Page 43 of Christmas All the Way

She closed her eyes, counting slowly to ten. ‘For the last time, Xander, I didn’t tell the trustees.’

‘Neither did I,’ he insisted.

Silence crackled between them, during which Keeley attempted to wrestle her fury into submission. She wasn’t sure what angered her more – the fact that he refused to take responsibility for his actions or his attempt to put the blame on her. After several more charged seconds ticked by, she heard Xander sigh. ‘So what happens now?’

She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes tight shut. ‘What do you mean, what happens now? Regardless of who did what to whom, we’ve still got jobs to do. You need to write a press release and I need to provide a quote about how brilliant it is to have found an undiscovered work by one of Britain’s most underrated writers. And then we have to hope it’s good news from my contact at English History.’

There was another long pause, during which she could imagine him battling his own temper. ‘Fine,’ he said eventually. ‘I heard from the web developer yesterday. The page for the Christmas tours is ready to go live, along with the booking system. If we play this right, and the news is positive from English History, then we should be able to amplify the tours on the back of any press interest in the manuscript.’

Keeley took a measured breath in and let it out just as slowly, forcing herself to think calmly. ‘Malcolm also suggested we switch general entry to the cottage to advance tickets only, in case we get inundated with visitors.’ She glanced back towards Juniper Cottage, which was basking peacefully on the far side of the village green, conspicuously free from invading hordes of book lovers. ‘Is that something you can speak to the developer about?’

‘Yes, okay,’ he agreed. ‘Will you email me something for the press release? Malcolm wants it to go out this afternoon so I’ll need it as soon as possible.’

‘I’m not at the cottage right now but I’ll do it as soon as I get back,’ she replied. ‘Is there anything else?’

‘Not at the moment,’ he said curtly. ‘I’ll be in touch if I think of anything.’

He rang off without saying goodbye and she stuffed her phone into her pocket, indignation roaring back now that she no longer had to keep her feelings in check. The cheek of him, suggesting she had been the one to spill the beans! Admittedly, she hadn’t been totally honest, because there was a third person who knew about the manuscript but it was utterly ridiculous to think that Grace might be responsible. No, Keeley thought as she turned back to Juniper Cottage, it could only have been Xander. She had no idea what he hoped to gain by denying it but she supposed it didn’t really matter. The important thing now was to make sure the announcement went smoothly. And the first step towards that was convincing the world that she couldn’t be happier to have found Eliza’s lost work.

The call from English History came less than a week after Keeley’s disagreement with Xander. It appeared as an unknown number, and she’d grown wary of answering those after a flurry of calls from journalists that had caught her off guard. They hadn’t been difficult – most were apologetic once she explained that she wasn’t the first point of contact for questions about the manuscript – but each conversation brought back memories of what she still thought of as Xander’s betrayal and her heart was still sore. She let the latest call go to voicemail, then listened back and was both unsettled and pleased when she realised the message was from Grace’s contact at English History, asking her to call back. She did so immediately, putting aside the volunteer rota she’d been working on to tap the extension number onto the keypad with anxious fingers. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, she found herself suddenly convinced that it would be bad news – that she had somehow been taken in by a clever forgery and disaster lay ahead. She almost hung up, but the knowledge that she could not delay the moment of truth forever stopped her. And then the call was answered and it was too late to back out. ‘Jemima Strong, English History.’

‘Hello Jemima,’ Keeley said into the receiver. ‘This is Dr Cotterill, from Juniper Cottage. I got your message about the manuscript you’ve been authenticating on behalf of Eliza Norton’s trustees.’

‘Ah yes,’ the other woman said warmly. ‘Thanks for coming back to me. I’m actually calling on behalf of my colleague, who has been called away from work unexpectedly. She’s been the lead curator assessing the manuscript but she didn’t want to keep you waiting any longer than necessary for her findings, so she’s left me all the pertinent details to pass along ahead of our written report.’

