Chapter Text
It was owing to an unfortunate misunderstanding involving Aunt Agatha, Aunt Agatha's new housemaid and Tuppy Glossop that Jeeves and I ended up in the South Tirol. London, and in fact the whole of England, remained out-of-bounds for old Bertram for the remainder of the year. The decision of where to hide was a difficult one. The unfortunate m. had far-reaching consequences, after which I was the topic of conversation in many club and private sitting room. Normally the Wooster name and the memory of my long and courageous lineage would have enabled me to brave such chatter, but when it emerged that my own family and my dearest friends at Eton and Oxford were the main perpetrators, playing a large part in the efforts to blacken my name, I am not ashamed to say that I rather lost my nerve. All of my usual hideouts were occupied by these traitors - New York, Paris, Monte Carlo. Not wishing to meet any of these miscreants, whose treachery left me confounded, Jeeves and I set to thinking.
"Any ideas yet, Jeeves?" I asked the good fellow, as he brought my morning eggs and b.
"I fear not, sir."
"Horrid thing, gossip," I sighed.
"Yes sir. 'Foul whisp'rings are abroad', sir."
"I say, Jeeves. Well put! Your own?"
"No, sir. The Bard of Avon, sir."
"Ah!" I said, fortifying myself with a sip of coffee. "Old Burns again, eh? You're rather fond of the poet Burns, Jeeves. Old friend?"
"Forgive me, sir, for venturing to correct you, but…"
At that point, the doorbell rang and Jeeves oozed out. I used the opportunity of some silence to push some bacon into the Wooster face while pondering on my current predicament.
"A telegram, sir."
I jumped. Jeeves has perfected the art of entering a room silently and while years of his loyal service has accustomed me to his ways, when I am lost in thought, he frequently manages to startle me greatly. On this occasion, the coffee pot had come a cropper and valuable moments were wasting in attempts to clear it up.
"Oh never mind that, Jeeves," I said at last. "Read the bally telegram."
Jeeves gave a pained look at the rapidly spreading stain on the cloth, but as usual, the feudal spirit saved the day.
"Very good, sir. It says 'Regret shocking behaviour of former classmates. Join me in Austria. Escape for you, also require assistance. Regards. JRP Hunter.'"
"I say, Jeeves!"
"Yes, sir."
"What does this mean, Jeeves?"
"Well sir, on interpreting the communication, I imagine that a person named JRP Hunter regrets your former classmates' shocking behaviour. He invites you to join him in Austria, in order to escape. He also requires your assistance. He sends his regards and signs off."
"Ah. You think so, Jeeves?"
"Yes, sir."
I mused for a while. It seemed the man was right.
"And this Hunter chap. Who is he, I wonder?"
"I really couldn't say, sir. Shall we leave out your brown tweed, sir?"
"Oh, yes, yes. Whatever you think, Jeeves."
Pulling on the Wooster socks, I had a revelation. An… oh, what's the word? I seem to recall Jeeves use it - begins with e… an epiphany, if you will.
"Jeeves!"
"Sir?"
"Old Foxy!"
"I fear I don't understand, sir."
I shook my head despairingly. The man was losing his touch. A few sardines should set him right. I made a mental note to send him out for some tins before our departure.
"The telegram! Foxy Hunter. He was an old classmate of mine in Eton. I think we shall leave for Austria, Jeeves."
"I could hardly advise it, sir."
"Oh? And why not, Jeeves?"
"The end of the summer is fast approaching, sir, and we are not accustomed to the Austrian winter. It is 'unsparing as the scourge of war', I have heard, sir."
"Oh nonsense, Jeeves. We shall leave tomorrow."