Dropping By

[Bee Rosdew]

Bee supposed she should probably get a hold of a car that was less than 15 years old, wasn't a van, and that didn't read 'Rosdew & Son Fisheries' along the side. Locations had been by, as had the crew, setting up the office and the trailers, but so far Bee was the highest-ranking member of staff to arrive, and thought a courtesy call might be nice. That her parents could only spare her the van was... unfortunate. Mostly because it didn't like to start on cold days.

So she stepped out of the van hoping that it would start once she got back in, crunching up the gravel towards the door and pulling a green military-style jacket closer around her. Cold was good, as unused to it as she'd gotten--California, beautiful as it was, had been disorienting in its persistent year-round mid-seventies sunshine. Knocking on the door, she spared a thought for how odd it was to be knocking on the door of a house where she'd played as a child. In all honesty, she hadn't expected them to really pick Penchurch, and while she was thrilled to be home, she couldn't quite believe it was real, even in the face of so much familiar grey stone. She wondered if Mrs Abberley was still here. 

[Rosanna Roscoe]

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a familiar face--albeit with a scattering of more lines about her eyes and mouth and heavier streaks of grey in her hair--stared at Bee for half a moment before the bright blue eyes grew wide and a smile broke out across her face.

"Good heavens, if it isn't Miss Isabella!" exclaimed Mrs. Abberley, her Cornish roots still audible in her words, polished and crisp though they were. Being a born and bred Penny, of course she'd know a Rosdew anywhere, and at any age, but it was still a trifle astonishing to have Bee turn up on the Abbey's doorstep as if not a day had passed since she was all of ten years old and covered in all sorts of filth from playing. "Come in, come in! Sir Trevor and Master Jasper are still up in London, of course, just now," she went on, wiping her hands on her apron as she led the way down the hall. "But Miss Rosanna's in the library. I expect she'll be pleased to see you."

Mrs. A smiled fondly to recall how the girls had been thick as thieves, once upon a time. Of course it was years ago, and Miss Rosanna had gone away to boarding school, and poor Laura Roscoe was in her grave over at St. Pirrin's churchyard, and Miss Isabella gone off to America or somewhere, as she'd heard it told about the pub some time ago.

"I'll bring up tea for you girls," she said, as if the girls weren't undeniably women by now.

[Bee Rosdew]

Bee opened her mouth to correct Mrs. Abberley on her name, to say she was only Isabella to her grandmother and the tax man, but remembered with some warmth that she was one of the only people who had always insisted on the full version. It became a wide smile and an aborted greeting in return. "Mrs. Abberley! I came to--" But then her brain caught up with her mouth, Sir Trevor still in town. "Oh! I had hoped, being Saturday, but..."

She shook her head and grinned again, hesitating though she had followed by instinct. "I just wanted to finalize some details in person, say my hellos, but if Sir Trevor isn't here, I wouldn't want to be a bother." Bee's accent was softer since America, she knew, but her r's still curled into rich round vowels, the salt in her bones obvious on her tongue.

Somewhat oddly, she noticed the house still smelled the same.

[Rosanna Roscoe]

Mrs. Abberley paused to hear out Bee's explanation, and it dawned on her that she must be involved with the television programme that was to film at Penchurch Abbey.

"Oh, of course!" she exclaimed at nothing and everything. "But never you mind about Sir Trevor's being away," she said. "He's never spent much time here, truth be told, since...well, you know...but Miss Rosanna's come to stay, and he's given instructions that she's to handle anything that needs doing in his absence."

To her mind, Rosanna had grown up to be nearly the picture of her mother. The likeness wasn't exact, of course, but it was near enough and it had been so long, and her eyesight wasn't what it once was, that she'd come 'round a corner on occasion or entered a room and seen Rosanna and nearly felt her heart stop, thinking it must be Lady Laura.

By now they were outside the library door, and Mrs. Abberley waved Bee onwards.

"You know the way, my love. I'll go see what I can find by way of biscuits for your tea," she said, turning to go back downstairs.

[Bee Rosdew]

And as if she were ten, Bee had allowed herself to be shepherded and instructed and deposited at the open door. Her slack shocked expression became one of bashful amusement, head ducked for a moment to laugh at herself before she knocked on the doorjamb.

"Hello?" She called, poking her head in.

[Rosanna Roscoe]

A pair of feet in thick, woolly socks slid from the arm of the sofa and hit the rug with two thuds melded into one thump. The Scottish deerhound napping before the softly humming electric heater and its glowing red elements raised his head to curiously regard the newcomer, but made no other move.

Rosanna Roscoe sat up, tugging her earbuds loose, only to have them catch and snarl in her loose hair as she peered over at the doorway with a mild frown, a pile of papers almost slipping from her grasp in her lap.

