw a conspiratorial glance of some sort to Josephine and said, “Certainly Bertie, that would be delightful,” before locking her arm with mine and steering us into the conservatory with the kind of force one of those Wild West chappies might use on a recalcitrant horse.
“Now Bertram, we haven't had much time to discuss the wedding arrangements these past few days, but I just want to assure you that it's all going ahead swimmingly,” Honoria announced, “Or it will be, anyway, as soon as Mummy and Daddy are back home from their stay in New York. I have chosen all of my bridesmaids and have started looking at dresses.”
At that point I seized my first chance to put her off. “Oh yes, on the subject of wedding attire,” I started, “I haven't actually told you this before, but it's a family tradition of mine that the groom is obliged to wear... um... bright orange.” That should do the trick, I thought. If the beazel was even half as particular as Jeeves is about proper attire for such occasions, the threat of being seen near such a ghastly get-up should have her running for the hills.
However, instead of the expression of dread that I was expecting, the bally girl let out an almighty laugh. “Oh Bertie, you are funny!”
“Um, no... I'm serious...” I protested.
She fixed me with an indulgent look, and replied with a fair whiff of sarcasm. “Well, it's a good job the wedding photographs will be taken in sepia then, isn't it? I'm sure the orange will look just like a grey morning suit in print. Now, getting back to the topic in hand, I was thinking about where we should live when we are married-”
Where we should live? That kind of comment was enough to make the Wooster blood run cold. Evasive action was needed immediately.
“I slurp my soup, you know!” I blurted out.
“Pardon, Bertram? You do what?” She seemed a little miffed at being interrupted, which was slight progress, at least.
“Yes, I... um… slurp my soup. And I eat with a knife sometimes! Once, I was even reprimanded by Lord Witherspoon for having my elbows on the table. I just thought I ought to warn you… um, Honoria. It would be only fair to give you the chance to... err... reconsider...”
I was rewarded for my efforts by a hearty blow between the shoulder-blades that would have knocked the air from a sizeable cathedral organ. “What a card, you are, Bertie!” Honoria roared, “And how very sweet of you to bring these things up now. I had thought that I would get to work on your table manners straight after we are married, but since you seem surprisingly self-aware, we can make a start now! I rather think I'm going to enjoy making something of you, Bertram Wooster. It's always nice to have a project, of sorts.”
“Oh, right... good... ha ha...” This was getting desperate. “And, um... I lay-in terribly late in the mornings. Jeeves often doesn't hear me stir until almost noon, as it happens.” That was quite a thing to confess to girl who believes in the health-giving benefits of country walks commencing before dawn, but I reasoned that I would happily endure any related public criticism in return for getting off the hook in the matrimony department.
“Fear not, my dear Bertram,” replied Honoria however, to my great disquiet, “Those habits will be easy to change. It will be impossible for you to sleep for too long when we have a crying infant in the house. Won't it, what?”
The mere idea made me feel quite green – on the grounds of both living with this supposed c. i., and the activity which would be required of me to leading to its manufacture. Indeed, I fancy I was well camouflaged with the huge aspidistra just to my left, and might have been swaying in a similar fashion.
It seemed then that I had firmly lost the battle in which I had so blithely engaged. Engaged being the most bally appropriate term, of course. My sense of defeat was underlined at that point, as Josephine sailed into the conservatory. She ignored me completely of course, and addressed Honoria with a sense of urgency. “So, does he know where he is?”
“Alas not,” replied Honoria, “Or at least he hasn't mentioned it. You don't know where Augustus is, do you Bertram?”
Such a swift change of subject put me slightly off course, and brought back the other, theatrically-related feeling of impending doom rather effectively. “Erm, no. I don't.”
“Pity,” replied Josephine, “Doesn't your valet tell you anything?”
“My valet? What's all this about Jeeves?” I asked, but it was too late. Josephine and Honoria had already linked arms and wandered off, no doubt plotting the demise of some other poor chap in the little coloured box that remained before lunch.
I was left feeling curious as to what those bally beazels had meant re. my adored valet, so went off in search of Jeeves. It was not a long search however, as I found him standing in the hotel lobby, awaiting me with almost clairvoyant precision of timing as the sunlight glinted off his brillianted hair.
