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“I decided to build it in stages, ma’am, so that each level can be removed to view its floorplan. I haven’t added the details yet, but all the rooms are present: the kitchens, housekeeper’s room, servants’ hall and coal-store. I have already started on the ground floor, so you may take the basement with you and return it overnight if you wish.”

Elizabeth could have clapped her hands with delight. Another guinea was extracted for his trouble and two loitering boys summoned to carry the model, which was laid carefully on the floor of the carriage. Climbing in around it, clutching the plans, Elizabeth was as pleased as punch.

When the model was carried to his bedchamber, Darcy’s reaction was initially lukewarm. He had already memorised the plans and saw no need to make a toy of them. Disappointed, Elizabeth reminded herself that he could not see what a beautiful job Mr Petit had done. But when Mr Stewart arrived at eleven and wished to discuss a problem they had encountered in digging the foundations in the blue clay at the rear of the site, where the engineer was of the opinion that the thickness of the retaining wall needed to be increased, the model was brought forward, the problem area reviewed, and a note written to beg the opinion of a fellow of the Royal Society. Elizabeth felt her efforts vindicated. Darcy was gracious enough to belatedly thank her.

Farley was finally able to catch up with Elizabeth about Mr Gardiner’s letter when he served her lunch. She was grateful that she was in the act of stoking the fire in the library prior to sitting down when he released his enfilade. Composing herself, she replied she certainly did not recall reading out a letter from a correspondent with that name but would undertake to look for it again—perhaps it had stuck to the back of one of the letters in the discard pile. A Gardiner in Southwark? She was not aware of a relative who lived there. Of course, Lizzy was perfectly aware of a Gardiner who worked there, but she chose her words carefully.

Elizabeth ate her soup in considerable trepidation. Obviously, the letter had been missed. What should she do? Over the course of the afternoon as she read Darcy one of the novels she had obtained at Hatchard’s, the problem nagged at her, such that she occasionally forgot to pay attention to rendering the voices of the characters in the book. Darcy remonstrated, and she was obliged to read the offending passages again. The novel was an interesting one about two sisters, obliged to live in straightened circumstances after the death of their father. Darcy did not say so, but he particularly liked the younger sister, Marianne. Although he had originally concluded that she was a ridiculously flighty female, she had somehow grown on him. It did not occur to him that the voice Miss Gardiner employed for Marianne was the source of his preference.

As she was conveyed home that night, Elizabeth formed a desperate resolution regarding her uncle’s letter. She would have to replace Mr Gardiner’s communication with a more innocuous one. She was by no means happy with this subterfuge, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Elizabeth knew where her aunt kept the notes that she exchanged with her husband at his warehouse during the course of many a working day. She also was confident of her ability to forge her uncle’s hand effectively with an example in front of her. Beyond reporting the letter lost, there seemed little else she could do, and Elizabeth feared that if she declared herself unable to find the missive, Darcy would try to contact her uncle himself.

Thus, before dinner, she surreptitiously extracted a handful of these domestic notes before retiring early, claiming fatigue. In her bedchamber, she spread the examples of her uncle’s hand before her on the dressing table:

“I could not get a turbot, would roast chicken do for dinner?

Lovely, could you please do the parsnips and onions in the dripping?

Sally has fallen down the back stairs. Could you purchase some more linen on your way home?

Of course, my dear. I hope she is not too badly injured?”

Elizabeth first wrote a draft of the revised letter in her own hand before copying it, disguised.

Dear Mr Darcy,

Please accept my sincere apologies for any misunderstanding that might have occurred during our interview last Monday. I merely had the best interests of my niece, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, at heart. After speaking to you, I am reassured that there were no amorous intentions on your part. Thank you for coming to her aid.

I remain your humble servant and admirer of your contributions to science,

God bless,

Edward Gardiner FRS

After sanding the letter, Elizabeth crept downstairs to her uncle’s study where she sealed it. Then, secreting it in her pocket, she resolved not to volunteer the letter, but only surrender it should Farley ask for it again. Mentally exhausted, she went to bed to spend an insensible dreamless night.

