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He launches into a spiel about the history and building, leading us through the main hall and into the house. The group is made up mostly of a group of grey-haired pensioners clutching their guidebooks, and we all ‘Ooh’ and ‘Ahh’ as Bow Tie Man shows us the exquisite artwork and furnishings in the grand, echoing halls. Even Fraser looks interested, lingering in the sculpture hall to take a closer look at the marble busts.
“… In addition to its rich historical significance, Chatsworth has also played an important role in the cultural legacy of England,” Bow Tie Man announces proudly. “And inspired countless great works of British literature and art.”
One of the tourist group raises her hand eagerly. “Is it true that Jane Austen visited here?”
Bow Tie Man sighs loudly. “I suppose. It’s been suggested.”
“And she wrotePride & Prejudicewhen she was staying in Bakewell,” the woman continues, looking just about as starry-eyed as I feel. “And they shot scenes from the film right here. With Keira Knightly, and that MacFayden fellow.”
One of her friends nods, smiling. “He’s a looker, alright.”
“Do you know more about that?” the woman asks hopefully. “Where would she have gone, do you reckon?”
“I haven’t the foggiest.” Bow Tie Man sniffs, superior. “And even if I did, information like that wouldn’t warrant an official tour. I assure you, Chatsworth’s cultural legacy extends far beyond a few pages in that woman’s idle scribblings.”
The tourist’s face falls. She blushes, looking embarrassed.
My blood begins to boil.
“Did you hear that?” I hiss at Fraser. “Idle scribblings?!”
He gives me a warning look. “Jolene…”
Bow Tie Man claps his hands again for attention. “Now, if we could move on from the trivialities, and back to the rich historical significance—”
“Excuse me?!” My voice rings out in disbelief. Bow Tie Man turns—and so does everybody else. “You think Jane Austen—one of the most insightful, enduring, celebrated authors in British history—you think her work istrivial?“
“Oh, goodie,” he sighs, his gaze sweeping over me dismissively. “Another one.”
“Another one of what?” I demand, my voice rising. “Another fan of one of the greatest cultural commentators of the nineteenth century?” I give the other tourist a supportive nod. “Another person who recognizes her ongoing legacy, and the continued relevance of her work? Another person who showed up to your stuffy stately home just becauseshehappened to grace it with her presence?”
“Young lady,” Bow Tie Man looks aghast. “Lower your voice, please. You’re atChatsworth.”
“Who’s going to hear me?” I retort furiously. “The statues? Funny how you didn’t have any problem gushing all tour about the greatmaleartists who paid this place a visit for all of ten minutes.”
“Security?” he calls loudly, looking around. “Security!”
“Now, there’s no need for that.” Fraser tries to hustle me to the exit. “We were just leaving. We apologize for the interruption.”
“No, we don’t!” I exclaim, standing firm. “Heshould be the one apologizing, for being a stuck-up piece of shriveled toffee wrapper. He doesn’t deserve to walk the same halls that Jane did!”
Bow Tie Man splutters. “Security!”
“And I’ll tell you another thing—” I start, about to really let loose, until Fraser suddenly grabs me around the hips and throws me over his shoulder like a bag of Costco beans.
What the hell?
I let out a shriek of surprise, suddenly swinging upside down with my ass in the air.
“Put me down!” I demand, but Fraser just pats my ass, and heads for the door. “Enjoy the rest of the tour,” he calls back to the group, carrying me easily to the exit.
“And you can take your snooty disdain and stick it, well, up one of your historically significant urns,” I declare, from my inelegant position, draped over his shoulder. “You could only wish people will have heard your name hundreds of years from now. You wish!”
One quick getaway later,and we trade the hallowed halls of Chatsworth for a bustling café in the nearby village of Bakewell. “I can’t believe you carried me out of there like a naughty schoolkid,” I elbow Fraser, as we pay for our spread of food and find a table outside, under the awning. “I was on a roll. I had the moral high ground!”
“You would have had us arrested, if you kept up that racket,” Fraser says with a smirk.
“For a righteous cause,” I declare. “I won’t stand for Jane to be slandered like that.”
