Page 36 of Christmas All the Way

Keeley blinked. When she and Xander had first discussed the possibility of running the Christmas tours, she’d been determined to avoid any suggestion of cosplay. But in the weeks that followed, they’d agreed on certain compromises: the gently steaming tea cups sitting on the table by the fire that she had created for his photography session, a feast under preparation in the kitchen and a half-written page of a manuscript upon Eliza’s writing desk. Would it be so very bad if the front door was opened by Elspeth in Victorian dress? ‘I think that would be a lovely touch,’ Keeley said. ‘I’m sure we can source something in your size.’

‘Leave it with me,’ Elspeth answered. ‘I have several friends who are members of an amateur dramatics group in Little Dunmow. They’ll know where to start.’

‘Make sure you get a receipt if you hire something,’ Keeley said. ‘We’ll reimburse you.’

Elspeth nodded, but Keeley got the sense she hadn’t really heard. ‘Yes… What was the name of Eliza’s first housemaid? Betty, wasn’t it?’

‘Sally,’ she corrected. ‘Betty was the scullery maid.’

‘Of course,’ Elspeth said, and bent to gather up the items she’d used in her presentation. ‘I must get on. Plans to make, and all that. Thank you, Keeley. I’m delighted to be part of the tours.’

Relieved that she appeared to have accepted the disappointment of not being chosen as a guide, Keeley smiled. ‘Thank you for all your hard work. You’ve made me view Eliza in a whole new light.’

Elspeth nodded. ‘Between you and me, I think she was a bit of a minx.’

Keeley’s smile became a grin as she considered what Xander would make of such a proclamation. ‘Let’s hope the trustees agree, because I can’t wait to hear the rest of your evidence.’

So. What’s the next step?

The message from Xander pinged up on her phone screen just after Monday lunchtime and Keeley knew he meant Eliza’s manuscript. He’d checked in with her every day since the discovery, in the manner of an impatient fellow reader who had already devoured the book and wanted to be able to discuss it. She kept her replies factual, telling him the same thing she’d shared with Grace: that the style matched Eliza’s work and the handwriting appeared, in her unqualified opinion at least, to be the same. If it was a forgery, it was a very good one and begged the question of how it had been hidden in a secret compartment in Eliza’s own writing desk. Surely a forger looking to cash in would have ‘discovered’ the manuscript themselves, in a much more convenient location.

As far as I can tell, it’s real, but I think we should proceed with caution. Let’s consult an expert and get it fully authenticated.

It took a few minutes for Xander to reply. Great. I know a guy.

A wry smile tugged at Keeley’s mouth. Of course he did. She had the feeling Xander knew people everywhere. I know of someone too, she typed. She works for English History and says we can courier it to their head office in Holborn as soon as we’re ready.

Almost immediately, her phone vibrated with an incoming call. She accepted the call, wondering whether he was going to be angry she had contacted Grace’s friend without consulting him first. ‘Hey, Xander.’

‘I’m not sure I’d trust a courier,’ he said, without a hint of irritation. ‘I can come down and collect it, then deliver it to English History myself.’

She gave the suggestion some thought. Stories of parcels getting lost in transit suddenly loomed in her head. ‘I wasn’t suggesting we stick it in the post box but I agree it would be safer to hand-deliver it. Have you got the time, though?’

‘I’ll make the time,’ he said, and paused. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to come and see you.’

Keeley’s pulse quickened. She’d been too preoccupied with Eliza’s manuscript to give much head space to the kiss she and Xander had shared, and what it might mean, but his words brought the moment back to the forefront of her mind. Was she looking forward to seeing him again? Her body seemed quite keen on the idea: her cheeks were suddenly warm and her stomach was fluttering with anticipation at the mere thought of his arrival. But her brain endeavoured to wrestle control of her emotions. As enjoyable as kissing Xander had been, and as much as she’d wanted to do it again as soon as they had broken apart, it was an added complication she did not need. ‘When did you have in mind?’ she asked, deciding to ignore his flirtatious tone for now.

‘Is this afternoon too soon?’ he asked. ‘I need to run through the latest newsletter with you and decide on a strategy for the tours. Maybe after that we could go for dinner.’

The smouldering heat in her cheeks caught fire. Closing her eyes, she fanned her face with her spare hand. ‘I can’t manage dinner this evening,’ she said, crossing her fingers to offset the lie. ‘There’s a village council meeting that I can’t miss.’

It wasn’t a total lie; she did intend to call Helen to find out which committee might benefit from an injection of Grace’s logistical skills. But Xander accepted the excuse at face value. ‘No worries,’ he said easily. ‘I had some thoughts about seeing whether there was any mileage in doing some crossover PR with the Christmassy village thing but it’ll have to wait. I’m going to be at Cliveden House from tomorrow until Thursday, so if I don’t collect the manuscript today, I won’t be able to head to the cottage until Friday. Are you in a hurry to get it assessed?’

It occurred to Keeley to wonder, briefly, what was taking him to Cliveden. Was he working for them or visiting for pleasure? If so, being a social media expert paid more than she thought; Cliveden had once been home to royalty and was now an eye-wateringly expensive luxury hotel, although the gardens were open to the public. Pushing her curiosity to one side, she focused on Xander’s question. On the face of it, there was no rush for the manuscript to be authenticated. It had lain undiscovered and unread for more than a century and a half; a few more days would not make a difference. But her contact at English History had told her the assessment could take the better part of a week, and even if Xander was able to deliver it to them the same day he collected it from her, the chances were that no meaningful work would begin on it until the following Monday. Which would mean a whole week would be lost before the assessment even began. Keeley wasn’t sure her patience would stretch an additional seven days when it was possible to avoid the delay. ‘You could collect it today. I’m free until closing time.’

‘I’ll set off now,’ he said.

It took several minutes after he’d rung off for Keeley to start feeling less flustered and back in control of her core temperature once more. She busied herself with the admin she had postponed from the morning and then turned her attention to planning for the tours. The trustees had ratified the request to temporarily change the cottage opening hours to accommodate the tours and had also agreed to her suggestion that they offer an honorarium to the newly appointed guides. It was not much but it would go some way towards recognising the hard work and commitment they had already shown. Keeley was determined that Elspeth would receive the same payment; she would be giving up her Wednesday, Thursday and Friday evenings, after all.

By the time Xander arrived, she had worked out a draft rota for the tours that took into account any dates they had given when they were not available, and would offer equal opportunities for all the guides to shine.

‘What do you think?’ she asked Xander, who perched on the corner of her desk to study the schedule. ‘As agreed, we’ll offer four tours of sixty minutes per night. I’ll deliver two, and one of the other guides will do the other two. That gives me a spare guide each night, in case of illness or unexpected absences.’

‘And Elspeth,’ he observed, frowning at the rota.

‘Ah, yes,’ she said. ‘I need to explain about that.’

‘But I thought you didn’t want anyone in character,’ he said, once she’d relayed the gist of Elspeth’s interview to him.