By the time Liz left the stables, she felt faint. Why did she always struggle to breathe around William? It was as though his presence sucked the oxygen out of the atmosphere, leaving her lightheaded.
She’d excused herself to return to her work, but almost turned back as she walked down the tiled hallway. Liz found it too easy to talk to him. They shared a fondness—she might go so far as to call it a passion—for his beautiful old house. His feelings were understandable; it was his home, after all. Her emotions were harder to explain.
Liz had always loved old things: antique furniture, nineteenth century literature, and even period dramas on television. Anything that showed life as they’d lived it in an earlier time. But since her first sight of the Bancroft print her interest in Pemberley had almost bordered on an obsession.
Was it right for her to have similar feelings about its owner?
She’d initially been overwhelmed by William’s proximity, but Liz realised she was becoming more comfortable in his company. His presence didn’t stun her as much now, unless he came too close, as had happened in the stables.
From the moment he’d held his hand out to her—urging her to meet his horses—the butterflies in her stomach had taken off, swooping in an intricate formation, setting off tremors like mini-earthquakes. She recalled again Mrs Ellis’ words of warning on her first night, and wondered what the old woman would say if she’d witnessed her employer asking her to dinner.
It wasn’t as though she’d come here expecting to find the owner attractive. It had been quite the opposite. She’d expected an elderly gent with white hair and a fondness for mints. When reality had revealed a tall, handsome man barely ten years older than herself, these strange treacherous thoughts and feelings had flown from somewhere deep inside her. Her heart was like Pandora’s Box, and William had held the key.
A frisson crawled along her shoulder and down her arm, following the path William’s hand had taken. Liz wondered if he’d felt the spark when he touched her or whether his hand had tingled as it trailed down her skin. She closed her eyes, remembering the moment, shivering as an icy draught mimicked his caress.
Liz hugged herself, wishing she’d worn something warmer. She jumped up to close the door before fetching one of the ledgers from the shelf and getting back to work. Despite having access to all the information she could ever wish for, she found it difficult to concentrate. Every few minutes she would turn in her chair, glancing around the room, half expecting William to be standing there, watching her.
She opened the book in front of her, smoothing the pages back against the desk. The steward’s crabbed handwriting recorded the seed he’d purchased, and which field it had been planted in. The yield from the clay pit and the quarry. The breeding stock bought, sold and mated. She found a fascinating family tree detailing the off-spring of Theseus, one of Pemberley’s finest stallions.
Liz wondered whether William had fathered any children. What had happened to his wife? She considered asking Mrs Ellis, but soon discarded that idea. The old woman wouldn’t appreciate her curiosity. But surely someone must know what happened to Mrs Bingley?
She continued perusing the pages, although the details barely registered anymore. Instead of the narrow copperplate hand, she imagined William’s eyes looking out from the paper; his stare holding her attention far easier than the dry ink ever could. His hot breath echoed against her ear as she again relived the moment when he’d asked her to dine with him. She smiled as she imagined the small dining room transformed into something more intimate for an evening meal, then blushed when she realised the tricks her mind had begun to play.
Shaking her head, Liz refocused on the ledger, combing through timber sales and purchase orders. She jotted down some notes, building up a picture of life at Pemberley in the nineteenth century.
Near the end of the book she found a note scribbled in the margins, describing the fire that had destroyed the lodge in 1933. Three generations of the Harrison family had died in their beds, the smoke incapacitating them before the fire took hold. She remembered seeing the burnt-out structure by the main gates when she arrived and wondered why no one had rebuilt it, or at least demolished the ruins.
A twinge in her shoulder made Liz wince and she flexed her arms above her head. She’d been sitting in the same position for too long and needed a break. Liz considered taking a walk in the garden, but the secretary might not approve of any unauthorised wandering without a chaperone.
Thinking about the damaged lodge reminded Liz about the village, the closest inhabitants to the Pemberley estate. It was also the nearest place she knew that had a mobile signal, and Natalie would be wondering why she hadn’t called. Liz decided to drive back and have a look around. Perhaps, once she’d spoken to Nat, she would also find one or two people there who might be willing to share memories of life at Pemberley in earlier times.
* * * * *
Darcy watched Liz close the last book. She frowned, rubbing her shoulder. Had she grown stiff through sitting, or did the frown denote some dissatisfaction with the progress of her work?
He wondered what she’d expected to discover in those old papers and ledgers. He could have told her anything she wanted to know. Despite their rather dry subject matter, the old steward’s accounts had kept her occupied for a number of hours, but Darcy hadn’t minded. He found watching her to be an equally stimulating pastime.
