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“Hang it all! What has Bertie done with that blasted knife? Seppings, check the bathroom.”
Seppings moved accordingly while Dahlia searched underneath Bertie’s bed and nightstand, cursing her aging knees for their insolence. Alas, her search was unsuccessful on both fronts.
You may be wondering why two respectable people such as Seppings and Mrs. Travers should be ransacking the guest room of the latter’s nephew. The answer was a simple one. You see, Dahlia had tasked her beloved blighter of a nephew with pinching a silver butter knife with a handle in the shape of some sort of fanciful bird from the room of Sir Watkyn Basset, a fellow silver connoisseur, who was trying to sell it to Tom, her beloved blighter of a husband, for almost two times more than it was worth. It was fraud of the highest order, but never mind the money when it comes to silver at Brinkley Court; if Tom got it into his mind to have the butter knife, then have it he would.
Dahlia had presented Bertie with the perfect opportunity for pinching the article, so as to at least hold off any exchange of money for a time, and his absence made it appear that he had succeeded in his mission, likely with the help of his man, Jeeves, the only brain in the two-man operation.
Although Bertie had done his job swimmingly, he did not have the time to pass the item along to Dahlia, as she was too busy keeping the hounds at bay between Tom and Sir Watkyn in regards to discussions of silver and money and other such non-necessities. The butter knife was most definitely somewhere in his room. Now if she could only find the blasted thing, the whole deal might be off, and the profit could find its way into funding the next volume of Milady’s Boudoir instead of lining Sir Watkyn’s already tumescent pockets.
“No luck in the bathroom, I’m afraid, madam,” Seppings reported, stepping back into the main bedroom.
“Let’s try the chest of drawers next. Leave no stone or underclothes unturned!”
Normally her nephew was more than happy to aid and abet her in criminal matters, as long as they were reasonable misdemeanors rather than anything too illegal, but this occasion showed a marked difference in young Bertie’s attitude. He was willing to assist, of course, but there was none of the vim or vigour about him that he so prided himself on, owing to the ‘Wooster spirit’. His success in procuring the silver knife did seemingly nothing to improve his mood, much to her surprise. However, until she had it in her possession Dahlia could do nothing about the sorry state of her nephew. Together, she and Seppings rifled thoroughly through each drawer filled with, well, drawers, and still the knife remained unlocated.
Suddenly Seppings appeared to have a stroke— not the kind that usually precedes hospital visits, but one of inspiration. “Excuse me, madam, but we might try searching the second wardrobe. I have the key here.”
“Excellent thinking! Lead on, man.”
“Thank you, madam.”
There was a second, unused wardrobe in the corner of the room, left there mainly to rot as time passed by and Dahlia continuously forgot to order it out of the house. It was the perfect place for hiding something for a long period of time. She moved to give the butler access to the old thing.
Unlocking and opening the wardrobe door, Seppings and Dahlia looked in at the empty space. Hang it all! The knife was nowhere to be found. There was a limited amount of time before Sir Watkyn would propose his outrageous price which Tom would annoyingly accept; the thing needed to be kept safely out of the way, now.
In a moment of hopelessness, Dahlia sighed heavily and lowered her head. Her heavy sigh of discontent was immediately followed by a shout of joy, as she got hold of the sight of a small, silver bird’s head poking out from underneath the wardrobe. Dahlia bent to grab it, cursing her aching joints a second time, and presented it to Seppings as if it were the lost city of Atlantis and not a tiny piece of metal with a peacock’s head on the end.
“Seppings,” Dahlia smiled proudly, “we are saved from ruin once again.”
He returned a small grin of his own. “Indeed, madam.”
However, no sooner was the knife picked up and ensconced away in Seppings’ waistcoat pocket when footsteps, quick and heavy, drew nearer to the bedroom.
“Madam!” Seppings whispered urgently.
Unsure of who the interloper could be and unwilling to take the risk that it was Sir Watkyn looking for either his prize or for revenge, Dahlia searched the room and, when nothing reasonable popped into her mind, decided that the empty wardrobe might fit the two of them for a short while.
“In the wardrobe, quickly!” The two of them politely scrambled inside, Seppings offering a hand to Dahlia for balance. Not a moment after the two were safely tucked away, the bedroom door opened and two men walked in. Through the thin sliver between the wardrobe doors, Dahlia and Seppings could barely make out the profiles of Bertie and Jeeves, the former taking off his outerwear and the latter reaching into the newer, clothing-occupied wardrobe to retrieve proper dinner attire.
“We’ll need to put on the togs quickly if we’re to make it to dinner,” said Bertie, still with that sort of glum tone staining his normally cheery disposition. His voice was slightly muffled due to the thick wood separating the two parties, but Dahlia could still hear the thing in her nephew’s voice. “There’s not much time before the old Basset-hound and Uncle Tom try to seal the d. over Anatole’s best.”
