Fic: The Matter of the Theatre

TITLE: The Matter of the Theatre
AUTHOR: youofwales
FANDOM: Jeeves and Wooster
PAIRING: Jeeves/Wooster
RATING: The faintest whiff of PG
SUMMARY: Theatrical diversions, an unwanted engagement, a relationship in crisis, and an actor named Buxton Holderley-Smythe.
DISCLAIMER: Jeeves and Wooster don't belong to me. They belong to P.G. Wodehouse. So please don't sue.



Now, touching this matter of the theatre, I am compelled to point out that theatrical productions have given me both extraordinary evenings of pleasure and sleepless nights that fray the nerves. The frayed n. often result from a relative instructing me to keep some young poop or other at a great distance from the theatre, which I am generally unable to do. The most notable instance of this was the occasion on which my cousin Gussie decided to pursue a life on the stage, and my failure to keep him from the lure of vaudeville left me exiled from England for some time, once my aunt Agatha found I had failed in my duties.

There are women who are timid sparrows, and there are women who are fierce dragons; Aunt Agatha stands with her scaly feet firmly planted in the dragon category. The dragons, with Aunt Agatha chief among them, are the sort that make me rather nervous. It is bad enough to see them enraged, but when one is the enraging party, one had better have a second home to go to, which, luckily, I had in America. Still, young Gussie’s career in the theatre influenced Aunt Agatha’s feelings toward me, which had never been entirely beneficent to begin with, in a somewhat dire manner. I can only imagine the sheer volume of excoriating remarks Aunt Agatha must have made about me to friends, relations, and passing wayfarers on the street before she became calm enough for me to return home.

On the other hand, when I am not coaxing family members offstage, I find the theatre a very pleasant place to be, and a dashed entertaining one at that. Observation of a jolly set of misadventures, mistaken identities, and mixed-up loves is just what one needs to lift the spirits and unfurl the sails.

So it came to pass that, the night before I was to heave ho for Brinkley Court, Jeeves and I paid a visit to the theatre. Jeeves selected the bill of fare; it was the least I could do for him after he had talked me out of acquiring an aubergine dinner jacket. Tuppy Glossop had, in fact, purchased the very jacket, and had become the subject of much ridicule upon wearing it to the Drones. Quite a narrow escape, what?

The play, Private Laughter, was a comedy, judging by the reaction of the people sitting around me. It all took place in a drawing room of some kind, with people lazing about in dressing gowns, blowing cigarette smoke at one another.

“Well, Jeeves,” I said, as we left the theatre in a cab, “did you enjoy this evening’s amusement?”

“Very much, thank you, sir,” Jeeves said. “Did you find it entertaining?”

This was going to hurt the poor fellow, but I had to be firm and take a stand. “No, Jeeves, I did not.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir,” Jeeves said.

“To begin with, where were the madcap escapades?” I asked. “Every play worth its salt must have its share of those, but there was nothing even resembling a story in the whole thing. Nobody got mistaken for anybody else. Nobody was a gangster in hiding. Everybody just stood about and insulted one another.”

“The dialogue is meant to be witty, sir,” Jeeves said.

“Well, it wasn’t, Jeeves,” I said. “The dialogue was complete drivel! For example, there was one actor chappie, Buxton Holderley-Smythe, who got a laugh every time he raised an eyebrow and said, ‘Did you really?’ with the appropriate amount of scorn. I mean to say, what is funny about that combination of words? I have used them all my life and never gotten a laugh.”

“Mr Holderley-Smythe is an experienced, accomplished actor, sir,” Jeeves said. “It is my opinion that his was the best performance of the evening.”

“Rot,” I said. “Rot, rubbish, and twaddle. And where were the chorus girls? I did not see one all evening. There was nothing to save the play, not even a memorable song.”

“I believe you will find, sir, that there were no songs at all,” Jeeves said.

“Precisely!” I said. “How can they expect us to be entertained in the slightest degree without throwing in a pleasing melody or two?”

“I hardly know, sir,” Jeeves said.

“Well,” I said, “I’m sorry to put it so plainly, Jeeves, but I am deeply disappointed. I had hoped for greater things from you.”