"...I'm sorry, can I help you?" she asked. Rosanna had not been expecting anybody to call--most people had been content to leave her alone at the Abbey, even after the rumours (and truth) of her return had become known. People had been too busy with New Year's and their own lives, thank goodness. She'd been able to creep in and lick her wounds in peace while taking care of some business for her father and the BBC. She'd had the odd meeting with executives, but they had always called well ahead, and she'd met with them at her most carefully-coiffed and dressed like a proper adult, just in case they had been expecting the empty-headed party girl so many magazines loved to call her.

Just now, in her dark jeans, blue jumper, star-spattered festive socks and unbrushed hair, she definitely wasn't either of those people.

[Bee Rosdew]

"Rosanna! Sorry, I wanted to finalize some details and say hello in person, only it's your father I've spoken to on the--" She shook her head as if to refocus. Bee hovered at the door, a little disappointed when she realized she hadn't been recognized, but then it had been so long, really, and Bee must have been so far out of context. That, and she didn't have a Facebook. "It's... Bee. Rosdew," she clarified, with a jerky little gesture to herself and an easy grin. "I didn't mean to sneak in, Mrs. Abberley said you'd been handling things, and she sort of didn't let me say I'd come back when your father was here."

She bounced on her feet for a moment, still at the door. "Oh! I'm with Bournewood. It's what I came about. I'm not just... I was trying to be polite and casual before the invasion." This time, the grin was a little sheepish. "Finalize some dates, give you a better idea of what it'll be like during production, what you can expect, make sure my crew hasn't burned the house down without me."

[Rosanna Roscoe]

Rosanna stared, and then her head dipped to one side as the penny dropped. It was Bee Rosdew. And...yes, astonishingly, she was there on business of some sort to do with the show, but still...it was Bee. All at once, Rosanna was a little less chagrined at being caught unawares, and broke into a grin at the sight of her old friend.

"Bee--Bee! Oh my God, where's my brain, of course...I think I was trying to place you, but..."

Rosanna shuffled the papers off her lap and onto the low table, standing up to greet Bee properly, brushing the palms of her hands against her jeans. Not because they were suddenly damp or anything. It was just habitual. Like smoothing out a skirt she wasn't wearing. The dog cocked his ears and began to wag his tail when he saw her get up, and Rosanna waved a hand at him.

"Mungo, stay."

Turning back to face Bee, Rosanna was still smiling a little, though she crossed her arms to stop herself from offering to shake hands. Friends didn't shake hands, surely...? Well, it wasn't as if they were as close as they'd once been, as kids, but they were more than just acquaintances, and now working together for Bournewood.

"...I'd heard you were in America?"

[Bee Rosdew]

There it was. "But I'm out of context, I know," she finished for the other woman, with a relieved little laugh. Bee stepped into the library towards her and made an abortive little gesture that might have been the beginnings of a hug. American influence, again. The warmth of the intended motion only migrated to her smile, which was threatening to split her face in half.

"I was! It was actually--I suggested Penchurch, for locations. Excuse to spend some time home. And I thought you were in London!" It was with the insider snobbery of an Angeleno that Bee didn't keep up with American tabloids, let alone British ones, and only gave her mother's weekly gossip monologues. Last she checked there had been a boyfriend?

[Rosanna Roscoe]

Rosanna's arms loosened from their position at Bee's gesture--not quite consciously relaxing too late for any sort of embrace, but she threw out a hand towards the couch she'd just got up from.

"Please, sit--I take it Mrs. Abberley's gone to make tea? ...Dad's kind of been thrilled, in his way, since the Beeb got in touch," said Rosanna, her smile turning a little fond as she thought of her father. He had never been the exciteable sort, but it was clear to those who knew him that he was fascinated by this sort of project. Not quite fascinated enough to give up his work in the city and come down to oversee it in the day-to-day operations, but it made him happy to think the Abbey was going to be getting some of the attention the family couldn't bear to give it in the years they'd been away.

"He's still up in London, as is Jasper," she admitted. "I...I needed a change, and this seems like such a perfect opportunity to blow off some of the cobwebs, as it were. Dad did want to be more involved, I think, but he's just always been so busy...and I think he's finally realized he can't do everything all at once."

Sitting back down herself and remembering to hit pause on the phone that had been piping music into her ears, she threaded her fingers together and hooked her hands over her bent knee, giving Bee another cautious smile.

[Bee Rosdew]

"I doubt I could have stopped her," Bee said with a little burble of a laugh at the end. Now more comfortable, she moved couchwards about as soon as Rosanna gestured, all easy relief and warmth. By nature she never did anything cautiously, even being nervous, and this was no different. She bent to scritch the dog's ears with a happy little hum before turning and sitting, settling her bag next to her so she could reach the documents she'd brought, when it was time.

