29. The Hidden Chamber #3
“Oh, Lizzy, do you not see? The cabinet contains her hidden manuscripts, and now that we know Lady Amelia is Lady Renwick, we absolutely need to find the unfinished one.”
When Elizabeth did not respond, still too shocked to grasp what Prue was suggesting, the rector’s daughter shook her, as if out of a stupor.
“You have read them. You are holding back from me, but I understand.” She sniffed prudishly. “You have literary aspirations yourself.”
“I most certainly do not.” Elizabeth reeled at the accusation that she would be so mercenary. “I have not opened the locked cabinet, and I have not read her papers, if they are as scandalous as you say.”
“But surely we must examine them.” Prue’s voice echoed as they ascended the narrow staircase. “At the very least, to see what is there.”
Elizabeth felt the key to that cabinet pressing against her hip, hidden in her pocket beside the other keys she had been entrusted to carry.
Having the key did not mean she should use it, and Prue had no business rifling through papers that Darcy kept in trust for his son.
She had only demanded the key from Darcy as a test—whether he would relinquish his lover’s secrets to her. And he had.
“Will you open the cabinet?” Prue asked as they emerged above ground and the sounds of ordinary household activity replaced the oppressive quiet of the undercroft. Elizabeth drew a deep breath, grateful for air that did not taste of centuries.
“Miss Entwhistle says there are unfinished chapters,” Prue ventured when Elizabeth did not answer.
“A sequel to The Monk’s Confession that Lady Renwick was working on when she died.
The fans are desperate for resolution—Lord Laycock had just discovered Lady Cecelia hiding underground, and she could be with child, either from the monk or his brother, the charming scoundrel.
We are all desperate for the resolution. ”
“I cannot speak to what the cabinet contains.”
“But if those chapters exist—if the sequel could be completed—there are readers who would pay handsomely for it. Publishers who would bid against each other.” Prue hesitated, then pressed on.
“If someone were to assist in the completion, someone who had read every word Lady Renwick ever published and understood her voice…”
“You are proposing that we finish a dead woman’s novel.”
“I am proposing that we consider the possibility.”
“No.”
The word escaped sharper than Elizabeth intended, but she let it stand. Whatever Amelia’s papers contained, they belonged to Darcy, not to her, and certainly not to Prue Duntze, however noble her literary ambitions.
“The manuscripts are my husband’s,” Elizabeth said more gently. “Whatever decisions are made about their future must be made by him.”
Prue’s face fell, but she accepted the refusal with better grace than Elizabeth had expected. “I understand. It seemed worth asking.”
They had reached the morning room, where their cold tea sat abandoned on the table. Elizabeth was about to suggest fresh cups when footsteps sounded in the corridor, and Jamison appeared in the doorway, his face flushed. “Mrs. Darcy, ma’am. An express has arrived.”
He held out a letter—thick paper with a heavy wax seal—blood red. Elizabeth took it, her heart quickening, wondering what troubles had landed in her lap.
“To Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy or Mrs. Darcy of Pemberley.”
The sender did not distinguish them as husband and wife, and so she broke the seal and read it.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Darcy,
We find ourselves traveling through Derbyshire en route to the Lake District, and our path takes us within a few miles of Pemberley. We have long wished to pay our respects to our grandson, Thomas, and to make the acquaintance of his new mother. Might we call upon you tomorrow afternoon?
We hope most sincerely that you will receive us.
The Earl and Countess of Apethorpe
Elizabeth’s mouth went dry, and she stared at a landscape on the wall. The Earl and Countess of Apethorpe wished to pay her a call—to meet Thomas’s new mother. And Darcy was in London and unavailable to make this decision.
“Elizabeth?” Prue’s voice seemed to come from very far away. “What is it? You have gone white as chalk.”
“The Apethorpes. Lord and Lady Apethorpe wish to call tomorrow to see Thomas.”
Prue’s sharp intake of breath confirmed that she understood the implications. “But will you take their call? What if they have come to take him?” Prue’s voice trembled. “What if they have orders from a magistrate?”
“They would not dare.”
The words came with a certainty Elizabeth had not known she possessed. She was Thomas’s mother. Not by blood, not by law, but by choice—the same choice Lady Anne had made when she gathered a squalling infant into her arms and loved him as her own.
“But…” Prue’s face had gone pale. “They are the Earl and Countess, and you are…”
“Mrs. Darcy, Thomas’s mother.” She folded the letter with steady hands. “They would not dare,” she repeated. “And if they try, they will discover the mistress of Pemberley is not so easily moved.”