Elizabeth’s next bright idea to aid Darcy’s rehabilitation followed the visit of a colleague of Darcy’s from Cambridge on Thursday. This turned out to be Calhoun, who had infamously found the error in Darcy’s mathematical proof. Although Darcy had been awarded senior wrangler, it was the junior wrangler, Calhoun, who had gained the fellowship by default when Darcy had inherited the Pemberley estate. Thus, in addition to their past friendship, Calhoun felt somewhat in debt to Darcy for his livelihood. While down from Cambridge to attend his mother’s funeral, Calhoun had learnt from his sister that Darcy had returned ill from the Continent, prompting his courtesy call. He was in no way prepared for the state in which he found Darcy. Initially reduced to stammering incoherence by solicitude for his friend, he was saved further embarrassment thanks to Elizabeth’s kind intervention. Pulling the book on arithmetic series she had purchased yesterday from Hatchard’s from the pile, she handed it to Calhoun for his opinion. Thus, the conversation was safely steered to mathematics. After perusing the table of contents, which Elizabeth had already read aloud to Darcy, Calhoun discussed his opinion of the topics and undertook to read and summarise a chapter. Watching over his shoulder, Elizabeth saw how the various Greek letters interspersed with other mathematical shorthand were said aloud, making some mental notes so that she might continue reading the text to Darcy afterwards.

An hour later, about to take his leave and having regained his equanimity, Calhoun was so bold as to ask whether Darcy had considered the possibility of returning to Cambridge. Darcy at first thought his friend was jesting.

“But the fourth Lucasian Professor was blind, dear chap—Nicholas Saunderson. Surely you have heard of him?”

“Of course I have heard of him,” replied Darcy testily. “Geometry was his speciality. But I did not realise he was blind. Did it come upon him in his old age, like Beethoven’s deafness?”

“Well, Beethoven is not that old, dear chap, and as for Saunderson, I believe he was blind from birth or pretty close to it, although how he managed I do not know. I don’t suppose there is anyone about who actually knew him anymore, but I might be able to get some second-hand information.”

Darcy thanked his friend for his trouble, asking him to be discreet. He could not like his illness being casually discussed, even amongst friends.

Laughingly proposing his sudden desire to write a biography of Nicholas Saunderson, Calhoun promised to be the soul of discretion and took his leave.

Inspired by the story of the blind mathematician, Elizabeth began to wonder how Mr Saunderson might have gone about reading and writing. Immediately recalling that the Romans read and wrote on wax tablets using styli, she thought it might be possible to cast wax into baking trays and resolved to ask her aunt once she returned home. However, her uncle was able to give her better information over dinner:

“Why, you can still buy such things, Lizzy. Some shipping companies still use them in their warehouses. You should be able to get some at Hammley’s on Cheapside. Personally, I prefer paper; it takes up less space.”

Thus, on Friday morning, the Darcy coach made an additional stop at Hammley’s Emporium—an amazing shop, stuffed to the rafters with all manner of practical objects. Elizabeth bought three book-sized wax tablet diptychs and several styli. When the canny proprietor pulled a charming etui containing several miniature tablets and a stylus from a cabinet, she succumbed to purchasing that also. Then, at Covent Garden, the wonderfully detailed model of the basement and ground floor of the townhouses was loaded into the carriage.

Once at Darcy House, the model was installed on a gate-leg table in Darcy’s bedchamber.

Conscious of his master’s negligence in properly thanking Miss Gardiner for the townhouse model, Finn made several appreciative comments on the style and detailing as it was placed on the table, prompting a more appropriate response from Darcy. Meanwhile, opening one of the diptychs, Darcy tried writing on the wax. Running his fingers over the engravings, he immediately appreciated the utility of the tablets. He found the etui charming. After spending a miserable Christmas, it seemed he was receiving his gifts late.