by Nicky Roth
'Nope, everything is just dandy. I was just admiring you, that is all.'
'Admiring me? Yeah, very likely. I guess I look like a scarecrow.'
'Yep, a very cute one. One that I love with all my heart.'
She started laughing where many a woman presumably would have frowned.
'Hm, that is a singular compliment, my dear. But hey, what woman wouldn't like to be called cute scarecrow? It's certainly a lot better than the term sex bomb.'
'You think so?'
'Definitely. A scarecrow has its merits, while a bomb is nothing but destructive, no matter how sexy it is.'
'I have to admit, I never thought about that. I guess you do have a point there, Lizzy.'
'On occasion, even I have that. - By the way, when is the conservator coming?'
'Anytime now. - Eh, right now, it seems.'
Unless... - Yep, it was his aunt and Mrs Bennet, not Mr Brown. Since when did a perm take so little time, especially without an appointment? Seriously, he had hoped that it would take at least all morning and now that! Not even three hours later and his aunt was back, not with a perm, but with bright red hair. Well, at least the plain pixie-cut was an improvement. Not all that much, admittedly, but still. At least she didn't remind him of an inflated poodle any longer.
'Surprise!' Mrs Bennet beamed, pushing her way past her new BFF, carrying what seemed like a couple of rolls of... - Okay, no, that couldn't be borders. The rolls were too large for that. But then what was it? Posters?
'What do you say, isn't that cute as a wedding decor?'
Yep, they were posters. And the one she currently held up sported two swans in pinkish light on a purple lake with the moon setting behind them. And yes, one could say it was cute if a nauseant could ever be called such.
'Eh, Mum, why did you buy these posters?'
'Well, you said you didn't want coloured paint or a border, so I thought I go and have a look whether I might find a couple of nice romantic pictures to counterbalance the sombreness of the church...'
'Mum, Will and I actually like this sombreness.'
Yep, decidedly.
Not that her mother gave three straws about their opinions. Nope, she was currently unrolling another of the posters. This time it depicted a half-naked couple standing in some sort of rainbow coloured halo. He really had no idea these abominations could still be purchased. Yes, in the nineties they had been kind of cool, but he had been a nipper then. It was excusable that he'd liked bright pictures back then. Kind of. And at least he never had anything with tacky hearts on them, or people kissing – that was for girls. Ewwww! By the way, where were the dolphins? There must be some dolphins on one of these posters, right? Yep, sure enough there they were.
Mrs Bennet, with a bright undeterred mien, ignoring her daughter's and future son in law's incredulous expressions unrolled yet another picture - two dolphins in front of a coral reef with little hearts instead of air bubbles escaping from their blowholes. The remaining three were equally tacky. The only way one could make them work was if one put them up the wrong way, meaning with the actual picture towards the wall, not upside down. The back was actually quite nice. A very decorative glossy white...
'So, where do you want me to hang them?'
He had not meant to say it, but it just slipped: 'The old hanging tree?'
'Now really, Fitzwilliam, you do need to put up a couple of pictures, and this was the best we could find on such short notice.'
What frickin' notice?
'Aunt Cathy, this is a church, for Heaven's sake!'
'But don't you want your wedding to be glamorous? Something people will talk about for years?'
With pictures like this hanging in the church, they most certainly would talk about it for years but for all the wrong reasons.
'No, I want a peaceful quiet no-fuss wedding with close friends and family. Nothing more and nothing less. I want the church just as it is now, with unadorned walls and muted colours and a nice come together afterwards. Good but simple food, a relaxed atmosphere, no stress. Easy. Simple.'
'So you are determined to leave that... - Darn, I can never remember the word! What a crux. You know, that cross-thingy with Jesus on it? You really want to keep it? I still think it unsuitable for a wedding.'
'Yes, I want to keep the crucifix exactly where it is and as a matter of fact, we are currently waiting for someone to restore it to all its glory.'
'You cannot be serious!'
