Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Eighteen

That afternoon Darcy turned onto a tree-lined street of large semi-detached houses, deep in the north London suburbs. It seemed that Liz’s mother lived very comfortably indeed.

She pointed ahead. “Pull in there, behind the green car.”

As he turned off the ignition he noticed Liz rubbing her palms against her jeans. “Are you okay? I can go in on my own if you’d prefer.”

“No, no. I’ll be fine. I’ve not been here for a while.” She stared towards the house, and he heard her sigh. “The last time I saw Amanda it didn’t end well.”

Liz continued to fidget, clasping her hands into fists before letting them go. He reached out, stroking a finger down her neck; a trick that had worked with skittish horses. “Relax. No matter how bad she might be I’m sure I’ve met worse.”

She lifted one corner of her mouth in a rueful smile. “I doubt it.”

“If I can cope with Mrs Bennet as a mother-in-law, I think I can handle Mrs Pargeter.”

The house drew her attention again. After a few moments of silence she said, “What was Elizabeth’s mother like?”

“She was a typical matriarch of the time, whose only occupation was finding husbands for all her daughters. She had less polish than the females I’d encountered in town, although like them she lived and breathed gossip. She could be a little silly at times, but her heart was in the right place.”

“Was she…did Elizabeth get on with her?”

“Well enough, I suppose. Mrs Bennet’s behaviour exasperated her at times. She showed a marked preference for Jane and Lydia, her youngest, but Elizabeth was closest to her father. I grew rather fond of him myself. When we married, Mrs Bennet was so proud of her for managing to ensnare such a rich husband, I thought she might burst.”

She dropped her gaze to her hands. “That sounds nice. I doubt I could do anything that would impress Amanda.”

“Why do you care what she thinks?”

Liz shrugged, but said nothing, leaving Darcy to imagine what kind of memories might be replaying behind her closed expression.

They left the car and walked hand in hand down the empty driveway. Liz rang the doorbell and stepped back as Big Ben chimes echoed inside.

The person who opened the door didn’t look old enough to be Liz’s stepmother. She was the physical opposite of Liz, and he doubted she’d ever missed a meal through lack of money. A tight black vest top finished at the bottom of her ribs, showing off the silver skull hanging from her navel and her stomach hanging over the top of her jeans. Limp, raven black hair clung to her face, while a strong square jaw worked the gum in her mouth like a cow chewing the cud.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice held not the slightest hint of curiosity or surprise, as her lifeless eyes drifted towards William. He bore her inspection in silence before she looked away.

“I need to speak to Amanda. Is she home?”

“No.”

“When do you expect her back?”

The girl shrugged. “Don’t know. Ten, fifteen, maybe twenty minutes.”

Liz sighed, although whether her disappointment stemmed from her stepmother’s absence or her sister’s reticence wasn’t clear. “Would it be okay if we waited for her?”

It annoyed him that she even had to ask. From what Liz had said, the house had belonged to her father and she had lived here for the better part of eighteen years. What had happened between Liz and her stepmother that she no longer felt welcome in her childhood home?