From Pemberley to Manhattan

  From Pemberley

  to Manhattan

  MAY, 2017

  Copyright 2017 by Laís Rodrigues de Oliveira

  Illustrations copyright 2017 Romenick Amorim

  Reviewer*: Michelle Gimenes

  *A special thanks to Sheila for her priceless help

  All rights reserved. Published in KDP by Amazon.

  ISBN: 978-85-922450-1-6

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Chapter 1

  OVER TWO HUNDRED YEARS AGO

  People are never ready for the impossible.

  Normally it is a matter of misusing the word: most have the annoying habit of judging something impossible merely because they can’t accomplish it themselves, which is entirely different from that something actually being impossible.

  Luckily for Ethan Brown, the man standing in front of him didn’t believe in time travel, otherwise he’d notice some of Ethan’s belongings, still a long time from being invented. His Game of Thrones T-shirt semi-hidden by his lab coat, his ripped jeans, his Doctor Who watch, his eyeglasses; these definitely didn’t belong in the nineteenth century.

  Neither did he.

  Instead, the man facing him was scowling; his dark, thick brows pulling together; his lips settling in a straight line. He looked like he was crossed because a Mr. Nobody was standing on his land unauthorized, spoiling his so far agreeable morning, wasting his precious aristocratic time.

  “Excuse me, sir”, Ethan cleared his throat, recovering his voice, “What is the date?”

  Conscious that his accent might sound strange to the serious man, Ethan spoke as slowly as possible. It didn’t seem to work, though; the man’s brow furrowed deeper, and the corners of his lips turned down.

  “What day is today?”, Ethan repeated, his knees feeling weak already. The man’s presence was imposing; even his tough sister, Nathalie, would have to admit something about him was scary.

  “I could hear you the first time, sir”, Mr. Darcy was taken aback by the young man’s presence and even more bewildered by his forwardness and lack of manners. The only reason he didn’t call for his steward right now to accompany the man out of his property was the fact he might be a tourist who had been visiting Lambton and had lost his way. He quite enjoyed the village himself, even though the company there could be beneath him. “Today is the twenty-eighth.”

  “Of what month?” Yes, Mr. Darcy thought, probably an intoxicated guest from Lambton, unaware of his surroundings or the importance of the man in his presence.

  “This is the month of July. Sir.” He sighed, his temper trying to get the best of him. Ever since the dreadful affair with Wickham weeks ago, he had been even less tolerant than usual. Just to think of the scoundrel and Mrs. Younge made him want to hurt someone. It was not, however, that poor soul’s fault that the other two lacked honor.

  Mr. Darcy was mentally making the arrangements to take the stranded man back to the village when he spoke again: “Of what year?”

  That question alarmed Mr. Darcy. One thing was drinking enough wine to be confused about the accurate date. Forgetting the year, in any event, indicated a mental condition he was not willing to deal with, especially alone.

  Calculating the distance between himself and his house, Mr. Darcy answered the man with black hair and confused, gray eyes, ignoring the trespasser’s offending tone and his own manners. “It is 1811, naturally.”

  “Yes! YES!!! Suck that, McFly! I’m in the nineteenth century, baby!”

  The young man was behaving like a maniac, a strong indication to Mr. Darcy of his being a fugitive from a lunatic asylum. His strange-looking trousers were in shreds, and the rest of his garments weren’t at all adequate, proving his point. Unfortunately.

  Another unfortunate aspect of the odd situation was that the crazy fellow was blocking the closer way to Mr. Darcy’s house. Had he started running in the opposite direction, Mr. Darcy would have to circle the lake before reaching it. Nonetheless, there was a chance he might encounter someone tending to his gardens at that hour.

  He decided to take it.

  The man stopped screaming and yelling at his imaginary friend, a Mr. McFly, moments later. By then, Mr. Darcy had already taken a left turn, being hidden by lime trees lining both sides of the new route he was taking.

  Everything was quiet for a minute or so, except for Mr. Darcy’s shoe soles stomping the damp earth. Abruptly, he heard another pair of feet running in his direction. Gathering the young man had guessed which way he’d taken, Mr. Darcy decided to seek shelter amongst some oak trees that stood a few feet off the main path along the lake. He hoped the young man would run past him, so he could turn back to Pemberley House.

  Squatted under a tree, covered by its branches and shadows, Mr. Darcy hid in complete silence. He saw the young man spurting along the pathway, desperately searching, but unable to locate him. Mr. Darcy observed him most attentively, only letting himself exhale when he was certain the lunatic was too far to hear him.

  As Mr. Darcy returned to a standing attitude, he thought he saw a glimpse of a person. Taking careful steps, so he wouldn’t disturb the leaves and make most undesired noise, he approached the spot where he had the impression of seeing someone wearing black trousers.

  He hadn’t been mistaken; there was a tall man before him, probably one of the property’s servants. His back was turned to Mr. Darcy, who was relieved and, at the same time, eager to return to his most beloved house. He called for the man, reaching further in his direction.

  “I bid you good morning, sir!” Mr. Darcy’s humour was improving already. He moved closer to the man, who didn’t seem to hear him. “Excuse me.”

