A/N: Hey again. This is part of my guilt for not being able to post for so
long. Also, it's part of my pent-up writing....genius? Insanity? Well,
whatever it is, I've been aching to write more and haven't been able to,
which I'm glad of considering all I would have had to do to get THAT
chapter up and running as well. But here we are, at Rosings Park (possibly
my favorite part of the book because it has Mrs. De Bourgh, and she's so
fun to write, or it MIGHT be the visions of a lovely Colin Firth proposing
to Lizzy... I dunno if I can promise that much in this chapter, but I'll
try).
Word of advice: If someone tells you how much work they've done to do something that's presumably good, then don't complain that it's not enough or that it's about time it happened. I'm not pointing fingers or anything, but it made me mad, and I don't normally get very mad about anything except my ceramics class. I know that you've been waiting for a while, and so have I , only I've been trying to post, so it's not fair to me when you complain about how long it took. I know it took long, and that's why I apologized, and why I'm doing my best to post faster .So please, don't do it to anyone else, because it's not appreciated at all. But enough of that. This is the best part of the whole damn story (well one of them, not including Pemberly) and you deserve to read it!
Get along, li'l dawgies, to
Chapter 19: Ripe Tomata, Green Peas
"And I find that these stairs are the greatest stairs for a man like myself. Do you see, sir, that they aren't shallow, yet at the same time, they aren't steep,"
Charlotte and I rolled our eyes at each other . This was the fifteenth time that we had heard about staircases in the whole half hour that I had been there.
There = Charlotte and Weasel Boy's house, for all those interested.
"I suppose it is, Stephen. A very nice staircase. That it is," bumbled Charlotte's father. He and his younger daughter Maria were staring at the house in amazement. I'm not terribly sure why, even now. I mean it wasn't big, and it wasn't small.
Yup, just an ordinary, plain-jane, nothing-to-see-here type house. And all the time I was thinking "THIS IS WHAT YOU DID THIS FOR? WHAT ARE YOU, BLOODY INSANE???"
But I was saying, "Probably the nicest staircase North, South, East, of West of the Pecos,"
"That it is, my dear cousin, that it is. The very picture of perfection. Like my garden sir, let me show you," and Stephen, in all his glory, minced his way out of La Casa De Collins and into his garden, trailing the other two Lucases.
Charlotte and I stood looking at each other for a minute.
"How're things?" I asked, breaking the totally out-of-character silence.
"Oh they're great. Just great," she said, smiling a little.
"Read: things have never been worse and you drink your dinner every night watching Guys and Dolls in your own personal room, then play solitaire continually til three am and wake up to do it all over again,"
"Ouch, that was bleak,"
I winked playfully.
"No, actually, things are totally different from that. Well, maybe not about solitaire bit........."
I chuckled, and we walked out of the hall, with its "serviceable, appropriate" staircase.
"But things are as good as possible," she said, taking me into a room that overlooked the garden in which Stephen was prancing around like My Little Pony on crack, showing the two comatose goldfish of in-laws all of his magnolia trees and Cosmos and Thyme.
"He likes reading, you know," she said, still looking out the window at her choice of honey-bunch. "He reads just about every day. He stays in the library to do that of course,"
"Of course," I glanced at her. She had a trace of her old sly smile back. Hmmmm.
"And I like reading too, and watching TV. And then of course, I have to write letters to everyone at the church, so I do that, but in here. Sometimes it takes me all day,"
"And then Stephen works in the garden," I added, as we watched Rev. Baker do a pirouette in the middle of his azaleas.
" All the time. It's good for the health, you know,"
"Exercise,"
"Oh, definitely,"
Silence.
"So really, Lizzy, sometimes we go whole weeks without really ever saying anything to each other at all,"
I looked at her. She was calm, exactly like the calm she had been at her wedding.
