by Nicky Roth
'Ah, you should manage that while at Rosings, I am sure of it. Oh no, the dragon is just rounding the corner... I need to hang up, it's time for tea. See you soon?'
'Very soon, sis.'
Right, that was sorted. At least kind of.
Now, perhaps he should call Elizabeth. His heart pounded at the thought of hearing her voice again. How was it possible that he already missed her? Fool in love indeed!
Dialling her number he was quite disappointed when all he got was her mailbox. Okay, he would try again later.
Chapter 30:
Back to normality? - Yeah, right!
It was well past four when at last Darcy turned into Pemberley's stable yard.
Though the motorway had eventually cleared and he had made some headway after leaving the Suckers to their fate, he then had gotten stuck behind a tractor. Needless to say that there was not the slightest chance to overtake that thing, especially not with a horsebox in tow. And also needless to say that it was one of his own damn tractors he got stuck behind, all the way from Bakewell to Pemberley.
'Oh, hello Darcy, I didn't expect you today,' Mrs Younge greeted him with some surprise, wiping her soiled hands on the bottom of her equally dirty T-shirt.
Well, what did one expect from a woman who'd just stepped out of the workshop where she's been doing some maintenance to have a quick fag?
'Truth be told, I didn't think I would make it here today, Jen. It basically took me forever. How are things going?'
'Same old, same old, Darcy. Thank goodness. There is nothing like a nice bit of boring routine, is there?'
Yep, boring routine sounded just fine to him.
'Do you need a hand with the horses?' she nodded in the direction of the trailer.
'No, I'll be fine. After sitting for hours on end, I actually look forward to a little bit of exercise. Traffic has been rough almost all the way.'
'Isn't it always?' Jennifer Younge shrugged, lighting her cigarette. 'Oh, Jack is here with the sheep.'
She pointed at the tractor and trailer that was now ambling along one of the pathways towards the steeper hills of his property.
Well, his stock needed some fresh blood, so at least the delay had been of some purpose. In the last year, his ram had gotten a bit lazy, to say it politely. To say it less politely, he was in need of a blue pill or two.
'I take it Baker sold his Cotswold herd then?'
'Yes, John has been back and forth to Bakewell all day long.'
'Good.'
Unloading the horses he led them onto one of the paddocks a little way off, then made his way to the tack room to get changed into his riding breeches and boots. That was better!
To saddle the stallion was tricky, as he was so nervous after the long drive that it was almost pointless trying to catch him again and put a saddle on his back, but once he had ridden his mare for half an hour, the beast had finally calmed down enough to be ridden. Ah, bliss! If he could, he would go everywhere on horseback. Or at least almost everywhere.
It was beginning to get dark when he finally walked towards the house, using the old servants' entrance that led straight into the boot room.
Other than Mrs Younge, Mrs Reynolds didn't seem the least surprised to see him step into the kitchen in his socks. Okay, she's had considerably more time to get used to his antics.
Mrs Reynolds had known him since he'd been a little boy and it showed. She also was the only one of his employees he wasn't on first name terms with for fear of offending her.
'Good evening, Sir,' she greeted him calmly as if she had expected him all along.
'Good evening, Mrs Reynolds, how are you?'
'Fine, thank you, Sir. Did you have a pleasant drive?'
'It was long, other than that, it was...'
Right, what was it? It had most certainly not been pleasant, save for his chat with Georgiana. - Oh, he should try and call Elizabeth again before it got too late.
He had tried twice again, after his first attempt, but all he ever got was her mailbox. By now he was concerned, if he was honest, and yet, she'd never been a person to play around with her phone, so perhaps she had just forgotten to charge it, or left it in the car or something. Not that that had never happened to him. And he most certainly hadn't missed the damn thing. So...
Mailbox. Again!
'Sorry, Mrs Reynolds, I have just been trying to get hold of a friend all day long. So, yes, the drive was fairly pleasant. Do you know whether there are many bookings at the hotel at the moment?'
