Chapter 10
William
The buzz in the carriage court as filming got underway was absolutely electric.
It was like those tense few minutes before you run out onto the rugby pitch—anticipation in the air, grunts of encouragement flying around everywhere, adrenaline pumping through your veins, and tears streaming down your face because you were careless about where you put your hands after slapping on the Tiger Balm.
Well, maybe not the last bit. It was a bright sunny day, right after luncheon, and I was standing well back, under a tree, where Indira was staring at a bank of monitors.
I was under strict instructions to remain totally silent.
“It’s costing sixty grand to film this one sequence,” Indira explained.
“So you’re welcome to stand here and watch.
But if you fuck this up for me in any way, I’ll pluck your family jewels from betwixt your impossibly thicc thighs and I’ll crush them with my bare hands until they turn into diamonds.
Your future baroness will think you’ve had a fucking vajazzle. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal.” I swallowed. “You won’t hear a peep. We’re on the same team. I’m here to make sure this whole thing goes as smoothly as possible.”
Indira did not look convinced.
Members of the crew were zipping around everywhere, all wearing headsets with little microphones.
At least five cameras were set up on tripods around the carriage court, the operators standing on boxes, heads bowed downwards, staring intently into their viewfinders.
There was a bloke with a big boom microphone who, on closer inspection, I realised was carrying a duck in a baby sling.
There was absolutely no sign of Petey Boy, thank God.
I wasn’t sure I was ready to see him again, knowing he must have thought I was a bumbling incompetent.
But in the centre of the carriage court, standing on a small stage covered in red velvet, was someone I was thrilled to see—The Love Manor host, and national treasure, Dorinda Carter.
Big, Black, and Brummie, she looked like a queen in a massive hooped dress of electric blue silk.
She was glittering with diamonds (acquired, I imagined, from Indira’s previous victims).
A stylist bustled around her, adjusting a tiara sparkling out from an improbably tall afro puff.
“Right, let’s go,” Indira said into her headset. “Get the drone up.”
Someone yelled, “Places, everybody!”
The stylist bolted from the set. Dorinda stood a little taller.
Indira, eyes flicking between the monitors, nodded and pressed the button on her headset. “Action!”
“Wait!” someone shouted from behind us. “I’ve brought acorns!”
“CUT!”
I turned to see Mum and Bramley running towards us across the lawn from the Dower House, carrying wicker baskets.
“Reset, everybody.” I could feel Indira’s eyes boring into the back of my head. “Lord Buckford…”
If I didn’t turn around, I couldn’t meet her gaze and she couldn’t turn me to stone.
“I’ll handle it.”
Mum pulled up in front of us, huffing and puffing.
“Gosh, you don’t realise how big that lawn really is until you try running across it,” Mum said. “I guess that’s why we call it the Great Lawn.”
Over her shoulder, I could see Bramley about twenty feet back, bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “If you’ve killed Bramley—”
“Oi,” Indira barked. “I’m trying to make a fucking TV show here. Do you know how much it costs per minute to keep thirty crew standing around doing bugger all?”
“Well, exactly,” Mum said. “That’s why I’ve bought acorns for everybody.”
“Mum, that’s enough,” I said through gritted teeth.
“They’re a symbol of good luck,” she continued. “Only they’re not fresh. I collected these last year, obviously, because acorns are out of season right now. But I thought if everyone had an acorn in their pocket, it might—”
“Is she a fucking squirrel?” Indira muttered.
Mum blinked, clearly taken aback. “I’m sensing some negative energy. Perhaps some pranic breathing exercises, as a group, might be in order?”
I turned to face Indira. “Just take them.”
“Pardon?”
“It’ll be quicker if you take them,” I said, sotto voce. “Imagine she’s your nephew.”
Indira reached out her hand and took the basket. “Where are my manners? Very thoughtful. Thanks ever so much, et cetera. I’ll distribute them to everyone later. I hope there’s enough for Derek’s duck. I know he’d hate to miss out. Will you be staying to watch the filming?”
The sarcasm was thick in the air, but Mum completely failed to smell it. She nodded. So did Bramley, who’d caught up and was collapsed on the grass beside his own wicker basket.
“Fine,” Indira said. “But if I hear a peep out of either of you, I’m sticking every last one of those acorns up your arse, sideways, until you’re shitting expensive cabinetry. Do you hear me?”
A few minutes later, three black landaus, each drawn by a team of four magnificent Cleveland Bay mares, circled into the carriage court.
