Bertie and Jeeves and D'Arcy and Rocky: What Dreams May Come

by preux

Summary:

Reginald Jeeves is dead, which has made it difficult to get back in touch with his true love. Should he create turmoil for Bertie or let him ankle along with Stilton Cheesewright?

Meanwhile, Bertie and Stilton are in Paris, doing their best to help Rocky Todd reassemble his wits. Somehow a baby adopts them, complicating matters about the flat they share with Anatole.

Soon, they discover more secrets and lies about their own pasts, including the identity of someone else long thought dead.

Chapter 1: note on the text

Summary:

Names are bandied about.

Stilton and self have been bending the backs and hewing the whatnots of the editorial whatsits. Dashed interesting work, except for the punctuation, which is rather tedious, as Jeeves might have said some time or other.  In our current tale, which is ‘note on the text’ talk, you know…

 

“Bertie, have you seen Rocky?”

“No, Stilton.  Did he review those page proofs for you?  He’s a poet and understands these publishing thingummies.”

“Yes.  He wrote, ‘Be! Be!’ in the margin of each of my sections and corrected the headings.”

“Corrected?”

“You keep titling my sections ‘Stilton.’”

“That’s so the readers know it’s you, old fruit.”

“But that’s not my name, Bertie.”

“What are you saying, Stilton?  Are you some type of impostor?”

“Don’t talk rot, Wooster.  My name is D’Arcy. Stilton is the foul nickname you lot gave me at school.”

“Oh. Ah.  I see what you are implying.  It would have been cruel, I think, to dub you ‘Cheesy Cheesewright’ back at Malvern House. But you see, my sections are labeled ‘Bertie’ not ‘Bertram.’ And I always labeled Jeeves’s sections ‘Jeeves.’ ”

“But that was what he preferred. Wasn’t it?”

“I never asked him. I just always wrote down what I called him. But I say, I am frightfully sorry, Stilton.  So I should change those to ‘Punkin’head’ then?  Your preferred spy name, you know. Distinctive, what?”

“Where are you cravenly scooting off to, there Wooster?”

“The Woosters do not scoot cravenly, Stilton, but we do understand the tactical retreat.”

“That was an impressive back flip, Bertie, but you know I will catch you sooner or later.”

“And then what, old bean?  You always lose when we have a tickle fight.”

“Oh no, Wooster.  I plan to hold you down in place and read you poetry.”

“Dash it, Stilton! Have a heart.”

“Bertie, have you put all this nonsense in the reader’s notes again?”

“What’s that?  Oh, you rotter. Do let go, Stilton.”

“No, my dear chap.  It’s Keats for you."

Chapter 2: awakenings

Summary:

Rocky Todd has gone strangely weepy, Bertie is having nightmares and Stilton does not know how to help either of them. A baby decides to adopt Bertie and D'Arcy decides to adopt a baby. Meanwhile, Bertie's father, long thought dead, resurfaces and recognizes Anatole as a long lost friend. And everyone learns something surprising about Jeeves.

 

From the secret diary of R. Jeeves

Only when death loomed before me did I see how lucky I was to have attached such a pure soul when my own was so tattered. My greatest grief is leaving him unattended to. I want that he be cared for and even cherished all the days of his life. He deserves so much and I have given so very little.

Sometimes on clear days, I remember what I have done, and what I have left undone. 

The shame is crippling.

 

Bertie

The heart clenched like the jaw of an angry Spode as Jeeves thrashed in pain, clutching at his chest. “Shh, shh. You’ll feel better in a moment.” The paws were steady even when he was flopping about the bed like a fish out of the frying pan. His poor e.s lit with recognition and the pale lips formed one word, “Love,” as he slipped away.  The heart twisted and then tore in the narrow breast.  I thought the pain would unshuffle the coil from Bertram.

 

I thrashed awake in a snarl of blankets, the heart thrumming with such violence I thought the slender ribs would be bruised. A muffled grunt sounded next to me and the bean shook itself back into place.

Reg was gone. I would never see him again, never feel his skin or hear the fond rumbling tones of his voice.

My new lover, Stilton Cheesewright, and I had come to Paris with Rocky Todd.  He’d come to us for a visit then went oddly weepy and incoherent. I'd found him curled up on Jeeves’s grave morning after morning, and even Stilton couldn’t get him to make any sense.  We oozed back to Paris to see the eminent loony doctor Sir Roderick Glossop.

I tried to muffle the sobs with a tearful fist, but Stilton had already lurched up in the bed. The look of caring concern on his big round face  curled up the corpus in absolute shame. “Bertie?” He unspooled the c. and gathered it against him firmly. “Oh, love.” Stilton had never called me that, and the sound that came out of me had Anatole haring into our room, white-faced in terror.  D’Arcy put a hand to the back of the golden head and made a sort of hushing noise. He was such a bally wonderful friend. Anatole took one look and quietly slipped away.

D’Arcy’s hands shook as the big, beefy fingers patted the Wooster pillow regions and rubbed the back again and again, as if he was reassuring himself that all the pieces were still there.

 

Stilton

It was the third nightmare since Roderick Glossop had left Paris. 

D’Arcy lay awake for some time after he had soothed Bertie back to sleep, watching his friend and companion thoughtfully. The next morning, he woke to find Bertie nestled right up against him in his most endearing way.  Something was very wrong. D’Arcy tucked the blankets in closer around him and Bertie stirred, pushing himself up sleepily. “Hush, lamb, go back to sleep.”

Bertie nearly whimpered. “Can we make spoons?”

D’Arcy gathered his friend more closely against him. “Are you all right?” 

Bertie clearly had no idea what was wrong. “I’m so frightened.”  D’Arcy felt his insides curl up in dread.

 

Bertie

The soul felt as though a huge chunk had been ripped out of it. “I am sorry, Stilton.”

“Oh, it’s Stilton now, is it?” He smiled and brushed the hair from the puffy dial. “Shall I call you Wooster?”

I leaned the bean against him. “All right.”

“Bertie?”

“Yes, D’Arcy?”

“Is that what Jeeves called you?”

“What?”

“Love. Is that what he called you when you were alone?”

The willowy form contracted with grief and longing.  “I…yes,erm, sorry and all that,” I bit back the tears. 

“No, lamb. It was my slip of the tongue.”

“Ah whatsit?”

“I used to call Wally that.” He looked endearingly pink. “When we… ah, whatsit. I was dreaming, just now, erm….”

“I don’t mind that…”  I paused, gobsmacked that I never dreamed of making love to Reg. “Would you have a bath with me?” I asked in a smallish voice, all thoughts of being manly and strapping flying out the window.

“Of course,” he said, and I knew it would be a simple bath unless I asked for more.  Reg and I would have forgotten our troubles in lovemaking, but D’Arcy didn’t use our physical relationship that way. 

“I think we should go see that Charles or Harold that Glossop’s daughter married.” I started, but he held me still.  “This is not at all like you, Bertie.” Then I pushed up close against him and made a little noise, and froze because it was the noise that Reg liked me to make to show I was giving in. But Stilton simply snorted. I relaxed and nestled with him, but he never came into the bath.

 

Stilton

They reached the clinic and Bertie quivered and shook. “I simply can’t. Can you see him first, old bean?”

“Yes, of course,” Stilton steered Bertie into a waiting room full of mothers and babies. 

Bertie liked babies, and one of the mothers let him hold one.  He was just big enough to toddle, but his little face looked odd and he acted more like a smaller infant. “He is a jolly chap, what?”

“Ba!” said the baby. The mother smoothed his hair and kissed the child on the forehead.  Bertie didn’t notice as she slipped out the door.

“Good boy,” said Bertie warmly.  “Yes, you are an intelligent chap, aren’t you?” The baby nestled against him and fell asleep.  Bertie took in a blue tinge on the little fellow’s lips and sighed.  The poor chap hadn’t very long.

D’Arcy nearly melted in the look of affection and friendship on Bertie’s face when he entered. “Look, Stilton.  Isn’t he jolly?”  D’Arcy was strongly reminded of a photo he’d taken of Bertie and Jeeves, their faces alight with joy and love. He hadn’t understood until that moment that his friendship had been part of their heartwarming bond, that their joyful smiles had been as much for him as themselves.

The doctor, Charles or possibly Harold, took in the baby and then looked about sharply. “Dash it all!” he said. Several babies started crying. “She's been trying to leave him here for weeks, but we haven’t a space.” 

Bertie had stood up to show the baby to Stilton. “Da!” said the baby, patting the big man with a chubby hand. D’Arcy fell immediately and irrevocably in love.

“We’ll take him,” said D’Arcy in a firm tone.

“He’d do better in a warmer climate,” said Charles or possibly Harold thoughtfully as the baby wrinkled D’Arcy’s tie.

“Ba!” the baby looked at Bertie, then gave D’Arcy another pat. 

“That’s settled then, what.” 

 

Anatole

Sir Roderick was much too old for this. Anatole was not very much younger. “You find?”

“Yes, Anatole.  I found everything.” Anatole shrugged. “You waited long enough to mention this.”

“If Reginald is alive, then it would be bad for them to be knowing.  Now….”

Sir Roderick leafed through reports documenting the animosity between Bertie and D’Arcy Cheesewright.  Reports from Wally Fortescue ignoring orders to force Bertie and D’Arcy to bond.  A report from his own son-in-law, ordered to drug the two young men. Sir Roderick looked up and the little chef shrugged again. “And they are involved now, I take it.” Anatole shrugged. “Did Jeeves know?”

“Is not until he die, after we kill them all.”

“You missed one…the Wolf.  He's been here for months.  He keeps asking for his bountiful boy.”

The little chef went very still then shrugged again.  “Maybe we should have make more nicknames.”

Sir Roderick felt a sudden urge to fling a cleaver across the room.

 

Bertie

As it happens, Pop Glossop had disappeared for good reason. Something about the time when that evil blighter in MI somethingth wanted to ‘bond’ D’Arcy and me.  We’d been bally well revolted. D’Arcy riffled the papers, looking chagrined. I forked over the nipper, “Da!” D’Arcy’s map resolved into a sappy grin as the little fellow grabbed at the papers.

“There’s more, Yaxley,” said Sir Roderick and the heart stopped in the slender breast.  “Your father is alive. He is in France.”

“Ah, whatsit?”  The heart went blue and icy. Had Jeeves known this?  Is that why he was so dashed upset? “Did Jeeves…”

“No. Anatole found him.”

“Is he the Wolf?”  D’Arcy had settled the nipper in his lap with a handkerchief made into a rabbit, and started flipping papers, sorting carefully.

Glossop put on his lying face. “I don’t know. He is dying.”

I paused.  “Did you tell Aunt Dahlia or Aunt Agatha?”

“You’re the head of the family.” I’d forgotten that bit.

“Right ho.”

 

D’Arcy

D’Arcy wandered the hallways, looking for Rocky Todd, whose room moved with odd frequency. Finally, he saw the name on a chart.  Rocky was curled up in a bed, sleeping soundly in a set of pajamas Bertie had bought him in Italy.  D’Arcy pulled out a small box of candy.  Then he sat down beside the bed with a mystery novel and watched Rocky sleep.

 

Bertie

I ankled over to see my father.  I’d not seen him since I was a nipper, but I knew instantly that his was the vanished hand of the pater familias.  My own nipper sat happily on the slender arm.  He had flatly refused to stay with D’Arcy, although he retained possession of the Cheesewright handkerchief.

“Willoughby?” he asked when I oozed in.

“No, it’s Bertie,” I stammered.

“Ba!” said the baby.

To my horror, the wisened chap began to weep. “My beautiful, bountiful boy?” I staggered to the bed and patted his quivering h.  He eyed the baby. “They protected you.  Thank goodness.”

“Yes, all pip-pip and whatnot, ah, rather.”

“I knew you could, Willoughby.  Those rotters said…such horrid things.  You must protect him.  That old ring is the key…I gave the book to some young soldier.  Jeeves.  I switched ...he wouldn’t know.  I have here....”  He forked over a battered book, and I flipped to the fly leaf.  It had been peeled apart and glued back together. “...Anatole. ...must destroy the papers or they will hurt my boy.”  He saw the baby and stretched out his hand. “Ah my beautiful Bertie.  Promise you’ll take care of him.” I promised, and he drifted off to the dreamless.

Sir Roderick sighed and I turned, surprised to see him. “He’s been catatonic or begging to see his bountiful boy.  Anatole came and since then he started demanding to see Jeeves.  But he would never have met him.”

Somehow I wrestled the pipes into working order. “No, no indeed,” I stuttered as we oiled out. I was going to strangle Anatole.

Stilton

Bertie’s face was like thunder. “I am being sorry,” said Anatole meekly. “I make for you some timbale de riz de veau Toulousiane.” Bertie ate the offering.  Anatole apologized again. “How I can telling you how your father lie and hide from you…”  The little chef broke down in tears and Bertie patted his shoulder.

“I know, old chap. I know.” D’Arcy entered, lured by the smell of the timbales. “Where’s the nipper?” The baby had ceased all objections to being alone with D’Arcy once they had entered the flat.

“Sleeping. I put him in the bed.”

Bertie poked his head in the doorway and saw the sleeping baby, tucked in well with pillows so he wouldn’t fall, much as D’Arcy had tucked Bertie in when Jeeves had died. When Bertie came back to the kitchen, D’Arcy was patting the little chef on the shoulder.

“Jeeves never knowing,” said Anatole. “But he meet your father. And the scarred man. In France.  Those Wolves hurt him, and after, he started dreaming.”

Bertie sighed. “My father was also the Wolf?”

Anatole shrugged. “Not bad like that one.”  He paused and gathered himself.  “I go some other place.”

Bertie grabbed the chef’s arm. “No, no, Anatole. The heart will break if you leave.” Anatole broke down again, but they finally calmed him.  Bertie cleared his throat. “Anatole, you must go to him again.”

Later, Bertie carefully peeled the front cover of the book apart. He opened the paper folded within and read the message his father had accidentally stolen from his life’s companion.

 

Bertie

As D’Arcy hovered, I understood why I had allowed myself to love him. He would always give way to my feelings for Reg. “Thank-you, D’Arcy.” He shuffled his feet awkwardly, and I wondered if this was fair to him. 