"I'm actually happy, Lizzy. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. I AM happy,"
"I wouldn't doubt it, old chum. You must be happy with all this reading you're doing. It enlarges the mind,"
"Yes, it does. I think I'll be able to exist in this place very happily. I mean, I get food every day--"
Major achievement, Charlotto-san
"- and I have roof over my head. And I have Stephen,"
Hunk-o-rama, Stephen has now been chosen as the Number One Comfort of Charlotte Lucas-Baker's Sad and Discarded Life.
Congratulations, Mr. Stoat.
But, I mean, isn't life more than just existing everyday? Isn't it more that eating a few meals and sleeping in a bed with a crap-load of wood protecting you from the onslaught of demon Mother Nature? Isn't it LIVING, and not just breathing? Isn't it being happy and not just satisfied?
Well, tickle me pink and name me Charlie, but I always thought that there was more to life than a couple of burgers and an umbrella.
But that's just me. I'm sure the general public has a very different idea.
Without another word, we both left the room. I took special care to close the door behind me.
The Secret Garden of Charlotte Baker was preserved for some time yet to come.
************************ "Lizzy! My God, come quick!"
I jumped from where I was dozing (awkward position actually. I'd fallen asleep looking for my sock under
the bed) then fell over onto the floor.
Queen of Graceful.
That would be if graceful was a country. As in, Queen of the Graceful Country. If it were a country.
Which it's not.
I'm also fabulously talented. Have I mentioned?
And intelligent too.
Hoo boy.
"LIZZY!!!!!! COME DOWN HERE NOW!! YOU'VE GOT TO SEE SOMETHING,"
That's right, someone was calling my name.
I ran down the stairs (not too steep), expecting to see a part of the house on fire or at least an Irish midget tangoeing with Papa Smurf (doesn't it give you lovely mental pictures?). Something interesting enough to warrant the screaming/excitement/fainting that was happening at the window.
But it really wasn't any of that.
What it was was a car.
A BIG car, yes, but just a car. It had no roof, and must have weighed as much as three elephants and a Honey Bun, because it stretched, taking up Charlotte's driveway and most of the road too. Inside it were two women: a short, squat old one with a parasol (yes, parasol) talking to Charlotte, and a younger one who looked like a rat with a permanent stick up its ass. Maria squealed next to me, jumping up and down like it was Christmas or something (Or Hannukah or Kwanza, take your pick). That's me, culturally diverse.).
"This is SO exciting Lizzy! Can you believe our luck??!??!!"
"What, is THAT Catherine De Bourgh?" I said, looking curiously out at Mrs. Parasol.
"No, stupid! That's Anna Carthige, one of her servants. The girl next to her though is Catherine De Bourgh's daughter!"
I looked out at The Rat. She snapped at Mrs. Parasol angrily, and then slammed the car door shut.
And THIS was the girl Will Darcy was supposed to marry?
She smacked Anna on the face, then ordered the car to drive on.
Excellent.
She'd give him the kind of life he deserved. Things may have be looking up.
**************************************
"And here we have the front door of Her house. It is thought that the door itself cost over two thousand dollars. I hear that it was imported all the way from India, where they make doors such as these are made........."
Shoot me. Shoot me now.
This was my third day at Charlotte's house and already the idea of throttling the Fantastic Mr. Reverand seemed so fabulous I couldn't resist little maniacal giggles whenever I thought of it.
"Cousin Elizabeth?" said Boy Weasel.
I broke off mid-giggle.
"Yes?"
"I asked your opinion on the gardens,"
I looked around. "The gardens" turned out to be a huge front lawn carefully cut to be no more than half an inch at any one point. No flowers in this garden, oh no. Perhaps her Ladyship was offended by flowers or something.
"It's very.........neat," I said. Stephen looked like he had been dying for my answer, like it would somehow explain his whole existence or something.
"Exactly! Exac-tly! That is exactly what it is! Isn't it our good fortune to live near someone as prosperous and organized as Madam deBourgh?"
Well golly golly gosh, I know that would have made MY life a whole lot better.
"You're good friends with Mrs. De Bourgh?"
"Oh, the best of friends! The VERY best of friends! You see, she insists that we eat dinner at her house at least twice a week, and she never ever lets us walk home,"
"That's great........."