  “NO!” The maniac was back, and darted toward him.

  Mr. Darcy took a few steps closer to the other man, his hand closing on his coat. Rather than touching the man’s arm, Mr. Darcy felt like he was touching a cold, thick liquid. He subsequently had the impression of diving in freezing water. That didn’t make sense, since he’d been at least fifty feet away from the lake.

  Before he could reason further, he was engulfed by darkness.

  ♥

  TODAY

  Having the contents of his stomach scattered on the concrete floor would have disconcerted most men. Not Mr. Darcy. He behaved as a perfect gentleman, as expected by a fellow in his social position and family, even though his surroundings had changed inexplicably.

  In one moment, he was running away from a lunatic in the woods of his property. In the next, he found himself in a spacious room, with high windows and strange people staring at him, feeling a strong dizziness. Had he been taken to a lunatic asylum when he was unconscious? Those people had a bizarre appearance, such as the lunatic who had trespassed his land. There was even a lady with blue hair strands! Is that paint?

  Mr. Darcy, however, conducted himself as if it were all perfectly well: he simply begged everyone’s pardon, asking for directions to the nearest men’s waiting room. He kept his chin high and his features serious, successfully hiding a most fervent wish to freshen himself and find out what was that place.

  Seconds passed, yet the odd group around him just stared back: some with their mouths hanging; others with wide eyes; some even wore a combination of both; in short, an ill-bred group.

  Mr. Darcy decided it was time to look for the most refined man in the room, who would hopefully be the most reasonable one too. He was
quite surprised to discover the most polished-looking man was dark skinned, wore an elegant suit and looked very young, perhaps even younger than himself. His hairstyle was highly questionable, but his broad smile and his curious eyes offered Mr. Darcy the confidence he required.

  “I bid you a good morning,” He forced himself to smile, “Are you a Negro servant?”

  Everyone – except for the man he’d spoken to – gasped in horror, and even one of them, the female with blue hair, accused him of being racist. “You can’t speak to him like that!” The lady had clearly taken serious offense, which he hadn’t meant. Unless…

  “Why am I not allowed to speak to you?”, Mr. Darcy was suddenly concerned for the man, to the point he completely ignored the blue-haired woman’s strange accent. “Sir, if these people have committed the monstrosity of enslaving you, be not afraid! I will do everything in my power to help you be freed! Do not mind if the Slave Trade Act did not prohibit the act of slavery itself. I can still help you!”

  Gasps, snorts and cries of horror followed. Someone even fainted. On the other hand, the man to whom Darcy’s words had been directed began laughing. Out loud.

  “It worked! Can’t you get it?” Trevor couldn’t believe his own eyes. He wasn’t at all offended by the stranger’s words; in the early eighteen hundreds, he’d probably be considered a radically modern gentleman.

  Now he felt relieved they’d chosen Ethan to test the machine in his place, even though his friend had refused to wear according to the fashion in that century.

  Offering the man a bottle of water and a hand towel, Trevor demanded his name.

  “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, at your disposal.” The man answered in a cordial manner. “May I inquire yours?”

  “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Darcy. I’m Trevor Nolan.”

  Grace, the blonde with blue strands, one of the best scientists in Ethan’s team, was the first to return from her shocked state. “But…” She stuttered, “If the experiment was successful and this Darcy person is from 1811, how’s Ethan supposed to get back?”

  Trevor froze in place. He wasn’t the scientist here; he owned the lab (and the building where it was located), besides financing Ethan’s research. Actually, the main reason why Trevor wanted to test the machine himself was that in case anything wrong happened he knew Ethan would find a way to fix things.

  That and the fact that he wanted to be the first time traveler in History. Plus, no one else desired to risk their lives with Ethan’s crazy invention, which, of course, now had been proven to be anything but.

  The gate through which Ethan had entered and Mr. Darcy had come out of looked like nothing more than an average doorframe. Except it was made of steel, connected with hundreds of cables, standing otherwise alone in the middle of a platform, with no door. Around the platform, dozens of computers positioned on workstations controlled every single change in the portal.

  When Ethan had crossed it, the machines were beeping non-stop, and the group could see landscape on the other side of the portal, like a mirror. They could see lovely woods, and had a partial view of a lake and an elegant house through the portal. Now, the room was scary quiet, and the doorframe only showed the gray wall of the lab.

  “Everything’s fried! What will we say to NASA when they come looking for the equipment they lent us?”, one demanded.

  “They’ll send the FBI after us!”, another warned.

  “We’ll be arrested!”, a third one protested.

  As the rest of the team began awaking from their daydream, they also realized what they had done. An illegal experience. A mistake that could change History. The destruction of invaluable Government equipment. As hell broke loose, Trevor counted how many stupidities they had committed in a matter of hours.

  Yet, weren’t breakthroughs supposed to be that chaotic? At least, that was what Ethan always claimed…

  Besides, Trevor Nolan had seen much worse in his ten years of experience in the corporative world. Recreating a time travel machine without its original creator would be a piece of cake compared to that. The only real problem he would have to solve right now was standing in front of him, looking completely lost and suspicious at the same time.