“I still love him myself, Bertie,” he said. “He showed me something important about who I was, Bertie. I was also in love with Florence, old thing. And that authoress, for a time. I cannot understand how Wally was so patient with me.” I wiped the dial and stood up, wrapping the arms and legs around him, feeling his strong hands holding me up.

“Because you are the most bally delightful chap.” He blushed. “When you are not breaking spines and buttering the lawns with other chaps of course.” D’Arcy snorted. The nipper woke up alone in a strange place and set up a howl.

We stampeded toward Stilton’s bedroom like two buffalos in well-cut city suits and the nipper was immediately cheered.  “Ba!” he cried joyfully, holding up his chubby little hands.  I picked him up and Anatole came bustling in with a bib for him and a bottle.  We settled on the chaise, me leaning against D’Arcy and holding the nipper.  We fed him and played with him a bit and told him he was a precious wee chap.  D’Arcy gave me a squeeze.

“What’s that on his lip, Bertie?”

“He has a bad heart, Stilton.”  D’Arcy did a passable imitation of a marble statue.

“A bad heart?”

“Yes. He’s got a sickness. I don’t know how long he has.” I looked up to see an expression of shock and sorrow on the Cheesewright visage. Wooster so rarely knew anything that D’Arcy didn’t know. “Oh, D’Arcy, I am so sorry.  I thought you understood.”

“What can we do for him?” he whispered. “Will it hurt him?”  The baby stirred and grabbed my tie and patted D’Arcy’s beefy hand, and the big, round face softened in adoration.

I looked up at D’Arcy’s b, r. face.  “We can love him. Think how much better this will be for him than an orphanage.”  The baby seemed rather boomps-a-daisy, so we played peek-a-boo and where’s the baby and grabbing the toesies. I rubbed the little belly and told him what a stunning fellow he was and how manly and intelligent, what? Then I felt a hand on the golden head.

“I love you, Bertie,” said D’Arcy.

“Do you want a snuggle?” I asked. He pinkened and nodded and I thought of the way Wally always said he was bally endearing, especially because to D’Arcy a ‘snuggle’ meant just that.  He wanted to be held and have the back of his head rubbed and be told he was a splendid chap, which he was. 

We took the nipper into the guest room and tucked him in well with pillows and then we nestled together in D’Arcy’s bed. He was shaking. “D’Arcy?”  The tears welled up out of him. “Oh, D’Arcy,” I said.  I felt quite guilty for bringing the nipper home without telling D’Arcy how ill he was.

But something quite different was troubling Stilton. “I never knew how much he did for me, Bertie,” he whispered. 

I petted him fondly. “Wally loved you. It was a shame you met so late.”

“What do you mean?”

I struggled to find the words. “It’s… at school these things could run their course. And Jeeves could share my home because he was a servant.  There was nothing you and Wally could do.”

He turned this over in his big, round head. “You ran away.”  I squirmed a bit, because we had.  Jeeves had always been top notch at keeping a low profile.

“We were never as brave as Wally. Or you.” He snorted at me and mussed the hair, and then let me rub his temples until he fell asleep.

 

Anatole

Old Mr. Wooster ate the timbales gratefully.  “These are delicious, Anatole.  Scrumptious.”  Anatole smiled benignly.

“You upset your boy,” said the chef gently.

The old man blinked back tears.  “Thank-you for keeping him safe, Anatole.  Thank-you for finding me.”

“You being here a long time.”

The old man looked around, then at his hands.  “I left when Georges grew so ill and Jeeves came to him. I couldn’t let him see me.  I went to our other place.” Anatole gasped. “My mind is nearly gone, Anatole.  Can I see him?  Can I see the boy?”

Anatole sighed.  “He coming today to see you already.”

“Oh, yes!  The bonnie wee man.  He is a sweet dear boy.  So precious,” said the old man.  The faded blue eyes fluttered shut and then flew open.  “You found that Jeeves lad?  He came to Georges, you know.  I left…I went to that resort we liked.  They were kind.”

Anatole patted the wrinkled fingers gently. “Yes, I finding him.  You boy safe now.” He looked at the wreck of a man whose letter had gotten him his first good job in England, a man who had had everything taken from him but still helped an unemployed chef. Anatole thought of all the deathbeds he had sat by and hoped that someone would sit with him and speak kindly and gently when his time came. 

 

Jeeves

I woke alone and terribly frightened. A welt throbbed on the back of my head.  Strange dreams had assailed me, as of a long illness. I’d been asked to serve the crown, secretly.  I had initially refused to leave Mr. Wooster, then been drugged and forced into service by a secret branch of the MI. Then I was kidnapped by the scarred man known as the Wolf. My network of contacts and friends had sent help, but too late. More than a year after being drafted into a secret service, Rocky Todd had seen me safe to a haven with a very old friend, Georges, a notorious international spy known as Dumas.  Georges had sacrificed his life to protect and serve, and he called on me to do the same.

My mind had been terribly affected by my ordeal. Rocky had consoled me most generously in my time of pain and grief. Over the next year, I slowly recovered my faculties, then set out to discover what I could about my old life. Georges advised me not to contact Mr. Wooster until those connected with my own story were dead.  My friend had left me in possession of his substantial properties. Rocky disappeared during a routine check-in, then resurfaced in Italy a few weeks later, clearly a victim of “The Wolf.” But it appeared that those dangerous men had been killed. I stayed on Georges’ property for some weeks and then ventured out, eager to pick up the pieces of my life.  My first stop was a resort village near a lake in France.  It had been a favorite haunt of Mr. Wooster’s and mine.

I stayed longer than I intended, then I went to Paris, confident that I could go about the city undetected. I searched out Rocky, but he had gone to Italy.  I followed. By this time, I had been separated from Mr. Wooster for more than two years. He had developed a committed bond with D’Arcy Cheesewright. They seemed happy and safe. I could not subject Mr. Wooster to further turmoil and determined to destroy the records of my latest involvements, take Rocky, if he needed a refuge, and begin a new life in South America. I broke into the treatment center to free him.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in a comfortable bed.  Rocky perched nearby, apologizing.  Then I saw Sir Roderick Glossop, looking drawn and pale.  Anatole hovered in the doorway, twisting a carving knife in the wooden dresser. 

After the usual preliminaries, Sir Roderick began to conduct business. “Jeeves, do you have any idea who is buried under your name in Italy?”

My mind flipped over. Yes, that had been part of the torture at first, Mr. Wooster’s connection with this impostor. “They found someone who looked like me.”

“And he had a bad heart?”

“He did…the man had been ill as a boy.”  My mind suddenly took in the small details, the concern on their faces.

“When Mycroft died, things went odd.  They wanted you to replace him. They drugged you, and sent this other man home with Bertie,” said Sir Roderick grimly. “Apparently, he had been drafted into the MI during that last war and assigned to the same code projects as you. Bertie nursed him devotedly until he died and they buried him near your home in Italy.” I heaved a sigh of relief. I would be able to disappear without leaving a loose end.

Sir Roderick grasped my arm. “Son, I know what you want to do, but we cannot permit it.  Old Mr. Wooster knows that you are alive and Lord Yaxley has been to see him.  You must reveal yourself.  Lord Yaxley cannot untangle this problem on his own.  He needs your help.”

Chapter 3: where Rocky fears to tread

Summary:

Bertie makes a highly distressing discovery. The baby wants a bathe. Jeeves becomes liberally moistened. Anatole rushes in where Rocky fears to tread. Rocky and Stilton take a bohemian ramble in the park. Rocky makes a confession.

Bertie

Jeeves floated up in my dreams every night like that Banquo, chap, but trying, desperately trying, to impart something from beyond the veil, something Bertram heard not. Then I dreamt about Rocky.  He had thought, when I drugged him, that he had seen Jeeves.

D’Arcy woke me up one morning because I was sobbing in my sleep. “Bertie, lamb,” he said when I had calmed down.  “You kept saying it’s in the cabinet.  What is?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered.

“I can’t stand to see you like this,” he said. The nipper started to cry and he ankled out.  I stood up on shaking pins and stumbled to the office, to a secret cabinet there.  Even D’Arcy hadn’t known about it.  Tremblingly, I opened the door and rifled through, the heart breaking again and again at the memories of Jeeves.  The guilt when I thought of D’Arcy was staggering.  And then I found something. 

I remembered stuffing a pile of papers there so no one could find them. They had arrived just after I forbade Reg to ever talk about spy business again, after Roderick Glossop told me he only had a few weeks to live.  I found a file. He had a double. Then I read the papers more carefully.  Someone had kidnapped my Jeeves and replaced him with this impostor, and the impostor had tried to tell me how to rescue him. This impostor had come to me on the verge of death. They told him that I was a notorious killer, that I would torture and shame him. Then he had read Jeeves’s diaries and tried to help me, knowing that he would likely die alone and in agonizing pain if I found out who he was.  He had tried, so desperately, and I had drugged him into forgetfulness again and again. 

The papers didn’t give his name, and they didn’t say where Jeeves was but I knew.  That bally office had hunted him his whole life.  They wanted his brain, and they wanted him hurt and angry. They had fooled me.  I had never been so ashamed of my fumbling ineptitude.   

I looked at the picture carefully and then folded up all of the paperwork and washed and dressed and asked D’Arcy to look after the nipper while I went to the store.  And then I went to the club and drank seven snifters of brandy.

 

D’Arcy

Bertie reeled home reeking of brandy, and D’Arcy felt his heart pause. “Bertie?”  He took Bertie’s arm, surprised when his friend didn’t come into his embrace.

“Ah whatsit, D’Arcy,” said Bertie, pulling an envelope from his breast pocket. “I don’t know how to tell you, old chap…”

“Bertram?”  They turned to see Anatole closing the door behind Jeeves.  They looked again.  The man before them was pale and thin, but definitely Jeeves. D’Arcy dimly wondered how anyone had been fooled by the other one.  Bertie staggered into his dead lover’s embrace. Jeeves folded him tenderly against his breast. “Run, love. Run away and hide. I do not know what they did to me. Stay with D’Arcy.  Don’t try to find me again.”

“No,” said D’Arcy firmly, just as Bertie’s face began to crumple.

“D’Arcy,” Jeeves pressed Bertie against his breast, “Please.”

“No,” said D’Arcy, moving forward to pat the back of Bertie’s head. He kissed Jeeves on the forehead. “No. Just look at the state of him. You’re not leaving him again. Or me, for that matter.  We stay. We live. Or die. Together.  All of us. ”

“I threw out all your things,” said Bertie. “I’m so sorry.  I should have come for you.  I didn’t listen…”

Jeeves sank into the divan, pulling Bertie into his lap. “I have several things to confess myself,” he said. D’Arcy sat down beside them, one arm around Jeeves.

“And I.”

Bertie looked between his two lovers. “Did you know?”

D’Arcy went white. “I didn't, but Rocky’s weepy babbling makes much more sense now.”  He turned to Jeeves.  “We are helpless without you.”

“Where were you?” asked Bertie. D’Arcy moved to get up, then a squawk sounded as Rocky Todd, tripped over a toy duck on a string and tumbled in the doorway.

Jeeves went white and Rocky went red.  Bertie looked between the two of them and then slowly stood up.  He kissed Jeeves and then D’Arcy, and patted Rocky on the shoulder. Then he walked carefully into the master bedroom and closed the door.  D’Arcy helped Rocky up.  “I have no idea what to do now,” said Rocky shakily, clinging to D’Arcy’s arm.

D’Arcy looked at Jeeves.  “You’d better have some explanation to satisfy him, Reginald.  Rocky, why don’t we take the nipper for a walk?” Rocky trembled almost violently, and D’Arcy planted a hand at the small of his back.  Jeeves knew that D’Arcy and Rocky had been lovers, but he saw a deeper friendship in the gesture.  He lifted an eyebrow.  D’Arcy shrugged.

“Nipper?” asked Rocky.

“Bertie and I adopted a baby.”  Jeeves bowed his head and turned to follow Bertie.

“That’s nice,” said Rocky conversationally.  “Babies don’t always like me, though.”

“This one will.”

 

Jeeves

I was shocked to find the Paris flat exactly as I had left it. Then I entered my bedroom and found Mr. Wooster curled up on our bed in a truly revolting purple paisley bedspread. “I threw out your clothes,” he said in a small voice from within the folds of fabric.  The bedspread suddenly became very dear and important to me, and I wondered why I had been so terribly controlling about his socks and shirts.

“I was dead,” I said gently.

“I was so angry at you for leaving me. I said such things.” He poked his face from the paisley. “I’m still rather pipped at you.”

“I’m sorry. They caught me.”

“They?”

“The Wolves.” Mr. Wooster sat up.

“Oh, Reg,” he said in a voice full of sorrow. Later I would tell him how angry I had been, the rage and despair I had felt, but it had long passed. “Sit with me?”

I sat. He met my eyes and then looked at my tie. I nodded and let him remove my jacket and shirt and undershirt. He paused and touched every one of the scars on my arms and chest then he tugged at my belt. “They hurt me,” I whispered, overcome with the deepest shame.

Mr. Wooster nodded. He touched my face and slipped his fingers into the hair at the back of my neck and rested his forehead against mine, just the way I always liked to be comforted when I was frightened. I had not realized how much I missed the feeling of his skin against mine. “Does everything still work, Reg?” I nodded, tears flowing down my face. Gently, he undressed me and looked at the scars. I rested my head on his shoulder and felt my soul bind itself together under the touch of his soft, warm fingertips. He stroked my hair and then rose and opened a drawer and removed a silk dressing gown.  “I bought this the first time D’Arcy and I came to Paris, after…  it beckoned one afternoon and I ankled back with it before I remembered that you were gone.” I let him dress me in it. “Reg, I still belong to you, but I love D’Arcy now, too.”

I cleared my throat. “I know. I had been terribly harmed.  It took some time to recover and by the time I got home, you were with D’Arcy. I saw you rowing on the lake. You looked so happy. I only wanted you to be safe.” 

Mr. Wooster took my hand in both of his. “You have not been out of my thoughts for one day since I lost you.  And you have not been out of D’Arcy’s thoughts, either.  We planned to be buried with you, in fact.” We sat for a few moments. “I should have realized and come for you.”

I shook my head. “No. They would have hurt you, too. You ended them, didn’t you?  You and Anatole and D’Arcy?” He nodded.