'Not that I am aware of, Sir. The holidays are over and the weather is starting to turn. I am surprised that it has been fairly dry this far. We only had one day of rain since you left.'
'Well, it's not yet October. By the way, my sister will move back to Pemberley within the next week or two.'
'Oh!?'
Ha, after all these years he had managed to surprise his old housekeeper for once! That was some achievement not to be underestimated.
After a delicious dinner of bangers and mash with a smothering amount of onion gravy (shit, his aunt would suffer a heart attack if she ever found that one out, the 'master' of Pemberley eating bangers and mash with a fart-assuring amount of onion gravy!) he made his way upstairs to his rooms, took a shower and sank into bed.
He was knackered and yet, while his body was all too happy to doze off, his mind wasn't.
Should he try and call Elizabeth again?
Would she agree to come with him to Kent?
Would he make a complete fool of himself?
At last his exhaustion got the better of him and it also helped a lot that he was back in his own bed, in his own room, with all the familiar smells and noises that spread through an old house such as Pemberley, with its creaking floorboards, the branches of the nearby trees scraping against the walls and window panes and the occasional owl hooting somewhere nearby as it hunted for mice and other small unfortunate creatures that crossed its path. In short, he was home! Back to normality.
He had just sat down for breakfast in the kitchen after a wonderfully peaceful night when Peter stepped in looking cross. Peter was one of the duty managers of his hotel and normally almost as cheerful and bubbly as Charles Bingley. Okay, to top Charles' cheerfulness was difficult, but Peter got close. Very close. That he looked none too happy now, said a lot.
'Morning,' the young man grumbled, plunking down on one of the chairs. 'Sorry to bother you Darcy, but I am afraid we've had a couple of complaints...'
Darcy pushed a cup of tea over to the exasperated looking chap.
'Thanks, boss. - It's a couple that arrived late yesterday and they would like to talk to you about the cock that has woken them at such an ungodly hour, the lack of a hot water tap, the size of the room, the fact that we don't serve hot dinner after ten, the state of the roads leading to here and that there was a hell lot of traffic on the motorway apparently. Then there is the smell of sheep and the distance to the main house - oh, and that according to them, they were led to believe that the hotel was actually inside Pemberley House, not a separate building on the other side of the park...'
Ah, the Suckers had made it to Pemberley after all. Fuck!
'Wouldn't it be easier to just enumerate the things they didn't complain about?' Darcy couldn't help wondering.
'Presumably, but then there would be nothing left to say.'
Okay, good point.
'At any rate, they would like to speak to the owner, not some or other manager, such as I.'
'I feared as much. I'll be over in a sec.'
'Cheers. Rather you than me.'
'I just step into my battle gear, shall I?'
He hardly ever wore a suit. It was plain silly to do so when mainly working on the farm and around animals.
Mr Bennet was right there, nowadays a gentleman could not just lean back and have others do the work. - Not that that would have been his inclination anyway.
However, today nothing but a suit would do. Preferably a suit of armour
, but knowing the Suckers they most certainly would complain about the clanking noise as he moved around.
Right, quick shower, just in case, clean shave including aftershave even though it burnt his skin, half a can of deodorant to keep his opponents at a distance without them having cause to complain about lack of hygiene, crisp white shirt, grey suit - oh and his favourite green tie. Looking into the mirror Darcy thought he looked more like a cheerfully dressed undertaker than the proprietor of a hotel, but hey, one never knew when meeting the Suckers. They had a tendency to make whomever they met, think of throttling them, after all. Besides, he had made it in record time. Which meant he had enough time to try and reach Elizabeth again on his way over to the hotel.
Again, no answer, only her mailbox. Damn!
'...almost an hour now!' he heard Richard Sucker's voice as soon as he had opened the door. 'I see his Lordship is above talking to the people who finance his lavish lifestyle...'
