Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Twenty - part 2

They drove for a few miles through the countryside, William pointing out the farms occupied by families who had worked the surrounding land for decades. In the middle of nowhere he took a right turn through an open gate and down a narrow drive marked ‘private’. After another half a mile they rounded a corner and Liz recognised the roof of the house rising beyond the stables. “Oh, I know where we are now.”

“Much easier than opening those rusty old gates, don’t you think?” He drove into the yard and parked near a side door. “We’ll unload your belongings later. Right now, I’d like to show you something.”

Liz allowed him to lead her away from the house. “Where are we going?”

He sighed. “Always full of questions. You never did like surprises. Don’t worry, it’s only a short walk.”

“I know your idea of a short walk. I’ve never ached so much.”

He pulled her closer, whispering in her ear. “It’s not far. Just behind the shrubbery.”

They headed towards a copse surrounded by towering rhododendrons and dense laurels. As they followed the boundary of the foliage around a corner, Liz noticed a narrow gap. “Don’t tell me you have a secret garden hidden behind here.”

“Not a garden, and not really a secret either. I mentioned the old church ruins earlier and I thought you’d like to see them.”

They pushed through the encroaching branches down a thin path and into a clearing. Liz heard a soft bleat and spotted three sheep cropping the grass, eyeing her cautiously.

William tugged on her arm. “Don’t worry about them. They’re here to keep the grass down.” He drew her towards the remains of an ancient church.

Liz took in the building in front of her, amazed that none of the records she’d found had even hinted at the structure still standing within Pemberley’s grounds. The original church had been traditional in style, with a small chancel at one end. The stone walls now finished just above the top of the windows and in place of tile or slate, large sheets of glass formed the pitch of the roof. Where the bell tower would have once stood a large semi-circular conservatory enclosed the building. Beyond it the trees and shrubs fell back, offering stunning views across the valley.

They passed through the old porch into the space beyond. The thick stone supported a filigree of cast iron trusses that housed the glazed panels, flooding the room with daylight. “I had the idea to convert the ruins after visiting the Great Exhibition but it took a while to complete. You wouldn’t believe how popular these things became in the eighteen fifties. It cost a fortune but it was worth it, if only to get me out of the house for a while.”

When Liz managed to drag her attention from the web of ironwork, she took in the piles of canvases propped against the walls and two empty easels standing before the full length windows. “I didn’t know you painted.”

“When you have all the time in the world it’s hard to find entertainment that will fill the hours. Even a favoured pursuit becomes tiresome if you do it long enough.”

In what was once the chancel, paints and brushes covered the shelves and multicoloured splashes decorated a white butler’s sink, while splattered rags overflowed from a nearby basket. Two finished landscapes lay on a drying rack. Liz recognised the style. “Your pictures are everywhere at Pemberley. In the gallery, in my bedroom; they’re beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re so talented. Do you sell any of them?”

“Yes, occasionally, but they’re always dispersed through trusted third parties so they can’t be traced back to me. A few people in the art world have been getting curious about them lately so I’m now more careful what I sell and to whom. I don’t paint to make money—all the profits go to charity. I do it to keep me sane.” He crossed the room, reaching up for an old sketch book, one of many standing on the shelf. “And to remember.”