Oh, bless you Bertie! Thought Dahlia. You’re a loyal little blighter, no matter what else anyone says.
“Indeed, sir,” came the stiff reply from Jeeves.
“Oh, there’s that icy tone I hate to hear. I’m terribly sorry about this whole affair, old thing. It’s just that the aged relation made it sound like a truly dire emergency.”
Dahlia took silent offense to this statement. Never mind what she said about loyalty, now. This absolutely qualified as an emergency, as anything involving Tom’s silver collection and extortionist amounts of money was high up on her list of priorities. Young people nowadays could hardly be expected to understand, but she still resented hearing it out of the mouth of her nephew. Besides, why should Bertie apologise? He had no life to plan around, no wife or children to see to. If she needed someone to come around and pinch butter knives, he could very well drop whatever idle nonsense he was up to in London and assist a dear relation in doing so.
Jeeves let out a small puff of air, not even enough to be called a true sigh. “There is nothing to apologise for, sir. However, next time we might plan to be out of the country a few days before our actual plans for the week, in order to avoid similar hindrances in the future.”
“Next time, dearest, I shall have the phone lines disconnected and we will go shrimping in the old ‘terranean Sea for two whole weeks. You know how to man a ship?”
Dahlia felt her brain being disconnected and rewired, as if a telephone operator were pulling out plugs and inserting them into new ports of her grey matter. Had she heard correctly? Dearest? Was that term of endearment directed at…Jeeves? And what was all this making plans and ‘we’? Bertie hated sailing, and now he was making plans to go shrimping… just for his valet? What in the world was happening right now? Truly, she was more confused and shocked than anything else— certainly not scandalized or angry.
Dahlia continued to listen, not even bothering with the implications of eavesdropping, as her mind adjusted to the sight of this new side of Bertram, one who calls his personal gentlemen ‘dearest’ and plans a holiday for someone other than himself.
“Indeed, sir, I do know how to handle the services a ship requires. However, I believe that for our purposes a smaller boat, rather than an entire ship, would be necessary. And, sir, I must remind you again to refrain from any endearments while outside the safety of the flat.”
“Right, right. Terribly sorry, Jeeves. You know best, what? It’s only… You know how I…” Bertie trailed off with tight lips, but Jeeves evidently knew what sentiments he meant to express.
“I know, sir.”
Jeeves assisted Bertie into his dinner jacket, flattening down the sides and reaching down to button one of the holes. Bertie stepped back and held his arms out, turning around and back again to show off his ensemble.
“Well, Jeeves, how does the young master look?”
“If you elected for the pinstripe tonight in an attempt to arouse imprudent thoughts… sir…”
Dahlia quickly grew uncomfortable. If things were about to escalate into more heated matters, then, propriety be damned, she would open these doors and dash out of here. Luckily, no such indecency would be required. Bertie waved away his man’s statement, saying, “You’re the one who’s gung-ho’ing on propriety. Bring your cheek here, old man.”
“Sir—“
“You said no endearments, nothing about displays of affection. I cannot even give my dear a smallish peck?”
“If endearments are prohibited one would understand that all elements of closeness, romantic or otherwise, are also summarily banned.”
“Alright then,” Bertie said in his own version of an icy tone.
A moment of silence breezed through the room as they both kept their back to one another. After a long moment, Jeeves whispered, “…Bertram.” Bertie turned at the sound of his name, and Dahlia watched as her nephew's face was cupped by large, valet hands and kissed tenderly. After a long moment, they parted, Bertie resting his forehead against Jeeves’.
“I don’t suppose you could find a way to hang about in my room tonight?” Bertie sighed.
“That would be extremely inadvisable, sir.”
“But what if I need help with a quick b and s. or other somesuch?”
“In that case, sir, I might be able to assist you… but only for an hour.”
“Jolly good.”
Jeeves brought his hand up to raise Bertie’s face to his, so they could look one another in the eye. “Happy anniversary, dearest.”
“Well, well! Breaking all propriety, are we? I love you too, old man. Here’s to another four years, and another forty, and beyond.”
“And to a week of fine fishing next year, as promised.”
“Oh Lord, I did agree to that, what?” Bertie chuckled. “Ah, well, whatever makes you happy.”
“Sir, I thought we had discussed your tendency to do as others want instead of what you desire.”
“Yes, Jeeves, but it’s a different game of cricket when it’s for you.”
“Why is that, sir?”
“I’ve just told you, haven’t I?”
Suddenly the gong rang, signaling dinner and a culinary experience which would border on the erotic, if Anatole had any say about it. Bertie ran his hand along Jeeves’ jacket in a short caress, and left for the dining room. Half a minute later Jeeves followed, presumably to the kitchen to help serve.
The second the room was empty once again, Seppings opened the wardrobe doors and the two nearly fell out into the open air.
