by Nicky Roth
Oh...? - Did that mean she was supposed to sleep in her own bedroom or what? Help!
Help came when Darcy carried on: 'But seriously Georgiana, why would I want to have Lizzy two rooms down from mine? It's not as if my bedroom isn't big enough for both of us. - Unless you would prefer your own room, of course?'
'Nope.'
Of course not! Stupid question.
Chapter 47:
Shit!
After dinner, they had retired early. Tomorrow would be a busy day after all, and there were no two ways about it, Elizabeth still had to unpack her things in order to find her papers, which she hoped Kitty and Lydia had thought to pack. She had assured Jane they had, but on second thought... - And thank goodness, they had! The papers now lay neatly on her bedside table. The one in Darcy's bedroom, of course. For though the mistress' chamber was a very lovely room she could not really imagine to ever use it. Okay, perhaps after a quarrel but that, hopefully, would not be a regular occurrence. Well, it most certainly would not. Not if she had any say in it.
Feeling slightly guilty for leaving her bedroom in a mess, it still was slowly but surely getting too late to do much about it tonight. It was not so much, that she had tons of things, but rather that it needed some figuring out, where what would go.
Her books, her DVDs, her CDs both of which she still had many of, her clothes, all her stuff from uni and the cheap knick-knacks she had gotten from her sisters for either Christmas or her birthday needed to be stored away somewhere. Well, the latter things were the most challenging, while where to put the books was pretty obvious. On one hand, said knick-knacks were mainly fugly as hell and best hidden away for all eternity, like the My Little Pony - thingy she'd got from Lydia for her birthday a couple of years back or the bright pink Playboy Bunny piggy bank she'd received from Kitty. At least Mary had been more practical and had crocheted her a set of pot holders. Brown, orange and pink were perhaps not a particularly good colour-combo, but at least they were useful and obviously could go into the kitchen.
There was also the naughty apron that made it look as if the wearer was cooking pretty much in the nude and which had been last year's Christmas present from Lydia, that better didn't end up in a place where someone might get to see it. Seriously, the nipple piercings on that thing were a bit disturbing, but at least there was a lacey thong covering the most important bits. The ones she really didn't want to see on something that was meant to protect clothing from getting dirty while cooking.
Oh, why the heck had they packed that little stuffed pig her father had pressed into her hand when she had been ill three weeks ago? Okay, she had to say, it was cute and it was cuddly. Fair enough, it was allowed to stay. And at any rate, there was a scapegoat she could blame this pigsty of a room on. He-he!
'Eh, Lizzy, what is this?' Darcy inquired, looking warily at the pencil sharpener in his hand.
Okay, it was not exactly recognisable as such. Another present from Lydia, by the way. Yes, it was useful, and it worked perfectly fine, but whoever thought it a good idea to stuff a sharpening mechanism into a Barbie doll's backside and throw away the head in order to install a crank and then attach the whole apparatus on a polished piece of wood needed some serious therapy. Still, it was the best working pencil sharpener she'd ever had.
'A pencil sharpener. You stuff the pen there and then...' Elizabeth trailed off, pointing at the crank.
'Yeah, I get it.'
'Is it any consolation that it was a present? From Lydia.'
'It is, oddly enough. Does it work?'
'Yep. Want to try?' she held up a pencil she had just found in one of her shoes alongside a couple of other pens.
Sure, where else would someone expect to find stationery?
'See, easy! Call me Lizzy the Impaler.'
Shoving the pencil up the sharpeners literal arse she held it out so Will could turn the crank. Or rather, he could have if he hadn't started laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face and he almost toppled over.
'As tasteless as this thing is, it is also kind of hilarious,' he eventually gasped, holding his sides.
Okay, that was indisputable. And it, too, was pretty useful just like the pot holders.
When she had finally gathered the few things she actually needed right now, such as her slippers for example and perhaps a pair of pyjamas both Darcy and she trudged over to his bedroom to go finally go to sleep. Or at least to go into bed...
