Page 30 of Christmas All the Way

Moments later, she was back, two pairs of thin vinyl gloves in her hands. She wasn’t certain they would fit Xander but he pulled them on without complaint. ‘Ready?’ she asked.

‘Yep,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the drawer on the left.’

‘And I’ll take the middle and right-hand drawer. We can lay them on the rug in front of the fireplace. That should be thick enough to protect them from damage.’

Reverently, she drew the deep drawer from its slot and placed it on the rug, before returning for the shallower, longer one in the centre of the front panel. On her left, Xander removed the third drawer and gave her an enquiring look. ‘Okay to move the desk itself?’

Keeley slid her hands beneath the wood and gave an experimental lift. It was a solid piece, heavier than it looked, but she thought she could take the weight. ‘Let’s do it. On the count of three?’

They counted in unison and raised the desk smoothly. Keeley took several careful steps back, manoeuvring herself into position to place the piece flush against the wall beside the window. ‘Here?’ she asked. When Xander nodded, they lowered it to the carpet again.

‘So far so good,’ he said. ‘If we put the drawers in, I’ll get the photos and we can move it back into its rightful place without anyone being any the wiser.’

It wasn’t that she wasn’t allowed to move things around if she chose, Keeley was tempted to point out, more that it came with the risk of damaging the desk. But it didn’t seem worth mentioning.

‘The workmanship on these is exquisite,’ Xander said, running a gloved hand over the smooth walnut surface. He tapped his fingers lightly on the solid oak base. ‘They don’t make furniture like this anymore.’

Keeley lifted up the deep, square drawer she’d removed and slotted it back into place. ‘It’s certainly stood the test of time.’ She glanced over at Xander and saw he was frowning. Her heart sank. ‘What is it? Don’t tell me it’s damaged.’

‘No, it’s nothing like that.’ His tone was preoccupied as he studied the inside of the drawer, then ran his fingers across the outside again. ‘It’s just that the proportions are off. The sides are about forty centimetres deep but the drawer itself doesn’t feel that big.’

Puzzled, Keeley came to stand next to him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look,’ he said, and held the drawer out for her to inspect. ‘Run your hand along the wood to get a feel for the depth, then do the same on the inside.’

She did as he suggested, agreeing with his estimate that the drawer was around forty centimetres deep. But the space inside was most definitely not the same depth. ‘How strange,’ she said, as Xander offered her the drawer and lit up his phone torch to examine the interior more closely. ‘It’s heavier than the other one too. Quite a bit heavier, now I think about it.’

Her eyes met Xander’s and she saw her own realisation mirrored there. ‘It must have a false bottom,’ he said. ‘I wonder how we trigger it.’

Eagerly, she turned the drawer over to allow the torch beam to play over the oak. Xander’s finger probed the joints, seeking a hidden catch or trigger. ‘There must be something,’ he muttered in frustration, as Keeley tried to control her rising curiosity. What could be inside, she wondered? Love letters? A secret diary? Her heart pounded at the possibilities. If only they could find the way to open it.

It felt like hours but she supposed it was only a minute or two before Xander let out a cry of triumph. A faint click sounded beneath his questing fingers and the false bottom rose slightly. Xander looked up, his eyes bright. ‘You should be the one to open it,’ he said, and took the weight of the drawer from her.

With shaking hands, scarcely able to breathe, Keeley eased the base upwards. It rose smoothly, still attached by a pair of tiny brass hinges that lay hidden beneath one seam. She peered down, hoping against hope that whatever lay inside had not fallen prey to the ravages of damp or moths, and a gasp of utter disbelief escaped her as she spied a sheet of paper bearing some very familiar handwriting. ‘It’s the cover sheet of a manuscript,’ she whispered in a voice that sounded quite unlike her own. Peering more closely into the space, she saw more pages stacked underneath. A lot more pages. ‘Oh my God, Xander. I think it’s a complete book.’

He let out a low whistle. ‘The Merriest Month,’ he read. ‘A novel by Eliza Norton, 1852. Have you ever heard that title before?’

‘No!’ Keeley exclaimed, and had to clutch at his arm in case the magnitude of the realisation caused her to become lightheaded. ‘It’s not one I’ve seen mentioned anywhere – not in her diaries or letters and definitely not in her publishing contracts. In fact, I don’t think her publisher could even have known it existed. Surely they’d have published it, especially once she became more established.’

Xander nodded. ‘I wonder why she hid it in here?’

Keeley had no explanation. Eliza was at the start of her literary career in 1852, with just one novel to her name that had enjoyed modest success. ‘Perhaps she wasn’t satisfied with it,’ she suggested slowly. ‘But if that was the case, she would have redrafted it.’ Some of her initial excitement faded. ‘Maybe she did and published it under a different title. Her other novels were published after 1852 – it might be one of those.’

‘In which case, it’s not an undiscovered manuscript at all, just an unknown draft, which is still very exciting,’ Xander finished. He glanced at her. ‘I suppose there’s only one way to know for sure.’

The breath caught in Keeley’s throat as she understood his meaning. ‘I’m going to have to read it,’ she said faintly. ‘But what if it’s too brittle? Eliza would have been able to afford good quality paper but it’s still over a hundred and seventy years old.’

He studied the cover page. ‘Admittedly I’m no conservator but it looks in pretty good shape to me. The ink on the cover sheet hasn’t faded and the edges have hardly even yellowed.’

‘That’s because it’s been stored away from daylight, maybe even from the moment it was finished.’ She gnawed at her lip. ‘A professional in old manuscripts would be able to assess it properly – run some tests, confirm how old it is.’

Xander nodded. ‘Of course. But don’t you want to find out what it is first? I’m sure it’s priceless to you and the trustees, no matter what lies underneath that first page, but if it’s simply a first draft of an existing book then I’m not sure it’s going to cause much of a stir beyond fans of Eliza’s writing. If, on the other hand, it’s a brand-new work…’

He trailed off but Keeley didn’t need him to finish the sentence. A brand-new work would definitely cause the literary world to sit up and take notice. It wouldn’t matter that Eliza was not the celebrated author of a recognised classic; a secret manuscript that had lain undiscovered for well over a century would capture the imagination of the public and could easily make headlines around the world. It had the potential to be huge. And she and Xander would be credited with its discovery. It was almost too much to take in.

‘I suppose it would be okay to read it, if I made sure my hands were scrupulously clean before touching the paper,’ she murmured, running through everything she knew about handling old documents. ‘But I’m still worried. What if I damage it somehow – tear a page or bend the corners?’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ Xander said firmly. ‘You’re a pro – I doubt you’ll even breathe too loudly around it. And books are written for only one reason – to be read. If we were to close this drawer back up, pretend we’d never found the manuscript, we’d be denying its reason for existing.’ He placed the drawer on top of the writing desk and took both her hands in his. ‘Read it, Keeley. I can’t think of anyone better qualified than you.’