Poor Peter was obviously just about to point out that first he had to go over to Pemberley House, to speak to his boss, then come back and inform them that Mr Darcy would be there in a couple of minutes and that hardly a quarter of an hour had passed since his own return.
With a smile as wide and as false as that of the Cheshire cat, Darcy stepped through the glass door and into the lobby, a lobby that looked almost like a miniature of the entrance of the actual manor house.
'Good morning,' he beamed, reaching out his hand. 'I am afraid I am not a Lord only a plain Mister, Mr Sucker, and I always have an ear for my guests whether it be complaints, suggestions or compliments.'
'Compliments? For this hovel? We were led to believe that the hotel was inside the main house, Sir.'
It was pretty clear that Sucker didn't recognise him. His wife did, however, and she looked increasingly uncomfortable as the corners of her mouth went down another notch.
'That is unfortunate. May I ask where you got that information from? I can assure you that it is perfectly false.'
'It is right here on the leaflet!'
Eh, that was news to him...
'See, there is the image of the house right at the front.'
It was a leaflet for Pemberley House, that much was true, informing visitors about the guided tours, opening times and entry fees.
Knowing Sucker, there was little use in pointing out as much.
'And also, the rooms are incredibly large and airy, and then there is the fact that there aren't any hot water taps,' Mr Sucker continued while his wife sat quietly next to him in discomfort.
'I could assign you to another room that is more to your liking, if you'd like. We have smaller ones and also suites that are less airy. And as for the hot water tap, we are using mixer taps throughout the hotel. They are more energy efficient, you see?'
'Energy efficient? What about tradition? Oh, and then there is that cock that starts crowing at the crack of dawn.'
'I am afraid that that is what they do, Mr Sucker. I will try and reason with it, but I fear it likes to cling on to the old tradition of rousing the people as soon as the sun is up,' Darcy joked, even though he knew that it would cost him dearly.
And sure enough!
'Are you mocking me?' his opponent flared up, almost jumping out of his seat.
'No, Mr Sucker. But this is a country hotel and resort and I am afraid that farm animals are part of the package. It is what appeals to people to come here, actually.'
'Ah yes, farm animals... - The smell of the sheep is disgusting and all through the night there has been an owl sitting right in front of our window.'
'I am sorry about that, but there now is really something I can't do anything about.'
'What about starving your customers to death?'
'I presume you refer to the fact that our kitchen closes at half-past nine?'
'We had to make do with pumpkin soup and sandwiches, even though we booked an all-inclusive stay, Mr Darcy. I demand a refund and a reduction! This place is by no means up to standard. No fire in the grate, the room was freezing, the beds too soft, the reading lamp was too dim, the drinks from the mini-bar were too cold, there was no ashtray in our room and the toilet seat was up when we arrived.'
Argh... - How about the windows being too see-through and the water being too wet?
'I think I'll come up with you and you can show me all that is wrong and then we'll see to it. Also, my offer still stands to assign you another room or one of our suites without any additional cost, of course.'
Would it help to mention that one of the lesser-known attractions of the park was an ancient oak tree locally known as the hanging tree? Public executions hadn't been performed for a good while now, but after all, Mr Sucker seemed to quite like old traditions...
After another hour, the Suckers' luggage was moved to the small suite on the other side of the hotel. There was little need mentioning that there had been nothing wrong with the room at all, and they had gotten exactly what they had booked, but when in doubt, the customer was right no matter how wrong he was.
There was central heating that could be adjusted by the customers to their exact liking, though should a customer ask for it, the fire in the grate would be lit, of course. The beds were as normal as any beds in any given hotel, the mini-bar had the average temperature of 8 °C, which was actually rather warm, it was a non-smoking room, so of course there had been no ashtray, aside from the fact that neither of the Suckers smoked anyway, and naturally the toilet seat had been up to show that it had been cleaned. As for the reading light, it had a dimmer and a simple turn of the light switch would have done wonders. Magic!
