by Nicky Roth
'Oh good grief, what is to become of us all? We will all starve in the hedgerows! Our whole livelihood is at stake...'
She really was a fast thinker, wasn't she? When had it been that her husband had had his accident? Darcy wasn't entirely sure, but it must have been in the spring from all he had gathered. Well, to come to such a realisation within only a couple of months was some achievement. Not.
Seriously, no-one could be that daft, could one? Okay, never mind, it was a rhetorical question.
'Dr Jones, may I have a word with you?' he managed to ask, at last.
The elderly man looked short of retirement, seemed a bit shrewish but in general appeared competent enough.
'Sure, what is it?'
'In private, please? It's a bit delicate...'
Oops, that came out wrong somehow and consequently, everyone now stared at him curiously and in Mrs Bennet's case also with some suspicion.
He would not be surprised if he heard he'd contracted a venereal disease somewhere along the way that was too embarrassing to speak about in polite society.
'Last night I had an accident and I would like for you to have a look at the affected area...'
Right, that hadn't made things any better in the slightest. If anything, Mrs Bennet's curiosity had peaked.
'I took a bit of a fall,' Darcy carried on and at last the interest of the lady of the house was waning.
Good!
'So, my boy, where are you hurt then?' Dr Jones inquired jovially as soon as they had retreated to the dining room to which Jane had shown them.
Wow, what a pretty room, actually. Whatever one might say against Mrs Bennet, it could not be said that she had bad taste in furnishing nor had he ever seen her badly dressed.
Ha, and there were people saying he was overly critical... - Nope, he was very well able to see the good in people. If there was any, that is.
Still, glancing at the polished surface of the lovely Queen Anne dining table his brain immediately conjured up images of him bending over it with his trousers down, while the pragmatic old doctor pulled out the bothering thorns. Seriously, that was slightly disturbing, to say the least. What was worse was the thought that someone might come in. And it was not even an unlikely event if he thought about it a bit more.
Okay, no more thinking for today! It didn't get him anywhere and was bound to disturb his peace of mind.
'As said, I had the misfortune to fall,' Darcy stammered, ' more precisely, I fell bottom first into a rosebush...'
'Prickly little bastards, rosebushes, aren't they?' the man grinned, looking over the rim of his glasses with sparkling blue eyes.
Darcy could not help but chuckle: 'Yes, indeed, but at least it looks worse than I, which is some consolation.'
Admittedly that was not exactly true, the sodding rosebush had already looked worse for wear before he had fallen into it.
'So, I presume your accident left a couple of souvenirs in your buttocks?'
'Yep.'
'Ah, come now, no pretty young lady who would be willing to help you with that, young man? Right, what a stupid question. You wouldn't ask a seasoned country practitioner if there was. Well then, lift your kilt.'
'Pardon? - Oh, of course, the Scottish way of saying “drop your pants”.'
'Exactly!' Dr Jones beamed, while Darcy reluctantly obliged. 'Went there last month for my daughter's wedding, you know? Traditional Scottish, of course, after all, one only marries once in a lifetime, or twice or so...- Anyway, my wife still thinks it was a bad idea to try and attempt to do a handstand, but I swear at the time and after a quarter of a bottle of Whisky it seemed just the thing to do... - Ah, there is one of the little buggers!'
'Ouch!'
'And there is another one and a third. Could you just bend over a little more, please? Oh, and turn yourself towards the window so I can see better?'
The window? No way!
He had taken great care that his privates were well covered by the backrest of one of the chairs should someone dare come in, while his backside was turned towards the fireplace. He would not, under any circumstances, turn a blank bottom towards the window. Neither Mrs Bennet nor her two youngest daughters were to be trusted not to try and sneak a peak of what was going on in their dining room.
'Can't you use one of the candles?'
Why did the doctor look at him weirdly all of a sudden? Oh, okay, open mouth insert foot once more.
'I mean for light, seeing that I haven't got a torch on me and the chandelier is obviously insufficient. I kind of would prefer not to moon towards the window.'