"I always thought the Abbey was too pretty for places like Highclere to be getting all the attention," she said with another grin. "I never thought they'd go for the idea; we weren't even set on Cornwall as a region. It's been mad, a bit; I hope they haven't been too much trouble setting up."

[Rosanna Roscoe]

"There's this persistent idea that Cornwall is like the edge of the known world," said Rosanna with an answering chuckle. "And, depending on how you go, it's easier and faster to get to Paris than to Penchurch," she had to admit. She let her gaze travel around the library--it had always been her favourite room, outside of her bedroom, whenever they'd been to stay at the Abbey, and she'd been spending most of her time in there since her return. Of course they'd started to Do Up one of the out-of-use sitting rooms to serve as the Duke's study, and so many books had been taken away to line those shelves as props, but there was still a staggering number left behind--the results of several bookish generations making up for the odd one which was not.

She shook her head.

"They've been really great about it," she said. "I don't know what I imagined it'd be like, but it's been pretty smooth so far. Most of the village is on-board with the idea, and I hear some outlying areas and farms are going to be used for village bits, as well as a section of the main street in Penchurch to be covered in dirt for a few market scenes?"

Rosanna was not immune to the fascination with the glamour of television, and while she knew that the actual process would likely be much less glamorous than the result, she was still intrigued to see how Penchurch and the Abbey could be drawn back into the past for a little while. Too see what had changed, or would change...and what was constant.

[Bee Rosdew]

"Yes!" Bee said earnestly. "Normally a producer would be having this meeting, probably, but I figured since I know the family... I was a little worried," she admitted, "at first, Pennys being Pennys, but with me as the connection--we'll be shooting on location around the region, of course, but it's more contained than usual. No house three hours away from the market. We liked the idea of a real town serving for Bournewood as much as possible." She bubbled with obvious pride, whether in her job or in the town she really wasn't sure. With a laugh, though, she added, "we'll see how on-board they are when actors show up demanding wheatgrass smoothies, but they're a good bunch, generally. Both the Pennys and the actors."

Pulling her bag onto her lap, she pulled out a little folder with the BBC logo on it and handed it to Rosanna. "That's a tentative schedule for you; we'll email a copy to you and your father. It's all subject to change, of course, and we'll give you more detailed breakdowns of which rooms we'll need at what times later on. You won't get to see any of the big scenes until the weather gets better, and interiors mean we'll be more in your hair, but of course you're welcome to watch us. I wanted to assure you, it's still your house. We won't be anywhere you don't want us, and you'll know when and where we are, generally. Inasmuch as we ever know where we are, and when."

With another bright smile, she seemed to straighten in excitement. "I'm that glad to be home, truly."

[Rosanna Roscoe]

Rosanna took the folder and propped it open in her lap, tucking her hair behind her ears with one hand, ready to get down to business, even if it was a great deal more casual than any other meeting she'd ever been in, so far.

She nodded as Bee spoke.

"Well, it's likely going to be just me and Mrs. Abberley, for now, so we shouldn't be getting too much in anybody's way, I hope," she said. "And I'm here to facilitate the production as much as possible, so we're all on the same team in that respect," she added with a smile. "Most of our things are still in the attics, anyway...and the rest...heirlooms or whatever, have been left in their usual places. An historical consultant came by and we noted which paintings or statues were wrong for the period, and I've had those removed, and reshuffled what was left so there were no gaps on walls, and cleared any modern furniture out into storage. I understand the locations crew is going to be bringing in some tables and chairs and things that are more in keeping with the 19th century."

It seemed they were all on the same page, but Rosanna appreciated the reassurances, all the same. Though she hadn't been properly back at the Abbey for years, it still felt more properly like home than anywhere else, and most of her happiest memories remained in Penchurch.

She smiled down at the shooting schedule, not quite looking up in response to Bee's happiness at being home.

"...there is something different about Penchurch," she agreed. "When I first got back a few weeks ago it just seemed easier to breathe, somehow. London's just so..."

Rosanna could only give half a shrug to try and explain what London was, to her.

[Bee Rosdew]

Bee listened with obvious attention, smile ever-present. "I'll tell you a secret--the historians terrify me," she said with a laugh, hoping it hadn't been the rude one with the glasses and the combover. "Honestly, Rosanna, your father's been so good about all this, from what they've told me, though I didn't know you were our person on the ground, so to speak. We really appreciate it," she said warmly.

And it was exciting, to be shooting at home. She'd never had much direct evidence of her work, and her parents were forever asking what, exactly, it was that she did, and why she was never on the schedule a reasonable person would be.

"I'd say the same about Los Angeles," she said with what passed for dry humor with her, "except I think that's the smog."