“I say, Jeeves,” I said, somewhat agitated.
“Yes, sir?”
“Josephine and that blasted Glossop just said something about something that you might have not told me. Does that ring any bells?”
Jeeves followed my description most attentively, but then pursed his lips in that way I find utterly delightful and said, “I am afraid it does not, sir.” His expression then became completely implacable, and I could be sure that I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him on the subject. If there even was a subject there at all, that is.
“Ah well, who knows what those dreadful girls might be on about, eh?” I finished.
“The female psyche is indeed an unusual and oft inexplicable permutation of the transmissions in the pre-frontal cortex of that sex, sir,” corroborated Jeeves. He’d lost me there a bit, but it sounded jolly clever all the same.
Unfortunately, his statement also reminded me of my failure to wriggle out of the impending long walk down a short aisle. “Talking of inexplicable female whatdjmacallits, Jeeves, Honoria didn’t seem nearly bothered enough by the more irregular habits of Bertram. I didn’t manage to get myself off the hook,” I told him, dejectedly.
“Most unfortunate, sir,” replied Jeeves, with a tone sufficiently smooth to suggest that he might not have even expected me to be successful in the first place. If only he knew how much of my heart was riding on these latest extrications - viz his continued presence as a subject of adoration in the Wooster homestead!
“The bally girl didn’t even flinch when I told her about the family tradition of mine that the groom has to wear bright orange when declaring nuptials!” I declared in exasperation.
Jeeves went suddenly pale. He looked perfectly still and very cold, as if he had suffered a tremendous shock. “Orange, sir?” he whispered.
I realised then what a rummy thing I had just done to the poor chap. For someone as impeccable as Jeeves, such an affront upon the esteemed dress-code of formal daytime occasions would be tantamount to threatening to squash his pet kitten under a steam iron. Not that Jeeves had a kitten to my knowledge, of course. But if he did, I would have wanted to treat it with the utmost care.
I set about rectifying my mistake with haste. “Oh no, Jeeves, please don’t worry!” I said quickly, “It was only a joke. A wheeze, I mean; for Honoria’s benefit. I wouldn’t really want to wear bright orange when we - I mean, when I get married.”
“I am relieved to hear so, sir,” said Jeeves. His expression of shock was replaced by one of relief, perhaps mingled with a kind of triumph that I couldn’t quite place. I had not the opportunity to dwell upon it, however, as Jeeves produced a newspaper of some kind, carefully folded open to highlight a particular article, and handed it to me. “You may be interested to read the review of our production of ‘The Mikado,’ sir. At her word, Ms. Siriso ensured that it was published in yesterday’s evening paper.”
That was not quite music to the Wooster ears, I can tell you. The last thing I wanted to do was read in black and white how terrible I was and how disastrous this evening was due to be - especially in front of my brilliant man who seemed to have placed so much faith in me.
Alas, it was clearly too late to save my embarrassment – Jeeves had read the bally thing already – so I just tried to avoid depressing myself further. “I don't think I can take it, Jeeves,” I said, “Why don't you just give me the potted version to save the young master the trauma? If you wouldn't mind reading out a few edited highlights... just so I know the worst, you understand.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Jeeves. He then cleared his throat and ruffled the paper rather dramatically before beginning to read aloud. “'A veritable treat is in store for we residents of Spindleythorpe-on-Sea this Saturday evening, as a young and progressive theatre troupe bring a daringly updated version of Gilbert and Sullivan's 'Mikado' to town.'” He paused and quirked an eyebrow in my direction. “'This fresh crop of London bards are to present-day audiences what Diaghilev's Ballet Russe would have been to patrons at the turn of the century.'”
“Dee-aggy-who, Jeeves?” I asked. I couldn't work out whether the comparison was a good thing or a dashed rummy thing.
