“This is… a deed.”
Papa cleared his throat and looked away.
Elizabethturned the page once, then again, her brow creasing as she took in the heavy hand, the formal phrasing, the seal impressed so deeply it had left its ghost on the paper beneath.
“‘…that long southern portion of the Ashbourne holding, being the enclosed grounds and dwelling set beyond the old thorn hedge, extending east to the fallow brook and west to the standing oak, together with such yards, orchards, and appurtenances as are customarily kept in husbandry, the same being land held apart from the greater demesne,’”she read. “‘Transferred from—’”
She stopped. “‘From Sir Reginald Netherton.’ Who is that? And where is Ashbourne?”
There was no answer. She looked up at him at last. “Papa?”
He exhaled, a sound caught somewhere between a sigh and a laugh that never quite formed. “Ah. So. We have arrived there sooner than I had hoped. Ashbourne was the name all these lands shared before Sir Reginald separated them, and sold the lands we now know as Longbourn to my… let me see, he was my great-great-great… perhaps another great…” He shook his head and trailed off. “Some ancestor. Anyway, the land Sir Reginald kept was later named Netherfield.”
Elizabeth crossed the room and perched again on the window seat, the deed spread across her knees. “You are going to have to begin properly,” she said. “Because at present I feel as though I have stepped into the middle of a conversation that began before I was born.”
“That,” he said, pulling a chair closer and sitting opposite her, “is not an inaccurate description.”
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers loosely linked. For once, he did not appear amused by his own reluctance.
“When Longbourn was first separated from Netherfield,” he began, “it was not a matter of convenience or profit. Not in the way such sales usually are. The land was simply… set aside. Peeled off, as you might say. Not because it was unwanted, but because it was… difficult.”
“Difficult how?”
“In ways that were never written down plainly,” he said. “Which is the first thing one notices when one begins to look. The language is evasive. Purposefully so. There is a great deal of emphasis on stewardship, on suitability of residence, on continuity without explanation.”
She glanced back at the deed. “It reads like a legal apology.”
“Yes,” he said dryly. “That is an excellent way of putting it.”
He leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face, as though the words themselves were wearying. “The Bennets were not chosen for distinction, Elizabeth. Nor for power. Nor even for sense, in some cases. We were… available. Respectable enough to hold land. Obscure enough not to draw attention.”
“And this… Aunt Abigail?” she asked quietly.
His gaze met hers. “There it is. You see how quickly you find it. It always was the cleverest ones. I ought to have known it would takeyou.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Elizabeth shook her head.“‘Take’ me? Papa, what do you mean?”
Her father kicked one foot over the other and squirmed slightly in his seat before answering. “For more than a few generations,” he said haltingly, “there have been women—never many at once, and never predictable—who grew… peculiar, as they approached maturity. Not as children. Not as girls—at least, not so far as I have been able to discover. They were all said to be clever, lively, always much admired.”
Elizabeth pursed her lips. “And?”
“And then…” Her father shrugged. “Something altered. Some heard voices, even talked to people who were not there. Some spoke too much, or not at all. Some were thought touched. Others dangerous.” He snorted and scraped a hand over his face. “One was even burned at the stake for a witch. But in every case, the family did its best to contain the… inconvenience.”
Elizabeth’s mouth had gone dry. “Aunt Abigail.”
“Yes,” he said, gesturing to the haphazard mountain of old letters piled on his desk. “Collins’ mother. And uncounted others before her. Sixteen that I have evidence of so far, but no telling how far back the troubles go. Oh, and from what I have read, it seems many of them had an unaccountable fondness for very large canines… but that may be coincidence.”
She rolled her eyes. “What became of them?”
He hesitated. “Those who married were said to have improved. Or appeared to. Whether it was affection, distraction, protection, or simple relief, I cannot say. They settled, had children, and near as I can tell, their daughters were not necessarily affected.”
“And those who did not marry?”
He spread his hands. “You have read the letter.”
Elizabeth looked down at the deed again. “Do you mean to say the women in our family share a hereditary weakness?Madness?”
