“It was at the top of those papers on the left,” Darcy said.
She glanced at the papers, neatly stacked in one of the desk’s many compartments — all of which she had thoroughly searched. How could she have missed it?
Darcy came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. She stiffened.
“Elizabeth—”
“Nothing is out of balance.”
He was silent a moment. “
She picked up the letter. She knew he had not meant to discredit her with Dr. Severn, had not intended to injure her feelings. It was his doubt that most wounded her, for it echoed her own. She had been so certain the letter had gone missing, yet there it was, right where she had left it. Could she no longer trust her own perceptions?
“If my anxiety for you is also out of balance, I beg your forgiveness,” he said. “But when I see my clever wife forgetting simple matters, I worry. When I find her hands smeared with her own blood, I worry. Every day seems to bring a new change in you, and it is difficult to stand by idly and watch.”
She turned round to face him. “It is difficult to experience firsthand. Sometimes I feel as if I no longer know myself. That is why I need your confidence, the security that when I tell you something, I will be believed—” She held up the traitorous letter. “Even if I am later disproved.”
“I shall try. I can promise that much.”
“And I shall try to follow Dr. Severn’s orders. That should put at least some of your apprehensions to rest.” She studied his face. He seemed to have aged in the past two months, and she knew that nervousness over her condition constituted but part of the cause. Until their legal troubles were resolved, Darcy would not know a moment’s peace. Neither would she. “I wish our concerns related to the Northanger crisis were equally easy to counter.”
“I wish I could do more to address them from here.”
“Have you received any recent news from Mr. Tilney or Mr. Harper?”
“Mr. Tilney has completed his interviews with the servants, but they yielded little. The butler reports that Captain Tilney — the real one — examined all of his mother’s remaining effects on his last visit home, but why or what he sought, no one knows. A few of the grounds staff believe they saw the imposters, but from a distance. They could offer no description beyond ours, only that a man and woman arrived the night before we did and departed shortly after we left. The woman, they thought they had seen at Northanger before, but they could not be sure. Mr. Tilney is now making discreet enquiries to determine whether any of the neighbors might recognize her description.”
“What of your own efforts?”
“I have been unable to think of anyone in our acquaintance who would be moved to such villainy against us. Mr. Harper reports that word of the matter does not seem to have reached London yet, so a deliberate campaign to discredit me appears an unlikely motive. He has, by the by, engaged a barrister to speak for us in court.”
“Do you think we shall indeed stand trial?”
“Not before I have exhausted every possible lead and resource.” He released an exasperated breath. “Though I could investigate this matter much more efficiently were I not trying to do so from here.”
“Why do you not go? Surely Lady Catherine understands the importance of such a journey and would accompany you.”
“I have broached the matter with her. She insists that as she stood surety for both of us, we both must remain under her direct supervision. You cannot travel; Dr. Severn has just ordered you to refrain from anything so arduous. And even if you could, I want you at Pemberley where you are safe. We will learn what we can from here.” He gestured toward the remaining trunks of Lady Anne’s correspondence. “Have you come upon anything related to Mrs. Tilney?”
“Not yet, but I remain hopeful. I have not yet sorted through all your mother’s papers, though now that Dr. Severn has restricted my activity I suppose I shall have little to do but examine the remainder.”
He winced. “I
“And I am almost ready to forgive you for it.”
In fact, she already had. With Dr. Severn and Lady Catherine determined to undermine her confidence, she needed Darcy on her side.
“What can I do to make amends?” he asked.
“I shall have to think of something,” she said lightly. “Whatever I settle upon, however, will cost you far less than you deserve.”
“Why is that?”
“Because, my dear Mr. Darcy, I suspect you are now married to the one woman in England who will never appreciate diamonds.”
“Everybody allows that the talent of writing agreeable letters is peculiarly female.”
Now that Elizabeth and Darcy knew what they sought, a general hunt for Lady Anne’s missing heirloom commenced. A statuette so small could hide in plain sight in a house as large as Pemberley, so they enlisted the aid of the servants. By the end of December, every room had been explored. The ivory, unfortunately, was not found. Lady Catherine took great interest in the proceedings and developed a penchant for happening into particular rooms as they were being inspected, but her hopes of a serendipitous discovery went as unfulfilled as those of her hosts.
Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s diligent perusal of Lady Anne’s correspondence was rewarded with a gradual increase of floor space in her apartment. One by one, the trunks returned to the attic as their contents were deemed irrelevant to her present needs. When all had gone back to storage, she asked Mrs. Reynolds about Lady Anne’s other effects.
“Oh, there are plenty of them, ma’am. But do you want the remaining letters? There are two more trunks in the attic, you will recall. You had said to leave them there while the others were occupying your dressing room.”
Elizabeth had completely forgotten about them — like so many other things of late. “Yes, please have them brought down.”
After reading so many letters written to Lady Anne, she felt as if she knew Darcy’s mother better than she knew her own. In the details of Anne’s daily existence, in the notes of congratulation, commiseration, and condolence, the story of her life took shape. Elizabeth discovered a woman who, for all her life of privilege, was in essence not so very unlike herself. She had gone into her marriage with the same sense of certitude, the same expectation of serving as a helpmate to a partner she esteemed, the same commitment to taking seriously the duties associated with privilege. Yes, there were also great differences between them — from childhood, Lady Anne had moved in circles Elizabeth had only just entered, and had negotiated that world with the assurance of a native. But in her private life she had been, quite simply, a woman, with the same hopes and fears and dreams and desires and hurts and joys that cross class and time.
Though the trunks had contained no clues about Anne’s friendship with Mrs. Tilney or the ivory statuette, for Elizabeth — and for Darcy and Georgiana, who had helped her intermittently — they held treasure of their own: a connection to a mother who had been taken from her family too soon.
The two remaining chests arrived. Elizabeth approached the first with the expectation of another afternoon spent with voices from the past sharing twenty-year-old gossip from London and news of the neighborhood. She opened the lid, withdrew a handful of letters, and settled before the fire to read.
