Page 11 of Christmas All the Way

Poppy smiled. ‘Me too. We mix things up as the seasons change, especially when the nights start drawing in. My favourite is the stormy night – the candlelight and flickering fires make everything feel cosy while the rain rattles at the windows. And I know the Lestrades weren’t real people – Delores dreamed the family up as she unpacked the old boxes in the attic – but I sometimes think I hear them, when the house is empty of visitors. Not ghosts, but echoes.’ She paused and let out a self-conscious laugh. ‘Does that sound mad?’

Keeley’s eyes flew to Xander, who smiled. ‘Not at all. Stories are powerful things – the best ones feel real and almost take on a life of their own.’

It was a sentiment Keeley couldn’t help agreeing with. How often had she imagined the adventures Sophie and Marcus Forsythe had gone on to have after the final chapter of The Mistress of Pendennis? Or dreamed, a little forlornly, that young Francine had somehow survived the overturned fishing boat in Where the Wind Blows, because Eliza had left the possibility dangling for the reader to embrace? ‘I certainly fell under the spell here,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe I’ve never been before.’

Poppy looked gratified. ‘You’re welcome any time. I know Xander is keen to adapt some of what we do here to bring Eliza’s story to life, so if there’s anything I can do to help then let me know.’

Some of Keeley’s good mood ebbed away at her words. Amid the glamour cast by the strange and wonderful tour, she had almost forgotten the reason she was there in the first place. ‘Thank you,’ she managed after a moment. ‘I appreciate that.’

Xander cleared his throat. ‘We should let you get on, Poppy. I expect you’ve got hordes of bookings to prepare for.’

‘We’re not quite sold out today,’ Poppy admitted, ‘but it’s good to have a bit of breathing space before the madness of November and December hits.’ She eyed Keeley with sympathy. ‘You must feel the same.’

‘Uh, yes,’ Keeley lied, because the winter months were always the quietest at Juniper Cottage, in spite of the increased footfall the village enjoyed when the Christmas decorations went up. ‘Madness.’

‘Anyway, we’ll get out of your hair,’ Xander said. ‘Thanks for this, Poppy. I owe you.’

‘It was a pleasure,’ Poppy said, when Keeley expressed her own gratitude. ‘It’s brilliant to meet you.’

It wasn’t until they were standing outside the house, the black door closed once more, that Keeley thought to check the time and was surprised to see it was almost eleven o’clock. She must have been mesmerised, to have lost track of time so completely.

‘Have you got time for a coffee?’ Xander asked. ‘Or do you need to get back?’

She hesitated, on one hand wanting to discuss the tumult of sights, sounds and smells that were still chasing each other around her head, but on the other, reluctant to spend more time with Xander than absolutely necessary. She supposed she ought to be gracious. He had introduced her to Delores Semple’s house, after all. ‘I have time for a quick coffee,’ she said. ‘Do you have anywhere in mind?’

‘One of my favourites is in Leadenhall Market,’ he said. ‘It’s not far.’

Keeley expected his preferred coffee spot to be one of the modern, minimalist spaces that time-pressed Londoners seemed to flock to, but the cafe he led her to was an old-fashioned Italian spot tucked away between a cheesemonger and a bookshop. Tables spilled out onto the cobbles beneath the glass and wrought-iron arched ceiling and more than half were taken. Xander selected one in the corner and, having asked Keeley what she wanted, went inside to order. Leaning back in her seat, Keeley watched shoppers strolling past, many laden with bags from the mixture of independent shops and big brands that filled the market. But despite the influx of fashionable retailers, the building had managed to retain its historical character and she knew it had often featured as a location for films or television shows. Much like Delores Semple’s house, it stood up proudly to the relentless march of modernisation and she was very glad of it.

‘So?’ Xander said, once he’d placed their drinks on the table. ‘What did you think of the house?’

It was the same question Poppy had asked, Keeley thought, but the subsequent realisation that Xander had told the young woman his plans to improve Juniper Cottage irked her. She reached for her coffee. ‘Like I said, I loved it. You were right about that.’

The coolness of her tone did not seem to discourage him. ‘I knew you would,’ he said, beaming. ‘But did you see the potential for Juniper Cottage? I’m not suggesting we ask people to walk round in silence but I definitely think we can borrow some of Delores’ magic touch to make Eliza’s home more of an experience.’

At least he wasn’t suggesting they bring in actors, she thought. Delores and Poppy had been unexpected allies on that score. But she baulked at the idea of setting the dining table for a grand feast, or piping in the sound of Eliza’s quill scratching across paper, or whatever it was Xander had in mind. The purpose of visiting Juniper Cottage was not for people to imagine themselves part of Eliza’s life, or even Eliza herself, but rather to pay quiet homage to her greatness by learning how she lived and worked. Keeley sipped her coffee. ‘She wasn’t a smoker, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

Xander looked at her in surprise. ‘What?’

‘We won’t be putting tobacco out,’ she clarified. ‘And we’re already doing some of the same things as Poppy – we have a number of dresses on display in the bedrooms. The one Eliza wore to the Devonshire House ball, for example, and we rotate them to match the changing of the seasons. In fact, we probably have enough to supply an exhibition at the V&A, if they ever showed the slightest inclination to notice her contribution to English literature.’

She knew she sounded chippy, but the suspicion that Xander had been brought in by the trustees because they thought she was failing Eliza’s legacy was hard to dismiss, and it also seemed to trigger her long-held frustration that Eliza’s writing was not as well recognised as it should be.

‘Have you?’ Xander said, pulling a notebook from his rucksack and jotting a few words on a clean page. ‘Interesting. I’ll keep that in mind.’

Keeley let out a small huff. ‘Don’t waste your time. Their opinion is that she isn’t a household name, so no one would be interested in seeing what she wore.’

That wasn’t exactly how the email had been phrased, of course, but she knew how to read between the lines.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘I suppose they do sort of have a point. But let’s not try to run before we can walk. Before I lay out my thoughts, was there anything you saw today that you thought might transfer to Juniper Cottage?’

She took another sip of coffee, willing herself to set aside the nettling conviction that he was mentally cataloguing all the things she was doing wrong. ‘I think they convey the story well, even though they don’t actually tell you very much at all,’ she said, after mulling the question over for what felt like an age. ‘It makes me wonder if there’s a way we can bring Eliza more to life – not by getting someone to dress up as her, but perhaps by being more creative with the way we describe her life.’

Xander scribbled another note. ‘I agree. You have so much information about her, from her diaries and letters, that it seems a shame not to make more of that.’ His blue eyes met Keeley’s. ‘The challenge is finding ways to do it that are fresh and innovative. Placards with paragraph after paragraph don’t really cut it these days.’

She had to concede he was right. ‘Too long; didn’t read.’

‘Exactly,’ he replied. ‘But it’s something we can brainstorm. Maybe even invite Poppy in to collaborate, if you’d like? I know she’d love to help and she’s full of great ideas.’