Black and grey fine line tattoo of a large mansion with turrets above a banner reading PEMBERLEY, on the inner wrist of a forearm.

Enlarged with AI from a smaller original

Mansion and Pemberley banner on wrist

Traditional · Forearm · Black and grey · Photo

A black and grey tattoo of a multi-storey mansion with arched windows, a row of chimneys or turrets along the roofline, and a curled banner beneath it reading PEMBERLEY in capital letters. The linework is clean and dark, with stippled shading on the building's base and the banner's edges. The photograph is black and white and shows the tattoo on the inner wrist, framed by the hand and a dark background.

Traditional Dotwork Forearm Building Banner Window

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

The boats came in on the ebb that spring with nothing in their nets, and Tamsin Coake walked up the cliff road to ask for work at the house on the top, because her father's hands had stopped closing around a rope. The house was called Pemberley. Nobody in Saltwick could spell it without a finger moving on the palm, and nobody had seen the family in forty years, only the lamp that burned in the top corner window every night and the steward who came down on Thursdays for bread.

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Mrs Hollin the housekeeper put her to scrubbing the back stairs and told her not to look up. Tamsin looked up anyway. From the landing she could count the windows, eleven on the sea side, and see the chimneys with their little iron caps standing along the roof like a row of crowns left out in the rain. On the third night she saw the lamp move from one pane to another, as if someone had carried it across the room to read by a different window.

The study was cold and smelled of tar. A grey man sat at a table buried in tide tables, and he did not look up when she came in with the tray. 'Read me the names,' he said. It was a ledger of every boat lost off Saltwick since his grandfather's time, and beside each name a small pen mark. 'The lamp is for the ones still out,' he said. 'The mark is for the ones who come back.' She found her father's name near the back of the book, and beside it the mark was fresh, the ink not yet dry.

He came round the point at first light with his sail furled and his lamp swinging, and Tamsin, standing on the harbour wall, watched the top window of Pemberley go dark, one more line drawn in a book she would never be allowed to read.