Dahlia, for her part, was ruminating on what she had heard. On the one hand, she knew the Code of the Woosters would not deign it preux to instigate an affair with a direct subordinate, someone beholden to one for their livelihood and security. However, what she has witnessed moments ago was not some sort of illicit single-night bawdiness like one might read in magazines no proper lady should own (but Dahlia might have perused, once upon a time). Bertie and Jeeves seemed like, well, they seemed to be engaged in an understanding not so different from what she and Tom had shared for more than thirty years.
Bertie loved rowing but absolutely despised boating; Dahlia knew this to be true. And yet he promised to go sailing— shrimping, even!— for two weeks, all because the man he loved, loved it. In the end, it all comes down to that. After all, why all this trouble with Sir Watkyn and the blasted silver butter knife? It was not just the money for Milady’s that spurred her into action; the core of the matter was that she simply did not the man she loved to be swindled. She wanted him to be happy, that was all. As for her nephew and his fellow, Jeeves had delivered her nephew from the jaws of perdition, or the court bench, dozens of times. He had secured Bertie’s happiness and safety. In her mind, Jeeves had proven himself worthy even before Dahlia was made aware of the nature of their relationship.
Sudden troubling thoughts clouded overhead as Dahlia realised that Seppings was not only still present but also had been silent the entire time since bursting free of their confinement. Notions of blackmail came to the forefront of her mind, and she was just about to offer a substantial raise in Seppings’ salary in order to keep her family safe when the butler himself beat her to the punch.
“Madam, if I may be so bold as to say… that is, you seem quite shocked by what was seen.” Of all the things Dahlia thought he would say, that was not one of them. Of course she had been shocked! Why would she not be? This was a new development, sprung on the two of them in a moment—
Hold on. She was startled, but Seppings’ face presented nothing in the way of surprise, and his tone was mollifying where Dahlia expected more sinister elements.
Oh, good heavens. Seppings knew already!
“Seppings! You knew already?”
Seppings at least had the wherewithal to look bashful. “I confess I did, madam. But I must admit, I was made aware under circumstances which you could not have been part of.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You have never been subjected to a nightly rounds check with Mr. Jeeves, madam, wherein he discusses at length the ‘startling gentleness’ and ‘great depth of kindness’ Master Bertram possesses. It was no great stretch of the imagination to reach the correct conclusion after an hour of this sort of talk.”
“Good Lord, Seppings. I’m sorry if you found the conversation too much for you to handle.”
“Not at all, madam. I’m terribly happy to know that Master Bertram has someone to care for him, and someone he in turn can bestow his ‘unwavering heart’ on, as well. If it’s scandal you are worried about, madam, it will never come from me, I promise you. The young master is very dear to me and the rest of the older staff at Brinkley, you know.”
Dahlia looked at him for a short moment, looking for any signs of mendacity or double-handedness. Of course, she found nothing in the man’s face but genuine kindness.
Putting on her best air of dominance, Dahlia said firmly, “Seppings, I don’t care what you’ll say. I am giving you a raise, and that’s final.”
“Very good, madam.”
The two left the bedroom and attended to their respective duties in the household.
Dahlia managed all through dinner to thwart Sir Watkyn’s attempts at extorting money out of her Tommy as well as draw attention away from the fact that the item in question was, in fact, missing from the Basset’s luggage. Sir Watkyn left the next morning none the wiser, and all was right with the world and the silver cabinet.
Well, almost everything.
—————————
Ten months after the ‘Peacock Butter Knife Fiasco’ as it might be dubbed one day, likely after Sir Watkyn Basset is too dead to be angry about the whole sitch re: pinching from his valise, the Wooster residence received a phone call from Brinkley Court.
Jeeves, of course, took the call, and spoke to Aunt Dahlia for approx. two minutes, merely replying ‘hm’s and ‘mhm’s and a final “Very good, madam,” before hanging up with a small, essentially nonexistent, smirk.
“A call from Brinkley Court, sir,” Jeeves relayed to Bertie, currently still abed, finishing up his b. and e.s. “Mrs. Travers as just informed me of plans for the end of the following month.”
Bertie dropped his fork, a bit of b. still pierced upon it, as angrily as he could at such an early hour of ten ack emma. “Absolutely not! I’ll not have it, Jeeves. The aged relation knows we cannot— dash it, she knows it’s our fifth anniversary, and I refuse to let—“
“Sir,” Jeeves interrupted. “She has just informed me that at the end of the next month we are free to use the Nautilus for as long as we would like, granted I do enough shrimping to last me the rest of the year. Mrs. Travers has also informed me that a new typewriter will be sent to the vessel, if you would like to continue working on your draft while I see to pursuing my fill of fishing. That is, if you are amenable to the idea, sir.”
Bertie’s face lit up like Christmas Eve in New York City. He rose from his cocoon and, throwing his arms around Jeeves’ wide shoulders, kissed him soundly.
“Well, well! Tally-ho, Captain Jeeves!”