As if out of nowhere, Petey Boy was at the centre of the action.
He had a clipboard in one hand, while the other was constantly playing with the button of his headset.
He looked so in control. Like he was completely in his element.
As the cast members sat in the carriages, dressed in their finery, Petey Boy issued instructions about how they should line up in front of Dorinda and what would happen next.
He oozed calm authority. A gust of wind picked up, and from the stables, Achilles neighed loudly—as far as the stallion was concerned, a busload of new girlfriends had turned up.
About three of the mares whinnied back. My eyes darted to Indira, but she didn’t say anything.
Then there was a flurry of activity, and Petey Boy dashed over to stand with our little group.
I raised my hand to wave hello, but he ignored me completely to stare at the monitors.
Indira called, “Action.” Actors dressed as footmen bustled about, helping the contestants down from the landaus.
I spotted Jonty Boche, dressed in full coat and breeches, jumping down onto the gravel.
Before I could engage my brain, my hand shot up to wave hello to my old school chum. Unfortunately, Jonty did the same.
“If it isn’t old Dub-Dub!” he bellowed, marching across the carriage court with his hand extended.
“CUT!”
Indira and Petey Boy both turned and glared at me, heads tilted. I’d seen the velociraptors do that in Jurassic Park.
“Petey Boy, go deal with your twat friend.”
“I’m on it,” he said. Unless I’m terribly mistaken, he scowled at me—actually scowled at me—before dashing away to head Jonty off at the pass. It was clear I was no longer considered merely a bumbling incompetent but a serious liability. So much for being on the same team.
“Seeing as we’ve all stopped,” Mum put in, “would anyone like some tea?”
Bramley produced a thermos from his basket and raised it aloft like a trophy.
“NO! We need to crack on.” Indira turned to face me. “Lord Buckford, if you, or your people, cause me one more delay, I promise you I will be adding a pair of very small, very inbred, very high-carat diamonds to my jewellery box. Are we clear?”
My head was in my hands. This was not going well. When everyone was back in their positions, Petey Boy dashed back over to our tree by the monitors. I smiled as apologetically as I could manage and received a death stare in reply.
“Action!”
In the carriage court, it was time for Dorinda Carter to deliver the day’s coup de grace. The smiling faces beaming back at her as she welcomed them to The Love Manor turned to looks of horror as the first nine contestants learned they would not be lords and ladies after all.
“Upstairs, in the servants’ quarters, you’ll each find a bedroom with your name on the door,” Dorinda said. “Inside, you’ll find the uniforms appropriate to your new roles, as maids, housekeepers, cooks, valets, butlers, and footmen.”
“You what?” Ellie from Essex spat.
Kiki Galapagos shook her head. “Yous are takin’ the piss.”
Tom the hot farm boy raised a hand. “Can I be a stable boy?”
Indira’s jaw was clenched, her eyes bulging with delight. On the monitor, I could see cameras moving in and out on the contestant’s reactions. This was exactly what she wanted.
“So, go upstairs, find your rooms, get changed, and get to work,” Dorinda said. “Because…” She paused for dramatic effect. “Tonight, you’re hosting a ball for the lords and ladies of the ton. They will be here in four hours’ ti—”
A duck quacked, loudly.
I barked a sharp, nervous, involuntary laugh—and slapped my hand to my mouth, horrified.
There was a beat of silence. Dorinda and all the contestants fell into giggles.
The carefully built on-screen tension had evaporated.
Off-screen, the tension was thicker than ever.
I looked at Indira, waiting for her to explode.
She was silently staring at the monitors.
I glanced over at Petey Boy, who was practically white knuckled, waiting for Indira’s reaction.
Dorinda didn’t miss a beat.
“So you’ve got a lot of work to do,” she said, taking charge of the moment. “Cos I don’t reckon that duck’s in the oven yet.”
Jonty’s familiar laugh bellowed across the estate, like a hyena having an asthma attack. The contestants cackled like hens. My eyes flicked to Petey Boy. His gaze met mine for an instant before we turned to face Indira.
We waited.
And waited.
Then she smiled, and her shoulders started to bounce up and down.
“CUT!” she bellowed. She took her headset off, rubbed her eyes with her hands, and laughed—a real gut-busting roar of a laugh. It was joyous. Then she turned to Petey and sank a finger into his chest.
“And that,” she said, “is why we always work with the best. Dorinda Carter. What a fucking pro.”
Petey’s face transformed, the tension evaporating—replaced by a glorious smile. He really was beautiful.