‘Okay,’ Keeley said, with a slight frown. She supposed it didn’t really matter who she spoke to now – not when the call would be followed up by a written report. She clenched her jaw and released it, steeling herself for news. ‘I’m grateful for your time. What can you tell me about the manuscript?’

There was a faint rustle of paper, as though Jemima was shifting things around on her desk. ‘Our assessment of the document’s age matches the date on the cover page. It’s impossible to be exact, not without more rigorous scientific testing, but we compared the weight and composition of the paper with what we know was in fairly standard use by other novelists of the time to produce their work.’

It wasn’t anything unexpected; Keeley had instinctively recognised the quality of the paper the moment she’d lifted it from the secret drawer and turned the first page, but it was reassuring to have her assessment confirmed. ‘That’s good news,’ she said cautiously. ‘Go on.’

‘We also undertook a detailed, microscopic comparison of the handwriting in the letters and diaries you provided against that of the manuscript.’

Keeley held her breath. This was it – the moment that might make or break her career. ‘And?’

‘The ink compares well visually to that used in the personal documents you sent, and the handwriting is an exact match. The final aspect of our analysis related to Eliza’s known writing style and personal quirks. We looked at her published works to establish any idiosyncrasies, and to get a feel for her style and compare that to the unpublished manuscript. While there were some differences between that and later works – an overreliance on semi-colons, for example – we attributed these to the development of Eliza’s craft. In short, she became a better writer in later years, but that’s not to say The Merriest Month isn’t an excellent piece of work.’ Jemima paused. ‘I only read a small extract and I absolutely loved it. I do hope you find a way to get it published.’

Keeley puffed out a long breath. ‘So you’re saying it’s been verified as Eliza’s work. The manuscript is definitely hers.’

‘It’s hers,’ Jemima confirmed and Keeley could hear the smile in her voice. ‘Written in the mid-nineteenth century, with paper and ink that were readily available at that time, and using all the hallmark language, grammar and punctuation that feature in her other works. In short, a previously undiscovered manuscript in practically mint condition. Congratulations on finding it, Dr Cotterill. You must be delighted.’

‘I am,’ Keeley said, feeling the final vestiges of doubt lift from her shoulders. ‘Thank you.’

‘As I said, there’ll be a written report confirming our findings – that will arrive by email in the next few hours,’ Jemima said. ‘The only other thing left to discuss is the arrangement for returning the manuscript and accompanying documents to you.’ There was another brief pause. ‘The notes say they were hand-delivered to our offices. Is there someone local who can collect everything from us or would you like us to source a specialist in transporting delicate papers?’

Keeley had known the question was coming but it still caught her out. Xander had dropped the manuscript off but there was no way she could ask him to collect it. Apart from anything else, she imagined he would refuse. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and sighed. ‘I’ll have to come back to you on that, I’m afraid. The diaries and letters need to be returned to Juniper Cottage but I don’t know what the trustees plan to do with the manuscript yet. I imagine they’ll want to read the report before they make any decisions.’

‘Of course,’ Jemima said. ‘Do you have any questions for me?’

Keeley thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think so. Thanks for sharing your findings, and please do pass my appreciation on to your colleague for all her hard work.’

Once the call was complete, she sat in silence for almost a minute. In other circumstances, she would be calling Xander now, bubbling over with excitement with the news that what they had found was the real thing. But the lines of communication had been so badly damaged by the revelation that he’d ignored her wishes that she wasn’t sure they could ever move past the stilted, strictly professional messages they’d fallen back on now. It didn’t matter that his faith in the manuscript had proved correct; what mattered was the fact that he’d bypassed her entirely and revealed the discovery to the trustees before they were even sure what they had. And then he had lied and accused her of doing the same thing. But perhaps even worse than that, he’d made her feel something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel with anyone since divorcing her husband: a connection that had made her feel alive. Realising Xander had betrayed that too was the thing that hurt the most.

With a sigh, she picked up her phone and made another call. ‘Hello, Malcolm, it’s Keeley. I have some excellent news to share with you.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Christmas! O’ Christmas! Is there anything better than its marvellous glow?