The Elizabeth Papers

by Jenetta James

  “Did he get ill?”

  “No. He died when a young drug addict he had been trying to help stabbed him outside his church and left him for dead.”

  There was a moment of silence before Evie found the presence of mind to speak.

  “Oh.” It sounded inadequate to her ear. “How old were you?”

  “Eighteen. Mum had had to give up work a couple of years before because of her legs. It turned out that Dad’s church pension wasn’t enough to keep a dormouse. And we couldn’t stay in the vicarage without a vicar. So…”

  She waited, but he said nothing.

  “So…?”

  “So, I had met this guy who ran a private detective agency. He seemed to do pretty well, and he had given me some holiday work. He had more work than he could cope with, so he offered me a job. I couldn’t see any other way out, so I took it. I rented a flat for Mum and me to live in. I told Cambridge I wouldn’t be coming. I got down to work. No job was too hard for me; no hours were too long. I just worked. It went well. I earned enough to keep us afloat, and then when I started my own business, the money really started rolling in. I bought my flat and a little house in Berkshire for my mum to be near her sisters. I took on staff. I rented an office. The problem with money is that it makes you need more of the same.”

  “You don’t sound like you love it.”

  “I don’t love it.” He looked at her hard, and in the dim light, she tried to read his face, as he seemed able to read hers. “Now,” he said, pulling her closer, “don’t you think you have had enough confessions out of me for one day?”

  She pulled her head back and looked at him questioningly.

  “Do you mean what you said to me in the drawing room? Yesterday.”

  ***

  Charlie tightened his grip on her warm body and hoped. It did not escape him that she had said nothing of how she felt about him. He wanted to ask what it all meant, but he didn’t dare. Would they get in the car in a few hours’ time and pretend this had never happened? Would he ever even see her again after he dropped her back in Fulham? The thought of her absence made him ache.

  “Do you want to know whether I like you back?”

  He smiled at the disarming frankness of the question. “Erm. Yes. But only if it’s the right answer.”

  Evie blinked at this and put her finger to his lips. “Well…put it this way: I don’t just jump into bed with men willy-nilly.”

  He laughed quietly, assuming there was a compliment buried in there somewhere. “I hope you didn’t do it just out of curiosity.”

  Evie looked at him strangely and steadily. She started to speak and then did not. In the still of the early morning with the first hints of light creeping against the windows, she sat up and straddled him. Was this her reply? He thought that he would never forget the sight and the feel of her, the happiness in her face, or the bone-shaking, soul-splitting joy of her body collapsing against him afterwards. He understood her suggestion—that she had not slept with many men. He guessed the years since her parents died had not exactly been party time, and although she was beautiful, exquisitely so, she was also shy and reserved. He could tell that there hadn’t been many before him. But for all that, there was nothing lacking. By some unknown creature of instinct or intuition, she knew exactly what to do with him.

  At some unremembered moment, they must have fallen asleep because, some hours later, Charlie found himself blinking into the daylight and stretching his hand out for her, only to find an empty space. He sat up, stretching, to see her scampering around the room, dressed and stuffing things into her leather holdall. She crouched down and retrieved her knickers from behind the dressing table where he had thrown them.

  “Good morning,” he said, and she spun around, holdall in one hand, screwed up knickers in the other.

  “Good morning.”

  “You’re up early.”

  “Not really, it’s nine o’clock.”

  James and Honoria ate their breakfast early, and the breakfast things would have been cleared away at some time after eight. They had told their hosts that they would be leaving early, so their non-appearance at breakfast had probably raised eyebrows. Evie looked agitated, and he thought she must be worried about this.

  “I’ll go and get dressed, and we’ll get breakfast at that pub in Lambton. How about that?”

  She zipped up her bag and placed it at the end of the bed.

  “I think you should definitely go and get dressed, but before we leave, there’s something we need to do.”

  “Of course, we’ll say goodbye to the Darcys.”

  “No, I mean something else. I decided during the night after…when you were sleeping.”

  “What, Evie?” He hooked his fingers in the belt rings of her jeans and pulled her gently towards him.

  “I’m going to put Elizabeth’s diaries back in the chapel. I’m not taking them. I’m going to put them back where Hannah hid them and leave them there.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, I mean it.”

  “But you would be leaving them for someone else to find. Those books are what we came here for, and they’re a smoking gun, Evie. It’s all there. Victoria Darcy was not the daughter of Fitzwilliam Darcy. It is in black and white in his wife’s own hand. It’s enough to see you and Clemmie disinherited from the Darcy Trust. If you take them, you don’t have to worry about it. You can get on with your life without looking over your shoulder.”

  “But it’s stealing, Charlie. They’re not mine, and I’m not taking them. It’s Elizabeth’s story, and it belongs here even if nobody knows about it.”

  He took one hand away from her jeans and raked his fingers through his hair. His mind was racing to catch up with the sheer boldness of it: to come all this way and go through so much, and then to simply turn away from the prize when she actually held it in her hands. It made him dizzy.

  “It’s a risk.”