“Sergei Diaghilev was a great impresario of the Russian ballet and theatre, sir,” replied Jeeves, “His productions were fêted as the finest examples of the modern school of dance, oft pushing the boundaries of contemporary artistic convention.” He paused while I nodded, in a way that I hope looked cultured. “The review then continues to mention some of the performers by name, sir. In particular: 'Mr. Bertram Wooster, playing Nanki-Poo has a pleasant light baritone, and affects just the right kind of spirited vacancy required by the role. He is pleasantly complemented by the airy Miss Madeline Bassett in the role of Yum Yum and opposed by the commanding Miss Honoria Glossop in the role of the dowager, Katisha.'”
Jeeves paused again, and his eyebrows seemed to say, 'just wait until you hear the next bit.' He read, “'The finest performance of the evening undoubtedly comes from Mr. Augustus Fink-Nottle however, whose splendid comic turn takes this production into the realm of the edgy and surreal theatre that is now cutting its way across the West End and Broadway. We are honoured to have such proponents of the new radical genre in our provincial play-house this weekend.'”
Jeeves folded the newspaper neatly while I tried to take all that in. I was flabbergasted! “You mean to say, Jeeves, that reviewing lady, actually liked us? As in, thought that we were good?”
“That would certainly seem to be the case, sir,” Jeeves replied.
“Well, I'll be dashed!”
“Indeed, sir,” said Jeeves with feeling. “However, if I may suggest so, sir, I feel that the audience this evening might prefer a more traditional version of the operetta, containing perhaps a greater proportion of the notes and words that Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan intended.”
“Um, yes. Quite right, Jeeves. Let’s do it by the book then,” I concurred.
With that point in agreement, Jeeves saw that I had an ample lunch (which contained plenty of brain-nourishing fish, if I remember correctly), and he kept me on an even keel encouragement-wise as we counted down the hours and minutes to the time I was due at the theatre. I was pretty nervous, but managed to keep the old bean together on the whole. I was buoyed by that rather charming review in the press, I imagine, and helped no end by Jeeves’ careful drilling of my lines and calming tone of voice, which could probably make me feel safe in the middle of an earthquake, or one of those huge tidal waves called Sue-thingummy, for that matter.
Chapter Six, Part Two
This is a long chapter, so LJ's word-limit has necessitated posting it in two parts.
Title: Jeeves and the Artistic Verisimilitude
Chapter: Six - Passion and Performance
Author: PurpleFluffyCat
Rating: This chapter PG-13. 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: ~12,250 , 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'
Chapter Three - 'Predictions and Predilections'
Chapter Four - 'Sentimentality and Subtext'
Chapter Five - 'Review and Rumpus'
Chapter Six - Passion and Performance
“This is it then, Jeeves. The dreadful day finally dawns.” My lids were barely open when Jeeves shimmered into view, bearing the accustomed cup of tea and expression of polite composure.
“If you are referring to this evening’s performance, sir, your assessment of the date is indeed correct.”
I tried to bury my head under the pillow (old habits die hard) but Jeeves chose exactly that moment to fluff up the thing, thus making my hiding place less than effective. I emerged looking sulky. “Ah, well, you might as well just dispatch me now then, Jeeves old thing. I’d be much obliged if you could just add a pinch of cyanide to my morning cupful instead of the lemon.”
“I do not believe that course of action will be necessary, sir,” Jeeves replied, completely unruffled, “And the respiration-inhibiting substance to which you allude would most probably disagree with the flavour of the leaf somewhat unpleasantly.”
I harrumphed a little at that, but took my tame, citrus-filled version from him anyway. As I drank, I tried not to think about exactly what the evening would bring. For that matter, I didn’t really have much to go on. Not a lot had happened after the dress rehearsal the previous day. We had eaten dinner and then gone to bed early, most people avoiding the subject of tomatoes altogether. Gussie was still missing, and as far as I knew, he remained so. His hotel room had not been slept in, apparently, but neither had he packed up his belongings and checked out.
One might have thought that losing one of the principal actors at this stage would result in the whole debacle being cancelled, but unfortunately there was no such luck to be had. Josephine had decreed that the show would go on regardless, and no-one had mustered the courage to argue when she had stated that the role of the Lord High Executioner would be adequately accounted for, and that we had no cause to fret.
It all seemed so perfectly, laughably disastrous that I was tempted to up sticks myself and hare back to London that morning, but Josephine’s threat re. her friendship with the accursed Aunt Agatha weighed heavily upon the Wooster regard, forcing me to stay and see it through.