'I am dead serious. And speaking about Mr Brown, I think I should call him. He probably got lost.'
Mr Brown, the conservator, had indeed taken a wrong turn and had found himself in Matlock instead of Pemberley, but hey, that could happen easily enough with such winding country lanes and insufficient road signs. And at any rate, half an hour later the man was finally there.
'What an amazing piece of art!' he exclaimed, earning a huff from Lady Catherine. 'And it is in good condition, you were right. However, if you want to have it restored properly, it would still take me about a month. Cleaning these sort of things is not easy.'
Okay, he should have thought about that beforehand. But if his aunt now thought she had won the battle, she could think again. Ha!
'Okay, then I tell you what, Mr Brown, we'll leave it as it is for the moment, and I'll bring it down to you in three weeks. If only you could perhaps dust it off a little...'
'Sure. I brought everything with me. You know, so you know in the future, best for dusting off the nooks and crannies is compressed air. You know these little tins you get for cleaning computer keyboards? That stuff is what I'm talking about. - I perhaps should not give away my professional secrets, but I rather have art preserved than restored.'
The man grinned broadly and then went to work. Good, at least one person who appreciated tradition and art.
Eh, what? When had that happened? Seriously, Elizabeth and he had their backs turned but a moment and there now was a fucking bride riding on a unicorn on the wall...
'See, I just wanted to show you how nice it would look,' Mrs Bennet smiled triumphantly.
Shit, he needed to find something for her to do. Something that kept her away from town and the chapel. But what? Ah, he had an idea.
The napkins needed ironing again from having been stored in the closet and then folding, obviously. He had intended to ask his hotel staff to take care of that, but hey, Mrs Bennet needn't know that, right? So, now he only had to come up with the most complicated and elaborate folding method imaginable. Hm, how about the water lily? Always looked nice and took forever. And since Mrs Bennet had invited several more people, hm, let's say two hundred for the wedding breakfast, two hundred for tea, and two hundred for supper were required. At least...
Anyway six hundred napkins should keep her busy for a while. One thing sorted.
But what to do about Aunt Catherine? While Mrs Bennet might be silly to put it politely, she astonishingly enough seemed to have some practical talent. His aunt hadn't. Oh, but she could write. Well, he would ask her to write a menu for each of the guests. After all, handwritten menus were much posher than printed ones, particularly if one used a dipping pen...
'Now, I see, you finally come to your senses, Fitzwilliam,' was Lady Catherine's triumphant reply when he approached her with his request.
And while Lizzy and Mr Brown carried on working, he escorted the two ladies back to the house, provided them with everything they could possibly need, informed Mrs Reynolds about the goings-on, and then hurried back.
Ah, that felt good. Now he only needed to get rid of the posters and... - Ah, Mr Brown had obviously found some use for them, as he had put the crucifix on top of two of them, using the altar as a work table, carefully brushing off some grime. Perfect! Things were going well again.
When they returned in the late afternoon, they found Phil, Carla and Georgiana sitting at the kitchen table, working on his sister's assignment, Mrs Reynolds preparing dinner and Mrs Bennet in the laundry room, still ironing. By th
e looks of it, that alone would take her at least another hour or two. His aunt, however, was nowhere to be found. Okay, study? Nope. Library? Nope. Morning room? Salon? Parlour? Her bedroom? Nope, nope, nope again. Where the fuck was she?
Oh shit, her car was gone as well. Seriously? What was that woman up to now? Half an hour later he had his answer.
'You know, Fitzwilliam, the paper was all nice and well, but I thought that a menu always looks so much better when put into a card and I found some really nice ones at Hallmark's. Look, aren't they lovely? Look, all nice and sparkly.'
Was it okay for a man to faint? Or at the very least start screaming hysterically? Yes? Okay, no, it wasn't. Shit!
But really, he was certain that the colour had drained from his face at seeing the cards his aunt had purchased. Plain white ones with two glittery hearts... - Yep, she had managed to get the exact same ones he had burnt two weeks ago. The ones that had tried Elizabeth's, his and everybody else's sanity to near breaking point. Seriously, his riding breeches, despite having been washed a couple of times now, still sported the odd sparkle and now this!