Yeah, great in a wicked creepy, gross manipulating sort of way, ya monkey.
I looked back at Charlotte, who raised her eyebrows suggestively. I snorted.
"And we're never allowed to say no, either," she said quietly.
"You are right, darling, never," Said Mr. Wonderful, obviously taking the words at face value.
We had arrived at the two thousand dollar Indian door, and it was opened by a butler who looked an awful lot like my friend Pronby Topping from Charlie's house, minus the obvious exception that he looked as if he could freeze fire with a single glare. But he probably couldn't leap tall building with a single bound. Damn this world of non-Superheroes!
We were showed into a huge parlor (read : living room with uncomfortable chairs and a big al fresco on the wall depicting a half-naked woman being set upon by priests with up-turned eyes).
Charming.
Maybe flowers DID offend her.
We all had to sit (all= Charlotte, Stephen, Maria and Mr. Lucas) on one couch, even though there were two in the room. I was just pulling my elbow out from where it had been stuck under Mr.Lucas, and taking my foot from behind my head (interesting game of Twister, no?) when a tall, imposing shadow fell across my face. I looked up, and there, in all her silk- dressing- gowned glory was the untterly anticlimactic Mrs. Catherine de Bourgh.
Little did I know that this short, squat woman with a cane would try (and almost succeed to make my visit and my life a living hell.
"Gooday, Mr. Baker,"
A/N: Hey guys, I'm sorry for the delay this time. It wasn't technical, but it was sort of psychological. You see, I've been writing my story on one computer up until this chapter. Now that my old computer is dead (and I mean DEAD) I have to write on my family's and it's not the same for some reason. This time it IS my fault that this is late. But don't worry, now that I'm used to Ole Bessie here, there will be more (an even longer chapter next time, although this one didn't break any records) Thanks to all of you who have some semblance of patience.
About my pen name: Thanks to everyone who was creative in my place, because it meant a whole kit 'n' kaboodle (sorry, I'm tired). The winning name (which will be my penname as of next chapter) is TheBrilliantFool, courtesy of Outlaw Eris. Runner-ups go to shapeless mage with her elvin names and to cheezyweezymouse for Inanimate Object.
So, next time we meet, my friends, I shall be Moonchild5 no more! I shall be.........Brilliant Fool! Now onward, to adventure!
Word of advice: If someone tells you how much work they've done to do something that's presumably good, then don't complain that it's not enough or that it's about time it happened. I'm not pointing fingers or anything, but it made me mad, and I don't normally get very mad about anything except my ceramics class. I know that you've been waiting for a while, and so have I , only I've been trying to post, so it's not fair to me when you complain about how long it took. I know it took long, and that's why I apologized, and why I'm doing my best to post faster .So please, don't do it to anyone else, because it's not appreciated at all. But enough of that. This is the best part of the whole damn story (well one of them, not including Pemberly) and you deserve to read it!
Get along, li'l dawgies, to
Chapter 19: Ripe Tomata, Green Peas
"And I find that these stairs are the greatest stairs for a man like myself. Do you see, sir, that they aren't shallow, yet at the same time, they aren't steep,"
Charlotte and I rolled our eyes at each other . This was the fifteenth time that we had heard about staircases in the whole half hour that I had been there.
There = Charlotte and Weasel Boy's house, for all those interested.
"I suppose it is, Stephen. A very nice staircase. That it is," bumbled Charlotte's father. He and his younger daughter Maria were staring at the house in amazement. I'm not terribly sure why, even now. I mean it wasn't big, and it wasn't small.
Yup, just an ordinary, plain-jane, nothing-to-see-here type house. And all the time I was thinking "THIS IS WHAT YOU DID THIS FOR? WHAT ARE YOU, BLOODY INSANE???"
But I was saying, "Probably the nicest staircase North, South, East, of West of the Pecos,"
"That it is, my dear cousin, that it is. The very picture of perfection. Like my garden sir, let me show you," and Stephen, in all his glory, minced his way out of La Casa De Collins and into his garden, trailing the other two Lucases.