Sighing, I handed the empty cup back to Jeeves, suppressing a squeak of delight as our hands touched in the process. He fixed me with one of those bone-meltingly intense expressions for the slightest second, and then slipped away to draw my bath.
During the course of the night, my confused sentimental state regarding Bassetts, Glossops and the man of my dreams seemed to have straightened itself out a little. I do mean a little here, by the way; the picture of clarity, I certainly was not. Nevertheless, I had reached a solid conclusion of sorts - namely that it was far better to contemplate a future with Jeeves at my side as my valet, than to not have him at all. The melancholy wanderings of resigning myself to fate and throwing all of life to the wind had lost their shine a bit; I think that I’m the kind of chap who is too fond of his afternoon tea and game of golf for the tragic poet countenance to be a very good fit.
Following this logic through therefore, if I was going to retain Jeeves on a modest man-and-master level (given the lack of opportunity for anything else), I had to make damned sure that I didn’t end up married. It is a well known fact that the first thing a beazel will do when she has snagged an unsuspecting chap is to get rid of his valet, and besides, Jeeves has in the past made a point of saying that he will not work for married men.
I hadn’t the foggiest what to do about the Bassett problem, and simply hoped that Jeeves might come up with an improved scheme for sorting that one out. He didn’t usually fail me, after all, and I suspected that the previous evening’s soggy suggestion was a mere aberration.
That aside, and considering the fact that I was trying to be a man of system and action, I resolved that my first task for the day was to try to whittle down the list of obstacles in the way of remaining a be-valeted bachelor where I could - namely garnering Honoria’s hearty disapproval.
I encountered Miss Glossop as she was locked in an urgently whispered conversation with Josephine in the hotel lobby, and straight away saw my first window of opportunity – namely the chance to interrupt rudely. I therefore sailed right up to the pair of them and called, “What-ho, Honoria! Do you mind if I borrow you for a moment right now?”
Josephine looked rather put-out at this, and I was fully expecting Honoria to concur and send me away with a flea in my ear. However, the course of true non-love never does run smooth. Or at least it never does for me, at any rate. Honoria threw a conspiratorial glance of some sort to Josephine and said, “Certainly Bertie, that would be delightful,” before locking her arm with mine and steering us into the conservatory with the kind of force one of those Wild West chappies might use on a recalcitrant horse.
“Now Bertram, we haven't had much time to discuss the wedding arrangements these past few days, but I just want to assure you that it's all going ahead swimmingly,” Honoria announced, “Or it will be, anyway, as soon as Mummy and Daddy are back home from their stay in New York. I have chosen all of my bridesmaids and have started looking at dresses.”
At that point I seized my first chance to put her off. “Oh yes, on the subject of wedding attire,” I started, “I haven't actually told you this before, but it's a family tradition of mine that the groom is obliged to wear... um... bright orange.” That should do the trick, I thought. If the beazel was even half as particular as Jeeves is about proper attire for such occasions, the threat of being seen near such a ghastly get-up should have her running for the hills.
However, instead of the expression of dread that I was expecting, the bally girl let out an almighty laugh. “Oh Bertie, you are funny!”
“Um, no... I'm serious...” I protested.
She fixed me with an indulgent look, and replied with a fair whiff of sarcasm. “Well, it's a good job the wedding photographs will be taken in sepia then, isn't it? I'm sure the orange will look just like a grey morning suit in print. Now, getting back to the topic in hand, I was thinking about where we should live when we are married-”
Where we should live? That kind of comment was enough to make the Wooster blood run cold. Evasive action was needed immediately.
“I slurp my soup, you know!” I blurted out.
“Pardon, Bertram? You do what?” She seemed a little miffed at being interrupted, which was slight progress, at least.
“Yes, I... um… slurp my soup. And I eat with a knife sometimes! Once, I was even reprimanded by Lord Witherspoon for having my elbows on the table. I just thought I ought to warn you… um, Honoria. It would be only fair to give you the chance to... err... reconsider...”