Anyway, what a perfect day it had been! Even with unpacking the boxes. It kind of marked the point where she really had moved into Pemberley never to leave again. Perhaps she should write down the time and date so they could raise a glass of wine every year on this event's anniversary. Yep, she would do just that. Today was the 14th and it was 10:25 pm. So, done!
Monday morning came and for once not too early. At least not for them, Georgiana was very openly of a different opinion. They dropped her off at school and then went on to the registrar's office. All was sorted without much ado, who would have thought? It was almost too easy. And so, barely half an hour later they were back on the street and getting married on November 17th. Perfect!
The date was exactly four weeks and five days away. That was manageable, even should her mother find out eventually and pitch up on their doorstep. In short it was short enough not to be driven to the brink of insanity and long enough to renovate the chapel and sort out everything else.
Next stop was at the local parish to speak to the rector there. Also a piece of cake, considering that Darcy and he had known each other for ages and occasionally played chess together.
Seriously, who said Mondays were horrible? This one was going pretty well especially looking back at the weekend.
After yet another short stop, this time at Homebase to get some paint and a second sander, they were just on their way back, when the song that had been playing on the radio was interrupted by urgent traffic information: 'We've got a traffic warning for the M 1 northbound. Between Luton and Milton Keynes, there is a tractor pulling a manure spreader reported to be on the motorway. Please drive carefully, the driver seems determined to evade the police, so you never know...'
Okay, she completely understood why the presenter was giggling, it was like in the clip with the lady calling the radio station about deer crossing signs, simply ridiculous. Surely, this was by far the oddest bit of traffic info she'd ever heard for real. Who the fuck would go onto a motorway with a tractor? And especially one pulling a manure spreader? Whoever it was, the person must surely be nuts or drunk or possibly even both.
'Let's hope convertible drivers are sensible enough to keep their roofs up...' Darcy remarked snickering.
'They surely will with all that smell.'
'Okay, good point. People just don't know the good stuff.'
'Nope. Why are you stopping here?'
Darcy had swiftly pulled into the car park of a supermarket as if it had been an afterthought and presumably it was.
'There is a card shop at that Sainsbury's, that's why. Our wedding is just a little over a month away, and it just occurred to me that perhaps we should send out the invitations within the next couple of days.'
Yep, perhaps they should. Good point, actually. Nice to know what they would be doing for the rest of the day. - Okay, aside from Darcy giving riding lessons.
They climbed out of the car and made their way inside the shop. Normally Elizabeth liked to look through the many cards, but there were literally hundreds of cards for weddings alone. Not an easy choice. At least the ones congratulating the newlyweds they could leave out. And there were fortunately not too many when it came to invitations. But...
What self-respecting couple would choose an invitation with two stuffed bears kissing? Yeah, they were cute, but... - But no-one got married in kindergarten, right? Okay, the one with the stick-man bride and groom was even worse and topping it all was the one with the knock-off corpse bride saying yes, not to the dress, that was in tatters, but to Count Dracula
by the looks of it. Wasn't one of the deals of marriage “until death do us part”? This card made it look as if you had to die first before being finally happy. Nope, Elizabeth intended to be happy a lot sooner.
Yeah, finally a plain one with nothing on it but the words: “We are getting married”. Perfect! - That is it would have been, if, on closer inspection, it had not been misprinted and actually read “We are getting marred”.
Eh, that was one way of putting it. There was a brutal honesty to this statement that was quite endearing. Okay, not really, but it was wonderfully ironic.
In the end, they went away with three dozens of cards that had merely “Invitation” written on it, even spelt correctly, and underneath two very glitzy hearts that merged into one. One touch and one had glitter everywhere. She didn't know how she looked herself, but Darcy had already started to turn into a fairy as glitter was in his hair, on his shirt, on his trousers, on his face, hands, - okay, let's make it short - everywhere. Plain was obviously not that much of a thing when it came to weddings.
