Eternal Flame ~ A Pemberley Fairy Tale

Chapter Eight - part 2

There were two bedrooms before hers. William introduced the first as the Crimson Room. The red and gold wallpaper reminded her of a picture she had once seen of the throne room at Buckingham Palace. “Fit for a queen,” she murmured.

“It looks fancy, but it’s all image and no substance. It has never been anything more than a room to impress guests. Personally, I’ve never liked it much. Mary Bingley chose the colour scheme in 1856.”

“I’m glad I’m not sleeping in here. The blood red on the walls might have given me nightmares. I much prefer my room. It’s more subtle and friendly.”

“I prefer your room too. It was once Georgiana Darcy’s room. Although we’ve decorated it since, we’ve always kept it in the same colours. I’ve been told it’s restful and calming.”

“Yes, that’s a perfect way to describe it.”

The next room was predominantly yellow and white. It felt like spring had arrived early, or stayed late. There were no heavy hangings surrounding the bed. Instead, a Victorian brass frame was decorated with leaves twining around the upright posts and brass knobs shaped like pineapples. The room felt sunny and welcoming and Liz half wished she was sleeping in here. “This is lovely!”

“This room was Charles and Jane Bingley’s.”

“I thought they’d use the Master suite.”

“No, the house belonged to their son Thomas, if you remember. He slept in the main suite of rooms whenever he was here.”

“Did he own another house?”

“No, he travelled a lot.” They moved on, reaching the door to her room. “Do you need me to show you this room?”

Liz grinned. “No, I think I know what that one looks like.” She wasn’t sure she could trust herself after some of the dreams she’d been having lately.

A little further down, on the opposite side, he opened a set of double doors. Instead of another bedroom, they led to the long gallery, running almost the whole width of the house.

“This is the only remaining part of the early Jacobean structure,” William said, inviting her to join him on the oak parquet. “You can see the windows are a different shape from the others.”

Liz looked down the range, counting the six square bay windows. For a moment, if she closed her eyes, she almost felt as though she’d been here before. Three fireplaces sat on the opposite wall, the centre one grander than the others. She imagined a party, figures strolling down the room, the ladies in their long dresses, the gentlemen in morning coats. She was probably remembering something from a film or a TV programme. All these houses looked very similar after all.

She turned her attention to the walls. There were a few small portraits and the odd large landscape dotted here and there, but most of the pictures were smaller, intimate watercolours showing scenes of Pemberley or its grounds.

“I thought galleries usually had lots of family portraits. Somewhere to show off your ancestors.”

“There were once many more portraits lining these walls. Some have been moved downstairs.”

“Wasn’t the gallery also where people used to exercise when it was too wet to go out?”

“Yes. They would walk up and down, or perhaps dance or even fence.”

“With swords?”

William glanced at her, grinning. “You can’t fence without them.”

“People fence with words as well.”