Yes, I am back again, and I'm giving you yet another chapter but this one is longer! FIESTAAA!
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Lara had never wanted to hop on this train again for as long as she lived if she could help it. Yet, there she was, on the high speed express to Guildford, wearing the circle-frame sunglasses that Sam had given her in an attempt to conceal her identity.
Sam.
Lara felt the cold weight of guilt settle into her being. She knew that she hadn't been fair to Sam the day before, and she knew she was out of line. Not that her actions could be excused, but Lara had only been on edge at the time because she knew she'd have to return to the Manor the next day. But how could Sam understand? It wasn't as if Lara was unempathetic. She knew that she hadn't divulged much about her family to Sam. What was there to say before? Her parents were dead, she was an orphan. There was no point in dwelling on the fact when there was always so much she had to do. Now, however, the very thing she had to do was take on her responsibilities as an orphan.
Lara rested her head against the window beside her seat as she watched the suburbs drift by. She couldn't tell if she was imagining it or not, but she felt like she could feel other peoples' gazes burning into the side of her head. Why wouldn't they stare? Lara was well aware that she was one of Surrey's local celebrities.
She felt like she could feel the next in a long line of migraines coming on.
The suburbs drifting by gave way to open, snow-dotted grassland. Lara knew she had to be near Guildford by that point. The farmland marked where the serfs used to toil for their Lord. Lara felt like she was going to be sick at the thought of being a relic of such an ineffective period of history. The best thing she could do for society was demolish her property and her title. The best thing for society would not be the best thing for the people from Guildford who worked for her, however.
Maybe she'd give all the staff raises to assuage her upper-class guilt. Maybe she'd hire more staff. She could put the money to good use and improve other peoples' lives. Anything would be better than the pattern of exploitation that led to her family acquiring their fortune to begin with. She wondered how much of what she was taught as a child, the codswallop about 'the Crofts being benevolent Lords compared to their counterparts,' was just a convenient lie? After all, history was always written by the victor. And with a fortune of nearly a billion pounds, her family was definitely the victor. Even the lowliest scribe could paint Henry VIII as a loving family man if he tried hard enough and the effort was maintained for multiple generations. Especially if that scribe was paid off by Henry himself.
The train came to a stop shortly thereafter, and she grabbed her knapsack and clambered off the bus and onto the platform of Guildford's train station. When she exited onto the streets of downtown, she was assaulted by the January breeze, and she wrapped her scarf around her face tightly to combat the dry, cold air. She wasted no time hailing a cab to finish her journey.
"Where to, miss?" The driver asked when she had entered the vehicle.
"Ah, I need 'o go 'o Abbingdon Park," Lara said, adopting her best cockney brogue to mask her noble upbringing.
"You with the film crew?"
"Some'hin' like 'ha'," Lara replied. God her accent was awful, but its incoherence was what made it believable. At least she hoped.
"You don't have any equipment?"
"Da gear's in 'he mansion already, don'cha know?"
The driver eyed her curiously through the rearview mirror. If he had caught on to her ruse, he didn't indicate so as he shifted his car into gear and began driving. It wasn't long before they were at Abbingdon Park and Lara could see the painfully-familiar wrought-iron gates that opened to the front courtyard.
"Thanks a lo', guv," Lara said, getting out of the vehicle without another word and approaching the gates of the property. When she was directly in front of the gates, she stared directly into the center of the crested 'C' emblazoned in the very middle of the gates. She knew that there was a camera embedded within the gates, and that a staffer was always on duty to open the doors. Sure enough, the staffer on duty seemingly recognized her and the gates swung open after a moment or two. Without any further delay, she strode up the paved stone path to the Manor ahead of her.
As much as Lara resented the Manor for what she represented, she couldn't help but admire how beautiful the grounds were as she walked up the middle of the front garden. On each side of her were hedged out squares, the interior of which were dotted with a diverse ecosystem of trees and flowers. In the middle of the flora in each square, double-tiered stone fountains were placed, surrounding which were hedged-out circles that had four openings cut out at regular intervals to allow access.