When half an hour later they had gotten back into the car and Darcy had just turned on the engine again, there was another traffic info interrupting the programme: 'We've got a traffic warning for the M 1 northbound. Between Milton Keynes and Northampton there is manure on the motorway. Please drive carefully, the road surface is somewhat slippery.'
'No shit?' someone asked in the background apparently before the presenter had been able to turn off the micro.
'Well, obviously shit,' Darcy laughed. 'I wonder if they managed to get hold of the tractor and more importantly its driver.'
'Maybe he just pulled the wrong lever. I mean, if I think of our tractor, the lever to turn on the manure spreader and stuff is right next to the winker...'
Okay, that was a nonsensical statement, more modern tractors had buttons like in a cockpit and older ones a crank next to the gear stick that even the dumbest person could not mistake for the handbrake. Well, okay, perhaps they could, but it was not all that likely. If one wanted to use the handbrake one usually reached down, right? Now their tractor at Longbourn was somewhat of a curiosity in that respect, built at a time when cranks became unfashionable but no-one had as yet thought of buttons, consequently one really had to know which one was the winker and which one the lever to let all hell break loose.
But heck, why did she even waste any time thinking about stuff like that? It was not their tractor on the motorway, so who knew what the driver might be thinking - or not, more like.
Presumably, it would turn out to be a five-year-old on a joy-ride. Teenagers usually went for the cooler vehicles, if she was any judge of that.
By the looks of it, Darcy had made a reply that she had completely missed...
'Sorry, what?'
'I said that we used to have a tractor like that, too. One of my farmhands managed to lower the plough when still on the road. Well, what shall I say, it now is the smoothest road in a five-mile radius around Pemberley.'
'Oh dear! But at least your farmhand had not gone for a ride on the motorway.'
'Nope. Thank goodness. That would have been hard to explain. I doubt that would have been covered by the insurance.'
'You had that covered? That was some foresight.'
'Well, not really, it was more a general cover in case some damage was done while driving a tractor or harvester. But just think of all the warning signs that are pointing out the obvious.'
'Like the “Caution: hot!” when you get a takeaway coffee?'
'Yep. Or one of my favourites: “Don't put pets in the microwave”.'
'Eh, yes. I wonder when they'll start putting warnings on washing machines and dryers that they are not suitable to clean cats and dogs.'
'What about bunnies and hamsters?'
'Very funny.'
'It would be, only that idiots will assume that if you state that it isn't suitable for cats and dogs, that'll be alright for any other furry creature imaginable. Talking of furry creatures, are you coming down to the stables with me later on? I could give you riding lessons as well.'
'I need them, huh?'
'I didn't say that. You looked fine on a horse, but a bit of practice never goes amiss.'
'No it doesn't and anyway, I'd love to come. At least that means I won't be writing the invitations on my own,' Elizabeth grinned back. 'By the way, I have been wondering, how we get all the people down to the church. I presume it would be a bit far to walk.'
'Yes, certainly. By car, I'd say. There is an access road not far from there, perhaps a hundred yards or so. Or...' Darcy trailed off with a secretive smile that was bound to rouse her curiosity.
'Yes?' Elizabeth asked tentatively.
'Well, there are a couple of old carriages in the shed. I actually rent them out for weddings, and in summer, when the weather is fine, they are exhibited in front of the house.'
'Oh?'
'That is if you like the idea.'
'I do. Positively love it, but you know, I start to wonder what I can contribute to the wedding when you seem to have everything at hand. - Okay, I'll write all the invitations and...'
'I thought we agreed that we do that together? And then we also have a church to restore and stuff. I am crap at decorations so it would be great if you could take care of the layout of the tables and flowers and such.'
'Happily. At least now I don't feel quite as useless as a mere minute ago.'
'That is silly, Lizzy, you are not use... - Oh, is that your phone buzzing?'
'Yep,' she pulled it out to cast a careful glance at the display. And sure enough: 'Oh no! It's a call from Longbourn. Now, that can only be my mum...'
There was little use evading the inevitable, yet, it wasn't Fanny Bennet on the other end of the line, it was Lydia. A very excited Lydia.