“I am sorry, sir,” Jeeves said. “Perhaps when we return from Brinkley Court, I could make amends by procuring tickets for an evening performance at the music hall of your choice.”

He knew me all too well. “That will be quite satisfactory, Jeeves. Thank you.”

“Not at all, sir,” Jeeves said with a slight nod.

I glanced at the cabbie, but his attention was focused forward, out the windscreen. Surreptitiously, I reached across the seat and took Jeeves’s hand in mine. He pretended to take no notice, and I glanced out the window at the dark London streets as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

It had been several months since the events at the seaside had begun a new chapter in relations between Jeeves and me, and I felt as if I were still trying to discern the title of the book. I was by nature unrestrained in my displays of affection; I did not believe in disguising my feelings, and in this first flush of love, I should have showered Jeeves with kisses at the slightest provocation.

Jeeves, however, was of a more reserved temperament. Although certain demonstrative acts came more or less naturally to him in the privacy of the flat, he responded with discernible dis-ease to exuberant public gestures.

I had, thus far, only made one such gesture, hurrying to embrace him upon his return from a week-long fishing holiday. He had cleared his throat repeatedly and looked so uncomfortable that I pulled back from the embrace and followed several steps behind him all the way to the car. We never spoke of it.

Still, I was exploring myriad avenues of subtle expression, and when I hit upon one that worked, it was worth any amount of prior embarrassment. I felt Jeeves give my fingers a tiny squeeze, and although I didn’t dare to face him for fear of making him uneasy, I smiled.

The cab returned us to our door without further incident, and soon we were inside, far away from anyone who might wish to bother us.

“I hope you weren’t too disappointed that I did not like the play,” I said, loosening my white tie.

“I surmised within the opening minutes, sir, that it was not your preferred form of theatrical entertainment,” Jeeves said. “However, I do wish to thank you for allowing me to select it.”

“Certainly,” I said. “I told you it was due to the dinner jacket, Jeeves, but that is not the entire truth.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“I was wondering,” I said, “why I should always be the one to have a jolly time while you remain home, washing dishes and darning socks.”

“I am your employee, sir,” Jeeves said.

“Well, quite,” I said, “but you are more to me than that, Jeeves.” I circled my arms round his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder. “We are...well, much more than we were, and I must do for you what I would do for anyone I love.”

“Thank you, sir,” he said, turning to face me, and in those three words, I could hear how awfully pleased he was. The study of Jeeves’s moods and methods of expression could, I think, take the most mentally well-endowed Oxford don the rest of his life, and even he would only be able to make a start in all that time.

“I think I shall entrust myself to bed,” I said, giving Jeeves a quick peck on the cheek. “Are you coming?”

“In a few moments, sir,” Jeeves said, smoothing an unruly lock of my hair.

“All right,” I said, wending my way toward the bedroom. “I shall say goodnight then.”

Jeeves inclined his head slightly. “As you say, sir.”

He has a way of articulating that phrase that makes me quite giddy.

***

We arrived at Brinkley Court in the early afternoon. Aunt Dahlia emerged from the house as I brought the car round.

“What ho, Aunt Dahlia!” I said, getting out of the car.

“Bertie, how do you arrange your visits so that they fall directly on mealtimes?” Aunt Dahlia asked. “Has Jeeves got something to do with it?”

Jeeves raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

“Well?” I said. “Won’t you come and greet your nephew with open arms?” Although I was certainly pleased to have arrived in time for one of Anatol’s famous lunches, I was also pleased to see Aunt Dahlia. A mere meal cannot weaken the bonds of the old f. and b.

“Do try to avoid making an ass of yourself, if you can,” Aunt Dahlia said.

I followed her inside as Jeeves unloaded my things. “I say, Aunt, I rather think…”

“You do?” she said. “If it happens again, Bertie, you must tell me.”

Before I had a chance to ask her what she meant by that, a spritely young woman came down the stairs in a semi-diaphanous dress. In the world of sparrows and dragons, she was strictly sparrow.

“Bertie,” Aunt Dahlia said, “this is Anthea Hogsmeade, a friend of Angela’s. She is also staying with us for the week. Anthea, my nephew, Bertie Wooster.”

“Oh, Mr Wooster, what a pleasure it is,” gushed the young wood nymph, dangling her hand as if it were purely ornamental.