  “I know. My risk.”

  There was a steeliness and a certainty in her eyes that reminded him of his dad. She was the kind of person who would do what was right rather than what was best for her, and once she was decided, there would be no moving her. He knew it was pointless to try to budge her, and somewhere inside him, he knew that she was right as well. He wrapped his arms around her middle and kissed her head.

  “Okay. I’m going to shower and get dressed, and then I’ll knock for you, and we’ll go down to the chapel together, okay?”

  She smiled broadly and playfully.

  “Okay. Thank you for not arguing.”

  Charlie sneaked across the corridor and into his own bedroom. Looking at the made bed, untouched, he thought of how much had changed in the night. He knew that, if the worst came to the worst, he would look after her, and if the price of her love was the uncertainty of leaving Elizabeth’s diary behind, then it was worth paying. As he showered, dressed, and threw his things into his case, he decided that, if they could get the books back into the box and close it securely, there was no real reason to think that anyone would ever find them. They had been there for a hundred and sixty years without disturbance, and even if Cressida came here, she would never think to look there. He reassured himself with these thoughts and collected Evie, and together they made their way downstairs to the chapel.

  Charlie flicked on the lights and, once inside, slid on his back underneath the pew with Evie kneeling beside him holding the books in her arms like a baby. There was a layer of dust on the floor, and the evidence of what they had done crept about her. It made her all the more certain that she had made the right decision.

  “Are you okay? Do you have enough light? I have a torch on my phone…”

  She started fumbling in her pocket, but the truth was that Charlie could see perfectly fine.

  “No, I don’t r
eally need it. I just need to get this catch back in place…” He squinted as he concentrated on the antique fastening, and Evie’s heart began to race. She clenched and unclenched her fists and looked around at the yawning emptiness of the chapel before she felt Charlie’s hand on her knee.

  “Hey, don’t worry. I will only be a minute. If you like, wait outside or go and find the Darcys. I’ll catch you up when I’m done.”

  “No, no. I want to stay.”

  With that, she forced a smile, and he knew he had to speed up. Somehow, by luck or judgment, he managed it. One by one, he squeezed the small leather-bound books full of secrets back into the box, firmly closed the lid, and fastened it. It occurred to him that Hannah had probably been in just as much of a hurry when she had done the job originally in 1853. He prayed that his handiwork would last as long, and as he sat up, he kissed the girl in front of him because he just couldn’t resist. It happened so rapidly that it confused all of them. He moved away from her soft face, and over her honey blonde-shrouded shoulder, his eyes rested on another—Honoria Darcy—framed in the doorway. Her face was somehow abashed, and she folded her arms under her bust defensively. Charlie stilled, and his expression must have said it all because Evie spun around and gasped as Honoria spoke.

  “You won’t find many original Clerkenman’s down there, Mr. Hayward.”

  ***

  Sometime later, James Darcy moved a pen on his desk and looked up at them.

  “Now, I am going to give you time to speak, but I should tell you right away that I am going to need a very good reason not to telephone the police. My wife tells me that she found you rummaging around in the chapel where you have apparently discovered a number of documents belonging to me which you were in the process of removing.”

  “Mr. Darcy, I—”

  “You will allow me to finish, Mr. Haywood. I have had a brief look at these books, and they appear to be the reminiscences of a relation of mine. I had no idea that they existed or that they were secreted in the way that they were. I cannot imagine what they have to do with either of you, but then I get the impression that I am not in possession of the full facts. It may not surprise you to learn that I am of the old school and not confident with modern technology. However, Mrs. Darcy has spoken on the telephone to our son who has discovered by way of the internet that you, sir, far from being an art historian, are in fact a private detective of some flavour. I do not even begin to address the untruths you spun in order to gain access to my home. What the role of this young lady is, I know not. But it will not surprise you to be told that I am far from happy. And so, I have the disadvantage of limited information which you shall remedy for me now.”

  “Mr. Darcy, firstly, I should say that everything I am about to say is my responsibility and mine alone. Miss—”

  “Pemberton. My name is Evie Pemberton.”

  “Well, good grief,” muttered Honoria from behind James as she turned to the window.

  “Evie would not be here if it were not for me, and she would certainly never have deceived you.”

  “I will be the judge of that. Who are you, both of you, and what are you doing here?”

  And so, in the simplest language, Charlie told him. He told him of how Cressida Carter had come to his office and what she had alleged, of how he had found the letters and realised their importance. He described how he had pursued Evie for information. How he had changed tack and encouraged her to come here searching for the lost Elizabeth papers, which they had eventually found and read the previous night. Passionlessly, he summarised the contents of Elizabeth’s diary. To boil it down to a series of facts seemed a savage way to treat that story of love and loss and loyalty and secrets, but he had to cut away the emotion. James Darcy raised his eyebrows as Charlie described how he had been in favour of Evie taking the papers and destroying them, but she refused. Honoria had caught them not in the act of stealing but of replacing. To be believed seemed like a forlorn hope.