What the fuck had he done to deserve this? Yes, he had his faults, but come on, they were not all that bad! Not really. At the very least he should get some credit for trying hard to be a good man. Wasn't that customary at schools nowadays? Getting credits for trying? He was pretty sure it was. But obviously, once one was grown up, that didn't apply anymore. No brownie points for effort. Of course not.
And now his aunt scampered off towards the laundry room of all places to show Fanny Bennet. Well, why shouldn't they have sparkly napkins on their wedding day? For that matter, why shouldn't they have glittery guests? Why shouldn't the guests have glittery cars afterwards? And glittery beds? Not to speak about possible itchy bottoms, as long as they glittered.
In his mind, Darcy already pictured the photographs of their wedding day, particularly the ones taken later in the evening, with their guests' faces contorted and one hand scratching the one or other body part while the other desperately clutched a glass of sparkly wine. Pun intended.
Instead of thank you-cards, they would have to write apologies, unless, in the future, he wanted to answer the question of whether he had any enemies with a decided “yes”.
On the other hand, they could always hand out some prophylactic throwaway static dusters instead of chocolates...
Chapter 53:
Nerves, right?
'Seriously, Will, if you were a girl I would guess you are pregnant,' Elizabeth laughed, before compassionately handing him a towel and a glass of mouthwash.
Okay, she had a point, if it were her throwing up every single morning for a week, he would insist on a pregnancy test, but as it was, last time he checked, he had been very decidedly male and with equal certainty not a seahorse. One Willy, two balls all in perfect working order, nothing dodgy there.
Nerves, it surely must be nerves, right?
Well, with his aunt and Mrs Bennet around, that was only a natural reaction. Though oddly enough, giving them something to do, had proven to be a good strategy. And even the glitter invasion had been fought off in no time and to everybody's satisfaction.
'Oh, yes, they are pretty, Cathy,' Mrs Bennet had said upon first seeing the cards only to then have something like a minor nervous breakdown when she became aware of the fact that slowly but surely glitter crept onto her neatly ironed napkins to make itself comfortable there and for some duration.
'Blast, this stuff is getting everywhere! Now thank goodness I had five daughters and know exactly how to deal with this kind of problem,' she had exclaimed with a resoluteness that neither he nor Lizzy had felt at that very moment.
'Okay? Really? How?' both of them had stammered in unison.
'All you have to do is put a thin layer of hairspray over it and the stuff stays where it's supposed to. My youngest once got a book from her godmother that drove me insane, but hairspray worked a treat. Now I only have to put these napkins into the dryer for a couple of minutes and the sparkle should be blown out again...'
Eh, yes... - Truth be told, it had sounded too easy, but oddly enough, Mrs Bennet had been perfectly correct, the glitter stayed firmly on the cards just as it was supposed to, the napkins, in turn, were glitter free after a little tumble in the barely used dryer. Wow! After all, they would not acquire lasting enemies it appeared. That was something.
On top of that, the posters Mrs Bennet had bought had actually served a good purpose as a place to put the paint buckets and brushes, and thankfully were now thoroughly ruined. Thank goodness.
Once the pews had been varnished and the electric piano, as well as the heater, had been brought down, the church door had been securely locked and the key was now well hidden away, just in case. Better be safe than sorry... - Yes, they had considered armed guards and dog patrols, but that, perhaps, was a bit over the top.
The goblet had also arrived a couple of days since, as had the hymn books and the leather-bound bible. Lady Catherine, still slightly disgruntled over the location, had been somewhat appeased by having been allowed to order a couple of cushions for the benches, under the watchful eye of her nephew that was who incidentally changed their colour from bright purple to a more sombre green just before checking out without his aunty noticing.
Okay, so far all was well. If only...
