“It is strange, is it not?” Sir Matthew agreed gently. He seemed to be about to say something else, but just then Elizabeth stood up and gaily declared the art gallery open and ready to be visited properly. Amid much laughter the entire company followed her.

For a good hour they walked up and down the gallery, admiring the paintings, much to Paul’s embarrassment. Mrs Bennet insisted on taking his arm and making him explain every single nuance to her and then spoiling the effect by hardly listening to a word he said. The younger children became bored after a while and soon ran off to the kitchens, where they knew the cook would have pastries for them. But Beth and William remained and the atmosphere grew quieter as at last they all found themselves in front of the largest painting, a group picture of the family in front of the lost tomb.

Paul, it was agreed, had outdone himself with this picture. The sun was a fierce orange ball hanging low in the sky in the late afternoon, and although the sky was a bright blue and the green of the palm trees contrasted strikingly against it, there were shadows in the corners that added a somewhat sinister cast to the painting. Darcy and Elizabeth were seated in prominence in the middle of the picture, with Sophie and Edward admiring a large golden vase slightly to their left. The children were dotted around the painting in various poses, Laurence atop a camel, which had pleased him greatly. Margaret sat on her mother’s lap, a doll in her hands, which could have been made of wood or just dressed in sombre browns. The little girl was pointing to the doorway of the tomb, which was shrouded in even more shadows. From within the tomb it was just possible to see flickering candlelight.

“A most striking depiction, young man,” Sir Matthew said, taking a pince-nez from his waistcoat pocket and peering closely at the painting.

“It is marvellously executed,” Edward said. “I have to confess I thought some of those sketches you took were a waste of time, but you’ve included details even I had forgotten about. But this is still my favourite,” he added, pointing to a smaller painting on the other side of the gallery. It was a picture of Sophie smiling as she sat in the shade of a palm tree, her parasol half-open against the heat of the sun.

“It is most charming,” Mrs Bennet said. “But look at this picture of the children and me at the oasis. I have insisted Lizzy let me take it home to Meryton so that her papa can see it. In fact, I think it would make an excellent addition to our parlour. It would take pride of place over the mantelpiece and Mr Bennet, I know, would be thrilled every time to…”

As she walked off with the young couple, Elizabeth and Darcy could not help but smile.

“This method of painting seems somewhat familiar to me, young Inkworthy,” Sir Matthew said, looking intently at a dark area of the canvas near the corner. Paul nodded.

“It is called chiaroscuro—the use of contrasts between light and dark. It has been practised by the greats since the Renaissance, and although I know it might seem a strange style to use when painting such a bright landscape, I felt it helped capture the sense of mystery of the tomb.”

“I believe your instincts were sound,” Sir Matthew said.

Paul bowed. “You flatter me, Sir Matthew,” he said as Sophie, laughing, called him over. With another bow he left them.

Sir Matthew continued to stare at the painting.

“You know,” he said standing back at last and addressing himself to Elizabeth and Darcy, who were left standing with him, “the contrasts of light and dark are very dramatic, but at the edges there are certain greys which I believe can be just as striking and even enigmatic.”

Elizabeth looked at him for a moment before exchanging a brief glance with Darcy.

“What is it that you see, Sir Matthew?” she asked evenly.

“Well, dear madam, I am not entirely sure, but here in this corner by the entrance to the tomb, just in the flickering play of the candlelight, I thought for a moment I caught the suggestion of a woman’s face. It seems to have gone now, but…”

“I believe it will come back, Sir Matthew, when you are not looking for it,” Elizabeth said with equanimity.

Sir Matthew looked at her.

“Ah, you have seen it too.”

“Only in certain lights,” Elizabeth confirmed.

“When the sun is upon it,” Darcy added, “or when one holds a candle at a particular angle.”

“Or one can hold it at the same angle and not see it again. And not everyone sees it,” Elizabeth added. “And Paul swears he did not paint any face there, and I believe him.”

“Does Miss Margaret see it?” Sir Matthew enquired with interest. He was staring intently at the painting, but there was nothing there to see and he knew he would find nothing. The face would find him if it wanted to be found.