'Lizzy? Oh, thank goodness... - Listen, mum found out where you are and she's on her way to Pemberley. I thought I'd warn you. God, I hope she took the train...'
'Thank you, Lyddy. - What do you mean with you hope she took the train. What's with the car?'
'Oh, dad's got the car. He's got an appointment for physio and massages and stuff today, but I just came home from school and found a note where the keys should have been. Okay, I don't make much sense, do I?'
'Not really, Lyddy.'
'You see, dad left the keys for the tractor for me on the kitchen table because I promised to fertilise the fields when I come back home to help him a little and instead there is just mum's note. Gods Lizzy, keep your fingers crossed that she has just put them back on the hook... - Nope, they are gone.'
'Is the tractor still there?'
'I'll go and check!'
Elizabeth heard a shuffle and her youngest sister panting as she ran down to have a look.
'Fuck, it's gone! She took the fucking tractor to get to the station. What's wrong with calling a bloody taxi?'
Elizabeth had a sinking feeling that her mother hadn't gone to the station at all.
Tentatively she asked: 'Was the dung spreader already hooked on?'
'Yeah, sure. Why? I'm not all that good driving backwards yet, so dad hooked it on last night. The tractor alone would be bad enough, but can you imagine it standing in the car park with all the smelly shit on a trailer?'
Was it alright to break into hysterics? Yes? YES?
'Lizzy? Lizzy, what is the matter?' Lydia all but shouted through the phone, but all Elizabeth could do was laugh maniacally.
Chapter 48:
All that glitter
'Lizzy? Lizzy, what is it?' he could not help asking, as she laughed hysterically.
'My mum,' was all he could discern from her bouts of uncontrollable snorting.
Okay, it was not all that difficult to put two and two together. There could only be one reason, why she had asked if the dung spreader had been hooked onto the tractor...
Bloody hell, what was it about women wanting to plan weddings? It was not all that difficult, was it? Not if he looked at how Lizzy and he w
ent about it. Then again, they both were what some would call rather pragmatic in their approach and seriously, why not? Yes, sure they could afford a luxurious wedding somewhere abroad, but was that really necessary? As far as he was concerned, the higher the expectations, the more likely that something was bound to go wrong. Perfection was all nice and well, but to expect it at a wedding where so many unknown factors in the form of the people invited were involved, was not very realistic. As far as he could remember he had not been at a single wedding, where not at least one person got so drunk that some kind of accident had occurred.
Well, at his cousin's wedding, that was his cousin George, Richard's middle brother, which had been planned very meticulously, by the way, the first signs of approaching disaster had appeared and quickly manifested itself, when one of the waiters carrying the eight-tiered wedding cake suddenly stumbled over the mother of the bride's overly excited Yorkshire Terrier. The two men had managed to hold onto the cake, or at least the bottom two layers of it, while the poor pooch had taken refuge under the brides gown only to neatly crap on her silk pumps from sheer fright. Needless to say, that by then, the bride was in tears, the other women present in some state of shock while the groom along with the rest of the men was laughing his head off. The only reason, why the wedding had not turned into an elaborate divorce party there and then had been Anne. Okay, Aunty Catherine still claimed all the credit for what followed, giving her advice left right and centre... - And, after all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that such advice is much more valuable than any practical help, right?
Well, it could have ended there, but alas, then there had been Uncle Charles, fortunately not a relative of his, who, already a bit in his cups by late afternoon, decided to play a little with the children. Yep, that was amiable, no doubt, and he wasn't all that drunk but he nonetheless managed to trap his head between the beams of the bannister on the first-floor landing. No pulling, pushing, wriggling or coaxing did the trick, not even Lady Catherine's advice. In the end, the fire brigade was called, not exactly adding to the festive mood which at this point was somewhat strained already. It came to its breaking point, when after being asked how he had managed to trap his head in the bannister, Uncle Charles performed a re-enactment, so down to the T that he had to be cut out of it a second time.