I was rewarded for my efforts by a hearty blow between the shoulder-blades that would have knocked the air from a sizeable cathedral organ. “What a card, you are, Bertie!” Honoria roared, “And how very sweet of you to bring these things up now. I had thought that I would get to work on your table manners straight after we are married, but since you seem surprisingly self-aware, we can make a start now! I rather think I'm going to enjoy making something of you, Bertram Wooster. It's always nice to have a project, of sorts.”
“Oh, right... good... ha ha...” This was getting desperate. “And, um... I lay-in terribly late in the mornings. Jeeves often doesn't hear me stir until almost noon, as it happens.” That was quite a thing to confess to girl who believes in the health-giving benefits of country walks commencing before dawn, but I reasoned that I would happily endure any related public criticism in return for getting off the hook in the matrimony department.
“Fear not, my dear Bertram,” replied Honoria however, to my great disquiet, “Those habits will be easy to change. It will be impossible for you to sleep for too long when we have a crying infant in the house. Won't it, what?”
The mere idea made me feel quite green – on the grounds of both living with this supposed c. i., and the activity which would be required of me to leading to its manufacture. Indeed, I fancy I was well camouflaged with the huge aspidistra just to my left, and might have been swaying in a similar fashion.
It seemed then that I had firmly lost the battle in which I had so blithely engaged. Engaged being the most bally appropriate term, of course. My sense of defeat was underlined at that point, as Josephine sailed into the conservatory. She ignored me completely of course, and addressed Honoria with a sense of urgency. “So, does he know where he is?”
“Alas not,” replied Honoria, “Or at least he hasn't mentioned it. You don't know where Augustus is, do you Bertram?”
Such a swift change of subject put me slightly off course, and brought back the other, theatrically-related feeling of impending doom rather effectively. “Erm, no. I don't.”
“Pity,” replied Josephine, “Doesn't your valet tell you anything?”
“My valet? What's all this about Jeeves?” I asked, but it was too late. Josephine and Honoria had already linked arms and wandered off, no doubt plotting the demise of some other poor chap in the little coloured box that remained before lunch.
I was left feeling curious as to what those bally beazels had meant re. my adored valet, so went off in search of Jeeves. It was not a long search however, as I found him standing in the hotel lobby, awaiting me with almost clairvoyant precision of timing as the sunlight glinted off his brillianted hair.
“I say, Jeeves,” I said, somewhat agitated.
“Yes, sir?”
“Josephine and that blasted Glossop just said something about something that you might have not told me. Does that ring any bells?”
Jeeves followed my description most attentively, but then pursed his lips in that way I find utterly delightful and said, “I am afraid it does not, sir.” His expression then became completely implacable, and I could be sure that I wasn’t going to get anything else out of him on the subject. If there even was a subject there at all, that is.
“Ah well, who knows what those dreadful girls might be on about, eh?” I finished.
“The female psyche is indeed an unusual and oft inexplicable permutation of the transmissions in the pre-frontal cortex of that sex, sir,” corroborated Jeeves. He’d lost me there a bit, but it sounded jolly clever all the same.
Unfortunately, his statement also reminded me of my failure to wriggle out of the impending long walk down a short aisle. “Talking of inexplicable female whatdjmacallits, Jeeves, Honoria didn’t seem nearly bothered enough by the more irregular habits of Bertram. I didn’t manage to get myself off the hook,” I told him, dejectedly.
“Most unfortunate, sir,” replied Jeeves, with a tone sufficiently smooth to suggest that he might not have even expected me to be successful in the first place. If only he knew how much of my heart was riding on these latest extrications - viz his continued presence as a subject of adoration in the Wooster homestead!
“The bally girl didn’t even flinch when I told her about the family tradition of mine that the groom has to wear bright orange when declaring nuptials!” I declared in exasperation.
Jeeves went suddenly pale. He looked perfectly still and very cold, as if he had suffered a tremendous shock. “Orange, sir?” he whispered.
I realised then what a rummy thing I had just done to the poor chap. For someone as impeccable as Jeeves, such an affront upon the esteemed dress-code of formal daytime occasions would be tantamount to threatening to squash his pet kitten under a steam iron. Not that Jeeves had a kitten to my knowledge, of course. But if he did, I would have wanted to treat it with the utmost care.