“Yes, hullo,” I said, accepting her hand and then finding I didn’t know what to do with it. I moved it in a vague circular motion and then let it drop, turning to see where Jeeves had got to.

“I’m sure we’ll get along awfully well,” Anthea said.

“Probably,” I said, still distracted.

I have noticed, during my visits to Brinkley, that Aunt Dahlia spends a great deal of time with her eyes uplifted toward the ceiling. I have looked at the ceiling myself, but have never found anything of more than passing interest there. Her absorption in it is a great mystery to me. She was, in fact, looking ceilingward at that very moment.

Luckily, a member of Aunt Dahlia’s household gave the word that luncheon was served, so I was not forced to continue my dashed awkward exchange with Anthea in the front hall. I was instead forced to continue it over a delectable bouillabaisse, which, although still difficult, is infinitely preferable.

“So what do you do, Mr Wooster?” Anthea asked.

“Well, ah,” I said, “I spend quite a bit of time at the Drones…”

“The Drones?” she said with a frown.

“ A London gentleman’s club,” I said. “And I rather enjoy an evening at the…”

“But what of your profession?” she interrupted, widening her already immensely widened eyes.

“I haven’t got one,” I said.

Anthea put a hand to her heart. “A true gentleman! How romantic!”

I paused, soup half-way to mouth. “Is it?”

“Of course!” she said, beaming.

“Oh,” I said, continuing with the ingestion of my soup.

“A true gentleman,” Anthea said, a far-off look in her eyes, “in addition to not needing to work, has a character of the utmost gentilesse and suavity. He has mastered the finely-tuned remark.”

“Mm,” I said, mulling it over.

That meal may stand in history as the only lunch of Anatol’s I ever wished to be considerably compressed in length.

***

After Anthea had imparted all her romantic ideals to me, I sought a quiet afternoon in the comfort of my room.

Jeeves was already there. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Jeeves,” I said, “do not ever tell a young lady you are a gentleman.”

“No, sir,” Jeeves said. “And by these words of advice, may I assume you did not find Miss Hogsmeade a pleasing gustatory companion?”

“You may do more than assume it, Jeeves. You may count upon it as a fact,” said I. I moved behind Jeeves, kissing him at the point where his shoulder meets his neck. “I much prefer your company to hers.”

Jeeves cleared his throat and stepped away from me. “I took the liberty of laying out your evening wear in advance, sir.”

I stared at Jeeves. He had never before rebuffed my advances when the two of us were quite alone. “Jeeves, are you all right?”

“I am in excellent health, sir. Thank you for inquiring.”

“And nothing’s bothering you? You have no current troubles preying upon your mind?”

“No, sir.”

I was hanged if I could understand it. I took a step toward him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Are you sure?”

He twitched his shoulder slightly, just enough to draw it away from my touch. “Yes, sir. Will there be anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you, Jeeves,” I said.

Jeeves nodded and left the room.

I looked at my hand to see if there was some distasteful smeary substance upon it, but there was none. This could mean one thing only—Jeeves did not want me to touch him. But why?

My mind hearkened back to the events of the previous evening. Perhaps Jeeves was becoming disenchanted with me. If I knew I must sometimes appear foolish to him, he must recognize it all the more keenly. Perhaps the play had been a test to see if I was truly as dunderheaded as I appeared to be, and I had stumbled directly into the dunderhead camp. In addition, Jeeves had spoken highly of that Buxton actor chappie.

It was true, then. Jeeves was growing tired of me.

I felt no small sense of despair at this realization. After all, Jeeves was the cove always rescuing me from the soup. Clearly I could not turn to him and ask him how I might re-inspire his fondness for me, as he was an interested party. It was devastating to think that, in a situation in which I was most sorely in need of Jeeves’s counsel, I would almost certainly be unable to procure it. What could I do?

Just then, a ray of light burst forth upon the Wooster brain. Anthea had spoken at great length about what was desirable in a gentleman; surely she would be able to help me regain my former standing in Jeeves’s eyes.

I determined to find her straightaway.

***

Anthea was sitting in the garden, holding a flower daintily to her nose.

“Mr Wooster!” she cried, dropping the flower and moving one hand to her heart. “What a pleasant surprise!”