We sat for several minutes, looking at my hand in Mr. Wooster’s lap. “Do you love Rocky?” he finally asked.

“I… if we had gone away. If I had not seen you again. It would have been enough.”   

“And D’Arcy?  Something happened between you during the war.”

“Not what you think, love. We had an affair in New York, so very long ago.” I reached out and touched the ring, the one he still wore on a chain around his neck. I remembered the day I gave it to hm, how he had been absolutely beside himself with delight at the small gesture. My own ring was gone. 

“D’Arcy is wearing it right now,” he said, reading my thoughts.

“I know, love,” I said. “I saw it on his hand.” It should have broken my heart, but I felt only gratitude that D’Arcy had kept him so safe.  I would have done anything to keep him safe and whole, and he was.  He was no longer mine, but it would have been selfish to expect that after everything else he had done for me.

 

D’Arcy

At first, the nipper was wary of the stranger, but D’Arcy kept one hand on Rocky’s waist as they played, and the baby accepted him. “He is a cunning fellow,” said Rocky admiringly when the baby climbed into his lap.

“Ack!” said the baby, patting Rocky’s chest. “Ack!”

“I’ve never seen such a splendid little chap.”

D’Arcy’s heart warmed toward Rocky. “He is a wonderful boy.”  The two of them had never spoken of it, even between themselves, but they had spent a great deal of time together one year in New York.

“Are you going to be all right, D’Arcy?” 

D’Arcy’s mouth flapped open. Anatole appeared in the doorway and D’Arcy handed the baby over. “Will we go for that walk?”

 

Bertie

Jeeves and I looked at each other and it was almost as if he’d never left.  Part of me wondered why I didn’t notice the switch, but every day of his illness had made him more unlike himself, and I thought it was merely an effect of his last treatment. I reached over and adjusted his dressing gown, covering the new row of livid scars that had been carved into his chest by a cruel hand. 

I so wanted to hold him, but I felt shy and vulnerable, just as I had been during those difficult months before we declared ourselves to each other. We didn’t really belong to each other, except for our hearts and minds, bodies and souls. Just as in those long-ago days, we didn’t know what would happen.  His eyes flicked to the bathroom door and I smiled.  We had always nestled in the bath when we were upset.

“I’ll draw you a bath,” I said, rising.  He flowed along behind me, keeping a little distance away.  D’Arcy and I rarely used this bathroom, and never together, even though the bath was huge and would have been more comfortable than the one we shared.  I turned the taps and looked over my shoulder, expecting Jeeves to be moving about the space, straightening things and choosing bath salts as he normally did, but he stood, still and frightened and uncomfortable near the door. “Do you want some privacy?”

He opened his mouth as a sound came from behind the door. “Ba?  Ba?” It was the nipper.  That had been a miscalculation on the part of Wooster.

“He hearing the water,” said Anatole when Jeeves opened the door.

“Ba!” said the nipper, frantically holding his hands out to me.  “Ba!” Then he noticed Jeeves and went quiet. I took him and he buried his face in my shirt front as Anatole sloped out.  I stroked the wee chap’s dear little head and told him he was handsome and intelligent. Jeeves made a little noise like a distant dove. I half expected him to be upset with me for letting the nipper muss up my clothes.  I nearly melted in the look of affection and love on his dial.

“He likes the water,” I explained shyly.  “I let him....D’Arcy thinks he splashes too much.” The look of love deepened.

“Would you do me the honor?” asked Jeeves. I felt myself blush.

He shook like an aspen while he helped me undress, and the nipper eyed him suspiciously while we all settled together in the bath. Jeeves sat at the back, his private bits covered modestly with a towel, and I sat across from him in front of the taps, similarly togged, and the nipper splashed between us, keeping firmly to the Wooster region of the tub and giving Jeeves the occasional wary glance.  “This is Jeeves,” I said encouragingly.  “Reginald Jeeves. He is bally lovely.”

“Mama!” said the nipper, giving Jeeves a nice pat on his lovely calf and then pausing to examine the quantity of dark hair on his pins. Jeeves went all stuffed frog in embarrassment, and I stifled a laugh.  He quirked his lips in the old, old way, just as he had when he was my valet.  The nipper started to splash happily.  “Mama!” he cried. “Ba!”

“There’s the chap,” I said.

“Bertie,” said Jeeves and I looked up, concerned that he was upset about the splashing. He opened his arms.  I stood up, leaving my towel behind, which delighted the nipper, who started yanking it about as I picked him up.  Then I shuffled over, and  Jeeves helped me sit down again and it felt like ankling home again after a long, long exile. I settled against him and he wrapped the corpus in his manly arms, and the nipper stopped and settled himself in my lap before beginning to splash again.

“Mama! Ba!”

“He is rather vigorous in his enjoyment,” said Jeeves drily as the water flew around the room, liberally dampening his new dressing gown and my clothes. I didn’t stifle my laugh this time, and I felt the low, rumbling of the fond Jeevesian chuckle.  The nipper looked up at us and squealed delightedly as Jeeves, tentatively, mussed the faded golden locks.

 

Anatole

Anatole looked out from the kitchen and saw D’Arcy set down a trunk by the bedroom door.  Rocky held a second one. The three men looked at each other and then the closed door. The baby squirmed in Anatole’s arms at the sound of running water. “Ba! Ba! BA!”

D’Arcy smiled fondly. “I think he wants a bathe. Bertie lets him splash as much as he likes.”

“I’m not knocking on that door,” said Rocky tremulously. D’Arcy took the trunk from him and squeezed his elbow. “They’ve been apart for so long.”

“How did you know about them?  They kept it very secret.” D’Arcy wanted to know.

Rocky’s ears pinkened. “I… Jeeves told me.”

“I’m not knocking on the door, either,” said D’Arcy. 

“You put the trunks,” said Anatole as the baby strained toward the sound of the running water. “I do.”

D’Arcy led Rocky away. “Let’s go to my club.”  Anatole nodded to himself, thinking of the day after D’Arcy had asked Bertie to stay with him always.  The chef had always liked Rocky Todd—of all the men who had been sent to kill him, he was the undoubted favorite—and his first thought had been how sad it was that he would never be a partner for D’Arcy. It had been a strange thought at the time, but now it seemed not so bad.

 

D’Arcy

Rocky and D’Arcy ambled companionably from the flat.  They spoke of indifferent things and had a couple of drinks, but D’Arcy felt his heart turning over and over in his breast.  He genuinely loved Bertie, but the universe had fallen back into rightness when Jeeves walked back through the door. And Bertie’s place was with Jeeves. Had he hurt Bertie by saying so? It made no sense to feel so happy and sad at once.

Then he considered the battered soul beside him.  Why had Rocky first come to Italy? How had he known where to go? Jeeves must have told him. And Bertie would not have been Rocky’s object.  Jeeves wanted to keep Bertie for himself, after all.  Rocky must have wanted to see him, D’Arcy. Bertie had thought as much, he remembered, on their first, beautiful evening of lovemaking.  But Rocky had been literally out of his mind with grief and rage and torture then, before Bertie had helped him better. The old Rocky was here now, nudging his elbow as he made a point.

The two men left the club and walked.  D’Arcy told Rocky about a poem he had read, not realizing Rocky had published it under another name.  They were delighted with one another and simultaneously very embarrassed and shy. They wandered on in silence. “Rocky?”

“Yes, D’Arcy?”

“Will you tell me what they did to you?” Rocky’s mouth flapped open and closed, and he nodded, then took D’Arcy’s arm. “You never told Jeeves?”  Rocky shook his head.

“No.  They hurt him so badly, D’Arcy, and I….” he squared himself. “I told Bertie a bit of it, that night.  He was such a pal.  I could always go to him for any kind of help.”

“I know,” said D’Arcy.  “He told me. Well, some things. I figured the rest out.”

Rocky went red, then white, then grey. “Oh, D’Arcy, I…”  He tried to pull away, but D’Arcy held him firmly.

“Don’t be upset, please.  He was so torn apart… he killed that man, the one who did those things to you. He’d felt so guilty, becoming a killer, and you’re the one who helped him.”

“Bertie?” D’Arcy nodded. “He must have felt terrible.  He’s not like me.”

“You?”

“D’Arcy, I’m a bad man.  A killer.  I’ve done such terrible things.”

D’Arcy did not believe this. “Your files say you’re just a victim. Wally said…”

“He had no idea. I was a plant, D’Arcy. I was meant to kill him and I failed. I’m an assassin.  Like Anatole. They sent me to kill Dumas.”

D’Arcy went cold inside.  Rocky had been sent to kill Anatole. There were a few spies called Dumas, though. “But I reported him dead.”

Rocky nodded. “And I owe him everything. I would have killed him, but he… and Jeeves asked me not to.”

“Jeeves?”

“It’s a long story.”

D’Arcy looked at Rocky Todd and remembered their friendship in New York before they had both become spies.  He remembered their discreet liaisons during the war. Rocky had been a sweet and cuddly lover. “Rocky, why did you save Jeeves?”

“Some things are more important than espionage.  I learned that from all of you.”

They walked a bit further and went into a bistro for a snack, then they wandered to the park, feeling a lightness in each other’s company as they realized they had not been alone together since the war.

“I always enjoyed being friends with you,” said D’Arcy. “In New York.  You were such a chum when I needed one.”

“I enjoyed everything with you,” said Rocky, coloring slightly.  “I just wished…”

D’Arcy took Rocky’s arm before he collided with a pram. “You wished?”

“I would have liked to snuggle more,” said Rocky. “I really cared for you. I think I went to Italy to find you, but I was too late, wasn’t I?”  D’Arcy blushed and changed the subject.  They walked until they found themselves in the creeping darkness. 

“Do you want supper?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” said Rocky. 

“Rocky, we all share a home.  It’s my home, too, and you can stay as long as you like,” said D’Arcy.

“I don’t want…” said Rocky. “It will only hurt when I have to leave again.” D’Arcy paused and took his hand.

“I really cared for you, too, Rocky. And after all you did for them…  Believe me, you can stay as long as you like. And no one expects anything of you… well, try not to kill anyone.”

Rocky turned the ring on D’Arcy’s finger. “Super would be nice,” he said.

“Tell me about Jeeves.  Tell me about how you saved him.”

“Ah, it’s such a long story.”

“Tell me a bit of it then. I have the rest of my life to hear to the end,” said D’Arcy.

 

Bertie

The nipper had spread water all over the bath. I took the towels out of the closet.  I tossed down the ones I kept for the floor and then handed Jeeves a nicer one for himself and used another to pick up the nipper, who was still making a determined effort to splash in the draining tub.  Jeeves surprised me then.  He came up and wrapped the towel around me, then gave me a little squeeze and moved to get a towel for himself. “Mama!” said the nipper and held his arms out.

I’d have thought Jeeves would fall over. “He wants you, old bean,” I said.

When we had been young, Jeeves had wanted a baby.  I know he had, but two chaps couldn’t. This one was really mine and D’Arcy’s—and Anatole’s, come to think of it—but I was pretty sure we could all share him. Jeeves held his arms out and I handed him the nipper, and the nipper patted Jeeves on the chest and settled one arm around his neck. “Mama!”  The Jeevesian dial showed a mixture of delight and mortification.

When we dried off, I gave Jeeves my toweling robe and trickled out in a towel for my dressing gown, nipper in my arms in his own towel.  Two trunks were sitting in the middle of the hallway.  Anatole poked his head in at the door.  “D’Arcy be getting these.”

“Whatsit?”

“Reginald’s clothes.”

“I threw them out.”

Anatole shrugged. “He think you want some day.”  Anatole looked over my shoulder and I saw the expression on Jeeves’s dial. “I make you supper.” 

The nipper was hungry and he squawked “Ta!” until Anatole took him.

“Fine wee chappie,” said Anatole lovingly as he left.

Jeeves bent to open a trunk and lifted out his favorite pajama bottoms.  Deep green paisley silk. “They match your dressing gown,” I said.

“Indeed, love,” he said.

I ankled over to D’Arcy’s room and pulled on some pajamas and a dressing gown then wandered back with an armful of my own togs.  Jeeves had found our bag, the last of the special bags full of our clothes and things for lovemaking.  D’Arcy had saved that too.  He must have remembered how sad I was when I burned up all the others.  Jeeves went pink when he saw me and hastily moved away from the items.

“It’s all right,” I said. “It all belongs to you as well, Reg.”

“I had forgotten, love,” he murmured, tentatively touching a pair of my old pink silk shorts.  We’d biffed off what we could to the war effort in Old Blighty, but some of the things had malingered.

The bean was muddled. “What?”

“How much time and energy we put into lovemaking.  I,” he cleared his throat. “I missed you so terribly, but what I longed for the most was the sound of your voice.  I wanted to speak with you so desperately. You have always been so kind to me.”

The corpus was riveted to the carpet. Wooster would never have wagered that the pleasant chat was the chief attraction to a robust mental specimen such as Jeeves. “You, er, whatsit?”

“I was so lonely without our talks.  I needed your guidance.”

“I needed yours, too,” I said. “I’m so sorry, Reg. I’m so sorry I didn’t come for you.”

He waggled the lemon from side to side. “I didn’t want that, love. My only consolation was that you were well and whole.”

“And yours.” The words slipped out, surprising both of us. His lips parted in shock.

“What about D’Arcy, love?”

I felt shamed and uncomfortable, but I knew it was true. “He was only keeping me safe for you.”

“No, love,” his tone was soft and gentle.  “I am sure that was not all his motivation.”

“Not entirely, but he was.  Just like when we were in that bally prison.  You heard him.”  I looked at him again and the cerulean e.s. narrowed. “You didn’t want to come back, did you?”

He got all stuffed frog again and I saw what the real problem was. He was afraid he could hurt me, like that Wolf hurt him. “I wanted to keep you safe,” he gasped.

The onion churned up a memory. “Do you remember the time you biffed my friend with the golf club? In the old flat in London?”

“Indeed, love,” his tone went wry and dark.

“You frightened the young master nearly to the bone that day, but I still loved you.”

“He called you a pansy and a queer,” said Jeeves in an acid tone I had not heard since our early days together. He had never divulged that information before. “But you wanted me to help him.”

“You also broke my vase.”

“It was giving me nightmares.” He’d never told me that before, either. “Terrible nightmares.  I couldn’t sleep.”