  James straightened his spectacles and stood. He moved slowly but steadily towards the window where he remained with his back to them, his old hands clasping his stick behind his back. Outside, a gardener dragged a rake across the freshly mowed lawn. The silence that followed filled the room, and Evie’s hand circled around Charlie’s wrist. Breaking the deadlock, Charlie spoke.

  “Mr. Darcy, I—”

  “Miss Pemberton, it disappoints me greatly that you did not approach me directly with this problem.” He turned slowly, leaning on his stick, and Evie detected a new expression in his eyes.

  “You see, I do know about the Darcy Trust. There is not a great deal for me to do, but I am the trustee, so I am aware of it. I am told whenever a new beneficiary is born or comes of age. I am also told whenever a beneficiary dies. I was sorry to be notified of your late mother’s early death some years ago, and I was aware of the fact that your sister has increased needs.”

  He lowered his gaze, and Evie flushed. She had not thought that anyone outside of her immediate circle was aware of it or remotely interested. James’s words and the heat she felt from Charlie’s wrist—which she realised she was still hanging on—made her blink in surprise.

  “You see, my understanding is that Fitzwilliam Darcy set up this trust because he thought it possible that, in the future, his female descendants may need it. He didn’t know why or how of course, but nobody ever does, do they? It would have been far more conventional for him to leave his entire estate to his only son, who was my third great grandfather. And yet, he did not. He separated out the Rosschapel estate and left it to his daughters and his daughters’ daughters and so on. What he did was a very definite thing. It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t a coincidence. He set up this trust because he wanted that money to go to those people. Do you agree with me, Miss Pemberton?”

  “Yes.”

  “Now. Whatever the truth of things, when he died, he knew that he was including Victoria in that bequest. He intended that she should be considered as his daughter and not the child of another. If he had wanted to exclude her, he could have done so. But he did not. It seems to me that for her to be excluded now and, through her, you and your sister would be the last thing Fitzwilliam Darcy would have wanted. Do you agree with that?”

  “I think so, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I am going to consider this matter and formulate a response. It may be complex, or it may be simple. I need to think about it. In the meantime, until you hear otherwise, your share of the trust shall remain the same.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It will take me time to read the whole of this diary and digest its contents, although I am sure that the salient points as described by you, Mr. Haywood, are correct. I should say at this point that I have no intention whatsoever of destroying these papers.”

  Evie allowed herself to breathe. She could not understand her relief, but it flooded over her.

  “I understand why my third great grandmother and her maid wanted it destroyed, but that was long ago, and I cannot agree that it would be necessary or appropriate now. I hope that does not worry you, Miss Pemberton?”

  “No, not at all. I would not destroy it either if I were you.”

  “No. And you did not destroy it when you had the opportunity, which I acknowledge.”

  “Mr. Darcy?”

  “Yes?”

  “Do you know how the rumour started?”

  “No, I do not, and I think maybe we will never know. The story as you relate it to me is a complete surprise. I certainly have no reason to believe that Victoria was troubled in her lifetime by the circumstances of her birth. Maybe some people were suspicious. It would have appeared odd that she alone of all her siblings was born away from Pemberley, and of course, her date of birth (which may have been falsified) was rather close to that of the final child, Bennet Darcy. Maybe there was a bit of talk. Who knows? We have all p
layed Chinese whispers. Can you imagine a game that lasts nearly two hundred years? I suspect that is how Miss Carter’s Aunt Mary—who, let us not forget, was a very elderly lady and not in good health—came to believe a tale so far from the truth.”

  Charlie looked down at her figure beside him before he addressed their hosts. “Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, it has been a tumultuous morning, and I am conscious that, in addition to our other offences, we have trespassed on your time and your home far too long. Unless there is anything you want us to stay for, we’ll head back to London.”

  James Darcy nodded. “Very well.”

  As Charlie ushered her out of the oak-clad room to the doorway, Evie turned and surprised them all.

  “I really did love the painting. Thank you for letting us spend so much time with it—with them. I felt as though I knew them.”

  “Of course, you did, my dear. They are your family.”

  ***

  Outside on the gravel drive, Evie sank into the passenger side of the Porsche while Charlie loaded their bags into the boot. He started the engine and drove slowly up towards the road at the top of the valley, Pemberley diminishing in the rear view mirror. He wondered whether he would ever see it again. If it wasn’t for the fact that he never recalled his dreams, he almost might have believed that he had dreamt the whole thing. Evie sat motionless beside him, her hair obscuring her face, and it occurred to him that she might be crying. As they rumbled towards the road at the top of the valley, he reached out his hand to hers. She took it and looked up, dry-eyed.

  “Evie?”

  “Mmm?”

  “I’m sorry, darling.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m not sorry about anything that happened—even getting caught. Thank you for calling time on it as well. I like them, and we owed them the truth. But I am so tired, and I just want to go home.”

  “I’ll take you home. You will be back in Fulham in about four hours, tops.”

  “I might nap. I’m feeling a bit sleepy.” She crossed her legs and snuggled down into the seat, gently closing her heavy eyelids.