“I believe not,” Darcy said. “She much prefers the painting over there with all the monkeys at the market in Cairo. Although I have once or twice caught her suddenly looking back in this direction as though in response to someone calling her name. But she never says anything, and the gallery holds no fear for her as it might if a child feared ghosts.”

Sir Matthew nodded. “No, I imagine it wouldn’t.” He said nothing for a moment or two.

“What face do you see, Sir Matthew?” Elizabeth enquired at last. The older man smiled at her.

“Why the same as you do, I would imagine, my dear Mrs Darcy: a woman who has finally found peace after many centuries of wandering. But of course, it is all nonsense. Fairy stories for children and simple nomads who know no better.”

“Of course,” Elizabeth agreed.

Darcy nodded. “Come, Sir Matthew,” he said. “Would you care for a glass of canary?”

“That would be most kind,” the older gentleman said as his hosts led him down the stairs and out of the gallery, the last of their party following them. Elizabeth waited until all her guests were out of the chamber before gently shutting the door. Just as she did so, she fancied she heard once more the faintest hint of a laugh, much as she had done that afternoon back at the tomb. She smiled.

“Good night, Aahotep,” she said softly.

***

All too soon, it was the end of the holidays. The Darcys stood in the hall as the carriage was brought round. Beth was looking elegant and graceful, carrying herself with a new maturity. Her hair was dressed in adult style, coiled into a chignon instead of tumbling around her shoulders, and her dress no longer stopped at her calves; it reached the floor. Everything about her showed that she was a young lady and no longer a little girl.

William, standing beside her, was so much like his father that Elizabeth caught her breath. He had all the dignity and assurance of the Darcys, and he seemed to be growing every day. He was surely half a head taller than he had been at the start of the holidays, and he was closer to being a young gentleman than a boy.

John, who was striding around the hall, checking the trunks with military precision to make sure that nothing had been forgotten, was still reassuringly boyish in looks. But the Egyptian adventure had increased his confidence, and he was a more capable and experienced boy than he had been before they had all set out.

The butler announced that the carriage was ready and Elizabeth embraced her oldest son, feeling him stiffen slightly as he allowed her embrace rather than enthusiastically returning it. She sighed, sorry that he was too old now for such shows of affection, and turned her attention to John. He saluted and then held out his hand for her to shake, but she ignored it and hugged him close, pleased to find that he returned her pressure. She kissed him on the cheek and then turned her attention to Laurence.

Laurence was still refreshingly impish and looking forward to going to school for the first time. He had spent the morning asking constantly if it was time to go, running up and down the stairs, and generally getting in everyone’s way—that is, when he was not whooping with delight and teasing Jane for being left behind.

Elizabeth gave him a hug, which he returned impatiently, and then stood back so that he could take his leave of his papa. He held out his hand in a grown-up fashion and Darcy shook it, but then Laurence launched himself at his papa and gave him a tight squeeze. Darcy picked him up and smiled into his eyes then set him on his feet again and gave him some last-minute fatherly advice.

And then it was time to go. They all went out to the carriage. The boys climbed in excitedly, Laurence riding on the box next to the coachman, while William and John climbed inside, and then they were off. Elizabeth and Darcy stood and waved until the carriage was lost to view.

Elizabeth stifled a sob as it turned the corner of the drive, and Darcy put his arm around her shoulders in silent sympathy. But the boys had been so happy that she could not be sorrowful for long. She put her arm around her husband’s waist and they went back inside, with their daughters beside them.

Beth sailed indoors with the grace of a swan, but it was Jane who caught Elizabeth’s eye. She was already more demure now that Laurence had gone. She was leading Meg by the hand, instead of running around and hollering as she would have been if Laurence had still been at home.

The girls were claimed by their governesses and Elizabeth and Darcy went into the drawing room.

As she looked around the familiar room, with its graceful furniture and its panoramic views of the glorious grounds, Elizabeth thought how lucky she was. She had a beautiful home, a wonderful family, many good neighbours, and a wide circle of friends. Her children were happy and growing up into fine men and women. And her husband… she looked at him with a lift of her heart. Her husband was the love of her life.