Ahead of her was the courtyard of the Manor, at the center of which was another, bigger triple-tier fountain. Behind the fountain, the entrance was situated in the middle of a marble blind arcade which spanned the entirety of the front facade situated between the East Wing and West Wing. On either side of the arcade, the East and West wings expanded beyond the marble facade towards Lara and were both composed of brick. The entryways to both buildings sat in the middle of their protruding sections on opposite ends of the courtyard. The East Wing, where the apartments were situated, was where Lara would be meeting up with Winston. Lara emerged into the courtyard and made a beeline for the door to the East Wing, doing her best to ignore the West Wing behind her.
Lara wasn't even in the building for ten seconds before she was greeted by Winston.
"Lady Lara, welcome home!" Winston called out in jubilance. Lara ground her teeth together. Yeah, home. She arranged her facial features into a more pleasant expression before turning around to face Winston. "As you can see, everything is as it once was."
"I see," Lara replied. Was she supposed to care? "Is the film crew here already? My cab driver seemed to know about the film."
"Well, Sherlock Holmes being filmed here has been the talk of the town."
"They're filming Sherlock?"
"Evidently. There is also a pending request to use the Manor for…" Winston looked down at the packet of papers he held in his hands, "Wayne Manor in Batman. The Manor is a sought-after commodity for high profile media, it seems. Do you approve?"
"Yes, yes, that's fine." Lara didn't care how the Manor sustained itself as long as it did and left her alone, like a long-estranged child that she had a terse relationship with.
"Now, as far as the film crew goes, they are expected shortly. I had you come early because I wanted to go through a list of areas on the property with you and determine ahead of time where the crew is permitted. Are you ready?" Winston didn't even ask Lara if she wanted to.
"Go ahead," Lara said, suppressing a sigh.
"The chapel?"
"Yes."
"Dining hall?"
"Yes."
"Winter dining hall?"
"Yes." It took all Lara had to not let irritation creep into her voice. She simply did not care about any of this.
"Library?"
"Ye- wait." Lara had to take a moment to think. "Under staff supervision. Put the books into storage. Limit the lighting."
"As you wish. The Atelier?"
"Absolutely not." Lara hadn't even been in the Atelier since her mother passed. That was her father's doing, of course. Winston nodded in understanding.
"Shall I bar entry to the entire West Wing?"
"Yes."
"Noted."
They painstakingly covered every nook and cranny of the Manor, right down to the servants' passageways, for the better part of an hour. They finished just as the film crew began to arrive. The film director, Cora Nova, was apparently a pioneer in the film industry. Lara figured with a pang that Sam would know who she was. Lara greeted the film crew cordially, but did not talk or indulge in small talk more than she had to. She showed them where they were and weren't allowed to go, and then they were gone just like that. They would return to film at the Manor once they are finished with casting. Just like that, Lara was alone in the Manor with Winston. She'd just started thinking about making her escape when-
"Will you stay for tea, my Lady?" Winston asked. Lara thought that she could detect a tinge of hope to his tone, and she bit her bottom lip. Roth hadn't been the only one to look after her after her father's passing. She figured she could give Winston an hour of her time.
"Tea sounds lovely," Lara relented with a sigh, "and those little sandwiches you make as well." She turned to face Winston, who wore a grin on his face.
"Right away, my Lady."
"I'm going to take a look around," Lara said, making for the door that would lead her to the central structure of the Manor. "I'll be back." She let herself out of the East Wing, emerging into the Marble Hall that served as the grand entrance to the Manor. Columns lined both ends of the hall, framing a plush red velvet carpet that led the way along the white-and-black checker-patterned marble flooring to the grand, T-shaped white marble staircase that led to the upper level of the manor. Situated on the wall where the stairs split was the Croft coat-of-arms, which featured a red lion situated on a white shield. Underneath the coat-of-arms read the family motto: Superbia et historia. Paying her family crest no further mind, she climbed the marble stairs to the library.