I mulled this about the old co-co-nut, the way Wooster B had convinced himself it was a cheerful little bijou because I did not want to feel stupid for buying it by mistake. “I didn’t really like it myself.”

“I know, love.”  We smiled at each other then, and I took the bag and set it back in the closet where it belonged, then opened one of the trunks and started putting his clothes away. 

Chapter 4: Note on the text

Summary:

Jeeves writes his first textual note in some time.

It has been some years since I had an opportunity to comment on one of our spy tales, and I must note that the inclusion of additional material written from various points of view has enhanced my enjoyment of these adventures.  In fact…

“Reg!”

“Love? You seem somewhat agitated.”

“Blast those bally blighters, Reg. Blast them.”

“Love?  I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.”

“Dash it, Reg, I am in no humor for this Jane Austen bally nonsense from you today. Blighters. D’Arcy, you were there.  Tell him.”

“What, Wooster?”

“Deuced microfilm, miniature camera widget bally boasting numbered blighters.”

“Indeed, love.  Perhaps you would enjoy a nice snuggle?”

“Bertie does have a point. They are simply insufferable. They mocked all our scenes of er, ah, whatsit, you know.”

“That’s right, Stilton.  And they said we weren’t real spies because our stories are about, well, whatnot.  Blighters say we’re like a giant PB and J fraternity.”

“That does sound irritating.  However, we do seem to have a great deal of dinner roll cricket in the living room.”

“And they said the nipper was… dash it! Blighters.”

“That’s right, Wooster. Blighters.”

“Love?”

“They said the nipper was a bally stupid mascot.  That real spies don’t play grabbing the toesies.”

“Did they disparage the baby, love?”

“He’s a big boy, now, Reg, but yes.  They called him… well, it was dashed awkward.”

“Dashed awkward is the half of it, Wooster.”

“But love, what did they say?”

“They called him ‘bouncing baby butter bun.’ D’Arcy had to positively hold me back from skewering them with a table knife. Blighters.”

“Blighters.”

“I see, love.  This is most distressing indeed.  D’Arcy, perhaps you would be good enough to ask Anatole and Rocky to join us?  I believe we need to have a conversation with these numbered, ah, gentlemen.”

“Blighters.”

“Oh, Stilton, make sure Anatole leaves all of his cleavers. You know what happened that other time.”

“That will not be necessary, love.  Let Anatole bring whatever he likes.”

 

It seems that there is some reader management to undertake.  

-RJ

Chapter 5: song of the nipper

Summary:

Rocky and D'Arcy have a night out, leaving Bertie and Jeeves to put the baby to bed. Anatole is cowardly but highly amused. Someone unexpected sings "Forty-seven ginger-headed sailors."

Rocky

It had been a very long time since Rocky had felt relaxed.  The months with Jeeves had been comforting, but Jeeves had been so damaged and not himself that Rocky felt responsible to stay alert and watchful. They spent their time as Rocky liked best, outside, in the country. The nature was much less natural after the ravages of the war, but it served as a sort of healing balm to a soul who craved solitude and riparian entertainments.  Their host, Georges, had been very ill, and some time passed before Rocky discovered that he was, in fact, the notorious spy called Dumas. It was distressing to find he had become friends with a man he had been hired to kill. And as Jeeves recovered, he extracted a promise that Rocky would not kill the man who sheltered them. 

At first, Jeeves cried out for Bertie in the night.  Rocky had crawled into bed with him, and it eased his rest.  Never, since he had become a soldier, had Rocky slept so soundly as he had beside Jeeves. Their friendship was helped by Rocky's taste for quiet, soft music, and beauty,  exactly what Jeeves needed in his time of struggle. Rocky lingered, far longer than he should have, in that friendly place.

That scarred man had caught him. The pain and confusion had been terrible. Rocky still did not understand how he had escaped.  He had thought at first that Bertie was there, but his memory played such tricks.  Someone had helped him, though, and he was determined to thank him properly, if he could ever find him.

 

Bertie

Jeeves silently joined me putting away his things, and when we had emptied the first trunk, he looked up suddenly. “Where are Rocky’s things, love?”

“Rocky’s?” I asked, puzzled.

“I thought he had been staying with you? Before he was in the treatment center.”

The bean wrapped around this. “No.  He only had a small bag.  I bought him some pajamas. I’ve got some new ones to bring him. They’re in the guest room.” I bunged a few more items into the wardrobe. “Do you remember how he said he only got dressed by putting on an old sweater over his pajamas?”

Jeeves pursed his lips. “He still indulges in the habit more regularly than one might like.”

“I have some old sweaters here.  Maybe he would be more comfortable if we gave him one or two.” Jeeves regarded me thoughtfully, then took some of his things and shimmered out.  The heart throbbed. I thought that Jeeves would feel obliged to stay with Rocky. I didn’t want that.  I wanted to stay with Jeeves.  I knew he would wake up crying and he would need me. 

I worried about Stilton, but he had forked Wooster back over to Jeeves, without asking either of us.  I should have been pipped, but I couldn’t really blame him.  We hadn’t had any whatnot since before Rocky came for his last visit to the villa. I’m not sure why, but something had shifted between us almost immediately after we agreed to ankle along for life.  We were still affectionate friends, but I wanted something more than he could give. And, I could tell, D’Arcy would never expect that I would put him first, before Jeeves.  Maybe he wanted more himself. And he deserved it.

I didn’t want Rocky to feel helpless and unhappy the way Stilton had started to feel, either.  I ankled out and found Jeeves in what had once been the guest room, now the nipper’s domain. The bookshelves teemed with scholarly volumes that D’Arcy and Jeeves had bought and Anatole’s cookbooks and my mystery novels, and any number of brightly-colored bolsters had sprung up on the bed so the nipper could not roll off, and soft cuddly toys abounded and a wooden train sat atop the credenza and the little tyke’s clothes and pajamas were piled up on the table. Jeeves had set the pile of his clothes on top of the small bookcase.  We had a chaise, where D’Arcy and I could sit together with the nipper if he was fretful, and a little area to change his nappies, near the bath. I could hear Anatole scolding the wee chap for banging his good copper pans.

Jeeves turned as I came in and we stood, looking at each other. “I always dreamed of this, love,” he said finally.  I thought of the day that D’Arcy had asked me to be his forever in front of all our friends, and how I had always wanted to be open with everyone about what Jeeves really meant to me.  I belonged to the man in front of me, no matter what I had promised to anyone else.

Anatole came in, arms full of wriggling baby. The poor mite was sleepily rubbing at his eyes and wiggling as if he was afraid he would miss out on the excitement if he stopped moving. “Ba!” said the nipper and held his arms out to me.  I took him without thinking, and he leaned in and rubbed his face against me.

“D’Arcy out with Rocky to dinner. You put him ready for bed,” said Anatole airily.  “I making you supper.”

I looked dubiously at the nipper.  D’Arcy usually took care of putting wee chappies to bed, and I was not sure how any break with routine would be received by the concerned party of the second part.  Anatole toddled off, the coward, and I looked up to see Jeeves sorting through the miniature pajamas with great interest.

“D’Arcy usually takes care of this,” I said, as the nipper reached for Jeeves’s clothes. “No, no my good man. Let’s have a nice read and a cuddle, what?” I was fairly sure that D’Arcy settled on the bed to cuddle and read until the nipper dozed off, but that never worked for Wooster. D’Arcy is really dashed comfy.

The nipper squealed angrily when I neared the his dressing area, and squawked in mild protest as I neared the bed, but settled against me again nicely when I sat on the chaise. Jeeves had selected the pajamas printed with space ships on a blue background. As he approached, the nipper yelled in protest.

“Those ones pinch his tummy,” I said.  Jeeves presented his second choice, a rather fruity red and blue and green striped affair with the feet sewn in. After lengthy negotiations, the nipper was dressed in the footed striped bottoms and the pajama shirt with the robots. “That only took twenty five minutes." I beamed. It took D’Arcy only a few minutes, I knew, to bung him into matching bits, but the nipper hated to go to bed without him there.

“Rather a startling effect,” said Jeeves as the nipper cooed and grabbed his own striped feet. In the morning, D’Arcy would say I was dressing the little fellow like a bohemian clown, and I would tell him that it was never too early to be more like the Cheesewrights. I rummaged on the shelves for the little fellow collection of picture books.

“Mama!” said the nipper, who liked for all present to form a quorum for snuggling. I scooted up on the chaise, but Jeeves hovered as he had used to when he worked for me and had a question.

“Sit, Reg, he likes it when D’Arcy and I both sit and read to him.”

“I am not D’Arcy, love.”

“Da?”  The nipper looked about and considered whether to raise a fuss.  “Mama?” The lower lip wobbled threateningly.

“Dash it, Jeeves, sit down before he starts wailing.”

Jeeves sat and bunged an arm about Wooster.  We all read a lovely book about a bunny or a bird or something-or-other. A pleasant hour was whiled away as we made our way through all the books within reach. The nipper eyed us narrowly as the last book drew to a close as if he was contemplating a hearty workout of his lungs and vocal cords.  I stood and danced him about gently, singing “Forty-seven ginger-headed sailors,” which was his favorite.  After the first verse he noticed something missing.  “Mama?”

Wooster turned a very amused smile at Jeeves, who was watching us from the chaise. “He wants you, too. There’s no use making a stuffed frog, you’ll only scare the poor wee precious man, what? Yes, nice Mama Jeeves knows the words to every verse.  He pretends he doesn’t, but we know he does, don’t we?”  I rubbed the nipper’s little belly as I said this last bit and when I caught sight of the Jeevesian dial, it had softened into a look of profound tenderness. He shimmered up beside us, settling one arm about the willowy waist.  The baby patted him approvingly and rested against Wooster, kicking his little feet. The Jeevesian crooning was off-key and punctuated by a few cracked notes, but we sang gently and with good will, and the nipper nodded off.  Then I showed Jeeves how we tucked him in with all his bolsters and things. And then Jeeves of the mighty brain set a row of cushions on the floor in case the nipper rolled off the bed anyway.

 

D’Arcy

The two friends discussed sleeping arrangements while they waited for their supper. Rocky wanted to get a room at a hotel, but D’Arcy’s heart clenched. He could not possibly leave Rocky all alone. “I don’t like… Please stay with us.”

Rocky felt a weight lift from his heart. He had dreaded being alone again. “But where will I sleep?”

D’Arcy saw the point. “You and Jeeves can have whichever rooms you want.”

Rocky gulped some water. “It’s been more than a year.  I disappeared from him more than a year ago and he came here just to make sure I was safe and had a home to go to.”

“You can sleep in my dressing room,” said D’Arcy.  You’ll have some privacy.”

“What about you?  Don’t you need some privacy?”

D’Arcy laughed. “No. Bertie lets the nipper into the bed with us in the middle of the night. I’ve forgotten what privacy is like.”

The supper came and they changed the subject.  Afterward, they wandered along the Seine, looking at the reflection of the lights on the water. “Thank-you, D’Arcy.  This has been a very pleasant evening.”

“I know you don’t like cities, old bean,” said D’Arcy. “This seemed to meet the case.”

“Are you all right, D’Arcy?”  D’Arcy looked up and saw that he and Rocky were alone.

“I love him so much, Rocky,” he said, his voice unsteady.  “I just feel so guilty.”

Rocky was puzzled.  He had expected D’Arcy to feel hurt and abandoned. “Why? You didn’t know Jeeves was alive.”

D’Arcy dabbed at the tears on his face. “I just felt so relieved and happy and grateful to see him.  And you.”

“Me?”

“I went to the center every week and watched you sleep.”

The American went completely still. “Thank-you for all the fruit and candy.  It was delicious.”

“You’re most welcome.” D’Arcy shook himself and suggested they go back to the club for a late snifter and some darts.  “Bertie always wins when we play.”

“I’m pretty good at hitting things,” said Rocky.

“We’ll see who’s better, shall we?”

 

Jeeves

Mr. Wooster and I considered the flat.  Anatole had been staying in the larger servant’s room because it was near the kitchen and had a full bath. “Rocky could have one of the other rooms, or both,” said Mr. Wooster.

“But where would he bathe, love?”

“There’s a half bath there and he can use the bath in the nipper’s room. Or ours or D’Arcy’s.”

“We could move a bed to one of the studies, love, or perhaps the smaller sitting room that adjoins the guest bath,” I suggested.  We entered what had been my office. “Love, everything is almost exactly as I left it.”

Tears welled up in his blue eyes. “We hadn’t the heart to change anything.  It all meant so much to both of us.”  I longed to gather him into my arms and comfort him.

“But you and D’Arcy were building a new life together.”

“It was more of a hanging on to the old life, but the villa is horribly different.  You’ll see when you go back inside, if you haven’t snuck in already. We had to, though, because we thought you were upset.”

My heart clenched. “Love?”

“That double.  He would get so upset sometimes, so I put all the pictures and things away.  It calmed him.  I just couldn’t bear to see you sick and upset.  He lived ever so much longer than Sir Roderick thought he would, not thinking of anything, just resting out in the garden.”

My heart went cold.  “Did he know when he was going to die, love?  Was it his heart?”

Mr. Wooster went white. “Did he kill himself?” he gasped. “Did he think I tortured him and kill himself?”

“No, no, love.  No,” I felt I could speak with certainty on that score. “But Sir Roderick told me that you and he had…”  Mr. Wooster flamed scarlet and began to stammer. “Love, you thought it was me …”

“He never wanted.  I thought you stopped wanting me. I felt so ashamed and guilty.”

I absolutely ached to hold him. “Did you let him read my diaries, love?”

“I’m so sorry, Reg.  I know they were private. I just, I thought it would help you. He was so sick.”

Carefully, I moved closer and took his smooth, soft hand.  How comforting the feel of those kind fingers must have been to that poor, dying man. “Oh, love, it did help me.  It saved my life and my mind when I understood that you were safe.”

Anatole came in and told us we should come to dinner.

 

Anatole

The chef listened with half an ear as Bertie and Reginald played with the baby and put him to bed.  He smothered a laugh when Jeeves began to sing “Forty-seven ginger-headed sailors,” and hummed the tune to himself as he worked.  Then  he contemplated the seating arrangements.  The dining room seemed an obvious choice, but the two had been separated for so long and under such conditions. Perhaps they would want some privacy.   There was a table in the alcove in their bedroom.  Anatole moved to set that up.  He heated the plates and set them, covered, on a clean cloth on the dresser with the wine, then he set out the soup and the rolls and water.