Charlotte and I stood looking at each other for a minute.
"How're things?" I asked, breaking the totally out-of-character silence.
"Oh they're great. Just great," she said, smiling a little.
"Read: things have never been worse and you drink your dinner every night watching Guys and Dolls in your own personal room, then play solitaire continually til three am and wake up to do it all over again,"
"Ouch, that was bleak,"
I winked playfully.
"No, actually, things are totally different from that. Well, maybe not about solitaire bit........."
I chuckled, and we walked out of the hall, with its "serviceable, appropriate" staircase.
"But things are as good as possible," she said, taking me into a room that overlooked the garden in which Stephen was prancing around like My Little Pony on crack, showing the two comatose goldfish of in-laws all of his magnolia trees and Cosmos and Thyme.
"He likes reading, you know," she said, still looking out the window at her choice of honey-bunch. "He reads just about every day. He stays in the library to do that of course,"
"Of course," I glanced at her. She had a trace of her old sly smile back. Hmmmm.
"And I like reading too, and watching TV. And then of course, I have to write letters to everyone at the church, so I do that, but in here. Sometimes it takes me all day,"
"And then Stephen works in the garden," I added, as we watched Rev. Baker do a pirouette in the middle of his azaleas.
" All the time. It's good for the health, you know,"
"Exercise,"
"Oh, definitely,"
Silence.
"So really, Lizzy, sometimes we go whole weeks without really ever saying anything to each other at all,"
I looked at her. She was calm, exactly like the calm she had been at her wedding.
"I'm actually happy, Lizzy. I know you don't believe me, but it's true. I AM happy,"
"I wouldn't doubt it, old chum. You must be happy with all this reading you're doing. It enlarges the mind,"
"Yes, it does. I think I'll be able to exist in this place very happily. I mean, I get food every day--"
Major achievement, Charlotto-san
"- and I have roof over my head. And I have Stephen,"
Hunk-o-rama, Stephen has now been chosen as the Number One Comfort of Charlotte Lucas-Baker's Sad and Discarded Life.
Congratulations, Mr. Stoat.
But, I mean, isn't life more than just existing everyday? Isn't it more that eating a few meals and sleeping in a bed with a crap-load of wood protecting you from the onslaught of demon Mother Nature? Isn't it LIVING, and not just breathing? Isn't it being happy and not just satisfied?
Well, tickle me pink and name me Charlie, but I always thought that there was more to life than a couple of burgers and an umbrella.
But that's just me. I'm sure the general public has a very different idea.
Without another word, we both left the room. I took special care to close the door behind me.
The Secret Garden of Charlotte Baker was preserved for some time yet to come.
************************ "Lizzy! My God, come quick!"
I jumped from where I was dozing (awkward position actually. I'd fallen asleep looking for my sock under
the bed) then fell over onto the floor.
Queen of Graceful.
That would be if graceful was a country. As in, Queen of the Graceful Country. If it were a country.
Which it's not.
I'm also fabulously talented. Have I mentioned?
And intelligent too.
Hoo boy.
"LIZZY!!!!!! COME DOWN HERE NOW!! YOU'VE GOT TO SEE SOMETHING,"
That's right, someone was calling my name.
I ran down the stairs (not too steep), expecting to see a part of the house on fire or at least an Irish midget tangoeing with Papa Smurf (doesn't it give you lovely mental pictures?). Something interesting enough to warrant the screaming/excitement/fainting that was happening at the window.
But it really wasn't any of that.
What it was was a car.
A BIG car, yes, but just a car. It had no roof, and must have weighed as much as three elephants and a Honey Bun, because it stretched, taking up Charlotte's driveway and most of the road too. Inside it were two women: a short, squat old one with a parasol (yes, parasol) talking to Charlotte, and a younger one who looked like a rat with a permanent stick up its ass. Maria squealed next to me, jumping up and down like it was Christmas or something (Or Hannukah or Kwanza, take your pick). That's me, culturally diverse.).
"This is SO exciting Lizzy! Can you believe our luck??!??!!"