What was worst was, that it had taken all frickin' morning to sort those idiots out. Okay, that idiot. For when he had left to return to Pemberley House and prepare to take over one of the guided tours that afternoon, Mrs Sucker had intercepted him.
'I'm so sorry, for all the trouble we've caused. You know, ever since my husband retired from work he's been a bit naggy. I appreciate your patience, Mr Darcy, and your kindness in trying to help us yesterday.'
'No problem,' was all Darcy managed to stammer at that.
Who would have thought?
Right, on to more important matters. - Calling Elizabeth and then bracing himself for another onslaught of sheer stupidity after a cup of tea and right after he had seen to the stables to check if everything was in order.
Again it was only her mailbox answering. WTF? Was she avoiding him? He almost started to feel like a stalker by calling her every other hour or so. He would stop after his twentieth attempt. If she didn't want to speak to him, fine. But seriously, had he really misjudged her so? At least he had thought they were friends.
The group was a large one as it piled through the large entranceway of Pemberley. As usual, the women looked eagerly about them, while the men appeared bored out of their minds and the children whined querulously. Thank goodness there were only five of them today - two dim looking teenage girls, a disinterested boy of about twelve with headphones covering his ears, a baby that was peacefully sleeping in its mother's arms and a girl of about five or six that eagerly looked at her surroundings.
'Welcome to Pemberley House. My name is William and I am your guide for today. I will ask you not to touch anything, and whenever you have questions, feel free to address me and I will try and answer them. - So, the house was built by Sir Geoffrey Howard, a leading architect of the late seventeenth century. It was built between the years 1655 to 1658 by Fitzwilliam Darcy and has been in the Darcy-Family ever since. The current house replaced a much older building that was originally a moated manor house, which again replaced a motte and bailey castle, the remnants of which are still visible up the hill to the left and which was built to control the surrounding area. It has never had any military significance, I might add. - The lake out front is part of the original moat of the manor house, fed by the river that passes through the valley. Later on, it was widened and incorporated in the landscape gardens we see today as were the castle r
uins...'
'What happened to the old house?' the girl's little voice piped up, much to her mother's annoyance.
Indeed, the mother didn't appear to be very eager to be here at all.
'It burnt down partially in 1649 during a raid of Cromwell's troops and was eventually demolished,' Darcy answered with a smile.
'Do you have a picture?'
'Indeed I have. It hangs right here above the fireplace.'
The girl craned up her neck and then said with some disappointment: 'I can't really see it.'
Without much ado, Darcy lifted the child onto his shoulders.
'Better?'
'Much.'
'Is the house still lived in?' a young and arrogant looking woman asked, pushing a pile of chewing gum around in her mouth.
'It is. It is still home to the Darcys.'
'Do they have a son?'
There was little guesswork needed as to the purpose of these questions. It was one of the reasons why he never gave his surname when doing the last tour on a Sunday afternoon so Sarah could go home early.
'The present Mr Darcy is unmarried and childless.'
'Oh? And how old is the present Mr Darcy?'
Well done, Darcy... Open mouth, insert foot. He was not a good liar. But he had to try.
'In his early sixties.'
There, that should do!
'Oh, still so young?'
WHAT? NO!
'He's old!' the girl still sitting on his shoulders protested. 'Can we look at the rest of the house now?'
Bless her! That kid was a life-saver.
They had not gone five meters when: 'William, I need to go to the loo...'
Okay, perhaps not.
Where the heck was her mother? Bloody brilliant, he'd lost her somehow. However, that was possible. Right, the child looked old enough to manage on her own, she probably even went to school already. Thank goodness! It was not that he wouldn't have known what to do, after all, he had a little sister, but seriously, it would have been inappropriate, to say the least.
'Please excuse me, we have a wee emergency. You are welcome to sit down while waiting unless someone else needs to go potty.'