He caught sight of the two walking from room to room, discussing where everyone could sleep, no doubt.  Anatole enjoyed his little domain, but he could gladly share it if it meant saving another lost soul.

 

Rocky

Rocky won two rounds of darts and D’Arcy a third.  “Did you let me win?” he asked, eyes narrowing.  Rocky laughed at his beefy friend.

“You improved, you rotter.  You haven’t had any target practice in a long time.”

D’Arcy’s jaw flapped. “How could you tell?”

“I’ve seen you work,” said Rocky.  “How long has it been? Since you target trained.”

“Since we got the nipper.”

“That’s nearly two months. I’ve been training every day, even when I was with you at the villa.”

D’Arcy found himself reevaluating the nature of Rocky's ‘treatment center.’ “Come for a run with me tomorrow?  Early?” asked D’Arcy.

“I’ll bring you to our training center if you like,” said Rocky. 

“Maybe another day,” said D’Arcy.  “We might need to take the nipper with us.”

“The nipper runs?”

D’Arcy laughed.  “I carry him in a special harness.  He loves it.”

“When will we get up?”

“Oh, the nipper will take care of that, Rocky.”

Chapter 6: timbales and spoons

Summary:

Anatole thinks of the past. Bertie and Jeeves have supper. The nipper gets his way. Rocky reveals hidden talents, and D'Arcy is a true gentleman.

Anatole

Anatole examined a pile of dog-eared photographs. Most of the people in them were dead.

The little chef sighed and listened to the clink of silverware on dishes as Bertie and Jeeves ate their dinner.  He heard the fear behind the hesitant tenor of their conversation.  It was not simply the usual changes that separation sometimes brings.  Both had been purposely harmed to make them into more effective spies following the twisted, evil methods of the old MI20, a man more commonly known as Jack the Ripper.

In his youth, Anatole had been chosen to end the Ripper, and he had trained with others.  During the training, he had met Georges and a young man called Mr. Wooster and Martin, now called the ‘scarred man,’ and Werner DeWoolf.  They had been comrades. Most liked women, but Georges liked Anatole and they had loved each at the very level of their souls. 

Soon they learned that they would have to end all of the trained henchmen the Ripper called his wolf pups. Many things had pulled Anatole and Georges apart. Georges had been tortured. Anatole had become a deadly assassin, eager to kill those who had harmed his lover.  Georges refused to take a life. They spent fifteen years as bitter enemies because they could not forgive each other, or themselves, for the harm that had come to them, espcially once they understood that their comrades had been turned by the Ripper.

Then Bertie had been entrusted to Anatole, and he had failed to protect the child. The scarred Man had hurt the boy, and old Mr. Wooster intervened, at great risk to their mission.  

As a young man, Bertie had also failed to kill when he intended it, but later he had ended the scarred man's life to protect D’Arcy Cheesewright.  Anatole knew something else about the man Bertie had killed.  The man had kidnapped Jeeves, and possibly tortured him in their old London flat.  

Laughter came from behind the closed door and Anatole sighed. Bertie and Jeeves had loved and trusted him when he did not deserve it.  He dearly hoped that he could help these two friends rekindle their bond, that they could enjoy another period of lasting happiness together.

 

Bertie

Wooster flagged sorely by the time we biffed in for dinner.  I would have preferred to dress, but Anatole did not like it when I let food grow cold on the plate.  So Bertram ankled to the table and Jeeves poured the wine.  We drank our consommé quietly, then Jeeves sort of flickered and came back with our plates. As he dealt with the wine, I uncovered the main event. 

Tears filled the blue eyes.  Potatoes dauphinoise, exactly what Jeeves had made for me in those early days when we had declared ourselves to each other, and a timbale de veau.  Jeeves oozed back with our wine and a basket of warm, crusty bread. The e.s. met as he set down the bottle with one large, capable hand.  I felt the tears spill as I stood up, and took the rolls from him and hooked his pinky with my own.

“I am so sorry, Bertram,” said Jeeves, dabbing at the damask cheeks with his free hand. “I should have listened to you. I am sorry I died.”

“But you didn’t die, exactly, now did you.  That was all the fault of the mentally negligible Wooster.”

“Please don’t speak that way, love.”

“The bally addlebrained Wooster?” I asked, flummoxed. His lips quirked, and he cupped the back of the golden head.

“No, love,” he smiled then, and rubbed my nose with his own. 

“The dimmest egg in the toolshed?” He snorted then, and we burst into laughter.  Dinner was consumed with much enjoyment.

“Reg?” I asked between forkfuls.

“Yes, love?”

“Where do you want to sleep tonight?”

He looked up in the old inscrutable way and the gears moved in the part of his head that sticks out at the back. “With you, Bertram,” he said, and his voice cracked.  He cleared the pipes. “I never want to be parted from you again.”

It was deuced difficult, but I did not ankle round the table and crawl into his lap and tuck the golden pate under his chin. “I haven’t slept here... Not since that day.”

“What day?”

I haltingly told him about the day the fake Jeeves became hysterical. My heart had been torn in my breast for so long before that, as Jeeves had grown progressively sicker and more unlike himself.  He had been worse after every treatment.  That was the day I went to D’Arcy in despair and he helped me get that man to Italy, to the doctor I had wanted to trust with Jeeves in the first place. The day I had taken the wrong chap home from the clinic. I understood now why he had been so upset. He was so bally sick, and he thought I was going to hurt and shame him. The poor blighter had been like a lamb when he woke up alone in a comfortable bed and Anatole brought him a nice breakfast and then D’Arcy read to him and I turned on the radio so he could listen to soft music while he rested. He looked better by the next day, when we dressed him and took him to Italy. He asked questions in a mild, vacant way as if he had never been there before. And Stilton and I said that Jeeves’s brain had gone a bit because of all the drugs, and we were kind to him. 

Jeeves looked as if Stinker Pinker had biffed him on the head with a cricket bat. “The last time you slept here was with me?” I nodded.  I wanted to ask what had happened to him, but I knew he would have to tell his tale to me in the safety of my arms in the darkness.  We ankled out with the plates and glasses.  Anatole was in his room, eyeballing his old photographs. He only did that when his chefly bean was in the throes of nostalgia or he longed to fling cleavers about. Sometimes the two went together, as nostalgia tended to make Anatole slightly testy.

He lifted the dial as we oiled in. “You eat all my good timbale? You no telling Reginald to not eating my foods?” Nostalgia it was, then.

Jeeves chuckled, remembering the night I had advised too many friends to pretend not to be hungry at dinner at Brinkley Court. “No, Anatole.  We have eaten everything.”

“Good. You taking too many roughs with a smooth.”  He shooed us out and I automatically detoured to peek at the nipper.  The little fellow was fast asleep, his striped bottom hoisted up in the air and the little robot-studded arms tucked underneath him. I leaned over the bed, taking in his sweet baby smell, and Jeeves set a hand at the willowy waist.  I ratcheted myself up and he nuzzled the golden pate.

“How I dreamt of this, Bertram,” he murmured in my ear.  We stayed for a while, watching the sleeping child, and then I took the Jeevesian hand and brought him back to our bed for the first time in more than three years.

“You probably imagined a nipper in matching pajamas, what?” I said as we crossed the hallway. The fond rumble of a Jeevesian chuckle sent warm tingles through the slender frame as we oozed into our little realm.

 

Rocky

D’Arcy pressed a glass of whiskey into Rocky’s trembling grip. “You mean Bertie’s father is alive?  You’ve seen him?”

“He's a bit vacant. Apparently, he knew my father when they were at school.  He kept calling me ‘Gordo.’” Rocky smiled at D’Arcy’s disgusted expression. “But, yes, he is alive.”

“Does he look like Bertie?” Rocky wanted to know. 

D’Arcy took a sip of his own whiskey.  “In a faded sort of way, but yes.  He looks the way Bertie might in twenty years if he stopped caring so much about his clothes.” Rocky drained his glass and tried to change the subject. “Why are you so upset?”

Rocky went white and D’Arcy wordlessly handed over his own whiskey. “He saved me from that Wolf.”

D’Arcy turned the subject. “The dart board is open again, Rocky, let’s see how well you do after a few whiskeys.”

The American uncoiled himself from the chair in a smooth, easy fluid motion. “All right, D’Arcy.  But I won’t let you win this time.”

“So you did let me win, you blighter.” It was months before D’Arcy realized that he had begun to fall in love with Rocky Todd, but he looked back to that moment as the beginning of their eventual understanding. It was also the first glimpse Rocky had ever really given him of his true abilities. “Gods, you’re better than Wooster.”

Rocky laughed. “Bertie is a natural. He beats me every time, at every kind of target.” 

“You trained together?”

“Every afternoon,” said Rocky, handing his darts to the next players. “When you were out rowing. I felt honored.  He doesn’t like to let people see what he can do.”

D’Arcy thought about the man he had known from boyhood, the man who had shared his bed and his life for the past few years, the man he had relinquished without a thought to his former lover. “He never did.”

“It’s past midnight.  Can we go back and get some sleep?”

 

Jeeves

Mr. Wooster busied himself in the dressing room while I settled into our shared bed.  My drawer was empty except for the book I was reading the night before I last left. The smell of its pages brought back vivid memories of my illness. Mr. Wooster came out of the bathroom, wrapped in his silk dressing gown.  I felt a sudden arousal when he laid aside the robe. He was clad in a pair of silk paisley shorts. Then I understood something and I nearly melted. He suspected that I would break down and he wanted to be able to comfort me the way I liked best, by pressing his skin against me.  My heart swelled and nearly burst in my chest at his instinctive generosity.

“You look very handsome, love,” I said as he bent to dim the light, then paused and rubbed at a scar that ran along his ribs.

“As do you,” he said, settling himself beside me. My eyes filled with tears, then overflowed, and he wiped them away with his thumbs. “We won’t do anything you don’t like,” he said tenderly, and I was strongly reminded of the first night we had undressed each other, a night on which I had been the one to reassure and comfort. 

“I missed you,” I said.

Mr. Wooster’s eyes overflowed. “I am so sorry, Reggie.  I don’t know how you can ever forgive me.”

I took his hand. “Love, you don’t understand. I have nothing to forgive you for. It was a trick, but I went with them. I thought you would forgive me.”

Mr. Wooster went white. “I am bally well pipped.”

“Do you want me to sleep in the dressing room?” He considered this for a long moment, looking down at our hands.  I felt a tear splash on the back of my fingers, and I gathered him against me as he started to sob. “I am so sorry, love.”

“Don’t ever do that again,” he said. “I mean it.”  And I knew then that he did not remember everything that had happened.

“Love, I did not want to do it this time,” and then I was weeping helplessly against him.  Mr. Wooster stroked my hair until I stilled, then he undid the buttons of my pajama top and dimmed the lights.

“Lift up so I can take off your bottoms,” he said, then he settled us under the covers and wrapped his arms and legs around me. “I love you, Reginald Jeeves,” he said, stroking my bare skin. “Welcome home, heart’s delight.”

“Thank-you, love,” I said.  He ran his fingers through my graying hair, his poor head nodding in exhaustion.  He drifted off and I closed my eyes. And for the first time in over a year, I slept soundly, and deeply, and well.  

 

Stilton

By the time D’Arcy and Rocky reached home, everyone had gone to sleep.  “I left your pajamas in the nipper’s room,” said D’Arcy.

“Ok,” said Rocky. He knocked a toy from the dresser and woke the baby.  D’Arcy made a crooning noise, but the child wanted Bertie.  “Ba!” he wailed again and again. “Ba!”

“Bertie lets him into the big bed,” D’Arcy explained as Rocky turned on the lights and found the pile of clothes and pajamas Jeeves had left for him.

“BA!” cried the baby, struggling, as D’Arcy tried to quiet him.

“Do you want a nice snuggle and story, little love?”

“BA!!” screamed the nipper. “BA!”

“D’Arcy?” Bertie, looking red and puffy around the eyes leaned against the door jamb, his open robe revealing a pair of shorts. 

“Ba!” said the nipper wetly, and Bertie gathered him against his bare chest. 

“Are you all right?” asked Bertie, looking at D’Arcy.

D’Arcy stood and folded Bertie and the nipper into a gentle hug. “Da!” said the nipper, swatting him away.

“Is everything all right, lamb?”  Bertie nodded against D’Arcy’s jacket. “I didn’t ask...  I didn’t even think.”

“None of that, Stilton.  I’m hardly the wronged party here. You didn’t dress for dinner,” said Bertie, pulling away and fingering D’Arcy’s lapel.  

“You dressed our nipper like a Bohemian clown,” he said fondly.

“He needs to emulate his Cheesewright forebears,” said Bertie in a lofty tone.

“No! Da! No!” said the nipper, swatting at D’Arcy, who beamed at the child as though he had just discovered electricity.

“Why is he doing that?” asked Rocky.

“Ack!” said the baby, delighted with Rocky now that he assured of a sojourn in the big bed with Bertie.

“D’Arcy would just cuddle him here until he falls asleep,” said Bertie.

“Ack!  Mama!” Jeeves stood in the doorway, looking inscrutable in his dressing gown. D’Arcy swallowed at the livid scars on his hairy chest. “Mama!” said the nipper, reaching for him.  D’Arcy and Rocky snickered.

“How could you let him dress the nipper like a Bohemian clown, Jeeves?” asked D’Arcy, sounding slightly aggrieved.

“The young gentleman has very firm ideas about evening dress,” said Jeeves.  He looked at Rocky. “I hope the clothes are suitable.”

“Thank-you, Reggie,” said Rocky. “They are wonderful.”

Jeeves had just turned to D’Arcy and opened his mouth. “You two go back to bed,” said D’Arcy, fearful that his voice would tremble.  “I’ll see to Rocky.”

“Da!” said the nipper sleepily from against Bertie’s chest.  D’Arcy leaned down and kissed the baby and then, reflexively, kissed Bertie on the cheek.

“Good-night, lamb,” he said.  “Sleep well.”

“Good-night, D’Arcy.”