'Only if you promise not to fart, laddy,' Jones answered wagging his finger in reprimand.
'Obviously, since I am not very keen on adding burn blisters to my other injuries.'
'Good, candle it is then. Truth be told, I would not put it past Fanny Bennet either to snoop a bit. She is a bit on the nosey side and she loves to gossip.'
Phew, okay, at last someone who understood him.
'Is everybody this crazy around here?' Darcy could not help asking.
'Yep. It's a requirement to be allowed to move here. Ha, and another one. - You know, thorns in the backside are perfectly normal in comparison to what I am often faced with around here. Only this morning I was called in to resuscitate a budgie. With little success, I might add. That poor creature had started to smell already which is why I think it drew its owner's attention in the first place. And last week I had to free a man's body part from a toaster. I leave it to your own dirty fantasy what part of him was trapped in there aside from his right hand that is. Whatever you come up with, is likely to be correct. - So, I think that's it.'
Oh dear and thank goodness!
'By the way, is Elizabeth alright?'
'Absolutely dandy, actually. Merely knocked out by a dose of Night Nurse, nothing more. No idea why she took it since it is obviously meant to be taken in the evening, but my guess is on that nothing else was in the house. You know, Mrs Bennet likes to take precautions as soon as she sneezes. Anyhow, Lizzy will be back on her feet in no time. A bit of rest and a hot water bottle and lots of tea and all will be well. You know there is little one can do with a cold. One just has to bear with it. And having a temperature isn't such a bad thing either, it means the immune system is doing its job. If the fever is getting too high cold compresses around the calves are the best way to deal with it, but Jane knows that, of course.'
'Just out of curiosity, have you ever tried alternative medicine on Mrs Bennet?'
'Yes, but I haven't told her. And the placebos I gave her for her nervousness work absolutely fine, I am proud to say. At least once she takes them. Sometimes I think she really enjoys to be in a flutter.'
No shit?
Walking back down towards the farm to see what needed to be done, Darcy was surprised to see Kitty and Lydia standing a little forlorn in front of the barn, both wearing wellies, but otherwise dressed in their finest. Either held a pitchfork and shovel in their hands but seemed uncertain as to what to do with them.
'But mum said we're to clean the pigsty...' he heard Kitty say to her younger sister. 'We can't just go into Meryton instead.'
'Yeah, you're right, not in our wellies. But what about those damn pigs? I mean how do we get them out? And how are we to clean the stables with all the shit in there? Do we have to take that out, too?'
Hm, as far as he knew, that was the point of cleaning stables, he might be wrong. What did he know?
'Hi Mr Darcy, do you know how it works with cleaning the stables?' Kitty asked as soon as she spotted him, and he could not help thinking that perhaps she really wasn't so very bad, though perhaps too easily influenced by her youngest sister.
'How's he supposed to know?' Lydia sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes.
'Perhaps because I am a farmer by profession?' he shot back, already regretting having listened to the little angel instead of his buddy Beelzebub.
'You?'
Now both girls gaped at
him open-mouthed.
'What did you think I did for a living?'
Not that he really thought that they had given it any thought at all, but it would be interesting to see what they would come up with.
'Hm, I thought you were some kind of businessman like Charles,' Kitty answered almost immediately while Lydia only shrugged her shoulders as if she couldn't care less.
Well, presumably she couldn't.
'So, what are you two doing here out in the farmyard then? I mean aside from wondering how to clean a pigsty.'
'Oh, mum sent us here. Said now that Lizzy is ill we'll have to do our share. - As if we...' Lydia started but was interrupted by Kitty, who suddenly seemed to recall that in a family there were not only rights for them, but also obligations.
'... as if we'd know what to do. Dad never lets us help. Always says we're too silly and in his way. So honestly, we've no clue what to do. Could you please help us? I mean show us how to?'
'If he's showing us how to...' Lydia started, but again was interrupted.
'... we would be very glad. Seriously Lydia, was it not you who said our family affairs were none of his business?'