“I have something to discuss with you,” I said.

Her eyes were so enormous it took her several minutes to blink. “With me?”

“Yes,” I said. “You see, it’s a somewhat delicate matter. Ordinarily I wouldn’t introduce the subject to someone I barely know, but I find necessity compels me to do just that.”

She laid a silken hand on my arm. “You may depend on my discretion.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Er, this is rather difficult. I mean to say, when a person loves someone, he is capable of great change on that someone’s behalf. If the someone is, let us say, unhappy with the person, the person may go to any lengths to gain the someone’s love, if you get my meaning.”

“I think so,” Anthea said, eyes shining.

“The trouble is, the person may not always know what actions to take,” I said. I had feared this conversation, but it seemed to be proceeding rather better than I had expected. “So a person may be in need of guidance.”

“Oh, Mr Wooster,” Anthea said, “you have only to ask.”

I smiled. “Well, then?”

She smiled in return. “Of course I shall marry you.”

“Splendid!” I said. Then it occurred to me that I had not introduced the words “marry you” or “marry me” into the conversation at any point, and I was quite perplexed as to how they had gotten there. “What? No!”

“Oh, darling, I’m sure you’d rather kneel and ask me properly,” Anthea said, “but there is really no need. The first moment I saw you, I knew your heart was kindred to my own.”

“No, but really, it isn’t!” I stammered. “That is to say…what I mean is…now, look here…”

“Bertie, darling, we’re going to be so happy!” Anthea said, embracing me. “I must fly and write a letter to Mama telling her all!”

“Honestly, you mustn’t,” I began, but she was already floating toward the house.

***

I returned to my room in a considerably dispirited state.

Jeeves looked up from ironing my trousers. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“I don’t see what’s so good about it, Jeeves,” I said.

Jeeves looked at me critically. “Indeed, sir?”

“I am engaged to Anthea Hogsmeade,” I said.

“Then I suppose congratulations are in order, sir,” Jeeves said.

Jeeves seemed to show no interest whatsoever in my affairs of the heart or my resulting sickness of the stomach. I had expected news of my engagement to cause Jeeves to leap to my defense, crying, “Dear Bertram, what must I do to remedy this dreadful situation?” At which point I would tell him, he would formulate one of his ingenious plans, and all would come right.

Well, if he was as disinterested as he seemed, perhaps I was well out of my former union with him. Much as it would pain me to sever my closest ties with him, it might be best for both of us. He should be free to pursue someone he truly loved; I owed him that much for all the unwelcome engagements he had broken for me.

“Unless, of course, I can be of assistance in any way,” Jeeves said.

I glanced at him blankly. “Hmm? Oh no, Jeeves. Thank you.”

“Very good, sir,” Jeeves said, returning to his ironing.

I wanted to leap to my feet, confess everything and tell him I’d been a mad, impetuous fool for not coming to him sooner. But I was a Wooster, and we Woosters meet misfortune with courage and resolve. Had Woosters faltered at the battle of Waterloo, I expect Napoleon would have had rather an easy time of it. Though my present circumstances grieved me considerably, I would not fall back on my old softheaded ways. I would find a brave new method of setting everything right.

But if I wished to do that, I suspected that I must eat more fish. One bowl of bouillabaisse hardly seemed enough.

I was on my way to the pantry when it struck me. Perhaps Jeeves was not disinterested in me entirely; perhaps he was merely infatuated with this Buxton fellow. If I behaved more like Buxton, or convinced Jeeves that I was similar in temperament, perhaps I would be back in Jeeves’s favor.

There were two distinct components to this plan. The first was the easier, and that was to be charmingly idle. Buxton had either been in a dressing gown or a dinner jacket through the entire play, and I resolved that I would emulate his behaviour and wear a dressing gown until it was time to dress for dinner.

The second component of the plan was more difficult—I had to be incredibly witty and clever in my language. I could not tell what had made Buxton linguistically clever to begin with, so I was in a bit of a spot. I resolved, however, that I would do my best to mimic his manner of speaking, and hopefully I might pick up some sophistication, even if I were unaware of it.

***

I put my plan in motion the next day, remaining in my dressing gown well into the afternoon.