Once they reached the bedroom, the baby was curious and inclined to play. “We never let him in here,” said Bertie, settling back into the bed.

“Mama!” said the nipper, trying to crawl into Jeeves’s lap as Jeeves shed his pajama bottoms. Bertie pulled him away before he could grab at Jeeves’s personal regions.

“Ba!” said the nipper, yanking at his own pajamas.

“Just your shirt,” said Bertie, removing the robot-printed top and nestling the baby against his bare skin.  Jeeves lay down and Bertie scooted closer.

“Mama?”  The baby patted Jeeves.

“Time for sleeping, little one,” said Jeeves solemnly, dimming the lights and moving so that the three of them could snuggle together more closely.  Bertie and Jeeves took turns rubbing the nipper’s back until he fell asleep.

 

Rocky

In D’Arcy’s washroom, Rocky put on the new pajamas Bertie had bought him, thinking how much he had appreciated that gesture of friendship.  He brushed his teeth with a toothbrush Jeeves had left for him and then opened a door and found D’Arcy buttoning his pajama top.

“Sorry, D’Arcy.”

“That’s OK, Rocky.  I’m not used to privacy.”  Something in the tone made Rocky pause.

“Are you all right?” Rocky had had such a pleasant night.  He hated to think of D’Arcy ending it unhappily.

D’Arcy was reminded of a night not long after he and Bertie had thought Jeeves was dead.  Bertie asked to sleep in the bed next to him, and D’Arcy had been surprised at how comforting the friendly presence had been in his time of grief.  He felt saddened now by the loss of his lover. “Rocky, would you consider?”  D’Arcy paused and blushed, feeling foolish.  He and Bertie had known each other from the time they were boys. Rocky had never slept beside him all night, even when they were lovers.  “Never mind.”

“D’Arcy? Is there something I can do?” Rocky thought of the way he and Jeeves had come to an understanding, how it began so simply. “Anything.  I won’t judge or laugh at you, not after everything you’ve done for me.”

The offer soothed D’Arcy, whose nerves and feelings were frayed despite his joy at seeing Jeeves again. “Would you sleep, just sleep, with me?”

Rocky smiled a broad and cheerful smile. “That would be such a comfort to me, D’Arcy,” he said. “You have such an affectionate home, and I felt a bit left out. Thank-you for suggesting it.”  He turned off the light in the bathroom and they climbed into the large bed and turned off the main light. 

“Would you maybe…?” Rocky stopped and shook his head.

“Rocky?”

“Do you know how to make spoons?  My wife taught me.”

D’Arcy bit back a question about Jeeves. “Do you want to be on the outside or the inside?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

D’Arcy gathered Rocky against him, surprised at how much he enjoyed the feeling of that more substantial body against him. “You know, Rocky, the only reason I knew how to snuggle Bertie was that you had showed me how nice cuddling could be. I should really have thanked you.”

Rocky blushed, grateful for the darkness. “I did my best anyway, D’Arcy.”

“Good-night, Rocky.”  Rocky closed his eyes and thought of the last time he and D’Arcy had made love, before he had become a bad man.

“Good-night D’Arcy.”

Chapter 7: paters and bacon

Summary:

Sir Roderick is annoyed. Anatole shrugs. Rocky says something sweet and cuddly to D'Arcy. Jeeves is teased rather mercilessly. The nipper discovers bacon. The flat in Paris takes on a new tenant. Bertie finally gets a nice 'snuggle.'

Anatole

Sir Roderick looked at the pile of files and microfilms with a frown. “You waited long enough to mention this, Anatole.” The chef shrugged. “Stop that infernal shrugging.”

“What you wanting me to say?  I have older telling.”

“That’s up now, Anatole,” said a voice from the doorway. “We’ve done.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Sir Roderick. “How did you get out of bed?”

The possessor of the voice, a tall, slender man who managed to look elegant despite his battered clothes chuckled. “I palmed those bally pills, Roddy,” he said, helping himself to a chair. “Woke up feeling oddly ship shape. It’s all done now.  I’m the last, and you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“Except Bertie,” said Anatole.

Old Mr. Wooster looked at him in surprise. “Bertie?  You don’t mean my son?  The one who adopted that baby and brings him to visit nearly every afternoon?”

“Yes,” said Anatole. “They tricking.”

“Enough,” said Sir Roderick.  “I can assure you that Bertram Wilberforce Wooster has not tortured or importuned anyone, so clearly that endeavor has failed.  Start at the beginning.”

 

Rocky

Rocky Todd woke against a broad, beefy shoulder. It had been his first really sound sleep since the last time he slept huddled together with  Jeeves. He opened his eyes and found D’Arcy Cheesewright looking down at him fondly, reading a book with the hand that was not around Rocky.

“Did you sleep all right then?”

“Yes, thank-you,” said Rocky, sitting up. “You’re very comfortable.  What time is it?”

D'Arcy consulted a travel clock Jeeves had bought for him. “Nine. I’m surprised we haven’t heard the nipper before now.”

Rocky laughed. “Jeeves wouldn’t abide screaming if Bertie is trying to sleep. He’s very protective.”

“I suppose so, Rocky,” D’Arcy climbed out of the bed and stretched. “Bertie is the one who heals our hearts, you know.  It’s the least we can do.”

Rocky looked at the man he had sought out when he had been barely able to stagger.  Bertie had found him instead, and Rocky was forever grateful that he had.  No one else could have listened with such generous compassion.  “He certainly helped heal mine.  You didn’t see me until afterward, D’Arcy, but I was half mad.”

D’Arcy did not know what to say, so he stretched again.  “I’m sorry, Rocky.” He thought of the time Bertie had been beaten and tortured and he had been left alone. “You have all coddled me much more than Bertie has ever been coddled,” he said.

“That’s because you hold us up when we cannot stand, D’Arcy,” said Rocky.  D’Arcy went pink and Rocky remembered how cute he had been when they spent time together in New York. 

 

Jeeves

I lay in bed, watching the rise and fall of Mr. Wooster’s slender body as he slept.  The baby looked up at me with bright eyes. “Mama!”  Mr. Wooster stirred and the baby went silent as I soothed my former employer back to sleep.  I donned my pajamas and dressing gown, then held my hands out to the child.  The gratification when he came to me was immense.  I took the child back to its own room and freshened its soiled diaper and dressed it in clean, matching clothing then made my way to the kitchen where I smelled coffee brewing.

“Ta!” cried the baby and Anatole looked up from his cooking.

“Bonjour wee chappie,” he crooned, fixing a small bowl of porridge for the child and a cup of coffee for me.  “Reginald, good morning.” We settled the child into a special chair and Anatole equipped me with a spoon with which to feed the baby.

“Good morning Anatole,” I said, wrapping the child in a protective tea towel. The chef began cracking eggs and peeling slices of bacon.

“Mama!” cried the baby as I proffered a spoonful of cereal.  Anatole chuckled merrily.

“Mama.  You the mama, Reginald?  This is very funny. I talking to Sir Roderick.  He needing to know what happened.”

“It’s done,” I said.  “It’s finally done.”

Anatole set some onions in a pan. “What you meaning?”

“It’s done.  Lord Yaxley killed the last of the Wolves.  His father was like Georges.”

“And you, Reginald,” said Anatole.  The heart paused in my breast. “Your Mr. Wooster being the next Wolf.”

The relief was immense. “But he would never drug and torture anyone.”

“He drugging that other spy, but no.”

“Spy?”

“I showing you.” We fed the child and ate our own breakfast.  Anatole laughed when I gave the baby a piece of my bacon, which he consumed in highly absorbed silence.  “Mr. Wooster and Mr. Cheesewright afraid to be feed him bacon.” 

“He is evincing every sign of enjoyment, Anatole.”

Anatole chuckled. “Smart wee chappie,” said the chef fondly.  We cleaned the child and repaired to my study, where Anatole had laid out the papers describing the man they replaced me with. The poor fellow, already dying of heart disease, had been surgically altered.  The scarred man had then read him particulars about my life and told him frightful things about Mr. Wooster.  The impostor had dutifully sent reports before Mr. Wooster and Mr. Cheesewright brought him to Italy.

“How long did he live, Anatole?” I asked.

“I thinking nine months,” said Anatole.  “He forget everything by the end, only wanting to be by Mr. Wooster.  Buying him purple shoes.”

“Purple shoes?” Wherever had he found them? Anatole made a scornful noise. “But he is gone, and we are all safe now.”

“Maybe,” said Anatole. “That Rocky.  They send him to kill me.”

“No, Anatole.  They sent him to kill Georges.  This is done now.”

“No, Reginald.  The man, the one who do the drugging.  He still here.”

“The man?”  And then I remembered. “The young doctor?”  Anatole nodded. “Is he acting alone?”

“You paying him.”

My heart went still. “Paying?”

“D’Arcy bringing back all the old papers.  Only one man left being paying besides him. This Charles or maybe Harold.”

 

D’Arcy

Anatole and Jeeves were in the middle of a rather grim conference when D’Arcy and Rocky wandered out into the hallway. Rocky had pulled a sweater on over his pajamas.  Jeeves quirked his lips at the sight.

“Good morning, Rocky,” he said. “D’Arcy.”

“Da!” said the nipper, and D’Arcy picked him up and kissed him.

Anatole moved out to get coffee and Rocky followed. 

“How bad is it, Reginald?”

“I believe Rocky was sent to kill Sir Roderick’s son-in-law.”

“What? That Charles or Harold?  What has he done?”

“Any number of horrible things, D’Arcy.” Jeeves paused.  “Anatole will attend to it.  I did not intend to interfere in your family.”

D’Arcy looked up from the baby. “You are part of my family,” he said.  “I promised.”

Jeeves went completely still.  “D’Arcy, I never meant…”

“But I did,” said D’Arcy. “We were boys together, Bertie and I. You offered me a home when I bally well needed one.”

“What?” asked Bertie, stumbling slightly on a soft toy as he entered the room.  Automatically, D’Arcy caught him, steadying him at the waist with his free hand.

“All right, lamb?”

“What did you promise? What happened between you two?”

D’Arcy went pink. “We were pinned down by gunfire and Jeeves had been hit.  I promised to look after you for him, make sure you didn’t get lonely.”

Bertie’s mouth dropped open. “But that’s so innocent…why didn’t you tell me?”

“We spent the night…” said Jeeves.

“But chaps did that all the time during the war, Reg.”

D’Arcy blushed at the look of love and tenderness that appeared on Jeeves’s face when he looked at Bertie. “Did you, love?”

Bertie toed the carpet with his slipper. “Well, no, Reg, but that… I was with Stilton most of the time.  We would have never in those days.”

“No, indeed,” said D’Arcy. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“In fact,” said Bertie. 

“I was mortified by my weakness, love,” said Jeeves.

Bertie squeezed by D’Arcy and pressed Jeeves’s shoulder. “You know I would not have minded, Reg.  Not as long as you came back to me.”  He looked at the papers and went white.  “What’s this?” Jeeves helped him to a seat on an ottoman, and D’Arcy craned his head for a better look.

“I’d like to wait for Rocky,” said Jeeves.  “This involves all of us.”

Anatole and Rocky came in with a tray of tea and coffee and pastry and buttered toast.  Jeeves and Anatole began to explain the series of events that led to Jeeves’s kidnapping.

“My god,” gasped D’Arcy, thinking of the destruction in Jeeves and Bertie’s London flat. “You were there?  When I was in London?”

“No, no,” said Jeeves. Rocky colored slightly.  “I was already in France, recovering.”  The doorbell rang.  Anatole was nearest the door and he returned with old Mr. Wooster.

“I’ve come to apologize,” he said.  They moved to the sitting room. D’Arcy handed the baby to Berie and settled Mr. Wooster into the most comfortable chair. “You look as if you have recovered, young Rocky.”

“Yes, thank-you, sir,” said Rocky. “I…thank-you for helping me. I thought it would be the end of me.”

The old man smiled benignly. “You risked your life for my son’s companion,” he said. “I can never do enough for you. Now, let me see this little fellow here.”  The baby buried his face in Bertie’s dressing gown. “That’s not like you, little Reginald Jeeves Wooster-Cheesewright.” Jeeves went pink about the ears.

“He’s shy when he sees people in a new place, sir,” said D’Arcy apologetically as Bertie stroked the child’s hair and spoke to him softly.

“He has the look of his father,” said the old man.  D’Arcy stood poured for their guest.

“How do you know who his father is?” asked Rocky.

“Because he asked me to watch over the child.  His lover was still expecting, and when I knew my son was in Paris, I let her know where to find you.”

“But doesn’t she miss him?” Bertie wanted to know. 

“She is marrying and cannot keep him,” said the old man. “So frightfully Victorian.” He reached toward the baby, who turned his face into Bertie’s chest again.

“If I may, sir,” said Jeeves, offering the old man a plate of bacon. The nipper looked up with interest. “You might persuade him with this.  Love, come a bit nearer, perhaps?”  Bertie moved to the side of the couch closest to his father and Jeeves sat beside him.  The baby accepted a piece of bacon from the old man. “Bapap!”

“There’s a good chap,” said Bertie and D’Arcy together.

The conversation grew grim as the friends realized that someone would have to tell Sir Roderick the terrible news. “I’ve told him already,” said Old Mr. Wooster. “I came by to tell Anatole.  I didn’t realize you all lived here together.  It’s rather cozy.”

“Have you anywhere to go, pater?” asked Bertie.  The old man blinked and dropped the plate of bacon into Jeeves’s hand. “We can shove the bits around and make room for you and whatnot.”

“I am overcome,” said the old man. Anatole picked up the tea pot and moved toward the kitchen. D’Arcy and Rocky decided that this was a good time to get dressed, and Jeeves slipped into his own room for a forgotten handkerchief.

“You’re more than welcome,” said Bertie, looking down at the baby, working at his bacon.  “He does get his penny’s worth out of that, what?”

The old man laughed. “You are a balm for the soul, young Bertram.  I am sorry I was not with you more often.”

“It was you, though, wasn’t it? That night at school?  You came and saw me to hospital and got your pal to take me in?”

“I am so terribly sorry, Bertie.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” said Bertie.  Jeeves reappeared. “Help me persuade him how terribly he is wanted.”

“I understand that we have a last item to retrieve, love.”  But that was another story.

