From Pemberley to Manhattan [COMPLETED]

Chapter 5

"Hello there, sleepy head."

"He's from the nineteenth century, Dad. Not a five-year-old."

Having already explained the story all over again to Carlos Estevez – and convincing father and son they would have to assist the gentleman from over two hundred years ago, otherwise he wouldn't be able to bring Ethan back – Trevor had left to meet his team. Not before reminding Bobby he'd had to send the family texts and e-mails pretending to be his brother.

"No one can suspect anything, Bobby."

Even though Carlos felt less than happy to lie to his wife, he considered it less terrible than the truth. Since Ethan's time travel would be kept as a secret, so it would be Mr. Darcy's identity.

They decided to introduce him as a friend of Ethan's who was an actor and had just been hired to play an important fellow from the nineteenth century in a play. Naturally, he'd be described as incredibly talented and... eccentric. One of those actors who really became the character.

It was the worst story ever invented, by the two worst liars in History of Humankind.

Yet, they hoped that for that exact reason people might believe them.

By the time Trevor was gone and they had talked things over, Mr. Darcy was waking up.

"I've got this, Bobby." His son rolled his eyes, but stayed quiet. Carlos focused his attention on the man sitting on his son's bed. "Hey, Mr. Time Travel! My name's Carlos Estevez. This is my son, Robert Estevez Brown. This is our home. Are you feeling all right?"

Mr. Darcy remained silent, trying to remember what had happened in the last few hours and why there was a stranger speaking to him as if he were an idiot. Somehow, the gentleman and the young man in the tiny room seemed quite familiar.

"What? Cat ate your tongue?"

"Seriously, Dad?", Bobby turned to the other man and said, "Trevor told us you're Mr. Darcy, right? Are you feeling okay, dude? You were out for a while."

He couldn't understand even a word the youngest Mr. Brown had just pronounced. On the other hand, now he finally recalled where he knew those faces from: these two must be blood related to the lunatic who had trespassed his land. Had they taken him by force so they could demand his family gave them money so Darcy could be returned to them? Their accents were ugly and vulgar. Perhaps they were from the Americas.

"Why am I here? Where am I?" He'd ignored all formalities, since these men were probably bandits.

"You're in the best place on Earth, dude!", Bobby replied animatedly.

"Oh, Thank God! We're in England, then." Mr. Darcy felt relief wash over him. At least, they hadn't taken him abroad.

"No way! We're in Manhattan!" When Bobby saw the blank expression Mr. Darcy offered him, he tried to explain. "As in New York? As in the United States of America?"

That explained the nasty accent. Despair took over him as realization sunk in; they'd taken him not only abroad, but across an entire ocean! How was that possible? It had felt like he'd slept merely hours, not the long weeks that the trip must have taken.

"I demand to know why you have brought me here against my will!"

"Trevor hasn't told you?" Carlos was curious. This man had more than enough reason to be confused, but he seemed to be completely clueless of his situation.

"Mr. Nolan? What should he have told me? I don't know what your intentions regarding me are, yet I am quite certain my family must be concerned about my whereabouts and I must return to my sister–"

"Dude–"

"It's Darcy!"

"Okay, then." Bobby took in a deep breath and continued. "Look, Darcy-dude, here's the thing; you're not in Kansas anymore."

"I beg your pardon?" Noticing the man was about to punch his son – which Bobby sometimes deserved, by the way – Carlos decided to intercede.

"I can imagine your confusion, Mr. Darcy. We can – and we shall – explain everything; we don't want to hurt you. We haven't brought you here. But we can help you." The man from the past sat back down on the bed, and waited for Carlos to finish. "What my son meant is that you're no longer in 1811. This is the twenty-first century."

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