“Are you feeling unwell, sir?” Jeeves asked with a slight frown when he saw my attire.

“One only calls others unwell when there is something unwell in oneself,” I informed him, feeling highly epigrammatic.

“Sir?”

I blew cigarette smoke at him. “The world sees infirmity in others. I see infirmities in the world.”

“I see, sir,” Jeeves said, moving into the corridor.

My new mode of behaviour did not seem to be producing the desired effect. I followed Jeeves. “I find these visits very wearying, Jeeves. They bore me immensely.”

“Indeed, sir?”

“Hello, Bertie!” Anthea said, brightening as she saw me. I had no inkling what I ought to say to her, so I said nothing.

“Yes,” I said to Jeeves. “And what is boredom, after all, but entertainment for the wrong person?” That was a line from the play, or something like one. I was not quite sure I had got the words right.

Anthea regarded me with a look of great gravity. “That is true.”

“Miss,” Jeeves said, acknowledging Anthea. “If you will excuse me, I believe I left something of mine downstairs.”

I had not yet played my trump card. I raised my eyebrows and infused my voice with as much scorn as I could muster. “Did you really?”

“Yes, sir,” Jeeves said, nodding to me before he turned toward the stairs.

My spirits sank to their lowest mark. I had been sure my use of that phrase would be all that was required to make Jeeves my own, but it did not seem to have made a difference at all.

Anthea was giggling and clinging to my arm. “You really are wonderful, Bertie.”

I stared at her helplessly. “You know, to be wonderful is…is…” I gave up. Jeeves was no longer present to be a witness to my newfound erudition; thus a display of such was inherently useless. “Oh, dash it all.” I pulled away from Anthea and trudged wearily toward my room.

“It will be such a laugh once we’re married, Bertie!” Anthea called after me.

I did not see anything about the situation that inspired laughter.

***

I had changed into my regular clothes by the time Jeeves returned to the room. “Did you find whatever you were looking for, Jeeves?”

Jeeves held up a book in response to my question. “Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t mean to inconvenience you, Jeeves,” I said, “but I find myself in terrible trouble.”

“May I be of some assistance, sir?” Jeeves asked.

“I hope so, Jeeves,” I said. “If you cannot help me, I am lost.”

“Perhaps you might explain your difficulty, sir.”

“This is all new to me,” I said. “I don’t know how to begin.” I stared at my hands. “How do you behave when you love someone and he doesn’t love you?”

“Have you spoken with the party in question, sir?”

“It would do no good.”

“On the contrary, sir, it might do a great deal of good if you are uncertain about the other party’s state of mind.”

“I know the other party’s state of mind, Jeeves,” I said. “The other party considers me an uninteresting dunce. In fact, I think the other party would rather not be near me at all.” My voice grew softer, as it pained me somewhat to say these things. “I’ve tried everything I could, Jeeves. My touch evoked only revulsion. My attempt to approach Miss Hogsmeade for advice led to an unintended engagement. My attempt to mold myself into a shape more pleasing and debonair resulted in coolness from one and renewed adoration from Miss Hogsmeade.” I shook my head. “I cannot marry a woman I do not love.”

“Sir,” Jeeves said, “why did you not tell me?”

I looked up. “I beg your pardon?”

He sat beside me on the bed. “I must admit that I too had pondered whether our understanding was a mistake, sir. I felt I had taken you by the hand and led you astray. By virtue of your great trust in me, you followed, and I could not…” He paused. “I could not escape the possibility that your engagement to Miss Hogsmeade, although painful for me, might be a more socially acceptable and beneficial position for you.”

I was utterly amazed. “Painful? Jeeves, you congratulated me on the arrangement and said no word against it.”

“I did not desire to influence you unduly, sir.”

“And you have no great affection for this Holderley-Smythe?”

“No, sir. Although I admired his performance, that is the extent of the thought I have expended upon that gentleman.”

“Then why,” I said, “were you so cold to me?”

“You will forgive me for saying so, sir, but I find gossip spreads most easily in a country house such as this one,” Jeeves said. “Doors are left unlocked or ajar, and if someone were to discover us…”

“Oh, I say!”

“Precisely, sir. In the interest of allaying your concerns to a degree, I must confess that I wished very much to respond to your loving gestures at that earlier time.”