"What, is THAT Catherine De Bourgh?" I said, looking curiously out at Mrs. Parasol.
"No, stupid! That's Anna Carthige, one of her servants. The girl next to her though is Catherine De Bourgh's daughter!"
I looked out at The Rat. She snapped at Mrs. Parasol angrily, and then slammed the car door shut.
And THIS was the girl Will Darcy was supposed to marry?
She smacked Anna on the face, then ordered the car to drive on.
Excellent.
She'd give him the kind of life he deserved. Things may have be looking up.
**************************************
"And here we have the front door of Her house. It is thought that the door itself cost over two thousand dollars. I hear that it was imported all the way from India, where they make doors such as these are made........."
Shoot me. Shoot me now.
This was my third day at Charlotte's house and already the idea of throttling the Fantastic Mr. Reverand seemed so fabulous I couldn't resist little maniacal giggles whenever I thought of it.
"Cousin Elizabeth?" said Boy Weasel.
I broke off mid-giggle.
"Yes?"
"I asked your opinion on the gardens,"
I looked around. "The gardens" turned out to be a huge front lawn carefully cut to be no more than half an inch at any one point. No flowers in this garden, oh no. Perhaps her Ladyship was offended by flowers or something.
"It's very.........neat," I said. Stephen looked like he had been dying for my answer, like it would somehow explain his whole existence or something.
"Exactly! Exac-tly! That is exactly what it is! Isn't it our good fortune to live near someone as prosperous and organized as Madam deBourgh?"
Well golly golly gosh, I know that would have made MY life a whole lot better.
"You're good friends with Mrs. De Bourgh?"
"Oh, the best of friends! The VERY best of friends! You see, she insists that we eat dinner at her house at least twice a week, and she never ever lets us walk home,"
"That's great........."
Yeah, great in a wicked creepy, gross manipulating sort of way, ya monkey.
I looked back at Charlotte, who raised her eyebrows suggestively. I snorted.
"And we're never allowed to say no, either," she said quietly.
"You are right, darling, never," Said Mr. Wonderful, obviously taking the words at face value.
We had arrived at the two thousand dollar Indian door, and it was opened by a butler who looked an awful lot like my friend Pronby Topping from Charlie's house, minus the obvious exception that he looked as if he could freeze fire with a single glare. But he probably couldn't leap tall building with a single bound. Damn this world of non-Superheroes!
We were showed into a huge parlor (read : living room with uncomfortable chairs and a big al fresco on the wall depicting a half-naked woman being set upon by priests with up-turned eyes).
Charming.
Maybe flowers DID offend her.
We all had to sit (all= Charlotte, Stephen, Maria and Mr. Lucas) on one couch, even though there were two in the room. I was just pulling my elbow out from where it had been stuck under Mr.Lucas, and taking my foot from behind my head (interesting game of Twister, no?) when a tall, imposing shadow fell across my face. I looked up, and there, in all her silk- dressing- gowned glory was the untterly anticlimactic Mrs. Catherine de Bourgh.
Little did I know that this short, squat woman with a cane would try (and almost succeed to make my visit and my life a living hell.
"Gooday, Mr. Baker,"
A/N: Hey guys, I'm sorry for the delay this time. It wasn't technical, but it was sort of psychological. You see, I've been writing my story on one computer up until this chapter. Now that my old computer is dead (and I mean DEAD) I have to write on my family's and it's not the same for some reason. This time it IS my fault that this is late. But don't worry, now that I'm used to Ole Bessie here, there will be more (an even longer chapter next time, although this one didn't break any records) Thanks to all of you who have some semblance of patience.
About my pen name: Thanks to everyone who was creative in my place, because it meant a whole kit 'n' kaboodle (sorry, I'm tired). The winning name (which will be my penname as of next chapter) is TheBrilliantFool, courtesy of Outlaw Eris. Runner-ups go to shapeless mage with her elvin names and to cheezyweezymouse for Inanimate Object.
So, next time we meet, my friends, I shall be Moonchild5 no more! I shall be.........Brilliant Fool! Now onward, to adventure!