Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Eleven - part 2

She blotted her eyes with a tissue. There were many handsome things at Pemberley, but she would still leave them all behind in the morning. She would not accept his offer to return, even though it would mean never finishing her project, or completing her book.

Or seeing William again.

Liz glanced across to the dressing table, where her notepad lay open next to her computer. The hours she’d spent in the office had barely scratched the surface of Pemberley’s rich history and she mourned the lack of opportunity to discover more. Perhaps that had been the reason for William’s flattering attention. Had he distracted her when she came too close to discovering something that would uncover his secret life?

Well, if that was the case he was welcome to it. If she’d not already filled her curiosity this revelation would definitely cure her obsession with his house. William had suggested they might talk about their future during dinner, but there could be no future for them. How could she broach a subject he’d never meant her to know about? Maybe she should feign a headache and forego their dinner in favour of an early night and an earlier escape tomorrow morning.

Or perhaps they would have more to discuss if she found Mrs Bingley’s room and discovered his secret for herself.

Liz pulled a jumper over her head and slipped her trainers on before returning to her bedroom door. She turned the handle, opening it an inch to listen for footsteps. Hearing nothing, she moved out into the corridor and crept towards the staircase. The house felt empty. Even keeping to the carpet her footsteps echoed off the plaster. As she reached the banister she glanced down into the cold depths of the entrance hall before climbing up to the second floor, all the while straining her ears for voices or the mindless screeching of a mad woman.

This time, Liz saw the things she’d been too distracted to notice on her first visit. Dusty cobwebs clung to the plain cornice like thick grey strands of embroidery silk and a chill breeze whispered down the corridor from the stairwell beyond. She continued forward in the silence and paused when she reached the bottom of the attic stairs.

The narrow, steep staircase rose up into a dark void. She couldn’t see how high they went. William had said they led to the old servant’s quarters and storage space and yet she’d seen Mrs Ellis coming down and her hands had been empty. Why would the secretary be up there? Putting something away or visiting someone? Could Mrs Ellis be both nursemaid and jailer, as Grace Poole was to Bertha Rochester at Thornfield?

Liz looked around for a light switch but found nothing in the hallway. She stood on the first step, her hand shaking as it slid over the crumbling plaster. Climbing a second stair she reached higher, finding the switch with her fingertip. Liz pressed it and squinted as a bare bulb flared at the top.

She squeezed the smooth rail as she climbed the stairs, holding her breath when a creak reverberated in the silence. At the top, two doors stood on either side of a small square landing. Either might lead to Mrs Bingley. Liz turned the handle on her left but found it locked. The one on the right opened under her hand.

The room beyond was the last thing Liz expected to see. The plain white ceilings were low, but only when compared to the proportions of the rest of the house. To the right a modern sofa sat squarely in front of a wall-mounted flat-screen television. Along the wall, on either side of the TV, glass shelves supported an expensive looking sound system and a large array of CDs and DVDs. Having spent the past week working in a time capsule, it felt as though she’d stepped through a hole into the twenty-first century.

Someone had been using the left half of the room as a study. Three flat screens sat next to each other, angled around the keyboard like an old fashioned dressing table mirror. Liz moved closer. The first showed ever changing stock prices; some of the flickering numbers were in red, while others were green and tiny arrows flashed up and down. The middle one was a normal desktop screen showing a gorgeous photograph of Pemberley at sunrise; its stone façade bathed in a warm glow.

Then she noticed the images on the third screen, which caused her to wonder what sort of man William Bingley really was.

The picture changed every ten seconds or so, offering her different black and white views of Pemberley. Room after room came up on the screen: the salon, the library, the hall, the office, even the stables. A network of security cameras covered the principal rooms and corridors of the house, all feeding to this one location.

What kind of man would spy on visitors to his home? How could he justify such an intrusion? Even a crazy wife hidden in the attics would be better than this.

Ever since their first meeting Liz had felt safe with William. His presence had never given her one moment of concern, but now she’d never been so frightened of anyone in her life. If this was where William spent his time, where was his wife?

Liz dropped into the chair and ran her fingers over the keyboard, wondering whether she should send Nat an email in case she never made it back to London. The camera flicked to the kitchen, where Kelly was checking on a joint in the oven, then Mrs Ellis walking down a hallway, files in hand. She waited to catch sight of William, but room after empty room appeared on the screen with no sign of him.

Her attention drifted to a notice board fixed to the wall behind the screens. One of her articles, published in the previous month’s edition, had been pinned to the cork. Another of hers from the month before hung next to it.

An envelope on the desk by the computer bore William’s name. Normally she would never consider looking at someone else’s correspondence, but after everything she’d seen and heard Liz no longer had any qualms. It wasn’t sealed, so she pulled out the papers inside. A handful of photographs spilled onto the floor, skating across the polished floorboards.

As she crouched to collect them she recognised the subject, and a cold dread settled in her stomach.