I set about rectifying my mistake with haste. “Oh no, Jeeves, please don’t worry!” I said quickly, “It was only a joke. A wheeze, I mean; for Honoria’s benefit. I wouldn’t really want to wear bright orange when we - I mean, when I get married.”
“I am relieved to hear so, sir,” said Jeeves. His expression of shock was replaced by one of relief, perhaps mingled with a kind of triumph that I couldn’t quite place. I had not the opportunity to dwell upon it, however, as Jeeves produced a newspaper of some kind, carefully folded open to highlight a particular article, and handed it to me. “You may be interested to read the review of our production of ‘The Mikado,’ sir. At her word, Ms. Siriso ensured that it was published in yesterday’s evening paper.”
That was not quite music to the Wooster ears, I can tell you. The last thing I wanted to do was read in black and white how terrible I was and how disastrous this evening was due to be - especially in front of my brilliant man who seemed to have placed so much faith in me.
Alas, it was clearly too late to save my embarrassment – Jeeves had read the bally thing already – so I just tried to avoid depressing myself further. “I don't think I can take it, Jeeves,” I said, “Why don't you just give me the potted version to save the young master the trauma? If you wouldn't mind reading out a few edited highlights... just so I know the worst, you understand.”
“Very good, sir,” replied Jeeves. He then cleared his throat and ruffled the paper rather dramatically before beginning to read aloud. “'A veritable treat is in store for we residents of Spindleythorpe-on-Sea this Saturday evening, as a young and progressive theatre troupe bring a daringly updated version of Gilbert and Sullivan's 'Mikado' to town.'” He paused and quirked an eyebrow in my direction. “'This fresh crop of London bards are to present-day audiences what Diaghilev's Ballet Russe would have been to patrons at the turn of the century.'”
“Dee-aggy-who, Jeeves?” I asked. I couldn't work out whether the comparison was a good thing or a dashed rummy thing.
“Sergei Diaghilev was a great impresario of the Russian ballet and theatre, sir,” replied Jeeves, “His productions were fêted as the finest examples of the modern school of dance, oft pushing the boundaries of contemporary artistic convention.” He paused while I nodded, in a way that I hope looked cultured. “The review then continues to mention some of the performers by name, sir. In particular: 'Mr. Bertram Wooster, playing Nanki-Poo has a pleasant light baritone, and affects just the right kind of spirited vacancy required by the role. He is pleasantly complemented by the airy Miss Madeline Bassett in the role of Yum Yum and opposed by the commanding Miss Honoria Glossop in the role of the dowager, Katisha.'”
Jeeves paused again, and his eyebrows seemed to say, 'just wait until you hear the next bit.' He read, “'The finest performance of the evening undoubtedly comes from Mr. Augustus Fink-Nottle however, whose splendid comic turn takes this production into the realm of the edgy and surreal theatre that is now cutting its way across the West End and Broadway. We are honoured to have such proponents of the new radical genre in our provincial play-house this weekend.'”
Jeeves folded the newspaper neatly while I tried to take all that in. I was flabbergasted! “You mean to say, Jeeves, that reviewing lady, actually liked us? As in, thought that we were good?”
“That would certainly seem to be the case, sir,” Jeeves replied.
“Well, I'll be dashed!”
“Indeed, sir,” said Jeeves with feeling. “However, if I may suggest so, sir, I feel that the audience this evening might prefer a more traditional version of the operetta, containing perhaps a greater proportion of the notes and words that Messrs. Gilbert and Sullivan intended.”
“Um, yes. Quite right, Jeeves. Let’s do it by the book then,” I concurred.
With that point in agreement, Jeeves saw that I had an ample lunch (which contained plenty of brain-nourishing fish, if I remember correctly), and he kept me on an even keel encouragement-wise as we counted down the hours and minutes to the time I was due at the theatre. I was pretty nervous, but managed to keep the old bean together on the whole. I was buoyed by that rather charming review in the press, I imagine, and helped no end by Jeeves’ careful drilling of my lines and calming tone of voice, which could probably make me feel safe in the middle of an earthquake, or one of those huge tidal waves called Sue-thingummy, for that matter.
Chapter Six, Part Two