  

Bertie

After proper filial begging, the pater took one of the servant’s rooms, near Anatole, rather than Jeeves’s office, which had a separate sitting room that joined to the guest bath.  The oldtimers felt it was nicer to have an area free from ‘the children,’ which meant us, as they almost immediately started setting up a special area for the nipper. It seemed a bit ripe as we were all over the age of forty. We offered to have a wall knocked down and enlarge the half bath for him so they could have a proper ensuite apiece and were soundly laughed at.    

Then Sir Roderick trickled over and told us that he had somehow dealt with that Charles or Harold, and we were free. “Not as free as I would have liked, Yaxley,” he said a few weeks later, when we had him in to lunch. D’Arcy and Rocky were showing my father how to put the nipper down for a nap and Anatole was messing about with pastries. “But you can all begin your lives again.”

“Thank-you, Sir Roderick,” said Jeeves.

“The MI still wants your services, Jeeves,” he replied. “Now that you are not dead.”

“I cannot be separated from Lord Yaxley,” said Jeeves, going absolutely white. 

“Just some advice from time to time.”

“Please, I cannot,” Jeeves kind of gasped this last bit.  I edged over and took his hand. The nights had been difficult for him, poor beleaguered lamb.

Sir Roderick nodded.  “I thought you would feel that way, and I went to the crown about the matter. Your new assignment is to clean up this bally business.  They’re not to disturb you until you are done.  Just an annual report.”

I squeezed the Jeevesian hand. Sir Roderick had done his best, but we needed a few minutes alone for Jeeves to compose himself before he could face company.

 

That night, Rocky and D’Arcy looked after the nipper, and Jeeves and I floated off to a hotel, with the intention of staying overnight.  It had been so long since we had been alone.  We ordered room service and had a splendid meal, and then, just as I was feeling anxious about the nipper, Jeeves looked up at me.

“Love, I’d like to sleep at home,” he said. “This has been a wonderful interlude, and I am grateful, but I don’t like to be away from the child.”

“All right, Reg,” I said. 

We oiled home to find Wooster Pater and Anatole playing ‘grab the toesies” with the nipper and Rocky and D’Arcy biffing the checkers. Their guns and knives and things were laid out for cleaning, out of the reach of the nipper, of course. They greeted us and we oozed into our rooms and Jeeves shimmered into the bathroom and opened the taps.  I stood in the doorway, watching him, thankful that he had gotten back his old confidence about the place.

“Will you?” he asked, undoing his tie.  I nodded and he flickered over to me.  We began to undress each other lingeringly and the nipper let out a ghastly screech.  I poked the pate from the door just in time to see Anatole and my father beetling from the room with the little chap. Rocky followed with a couple of raincoats.

“That’s all right, Bertie, he can play in our bath.”

“As long as I’m not wiping up after him,” said D’Arcy companionably.  He winked at me, then turned a look of affection toward Rocky. “What do you say to late supper and darts, Rocky?”

“Great!”

I turned back to Jeeves and we resumed undoing the studs until we were hugging each other, all bare.  We had slept together in our shorts and bathed together, with towels wrapped around the waists but we hadn’t kissed or tried any whatnots.  Jeeves took my hand and I looked up at him as he tucked the other in at the nape of my neck.  “I love you,” he murmured and then he bent forward and brushed the ruby lips against mine.

It was the most spectacular kiss in the history of kissing, slow and soft and gentle easing into firm and thorough as we applied our mouths to the matter at hand.  He tasted just the way I remembered, except even more delicious, and I stood to attention in all the right areas.  We came up for breath and kissed again, and again. Finally, we settled into the tub, Jeeves bottommost, just as we had used to do when we were young, and we kissed and rubbed against each other until we were spent, then drowsed in the water, kissing and saying soppy things to each other.  I had never felt so whole or complete.

We dried off and climbed into the bed and wrapped around each other, kissing and rubbing together, until we came off again. Then we turned out the lights and snuggled, the golden pate tucked up beneath the Jeevesian chin.  He was so still, I thought he had fallen asleep, and then he stirred. We wriggled a little way apart.

“Reg?”

“Yes, love?”

“Are you all right?  It’s late for you to be awake.”

“I’d like to make love to you….” He sounded rummy, though, and uneasy, as if he was asking for something he was afraid would upset or frighten me.

“You don’t need to ask, really,” I said, moving in closer.

“Would you like,” he said. “I want…” his voice trailed off as I went very still.  I hadn’t done that since well before Reg became ill, and he had never asked me, ever. “I apologize, love. Please don’t be distressed.”

“You never asked that before,” I whispered. "Not that you shouldn't, of course, my love."

“They hurt me, Bertram, and you have made me feel so whole again.  I remember how much you enjoyed…” his voice trailed off again as I started to tremble.  I had bally well enjoyed it and the juices were up and flowing, but it was too soon for certain things.

“You know how much I love to be with you that way. It’s been a very long time, Reg,” I said. “You must remember how long.” Then he went still, still as a stone as he realized he was the only man I’d ever been with that way. “I’d like to start with all the other nice things I missed.”

“Oh love, I didn’t realize.”

“You know,” I started to explain, then stopped because I didn’t want to mention D’Arcy or Rocky.  Gently, Jeeves gathered me against him, running his large, capable hands along my body in just the way I liked when I was uneasy.

“I am sorry, darling. Perhaps I could take you in my mouth?” But I didn’t want that, not yet, not when he was still so upset by what they had done to his beautiful body. I thought the doctor in Italy could help fix up those nasty scars on his chest, and the rest of the marks on him were growing fainter with special creams.

D’Arcy and I usually had open, reasonable conversations about these things, but Jeeves and I had always had our own special language.  Then I pressed right up against him and made a certain little noise and he made a little affectionate huff into the hair on the top of my head. I could feel him smiling warmly as he nuzzled me with his face, and kissed me, and then we shifted a bit and kissed and touched each other until we were both on the brink and then we kissed and rubbed against each other for a while and started over again until we couldn’t stand another minute and came off gloriously.  I saw stars, and when I came back into myself, I was nestled against him and he was murmuring in my ear.  “I love you, Bertie, darling.  I love you.”

“I love you too, Reg,” I said.  “Thank-you for coming back to me.”

Chapter 8: Be! Punkin'head Be!

Summary:

The snuggle chapter. American spies annoy D'Arcy Cheesewright. Anatole and Woosterpater feed the nipper more bacon. Bertie had a late-night revelation. Many, many whatnots are exchanged. Bertie has a surprise visitor.

D’Arcy

D’Arcy and Rocky started home just after midnight.  They took a familiar turning and found themselves at the bistro where D’Arcy had first kissed another man. “Punkin’head!” cried a group of Americans, gleefully offering to buy D’Arcy a drink. They drew back in concern when they saw Rocky.

“Sorry, Todd,” one said anxiously.  “We didn’t see you. We’ll just be going, then…”

Rocky smiled an eerie smile and D’Arcy began to believe he was a indeed a bad man. Then the thought of Jeeves and Wooster made D’Arcy rethink this—Jeeves always appeared to be the dangerous assassin of that duo, yet Bertie killed the Wolf. “You can still buy us a drink.” Another American scurried off for drinks and a plate of friend potatoes.

“My favorite! Thanks!” Rocky exclaimed. The Americans relaxed and drew Rocky into their conversation.

D’Arcy had a drink, then wandered into the pub, greeting old friends. A British spy he knew from the Drones club took him aside. “Are you crazy, old bean? Todd’s a hardened killer.  He took out Dumas.”

D’Arcy choked back a laugh. “Perhaps it was a mistake, old crumpet.”

“And Jeeves, old egg.  He was seen carrying the bleeding body from Wooster’s old flat.” The crumpet took a deep quaff of brandy.

“Jeeves?”  D’Arcy sipped his own drink. “Are you certain? I’d heard the Wolf had a hand in that, old fruit.”

“But Todd is the Wolf, old baguette.”

“Don’t believe everything you hear, my dear escargot,” said D’Arcy.  “The Wolf is dead now, but he was alive after Jeeves died.”

The escargot snorted. “Don’t believe everything you hear, Cheesewright.”

D’Arcy was startled into telling the truth. “But I saw it myself, my very good hatpin.”

The hatpin goggled. “You did?”

“I did.  Wooster and I have been friends since boyhood.”

“I suddenly remember a very important engagement,” the hatpin winked. “Todd not the Wolf?”

“No, indeed.”

D’Arcy sat at his favorite table, the one he and Wally had always shared.  Rocky ambled in. “I hear you killed the Wolf and are holding me hostage,” he said, sitting down in Wally’s place. “This is the table from that picture in your room, isn’t it?”

“I can’t divulge that information to Jeeves’s killer,” said D’Arcy, rolling his eyes. Rocky went white. “What’s wrong?”

“We have to go,” said Rocky. “Act a bit drunk.” D’Arcy did as Rocky asked.  When they reached the corner, Rocky ran for the nearest cab. “My god, D’Arcy, we have to get back.”

“Rocky?”

“Don’t you understand?  They think I’m the Wolf.”

“The Wolf is dead, Rocky. And that old Drone is off spreading it about the MI6 this instant. Why are you worried?”

“If I don’t get out of here, I may have to kill an awful lot of people.”

D’Arcy went cold, then he looked at Rocky and tilted his head. “What do you mean, exactly?”

Rocky squared his shoulders. “I told you.  I’m a bad man, D’Arcy.”

“As bad as that scarred blighter?”

Rocky squealed. “Of course not.  But I’ve killed ever so many…”

D’Arcy lifted one eyebrow. “How many, exactly?”

“Well, four. I blew up ever so many things.”

“Four? Really?”

“Two.”

“Did you kill them?”

“I really meant to.”

“Rocky…”

The American spy buried his face in his hands. “I’m a failure. I was sent to kill those Wolves and Bertie did it. They asked me to get rid of Dumas, but he was dying.”

D’Arcy patted his friend on the back. “You saved Jeeves.”

“It was kind of an accident. I was meant to kill that scarred blighter. I couldn’t exactly leave him there bleeding and alone.”

“Rocky?”

“That Wolf made him watch while they destroyed the flat. Well, at least I think they did. He was locked up in one of the cupboards, and I found him all covered with blood and marks.”

D’Arcy went cold. “He was so ill.  I don’t know how he could forgive us for not coming after him.”

“I didn’t know it was him at first. He was out of his mind with loneliness.”

“So, who did you kill?”

“That bounder who was trying to shoot you with a poisoned dart.  And the one who was going to electrify that fence when you were… ” Rocky looked at his hands. “And the two blokes who came after Jeeves.”

“Two?”

“Those underground ones. They were so scary, D’Arcy. I couldn’t let them hurt him.”

“That’s why they think you’re the Wolf?”

“I wish I could just go back to my house on Long Island.”

“Let’s go back to the villa, Rocky.  You like it there.”

Rocky raised his head. “I thought you needed to stay here for Bertie?”

“I’ll speak with him, Rocky.  Can you wait a few weeks?” 

 

Bertie

I woke to a sense of utter contentment.  The corpus was tucked up nicely into the bed in the old flat.  A cup of tea steamed on the side table and my clothes were laid out nicely, just as I liked. The strawberries and champagne from the night of love I’d shared stood near the wardrobe. Then I looked and saw the time.  It was past noon.  I rang for Jeeves, but no one came.  And then I saw the note.  “Forgive me.”

I ankled to the door and opened it to find everything destroyed. Everything. Before I could move, a willowy older man trotted through the wreckage. “Quickly, my boy. Dress. They’re coming.”

The world crumbled to dust and ashes. He’d left me. He’d left me and it was all my fault.

 

The corpus lurched up in the bed, rousing Jeeves. The cries of the nipper sounded in the background. 

“You’re trembling, love.”

“It’s another of those bally dreams.”

He kissed my forehead. “I wish you would tell me about them, love.” A sort of terror gripped the Wooster viscera.  How could I divulge such terrible things? The lips were sealed. “I love you so, darling.”

“And I love you, Reg,” I said.  I oozed into the nipper’s room to find him attempting to effect an escape from the bolsters.

“Ba!” I gathered him up and settled onto the chaise.  He squirmed, eager for a trip to the big bed. “Mama!” he whimpered.

“Let’s have a snuggle here, my good man,” I said, rubbing his little back and pulling an afghan around us.

“Da!” said the nipper. And sure enough, D’Arcy had loomed up in the doorway, a rummy look on his big, round, pumpkin-shaped face.  Jeeves had been back for months, but I automatically budged up to make a space and D’Arcy settled down with us.  He was such a dashed comforting presence.

“You’re shaking,” he said, giving the willowy frame a firm squeeze. “Another of those dreams?” A glance told me he had closed the door.

“I dreamed that I woke up in the flat.  Reg had left me, everything destroyed, and a willowy gent, older, like my ….” I gasped and the nipper gave me a reassuring pat as D’Arcy cuddled me.

“Goo Ba.  Goo.”

D’Arcy snorted. “That’s right, little Reginald, he is a good boy.” We rubbed the nipper’s little back and told him he was a cunning and splendid chap.  He drifted back to sleep and D’Arcy tucked him in nicely the way he used to tuck me in when I was mad with grief for missing Jeeves.  I starting to leave, but he took the slender paw, and settled us on the chaise.  “They’re not exactly dreams, Bertie,” he said gently. “We’ve been hoping that the cork would fly on the recollections of a long life, lamb, but you’re such a gentle parfait knight, you’d never breathe a word of it.”

The limbs began to quake like jellies. “But D’Arcy,” I whispered. “I dreamt he left me.  That we had the most romantic… and he left, and the flat was ruined and…” Lethe suddenly fled the negligible mind and Memory began to heave to like an especially energetic Berserker.  Tears streamed down the damask cheeks. “I’d forgotten.”  He had done. He had left me, and it was all my fault.

D’Arcy smoothed the faded golden hair away from the face. “We drugged you.  No one realized how much it would affect you, lamb.  I didn’t really understand until after I learned that Jeeves died.”

“But he didn’t die, Stilton,” I said.  Stilton gasped.

“I… I rushed back because I had gotten word…” he said, the face like a mixture of ashes and sackcloth made from the jute of frightening American magnates. “I had word from MI6 that the Wolf had captured him and he was presumed dead.”

This seemed madness. “You said he sent a message from the shoe store.”