Six years. It had been six years since she had formally resided at the Manor, and even longer since she had called it 'home.' Why did she let it live?
The library, which she hadn't been able to privately appreciate with the film crew in the Manor earlier, was probably the chief reason for her retention of the Manor. If it weren't for the books that the Manor housed, which were more valuable than the property itself, Lara really would have given credence to the thought of demolition.
If not for the gorgeous, towering mahogany bookcases, or the centuries-old literature still in its original bindings, or the towering windows that overlooked the courtyard, she would have erased the 'superbia et historia' of the Croft legacy. A doorway situated in the middle of the bookshelves lining the wall to the right caught Lara's eye. She swallowed thickly. That was the door to her father's study.
That was the room where her father had killed himself.
Lara didn't know what outside force compelled her to enter, only that she did.
The oiled hinges swung open with noiseless ease. The study looked exactly the same as it did before; it was nearly impossible to tell the atrocity that was committed within its confines. Her father's ancient, hardwood desk had been expertly restored; Lara couldn't even see any blood embedded in its grains when she walked over to examine it. She ran a hand over its surface. Smooth. Sanded.
Her eyes scanned over the floor next. There was no evidence of bloodshed left behind there, either. She looked over at the wall to the side of the desk, where her father's safe was situated. The safe may still be there, but the bullethole wasn't.
Lara wasn't sure what she expected to feel when she beheld the study for the first time in nearly six years, but it certainly wasn't the detached indifference she was presently experiencing. Perhaps there just wasn't any grieving to be done? It had been six years, after all.
On a whim, she strode over to the wall-safe and dialed in the code: 0214. Her birthday. She turned the handle downward to open the door and reveal the contents contained within: a small pile of photos, VHS tapes dating back to 1992, and two small velvet boxes–one deep red, the other dark blue. Lara froze. She could have sworn her parents were buried with their rings, but if not…
She gingerly took the red box in her hands and opened it. That was definitely it: her mother's engagement ring. Lara picked it up with a shaking hand and began to examine it from an archaeological perspective: Early Victorian Period, rose gold. An oval brilliant cut ruby crowned its apex and was affixed with a collet setting. On each side of the ruby was a round brilliant cut diamond for accent. The band itself was intricate, the metalwork along its length depicting ivy, a Victorian symbol for everlasting love and marriage.
Lara looked into the crown stone, angling the ring back and forth to try to catch her reflection in its many facets. She briefly considered putting it on her finger, but decided against it. Instead, she replaced the ring back in its box and stowed it back in the safe. It was a precious relic that deserved protection.
Lara turned her attention back to the photos and VHS tapes. Again, she didn't know what forces possessed her, only that she grabbed the photos and VHS tapes and stowed them in her bag. She didn't even own a VCR or know if they still existed, but she figured there had to be one on the internet somewhere. With that, she closed the safe and re-locked it.
She made her way out of the study, out of the library, and back into the Marble Hall. She was about to return to Winston when the door to the West Wing at the other end of the hall caught her eye. Her heart began to thump with greater intensity. Was the West Wing still locked up? She'd never bothered to check after her father's death. She took a moment to deliberate, chewing her bottom lip as she did so, before approaching the door. She put a hand on the knob and, after hesitating for a moment or two, tested the door. It opened. She paused.
The late Dicky Croft had never let her enter the Wing following her mother's death. Maybe it was because he wanted Lara to forget she had a mother so that he didn't have to face his own guilty conscience. After all, he effectively killed his wife. Amelia Croft had dropped everything to support her delusional husband.
She had dropped her life for Richard, in both the literal and metaphorical sense of the word.
