Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Twelve - part 2

Liz studied the painting again before looking at William. “This portrait is almost two hundred years old. She couldn’t have been your wife. Are you trying to tell me that you were married to her before, in a previous life?”

“No. I married Elizabeth in this life.” He paused, his gaze holding hers. “My mother gave birth to me, here at Pemberley, in 1784.”

She snorted, working out the most likely year in her head. “You mean 1974.”

“I meant the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty four. I celebrated my two hundred and twenty-eighth birthday this year.”

Terror stole her breath. She’d assumed William to be a sane individual but now Liz realised she had made a terrible mistake. He’d not been hiding a mad wife in the attic, like Mr. Rochester. He was the crazy one. How could she escape from this lunatic?

Liz glanced at the door, knowing the only way she might make it out alive would be to humour him. She twisted her mouth upwards, hoping her expression didn’t appear as incredulous as she felt. “That would make Georgiana Hudson your sister.”

William smiled, but it wasn’t the crazed smile of a madman. He almost looked normal. “I know it’s too much for you to believe me. Hell, I wouldn’t believe me either. I wish I knew what I could say to convince you that I’m telling the truth.”

She took a step back, inching closer to the door. “You don’t have to say anything but you could let me collect my things and leave.” She kept her tone light and calm, but underneath her heart pounded and her palms were damp. If she ran now, how far would she get before he caught her?

“There are more pictures through here, the ones you asked me about at the beginning of the week. Perhaps they will help?” William pulled back a curtain, revealing yet another door. As he went through it, Liz took her chance and sprinted in the opposite direction.  She grabbed the old brass handle, and yanked it down, but the exit at the top of the stairs was locked and the key gone. She sobbed as she banged on the wood with her fist, desperate to escape even as she realised no one would hear her.

“Liz?”

As the tears ran down her face she leant her forehead against the cool door, not wanting to look at him.

William laid his hands on her shoulders, his touch gentle as he turned her around. “I’m so sorry. I know this is a shock to you, but there’s no need to cry. You’re quite safe.”

Liz looked him in the eye. “Then let me go. You promised.”

“I will, but not until I’ve have the chance to explain everything. I need you to understand.” He fixed her with a determined stare. “I once had words with…Elizabeth,”—his lip quirked into a brief smile—“or perhaps I should say she had words with me. I could have defended myself there and then but instead I walked away, leaving her with the wrong impression. This time I want to tell you everything now, not write it all in a letter and hope you’ll read it.” He brushed away her tears with his fingertips. “Please, just listen. If, at the end, you still don’t believe me and you want to leave I won’t stand in your way.”

She didn’t feel as though she had a choice. Reluctantly she allowed him to take her hand. He towed her back through the bedroom and into the mysterious space behind the curtain.

At least he’d told the truth about one thing. The plain white walls in the long thin room were full of paintings, lit by a series of shaded roof lights set into the angled ceiling. Most of the portraits included a face that had grown so familiar to her over the last week she would recognise it anywhere.