Bah, had the coffee his aunt insisted on drinking early in the morning always smelled this horrible? Putting down his spoon without having touched the porridge in front of him, he once again dashed off, hoping that he would reach the nearest loo in time. This was beginning to get silly. Every single morning it was the same and it only seemed to get worse. The only consolation was, that come lunch his stomach was back under control until the next morning. But hey, it could be worse, right?
'Are you okay?' Elizabeth asked as soon as he returned to the kitchen, still feeling queasy and with a lingering after-taste in his mouth.
Darcy only nodded, pushing his chair a little further away from his aunt and her accursed coffee.
Lady Catherine herself was much less concerned: 'Nerves, that is all, Fitzwilliam. Men are ninnies when it comes to getting married. I haven't seen one that has not gotten cold feet sooner or later. Not that it meant they escaped their fate, mind. But they all suffered from nerves, I tell you.'
That was one way of putting it. Sure, he was a nervous wreck while she hardly even looked up from The Daily Mail she was reading over breakfast while using his Telegraph as a placemat. Cheers! But actually he was more and more looking forward to getting married and for three reasons the positive one presently holding his hand with compassion while the other two sat across from him, picking up the same old subject of wedding-planning once again. It was unnerving to say the least.
Okay, so yes, it was nerves, just not like his aunt had put it. It was the strain that mainly her constant antics brought about, though since keeping her busy, it had gotten slightly better. On the other hand, that meant he had to keep both Lady Catherine and Mrs Bennet reasonably occupied and in regards to his aunt, that was not quite as easy as with his soon to be mother in law. Mrs Bennet was pretty practical, he really had to give her that, changing sheets, air rooms, dust, vacuum. No probs at all. Aside from the occasional dumb suggestion that could easily be brushed aside with some more chores all went astonishingly well in that quarter.
But Aunty Cathy was an altogether different matter...
Once she was done with writing the menus, she quickly began rummaging around the house, pushing sofas around randomly until they were placed in a manner that was best suited to bump into them at regular intervals; re-draping curtains, which was perhaps the least annoying of her actions; and shuffling pictures as she pleased, which ended with the main hall temporarily sporting a pair of poodles above the fireplace instead of the painting of the old manor house that once stood in Pemberley House's place and opposite it a basket full of kittens grinned back at him instead of a contemporary image of the house and s
o forth. In short, it was an endless source of unpleasant surprises.
Oh, speaking of surprises and paintings, he still had not found out from which part of the house she had managed to sneak the picture of a very nude and lascivious Leda being romped by Zeus in the shape of a swan that now hung over his bed. Yes, it was a decent piece of art and all that, at least if one ignored the overall theme and the fact that it was one of those insinuating mid-Georgian atrocities, but seriously, he preferred the unassuming and most and for all neutral still life that had hung there until three days ago. Or at least that was when he had realised that the initial painting was gone. Another thing he had, as yet not been able to trace down. Great!
Even greater was that two days from now, Fitz and Charles would arrive.
Darcy had hoped to get out of it, but apparently, there was no escape from stag night for him. Not if his cousin and best friend had any say in it. And as it was, they had decided that they had. Bollocks!
Yawning Elizabeth got up from the breakfast table. Poor lass, she looked knackered. But she was determined to help as best as she could despite her near constant exhaustion these days and today they would set up the dining room for the wedding breakfast which meant bringing over a shit-load of tables and chairs from the hotel as well as plates, glasses and cutlery. In the rain, naturally. It always rained when least convenient.
'Lizzy, perhaps you should take a rest before you get ill again,' Darcy could not help suggesting when they went to put on their boots.
'Says the one who's throwing up every morning. I'm fine, Will. I guess it's just the change of weather. Jane has always suffered from it since she was little, though I, as yet, have been lucky to escape this curse. - Well, apparently no longer. But hey, at least once the weather has changed, all will be well.'
'Good to know.'
Okay, he would leave it at that. And she did have a point. Besides, if he was stressed out enough to vomit daily at dawn, by now, she most certainly was as well, right?