Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Two

“You have reached your destination.”

Liz parked at the side of the road and stared at the satellite navigation display. Then she frowned at the houses around her. In the purple half-light of dusk the village reminded her of the idyllic images you might find on the lid of a jigsaw puzzle or those boxes of fudge they sell to tourists. Low granite cottages with grey slate roofs huddled haphazardly around a triangular village green. A pub and a small shop sat on the far side and a man, standing under a gnarled oak, threw a stick across the grass for his small, shaggy dog.

It was a sleepy scene, reminiscent of England in the fifties, when few people had cars and everyone knew their neighbours, but it wasn’t what she’d expected to find at the end of her journey.

She frowned and hit the speed-dial on her phone. “Nat? It’s me.”

“Hi, Liz. I wondered when I’d hear from you. Is everything okay?”

“Nothing to worry about. Your car’s fine, but I don’t understand this stupid sat nav. It’s telling me I’ve arrived, but I can’t see the house.”

Natalie sighed. “Well, I entered the postcode you gave me. Where are you?”

“I’m in the middle of a village, but I don’t know which one. Hang on, I’ll look around.”

Two old women chatting over a nearby gate stopped to stare at her. Uncomfortable with their scrutiny Liz drove on, past a tiny stone chapel and a smart wooden hut. A sign outside said ‘Pemberley Village Hall’. She stopped and picked up her phone again. “It’s Pemberley village, but there’s no sign of the house.”

“Then you’ll have to ask for directions,” Nat said cheerfully.

“I’ll ring again tomorrow and let you know how I’m getting on.” When Nat wished her luck, Liz said goodbye and climbed out of the car. She leaned against the top of the door and sighed. It would be dark soon and she didn’t relish the idea of being lost in the wilds of Derbyshire. Where was she supposed to go now?

Just as she’d decided to turn back and ask the two gossiping women, she saw a white-haired man cycling towards her, the pedals squeaking with every turn. He slowed to a halt when she caught his attention. "Excuse me? I'm looking for Pemberley House. Can you tell me how to get there?”

The furrows on his brow deepened. “Are they expectin' ye?”

“I hope so. My appointment with Mrs Ellis was for four...”—she glanced at her watch. It was already half past—“but I’m running a little late.”

“You'd best follow me then, Lass, an' I'll show ye how t’ get on.”

Liz jumped back into her car, determined not to lose sight of her unlikely saviour in the gloom.

Turning his bicycle around, he set a steady pace until they reached the corner of the green. Here, he took the road that ran in front of the pub, his gaze drifting wistfully towards its welcoming glow before heading for a shadowy lane she hadn’t spotted before. They negotiated between two overgrown hedges, the road barely wide enough for one car. Then the old man wheeled his bike onto the verge and propped it on its stand.

Liz wondered why he had stopped. When she climbed out of her car to ask him, the scene altered, reminding her of those pictures where a vase suddenly becomes two faces in profile. The hedge had appeared impenetrable while she sat in the car, but the changing perspective revealed a previously hidden ornamental gateway, set back from the road.

She knew the owner was reclusive, but she hadn't expected a pair of rusty black gates, half covered by clinging tendrils, which looked as though no one had opened them in decades.