'Well...'
Lydia's expression clearly showed that that greatly depended on the situation, meaning whether it suited her or not.
'Now take your bloody pitchfork and get going,' Kitty ushered her on.
'If you are not careful, Kitty, it will be literally a bloody pitchfork!'
'So, I take it neither of you has the foggiest of what needs to be done and how?'
'Nope.'
'Great! Well, but at least you know that it is a pitchfork you are holding, which is something. And you are even holding it the right way down without stabbing your feet, which is also a good start.'
'Are you taking the piss?' Lydia asked indignantly, while Kitty seemed slightly amused.
'Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Two girls growing up on a farm not knowing how to clean a stable is fairly ridiculous, if I may say so. By the way, Lydia, taking out the shit is exactly what it means to clean a stable and since that is so, I would suggest you go and get changed unless what you are wearing is last years fashion.'
'Hey, my shirt is brand new! Cute, isn't it?'
'No. I greatly object to “Hello Kitty” even if the shirt itself is as black as my soul, however, if this abomination is new I suggest you take it off.'
'Pervert!'
Did he imagine it, or did she actually look kind of flattered?
'Not in front of me, you nitwit. Your dad stores some work overalls in the locker over in the milk chamber and I greatly suggest you change into them. There! Without me present!'
'And how do you know there are overalls?' Kitty wondered, and admittedly rightly so.
'I helped your sister the other day, while Bingley was chatting up Jane. By the way, you'll also find work gloves and various baseball caps in there, I recommend you put them on, too, lest you soil your hair. Better be safe than sorry. You know, just in case the shit hits the fan and it flies everywhere.'
'But those clothes will be far too big for us,' Lydia whined in a last attempt to get out of helping all the while looking slightly disappointed that he was obviously so not interested to see her in her undies.
'With that inflated ego of yours I am more worried that they turn out to be too tight,' Darcy pointed out completely unfazed.
Hell, that little chit was really an annoying piece of work.
But nope, he would not let her get away from her duties and perhaps, only maybe, she would start appreciating her older sister and all the hard work she did for them. Okay, probably not. It still would be fun to see her shovelling pigshit with her well-manicured hands and he would definitely not tell them about the mini-tractor.
'Wanker!'
'At least I know what to do with my hands and how to do it to satisfaction.'
Chapter 21:
Rake-Snake
'There, are you happy now? Hell, I look like a complete trollop,' Lydia wailed, though actually, her appearance had somewhat improved.
Okay, the one thing she actually didn't look like was a trollop, though Darcy doubted she actually knew the meaning of that word since for once in her life she was decently covered from head to toe.
Smurf would have been a better comparison as she stumbled around the farmyard in the washed out blue mechanic's overall her light blue wellies with the white fluffy clouds and the rainbow adorning the toecap, all nicely finished off with a white baseball cap... Even her voice seemed to fit her over-all appearance. Shit, what was the name of that whiny smurf again? Ah yes, Grumpy Smurf. Well, if one crossed him with Clumsy Smurf the likely result would be Lydia Bennet as, presumably in an attempt to show him how unsuitable she was for this kind of work, she ambled around the yard as if she were a chicken looking for worms and maggots.
Well, she would find the latter in abundance when mucking out the stables.
Where there were pigs, there was shit, where there was shit, there were flies, and where there were flies, there were maggots...- Ah, he looked forward to seeing her reaction.
The little joys of life were always the best, weren't they?
Kitty fared a little better, for at least she'd had the sense to firmly tuck her trouser legs into her boots and roll up her sleeves.
'Are you not getting changed as well? I mean these are the clothes you wore last night, right?' Kitty asked.
'Nope, the clothes are ruined anyway, so a little dung won't make much of a difference and besides, Bingley has bought a new washing machine.'
Kitty shrugged her shoulders, grinned widely, pitchfork and shovel in hand again and waited for his instructions with surprising eagerness.