Lara gnashed her teeth together and swung the door open aggressively, almost as if in an act of defiance to a man who had been dead for six years. She felt like a small child again when she entered the long hallway, at the end of which was a door that led to the biggest room in the Wing: the Atelier. The first door along the wall on her left led to a ballroom that Lara's mother had repurposed into a piano room. Lara approached the door at the end of the hallway first. Her heart felt as though it were pounding in her throat when she let herself into the Atelier. She had so many memories in this part of the Manor.
Lara stepped in and closed the door behind her. Shelves of canvasses towered around her, and there were countless flat file cabinets whose drawers contained art supplies and brushes. Lara closed her eyes and breathed in the nostalgic, if a bit musty, scent. If she tried really hard, she could practically see her mother bustling about making her next piece and could almost hear her voice.
Almost.
Lara reopened her eyes and strode around the studio. It really was exactly how her mother left it, her works-in-progress still perched in their easels, awaiting the fulfillment of their unrealized potential. Lara stopped in front of a painting of a skyline that was made to resemble a mountainscape. She'd forgotten just how talented her mother was; a lot of her work was still displayed at Tate Modern.
Lara wondered why she'd never gone to peruse her mother's collection.
Lara's throat tightened, and she quickly recused herself from the Atelier to get some fresh air. She found fresh air in the form of the piano room, wherein lay the handsome antique kingwood piano that her mother had taught her to play on. She used to love playing a specific song every day. Lara wished she could remember what song it was, or the sound of her mother's singing.
If only she could just remember her mother's voice.
Lara took a seat on the piano bench. Maybe she did so in the hope that it would jog memories of her mother. The only memories she was able to retrieve, however, were memories of how to play the piano.
So she could remember how to play an instrument she hadn't touched in eight years, but she couldn't remember her mother's voice?
Lara also remembered music she used to enjoy when she was younger. The Cranberries. Why had she stopped listening to them? What was that one song she really loved? She couldn't remember the name, but she could remember how it went. She cracked her knuckles and began to cover the introductory melody to the song on the piano after fiddling around to find the right notes. After going for about ten or so measures, Lara began to sing. She always thought she was a little off-key, but she remembered enjoying singing in her youth. She sang the lyrics just as she remembered them:
"Understand the things I say
Don't turn away from me
'Cause I've spent half my life out there
You wouldn't disagree
Do you see me, do you see?
Do you like me
Do you like me standing there?
Do you notice, do you know?
Do you see me, do you see me?
Does anyone care?
Unhappiness was when I was young
And we didn't give a damn
'Cause we were raised
To see life as fun and take it if we can
My mother, my mother
She'd hold me…"
Lara's voice began to crack. She missed those hugs.
"She'd hold me when I was out there
My father, my father
He liked me, well he liked me
Does anyone care?"
Lara's father hadn't always been Deranged Dick. He used to play with her. He used to give her his undivided attention, used to indulge all of her questions about the world.
"Understand what I've become
It wasn't my design
And people everywhere think
Something better than I am
I miss you, I miss-"
A single tear fell out of one of Lara's eyes as she attempted to continue.
"'Cause I liked it
'Cause I liked it
When I was out there
Do you know this, do you know?
You did not find me
You did not find
Does anyone care?
Unhappiness-"
Lara stopped playing at this and keeled over in tears, each sob tearing through her throat like sandpaper. She realized why she had stopped listening to the Cranberries and singing: the Cranberries hit a little too close to home. She also realized that the reason why she felt complete indifference to her father's study was because that wasn't her father who killed himself in 2003.
Her real father died the day her mother died. Her entire family died that day.
Does anyone care?
Sam did. Sam was the only person Lara yearned for in this moment as she howled her sorrow into the void. She wanted Sam, but not Sam as she presently was. She just wanted Sam, her friend. The person she could talk to with ease. The person who would support her unconditionally.
But could Sam even be that person for her anymore?
For those who are curious, the song is Ode To My Family by The Cranberries.
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