“Thank you, Jeeves,” I said.

He took my hand. “There are some things you may fear, sir, but you need never fear losing my love.”

That’s the thing about Jeeves. Every once in a while, the outward reserve cracks, and you get a glimpse of what lies beneath. It may not happen often, but when it does, one finds it extremely difficult to wish but for the thing one has.

I returned to reality with a distressing jolt. “But what about Miss Hogsmeade? We are still engaged.”

“I believe,” Jeeves said, “I have a solution, sir.”

“By all means, Jeeves,” said I, “solute away!”

“I suggest that you curtail your visit here and return to London immediately.”

“Return to London,” I said. “Yes. Good. Escape in the dead of night, eh, Jeeves?”

“No, sir,” Jeeves said. “You will be taking Miss Hogsmeade with you.”

I stared at Jeeves. “But I don’t want to take Miss Hogsmeade with me. The entire purpose of flight from Miss Hogsmeade is, in fact, to flee Miss Hogsmeade.”

“Your engagement will be ended shortly, sir, if you procure tickets for yourself and Miss Hogsmeade to see Private Laughter,” Jeeves said.

“It bally well will be off, Jeeves, because if I have to watch that blasted play once more, my brain will liquefy and run out my ears.”

“If you are able to take the risk, sir, I assure you the outcome will prove most satisfactory.”

It only took me a moment’s hesitation to decide to follow Jeeves’s plan. If the plan had been drawn from the brain of any other fellow, I should have thought it complete tripe, but Jeeves has the finest mind of anyone I know. He has gotten me and a good number of my chums out of difficult situations, and when he is firm about a plan, that plan is generally the best thing to do.

“All right, Jeeves,” I said. “I shall comply with your instructions to the letter.”

***

“I simply adore the theatre, Bertie,” Anthea said. “It’s so picturesque. Elegant. Refined. The done thing for anyone even faintly of the noblesse. Don’t you agree? Because I think to be truly of the peerage, one must enjoy theatrical diversions.”

We were seated in a box, waiting for Private Laughter to begin. I had no difficulty maintaining the conversation because I was not required to contribute to it. Some girls prefer monologue to dialogue, and Anthea was one of those. Just then, the lights dimmed and the audience quieted. I steeled myself for what was to come.

Anthea began the evening laughing along with everyone else, but upon the entrance of Buxton Holderley-Smythe, her face took on a look of consternation, which only intensified as the play progressed. When the performance was over, Anthea rose from her seat without a word and left.

I followed her out of doors. “Anthea?”

She turned on me fiercely, or as fiercely as a sparrow can. “Do not speak to me ever again!”

I frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot believe I was so silly,” Anthea said. “I believed you were a true gentleman, Bertie—a cutting, witty soul burdened with the weight of ennui—an original. Tonight, I find you have stolen your entire character from Buxton Holderley-Smythe! Do not try to deny it.”

“I wasn’t going to, actually,” I said.

“You have shown nothing of your true self to me,” she said. “Instead you are content to parade about in the guise of some other man. Anyone who would do that is utterly unsuitable for marriage, and I am sorry to tell you that I must break our engagement this instant.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well, bad luck and all that.”

She gave me a chilly sort of look and departed, never to see me more.

***

“How do you do it, Jeeves?” I asked once I was safely back at the flat. “Anthea Hogsmeade was convinced I was her one true love, and in the space of two hours, she decided never to see me again.”

“I had suspected, sir, that she was most interested in you because you were unlike anyone she knew,” Jeeves said. “If it were pointed out to her that your behaviour was, in fact, highly derivative, she would wish to end your understanding.”

“Well, she has ended it, Jeeves,” I said, raising my glass to toast him. “And thus, everything is resolved suitably.”

“Not everything, sir.”

I frowned. “No?”

Jeeves came toward me, stopping only a few inches away. My body reacts very strongly to Jeeves when he is in close proximity to me, and I promptly broke into a cold sweat.

“I must make amends,” Jeeves said, “for my earlier coolness toward you.”

I had been hoping for a response of this kind. It seemed to end this series of adventures most satisfactorily.

“Right ho, Jeeves,” said I.

THE END