  “Grace”, he whispered to the only woman not screaming, “I’ll control everyone. But I need you to put our new friend to sleep.”

  “Where are you taking him?” Grace was curious; the man from the past was the main proof of their crime.

  “Manhattan”, Trevor answered simply.

  ♥

  Chapter 2

  He remembered moving smoothly over the sea, on a wide, high bridge, made of stone and metal. The only comparison he could think of from home was the Iron Bridge, uncountable times smaller. The construction seemed to be held by infinite cables, connected to stone towers with archways. He was swiftly moving towards a skyline, which was, for lack of a better adjective, impressive: the island seemed to be walled by impossibly high and shiny buildings.

  Having been a modern architecture enthusiast his entire life, Mr. Darcy wished to investigate his surroundings longer, but he was too tired to do so, too sleepy. He drowsed off again, dreaming of constructions covered in mirrors and bridges that could reach the clouds.

  ♥

  “My brother is where?” Bobby wondered if he was already wasted. Nope, he was still holding his first beer, and he hadn’t smoked anything… Yet. Still, he’d imagined Trevor Nolan had just told him his brother was in Pemberley, England. Not only that, Ethan was supposed to be “stuck” in 1811. Which was inconceivable, of course. Traveling in time was cool, but totally sci-fi.

  Right?

  “We’ve been over this half a dozen times”, Trevor said patiently, trying not to roll his eyes. Looking at Bobby made his chest tighten; there were so many physical similarities between the siblings, sometimes random people would ask if they were twins, now they were both adults. The businessman wondered how he’d be able to tell the Estevez-Browns about Ethan’s future (or would it be his past?) should it be proven impossible to recreate the time travel machine.

  No. He simply had to bring Ethan back.

  “Prove it.” Bobby dared him.

  That video was top secret. Under his order, they had destroyed every copy of it, except for the one Trevor had in his possession right now. It had recorded the entire experience; so it was proof of the crimes (yes, in plural, Trevor reminded himself) they had committed.

  “Do you have a DVD player?”

  “A DVD player?”, Bobby asked lazily. “Are you sure you’re not the one from the nineteenth century, dude?”

  “They didn’t exist back then, smartass”, Trevor countered with a hint of smile playing on his lips as the young man left the room. Bobby returned with a silver, heavy-looking device in his hands.

  “Well, you’re lucky Dad’s an accumulator. He should be in one of those shows when the dudes come to your house and get rid of your shit, you know?” Bobby placed the DVD player on his TV rack and began a battle with the many cables. “Let’s just be quick about it, Trevor; if I’m late for Mom’s party, she’ll kill me.”

  “Or hide your stash.” Trevor offered him the DVD.

  “Even worse.” He turned the paraphernalia from the nineties on and placed the DVD in it.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll be quick. I’m not responsible, however, for the time you’ll take to recover”, Trevor said playfully.

  “Why? This isn’t a Ninja Turtles new movie, is it?”, Bobby joked.

  “Just watch.”

  Not willing to replay the scenes before his eyes, Trevor walked around the room. Although Bobby was twenty years old, he’d left the same decoration he’d had his entire adolescence.

  His single bed was unmade and pushed against the far wall, under huge windows facing the street. Mr. Darcy was sleeping in it, his feet and ankles left out. Considering Bobby was a fe
w inches taller than the gentleman, Trevor couldn’t begin to imagine how he was able to sleep in such a tiny bed for a man of his size.

  On the opposite wall, there was a closet without doors, filled with black T-shirts and jeans hung by colorful hangers; beside it, there was the door. Bobby sat in a blood-red armchair, staring at the TV with the DVD player connected to it. The remaining walls were covered with posters, most from Tarantino movies, his favorite director.

  Trevor laughed a little as he remembered taking Bobby to the preview of Inglorious Basterds a few years ago. The then teenager had enjoyed the movie so much he’d forced every adult in his life to take him to watch it again and again.

  “Wow!” Bobby gasped as he watched the image of the portal showing a landscape with trees and a lake, unconsciously pulling some strands of his dark, curly hair as his brother passed through it. It was a habit the siblings shared when they were anxious.

  Trevor could have fast-forwarded the video until the moment when Darcy got out of the portal, but he wanted Bobby to watch it in its normal time-lapse, so he’d believe the material to be authentic. Being a good video editor (even if he was an amateur), Bobby could easily recognize if an image had been somehow messed with.

  Opening the window to let some fresh air in, Trevor heard Frank Sinatra playing downstairs. Naturally, he had been invited to Elizabeth Brown’s birthday party, being a close friend to her oldest son since college. Even though Trevor always had fun in those gatherings, his priority now was finding a way to make Ethan’s invention work again (actually, he would supervise Ethan’s team so they could find a way).

  “What the–” Bobby’s gray eyes were open wide in shock. He had heard the entire account of the incident, but watching it had been a completely different experience. “Oh. My. Sweet. Baby. Jesus.” Startled, Bobby stood up and turned to the man passed out in his bed. “He’s… This guy…Dude…”

  He could not finish his babbling, for his sister called him.

  ♥

  Nat