“I know this book, Fitzwilliam!” Georgiana cried eagerly. “Our aunt found it when she had the library torn apart. She brought it to Richard and demanded that we burn it, but Richard merely gave it to Mrs Reynolds to place with the rest of the books our aunt wanted discarded.”
“She warned me to burn it as well,” Elizabeth remembered. “If it was so scandalous, why did she not simply throw it in the fire herself?”
Darcy thumbed through some of the yellowed pages. “She does not do things herself. She commands them to be done—it is so much a part of her assumed prestige, that she scarcely thinks of doing otherwise. Besides, there is little here that could truly convict anyone of anything—allusions, that is all. It seems that my grandmother removed what information might have been truly damaging before the journal was placed in the family collection.”
“So,” Lydia plucked a bit of cheese from a tray which Mrs Reynolds had brought her, “we must find the pages. Where could they be, Lizzy?”
“If I were removing pages from my journal for reasons of privacy, I would burn them.”
“Or keep them hidden in a secret place,” Georgiana suggested hopefully. Do you think anything was important enough to keep? A memento of sorts, in case something ever came of it again?”
“It appears that Lady Georgina was determined to wash her hands of it,” Darcy mused. “Grandmother was a strong-minded woman; it is a pity you have no memory of her. I cannot imagine her leaving spare pages to chance.”
“But if she did,” Elizabeth pondered slowly, “she would have been most selective about the place where she kept them. She said at one point that it was difficult to find such a place in her chambers. Are there secret doors in the house? A garret, perhaps, with a locked desk that has been forgotten?”
Darcy smiled at her gothic suggestions, but shook his head. “I know every corner of this house, and you may have faith that Mrs Reynolds leaves nothing neglected.”
“What about the study, Fitzwilliam?” Georgiana suggested. “Are there not some of Father’s own journals there?”
“His, and Grandfather’s as well. I have read them all a number of times, and I can assure you that there was no mention of anything resembling this.”
“Well,” Lydia stacked a small piece of cold meat on another slice of cheese, “perhaps that awful Lady Catherine truly did burn some things. I think she would even destroy the family birth records, if someone married someone she did not care for. What a good joke! Lizzy, do you realise how annoyed you shall make her when… Lizzy? Lizzy, you are making the face again.”
“Elizabeth?” Darcy leaned forward to catch her attention. “Have you thought of something?”
Elizabeth’s eyes were large, and she put a hand to her mouth. “William, my bedroom! Lady Catherine told me that it was the guest room given to both your mother and grandmother when they first visited Pemberley!”
He glanced at his sister. “It is the finest suite in that wing, typically reserved for… highly esteemed guests. In fact, we use it but seldom, and it is counted an honour.”
“And if Lady Georgina wished to keep something out of the way….”
Darcy rose abruptly from his seat and clasped Elizabeth by the hand. “Come. And send for Mrs Reynolds, Georgiana—only she, none of the maids. It will likely take all of us to search, but I would limit the number of persons with direct knowledge.”
Thesearchcommencedatonce, with Darcy and Elizabeth working together to move and inspect the heavier pieces of furniture. Mrs Reynolds and Georgiana pulled out drawers and felt inside each crevice, while Lydia made absolutely certain that the vanity desk and chair concealed nothing of interest.
“Could something have been tucked behind a mirror?” Elizabeth wondered.
“I looked there,” answered Georgiana. “And behind all the paintings, but that would have been done when Mother had the room re-papered.”
“Re-papered?” Elizabeth’s hope began to flag. “I did not realise that. I suppose there is nothing in this room that could have been left untouched.”
“The floor has not been redone in at least two generations,” William commented. He tilted his head from a number of angles, examining the wooden grooves for any break in their regularity.
Elizabeth tapped her finger to her lips. Now, what items had Lady Catherine noted most particularly? Perhaps those had been unchanged since the days of Lady Anne, at least, if not Lady Georgina. Had not Darcy’s grandmother lived several years after her husband’s death? Perhaps this room might have even served her again during those years of widowhood.
Elizabeth stood back, placing herself in the exact footsteps of Lady Catherine, and surveyed the room. The painting, Georgiana had checked. The bed, she and William had moved. The vanity, the writing desk, the lamp…. she paused. Mrs Reynolds saw the direction of Elizabeth’s gaze, and followed her lead at once. She lifted the old glass, and then the brass covering where the oil was added.
Elizabeth picked up the base. It was large, but the oil well did not fill the whole. She tilted it toward Mrs Reynolds with a curious brow. Mrs Reynolds adjusted her glasses and felt of the brass ridges at the seams. She curled her fingers and caught the lip of the oil well, and it lifted out easily from the remainder of the base.
William was standing behind her shoulder now, and he took the bottom from Elizabeth’s hands. With long fingers, he reached into the base and withdrew a folded yellow paper.
“What is it?” Lydia bounced from her chair. Georgiana, too, had crowded round as William unfolded the old page. He caught Elizabeth’s eyes, and a spark of triumph passed between them.
“It is a deed.”
“William,Iamnotconvinced of the wisdom in traveling to London just now.”
Darcy glanced up from the notes he was penning as Elizabeth found him out in his study. “If I do not settle this, it shall continue to trouble us. Vasconcelos—the elder, from my grandmother’s journal—had a son, and he bore me some grudge. I now begin to think there was more to the affair than simply a missing document. He viewed the matter as a personal offence, as if my grandfather had intentionally disgraced his father.”