Seriously, he started to be fairly impressed with her. If it weren't for her doltish younger sister and her influence, Kitty had the potential to be a nice considerate girl. She almost reminded him of Georgiana - shy, a little lost and sensitive, but also easy to impress and perhaps a bit flaky. In short, an ordinary teenager with an unfortunately very influential hag for a younger sister.
'Shit!' Lydia suddenly cried out, holding her nose, tearing him from his musings.
Ah, the far-famed English rake-snake had struck.
Why people would leave rakes on the ground prongs pointing up, was beyond him, but it was not as if he had not made unexpected contact with a wooden handle himself once in a while.
'My nose is broken,' Lydia sobbed as blood dripped from her beak.
However, it was nothing that a hanky couldn't fix. Unceremoniously he handed her one and then picked up the sneaky bugger of a rake. Rake indeed. How very rakish to assault a lady that way!
'But I can't work like this,' the girl whined on.
'Trust me, you can. Now, be a good girl and take your pitchfork, the piggies are waiting.'
'But what if they draw blood and attack me?'
'You wish. But believe me, they won't. They might be pigs, but they have some pride, you know? Just stuff a bit of tissue up your nostril and you'll be fine.'
Grumbling Lydia did exactly that and fetched her pitchfork, which took her surprisingly long. Actually no, it would have been more surprising if she had not dawdled around in order for him and Kitty to start already, so she would have as little to do as she possibly could get away with.
Ha, he knew exactly what to do about it...
'Kitty, why don't you start with the chicken coop?'
It was less messy and besides currently unoccupied. If he had to make a guess, it would take Kitty twenty minutes tops to clean it. Half an hour with putting in fresh straw and perhaps filling up the drinking trough and feeder.
'Okay. Do you want me to take out the eggs as well?'
'Please.'
And with another nod, off she went in search for a wheelbarrow she could use.
'Does that mean I have to do the pigsty on my own?' Lydia asked, looking gobsmacked.
She had finally arrived back on the scene, presumably sensing that if she
took any longer the end of her stick would get stickier and stickier.
'Yep.'
'And you?'
'Oh, I won't be idling around, if that is what you are worried about. I will get the cowshed ready. Ah, the benefits of a mini-tractor...'
'Wanker!'
'Oh come now, I thought we've already established that I am good with my hands. No need to pay me another compliment. But thank you anyway.'
Angrily huffing, Lydia trotted towards the pigsty, grumbling something along the lines of life being unfair and her being horribly abused and that this kind of work would completely ruin her fingernails, which admittedly were rather impressively long and impractical. But heck, if it meant the polish would flake off, that was a decided bonus. The bright orange she had doused her nails in, looked like it was meant to dye a reflective vest or a traffic cone.
'And now?' sceptically she glanced at the bristly little buggers calmly mucking around in their sty with not a care in the world. 'How do we get them out of there?'
'Simple, you don't.'
'What?!'
'See that rail there? You just get them to one side, then fix it like that,' Darcy explained, taking the rail and attached it to the fastening while at the same time ushering the pigs onto one side.
Heck, in older stables there wasn't even such a partition and one had to make do with the pigs being all over the place while their sty was being cleaned. This was a comparative luxury, really.
'And now?'
'May I introduce - Lydia pitchfork, pitchfork Lydia. Mr Pitchfork could you please aid Miss Lydia in shovelling the shit into the wheelbarrow? Thank you very much!'
'Do you think I am a complete idiot?'
Was that a trick question?
'Not a complete idiot...' Darcy answered carefully, quickly ducking just in time before the first load of manure landed on his face.
Also, a thing he had some experience with.
Okay, then it had been him who had been flying not the shit and unsurprisingly a not unsubstantial amount of alcohol had been involved but somewhere he had heard it was supposed to make smooth skin. It was worth a try and decidedly cheaper than most facial creams, and it didn't smell as horrible as most of them did and on top of that, it was organic, what else could one wish for? Admittedly, the colour didn't go very well with the shirt he was wearing at the time, but the tan had looked more natural than the streaky orange Gloria usually displayed.