The Cheesewright countenance went even paler. “My god, Bertie.  I received notice that our Jeeves was actually dead. Anatole sent word from that blighter who made you those purple and puce wingtips.”  He passed a beefy hand over the visage. “It would have been a day or two before I came…”  Stilton jerked, the map turning a sort of milky color. “You really did think it was him?”

The golden pate rested itself against his comforting bulk. “I did, Stilton. It evades me how that happened.”

“We drugged you. Bertie, you have to speak to someone.  Sir Roderick came here especially.  You wouldn’t even speak to Jeeves about it.”

“He left me.”

“You made him, Bertie.  He didn’t want to go back and serve, but you insited…  You wanted to get him well and send him back.”

Memory dumped another load of recollections into the negligible brain like a ton of coals.   I had insisted.  We’d spent that last night together and he had gone and turned himself in, ill as he was. Things had gone scaly during the war, and I’d been terrified that I could hurt him without meaning to. It had nearly taken the life out of me. “I killed those blokes, didn’t I?”

He squeezed again. “You saved all those poor blighters with the pink triangles, lamb.”

“I killed three men to save fifteen, Stilton. Who was I to decide?”  And I had lain in the bed for three weeks doing nothing, not eating.

“No one could do a thing with you, Bertie.  Jeeves rang up some blighter he knew from the Great War and he came and attended you.”

The been spun angrily. “No. Georges sent the pater.”  That's why they had drugged me.  So I would forget the pater. And when they sent me to the clinic to pick of that fake Jeeves, I was so muddled that I thought it was my Jeeves.

And then, like a cooling zephyr in borrowed pajamas, he was in our midst. “I insisted.” D’Arcy and I leapt from the chaise like guilty hares.  The pater had never gone for this chaps-cuddling-with-chaps business. The patriarchal lips quirked in amusement. “I insisted on seeing to you, son.  You did your best, but it was better that you forget for a time.  I should know.”

“Ah,” I stammered, and then Jeeves was there, the dial full of compassion and affection.

“Love?”  The Wooster blue eyes met the Jeevesian b. e.s. and whole volumes spoke. I do not understand how he was able to forgive me.

“Thank-you, D’Arcy,” I said humbly, nudging the Cheesewright elbow.

“You’re welcome, lamb.”

The pater mussed the golden locks. “Sleep well, son.”

Jeeves held out a hand and I oozed thither.

 

Rocky

Rocky woke when the baby started crying, then rolled over and fell asleep again.  A firm hand settled on his shoulder, rousing him again.

“D’Arcy? Are you all right?”  Rocky moved to make room, pulling the covers down. “Come here.  You’re shaking.” He hopped up and helped his friend remove his dressing gown. “It’s all right.”

D’Arcy allowed Rocky to settle him under the covers and rest against his shoulder. “Thank-you, Rocky.”

“Is that better?”

“You’ve no idea how much. This whole business has been so ghastly.”

“But you feel all right now?”

A certain tone of surprise made Rocky smile. “Yes.”

“Good, D’Arcy, because I’d like to ask you something,” he shifted slightly so their faces were close together, and D’Arcy kissed him. “Wow!  D’Arcy that was splendid. Let me help you unbutton that.  It will be faster.”

“Don’t scream or shout.”

“Whatever you say.”

 

Anatole

Anatole slipped into D’Arcy’s dressing room with a tray of tea and pastry, which he left on the bedside table.  D’Arcy raised an eyebrow as he tucked Rocky in more firmly.

“He a bit noisy,” said Anatole with a smirk. D’Arcy flamed scarlet and the snickering chef left the room.

“Sorry,” Rocky’s voice, muffled by the covers, sounded more amused than regretful.

“I’m not,” said D’Arcy.

In the kitchen, Old Mr. Wooster ambled amiably about, dishing up eggs and bacon.  The baby sat, absorbedly gnawing on a rasher in his high chair. “You’re a merciless tease, Anatole,” he said.

“Is doing something,” said Anatole with a shrug.

“I should be going soon,” said the slender man.

“No,” said Anatole. “Should be staying.”

“But the boy is well again, and I…” he paused.

“You wanting to go back by Georges?”

“Yes, Anatole.  It was my only home for so many years. These have been pleasant months, but I am eager for some solitude.”

Anatole was saved from responding by the doorbell.

 

Jeeves

I brought Mr. Wooster back to our rooms and ran a soothing bath.  He rested his darling head on my shoulder in his old, sweetly confiding way.  “I remember things now, Reg.  I am so sorry I shouted at you while you were ill.”

I rubbed his back and kissed him. “You were right, and I was wrong, darling.  It was our duty to serve, no matter what it cost us. None of us had any idea that the Wolf would capture me or that I would be so befuddled by my ordeal.  I had underestimated how taking a life would affect you, until…”

Mr. Wooster’s eyes went wide. “Reg? You?” I nodded.

“I saw a soldier…harming a very young girl.  I could not suppress my rage.”

“Did you save her?”

“I don’t know, love.”

We lounged in the warm water companionably soaping each other, just as we had before the war.  Mr. Wooster turned to face me, straddling my legs, and traced his fingers over the new scars on my chest. “You did this yourself, didn’t you?”  I inclined my head.

“It gave the scarred man the impression that someone had already undertaken his…means of persuasion.”  I watched as he traced the other new scars, the ones inflicted by that terrible man.

Mr. Wooster bent and kissed my nipple, then the other, smoothing his soft, warm hands down my flanks. “You are so beautifully made, Reg,” he murmured, rubbing my belly and moving his fingers to my thighs.  I sighed and shifted as my member stiffened, drawing his gaze. “You like this, then, what?” he continued, using the backs of his fingers to stroke me intimately, his lips slightly parted as he took in my reaction to his touch. I groaned softly, lifting my hips slightly. “Did you lock our door?”  I nodded.  “What would you like?”  I moved my hips again and tried to lean forward to kiss him.  “Cat’s got your tongue, then?”  I nodded, my mind awash with desire as it had not been in years.  He kindly eased himself forward so our bodies were pressed together and kissed me.  A sound of energetic thumping, punctuated here and there by a stifled screech, emanated from D’Arcy’s rooms.  Mr. Wooster looked up and winked. We dissolved in helpless laughter.  We had just managed to calm ourselves when we heard Mr. Wooster’s father in the hallway speaking with the child.

“You’ll be a good, quiet boy for Bapap?”

“Da?” Another series of thumps sounded.

“Ah. Da is a bit, erm, busy at the moment.”

Mr. Wooster spluttered and we were off again.

 

Bertie

The bean had somehow snapped itself into its old rightness—or as right as it ever was—and Jeeves and I celebrated with a series of lovely, tender whatnots in every corner of our rooms.  We fell asleep, all bare, twined around each other in the way we had in the old days before the war.  Much as we loved our friends, it was a wrench to realize we could not spend the next days about the flat undressed. A rather alarmed bang on the door interrupted some truly luscious early-morning pashing.  We hopped up, donned the pajamas and dressing gowns, thankful we were old enough that our bits were already eager for a bit of rest after the excesses of the previous evening.

The first hint of rumminess was the dog Mackintosh IV or possibly V in the sitting room, making the acquaintance of the nipper.  The next was Aunt Agatha, weeping brokenly against the narrow breast of the pater. Finally, two battered trunks and a hatbox gave the hint that Aunt A. required refuge, it being well before the hour of check-in. Jeeves and I had gravitated toward each other like magnets, and stood, arms wrapped around corresponding waists, taking in the scene.

“What Ho!” I said.

“Ah, Bertie,” said Aunt Agatha in a very unfamiliar tone.  “I am terribly sorry to come upon you unannounced, but I had nowhere else to go.”

“My home is your home and all that, what,” I said.  Jeeves gave me an approving squeeze, then held me up as the ghastly truth revealed itself. She needed a place to live. There had been a rift with Florence and the Worplesdon oof had diminished greatly during the war. We exchanged all the pleasantries, then Pater helped convey the needful to the Jeevesian study so she could use the large bath that adjoined the nipper’s room and take a rest on the chaise in the dressing room there.

D’Arcy ankled out. “Be! Be! Old Chap,” I greeted him jovially as his map turned the color of a mortified tomato.

“You smell a bit loverly yourself, Wooster,” he finally bit out.  Jeeves and I collapsed on the divan in stitches.

As we finally caught our breaths, Jeeves wiped the tears from his face. “I fear we will have to adjust our sleeping arrangements.”

“Rocky and I can go to a hotel.”

“You can’t stand being away from the nipper,” I objected.

D’Arcy shrugged. “He wants you at night, old bean.  And have you noticed his lips have stopped going blue?  The doctor said he was fit as a fiddle. We’ll have to work that bit as well.”

Jeeves cleared his throat. “It is high time I returned to Georges’ estates.  There is work to be done, and there is ample room for all of us, including Mrs. Gregson.”

“Then off to the villa?”

D’Arcy weighed this. “I’ll ask Rocky what he’d like to do.”

“Be, old fruit,” I said, and this time D’Arcy joined in the helpless, spluttering laughter.

Chapter 9: fin

Summary:

Bertie and Jeeves tie up some loose ends and then settle down for some nice whatnots.

 

Bertie

Aunt Agatha and the nipper took to each other like ducks to water.  Apparently, the issue of Florence were willful and aggressive, unlike our sweet nipper. The elderly r. refused to take any of our rooms and slept on a narrow bed in one of the dressing rooms without demur while we made arrangements for a more permanent place for her. The discussions were awkward, as Jeeves and Wooster were reluctant to leave her on her own and Aunt Agatha refused to take an allowance from the mentally negligible nephew.  The plan was to take one of the smaller flats in the building for her and the pater, but he opted to return to the old stomping grounds.  Anatole wished to accompany him, and the aged a. was most amenable to a small tour of that sort. In the end, Sir Roderick offered her room in his London house whenever she liked to return and we spent three weeks most enjoyably together in Paris.

The sitch with D’Arcy was a bit more sticky because of the nipper.  Rocky was positively rabid to get back to nature, and Wooster rather wanted the flat for some much needed time wandering about all bare with Jeeves.  The initial experiment, D’Arcy and Rocky taking the nipper for an overnight at a hotel, failed miserably.  The poor mite took one look at the bags and applied a barnacle grip to Wooster.  Jeeves and I went to the hotel for dinner, and the tyke woke up in the night and had to be brought home in a taxi. Poor D’Arcy was positively heartbroken.  D’Arcy had been successful in soothing the little chap back to sleep when Jeeves and I stayed out overnight, but he was having none of going away with D’Arcy and Rocky.

“It’s rummy,” I remarked to Jeeves one night as we were tucking the little man into a new bed Florence had sent from Old Blighty for him as a peace offering. It had apparently once belonged to Wooster pater. “The nipper adores D’Arcy.”

“Not terribly rummy, love,” said Jeeves, nuzzling the pate. “His mother gave him to you.  He likely believes that you are his last connection to his old home.  I know D’Arcy and Rocky are unaware of your habit, but you have been bringing him back to that waiting room.”

I shuffled the feet evasively. “Perhaps we can explain when he’s a bit older.”

“Love,” Jeeves’s voice held a careful edge. “You realize he has a cardiovascular condition?  The doctors are amazed at his health, but he is not likely to be with us permanently.”

“I have been trying not to think about it,” I said.  “Do we bring him to Italy and set up shop with D’Arcy and Rocky?”

“I’d like to give them some time on their own, love.”

And so we did.

 

Jeeves

On his last night in Paris, D’Arcy found me in my study, reading his account of the years they thought I was dead.  It had not yet been published, but Mr. Wooster had given me an advanced copy so that I could see the selections he had chosen from my own writings.  “Thank-you, D’Arcy,” I said.

My friend flushed uncomfortably.  “I would never have, if you had not been…”

“I meant for explaining the quotation to him. It is exactly what I most wished.”

“But,” D’Arcy’s mouth opened and closed twice rapidly. “But that man…”

“He read my diaries, D’Arcy.  I chose the quotation during my illness.  Do you remember the day I asked you to take me into town to give Bertie a rest?”

“You? You ordered the tombstone?”

“Yes, D’Arcy.  And I wrote out the wording of that letter to you as well. It was in among the papers Bertie burned.  I meant every word of it. And thank-you for being so gentle with him.  I know it is not your inclination.”

For a moment he looked like the slow-witted Mr. Cheesewright I first met. “I’m not sure I did that for you, Jeeves,” he said sheepishly. “I gave him back without a whimper, but some things were just for me.”

“I would not have had it otherwise.”

The flat felt very empty without all our friends, but it also felt more like home.  We hugged D’Arcy and Rocky goodbye, and when their taxi disappeared around the corner, Mr. Wooster drew the drapes.  I felt my breath quicken.  “Not in front of the baby, love.”

“Oh, he’s down for his nap, Reg, and he sees us naked in the bath all the time.”

I moved to his side and kissed him. “I’d like to take you in my mouth, love.” His eyes dilated and he began to undo my buttons.

“Let’s do it here,” he whispered.  

“I had thought that the study would be more comfortable…”

“It still smells of that bally violet water.”

I chuckled and took his hand.  We went slowly, kissing and shedding our clothes as we went, and he gasped when he saw what I had done.  The chaise was covered with purple throws.  His pink shorts were on the dresser and my green trousers.  A bucket of champagne sat nearby, and a bowl of strawberries. Too late, I recalled that we had done this that last night before I abandoned him in London. “I haven’t eaten a strawberry since that day, Reg,” he said slowly.  “That whole trip was terrifying, hiding in the flat, knowing I could be scooped up any moment and bunged in chokey, not able to see any of the old pals.”

“Oh, love, I am sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” he said.  “It’s high time strawberries were made a friendly fruit again, if they are fruits.  No, don’t tell me.  Now, let’s get these trousers off you so I can see how beautifully you’re made, heart’s delight.”  Out of habit, he dabbed at my face. “My moonbeam,” he murmured and I felt tears well up in my eyes and spill over.

“How I love you, Reginald Jeeves.”

“And I love you, Bertram Wooster.”

As always in our life together, we knew that business would soon interrupt our lovemaking, but for that hour, we had each other and we knew it was more than enough.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Bertie Wooster: The Post-War Years
• Part 10 of Bertie and Jeeves: International Men of Mystery