This waiflike creature seemed incapable of hiding her emotions. She wore them openly for anyone to see. Expressions passed over her face like storm clouds racing ahead of an easterly wind. One moment she would frown, the next her lips would lift into a brief smile. After a few minutes her brow contracted into worry, relaxing before she turned the page.
What went through her mind when she tugged at her earlobe like that? Or when she blushed? He found the pink flush on her cheek rather endearing. He only wished he knew what caused such a reaction.
Did she ever think about William Bingley?
Darcy felt something gnawing at his insides. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear it was jealousy. It annoyed him that it was William Bingley she smiled at, William Bingley who had assuaged her curiosity in the house and derived such satisfaction from making her breathless in the stables.
If this was Elizabeth—and he grew more convinced of the truth of it with every moment she spent under Pemberley’s roof—it should rightly be Fitzwilliam Darcy she fell in love with, not William Bingley.
But that was impossible. Liz Pargeter could never fall in love with a dead man.
He looked around, realising she’d left the office. He hadn’t heard her go, but it didn’t worry him. It was only a matter of time before he came across her again.
As long as she remained within the walls of Pemberley, he would always find her.
* * *
Liz crept upstairs to her room, grabbing her coat, phone and car keys, before sneaking back down to the hall, all the while rehearsing her excuses should she come across Mrs Ellis. However, luck was on her side, and a short journey later Liz parked her car just inside the old gates, not wishing to disturb the rust any more than absolutely necessary.
The blackened stonework of the old lodge was little more than a shell. Most of the charred roof timbers had long rotted, and young trees had already taken root within the broken walls. Liz imagined the tongues of flame leaping from the window openings, their sooty trails like a bloom of mould across the dull limestone.
The few dead leaves on the branches above her head rustled in the breeze. Liz kicked a moss covered stone half buried in the ground as she pondered the impermanence of life.
Her own mother had died within a week of her birth. Her father had stayed with her for ten more years before he too had left her. Here a whole family had been killed—mother, father, sons and daughters, grandparents. Ten people wiped out in one stroke.
What a waste.
She wondered whether they had been happy, living together in such a small building. Her own home had been spacious by comparison; a large, well decorated workhouse, where she’d been the only inmate. Well, the only person who’d done any work, at least.
Saddened by the direction of her memories, Liz shook her head, slipped out between the old gates and dug her phone out of her pocket. She walked down the lane towards the village, impatient as the tiny device searched. The antenna appeared in the top corner, accompanied by one lonely little stick. Not a strong signal but better than nothing. She pressed the buttons and waited for Natalie to answer. It felt good to hear a familiar voice on the other end. “Hi, Nat.”
“Why didn’t you ring me before? I’ve been worried about you.”
The note of concern warmed Liz. “You sound like your mother.”
“With good reason. I haven’t heard from you since Sunday. You might have been sold as a white-slave and be half way around the world by now.”
“Relax. You read too many tabloids. I’m quite safe. The valley is a bit of a telecommunications black spot. No mobile signal, no internet—”
“Jesus, Liz. I thought you’d only gone to Derbyshire, not back to the Victorian age.”
“It does feel as though I’ve travelled back in time. You would’ve been pulling your hair out by now. There’s no TV either.”
“No telly? You’ve volunteered for sensory deprivation.” She heard Nat’s exaggerated shudder. “How can you stand it?”
“Oh, it’s not so bad. The people here are…nice enough and there’s plenty of material to work on. I’ve been so busy there’s been no time to miss the home comforts. I just wanted to let you know I’m still alive.”
Nat sighed. “It’s been weird at work. No one else appreciates my bitching quite like you.”
Liz laughed at her mournful tone. “I might not get a chance to ring again but I’ll see you sometime on Saturday, okay?”
“Take care, Liz, and drive carefully.”
They said their goodbyes and Liz hung up. Hearing Natalie’s voice had made her happy, but she regretted not being able to tell her about the last two days at Pemberley. Liz would have loved to talk about William and the time they’d spent together, but she knew Nat too well. Her best friend would most likely tease her about her first real crush, and the story would be all over the office by the time she returned.
Liz’s curiosity about William was too new, and she still needed to make sense of her strange reactions to him in her own mind before she felt comfortable discussing them with anyone else.
She dropped her phone into her pocket, turned up her collar against the autumn wind and headed towards the village green.
* * * * *
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