“I believe it has done so already.”
Harrowe shifted as though to speak, but Darcy raised a hand and continued.
“There are several matters I must lay before you,” he said. “Some of them will appear disconnected at first. I ask only that you allow me to finish before you judge them so.”
Matlock inclined his head. “Proceed.”
“I had word earlier today that Netherfield has suffered damage.”
Matlock’s expression altered only slightly, but it was enough. “Netherfield?” He glanced, briefly, toward Harrowe, then back again. “The estate leased by your friend? I was not aware it held any particular relevance to your affairs.”
“Nor would I have thought so, until now,” Darcy said. “The staircase has collapsed from the tremors felt three days ago. But the staircase is almost incidental, for the house has been cut through—cleanly enough to suggest a weakness already present in the ground.”
Matlock frowned. “An old house settling poorly? Surely it is not unique.”
“It is not old,” Darcy replied. “And the damage is not settlement. Mr Bingley’s steward reports a fissure beneath the foundation, one that follows the line of an old waterway. It appears the ground has been strained there for some time, and the shock merely finished what was already underway.”
Matlock leaned back a fraction in his chair. “You speak as though you had anticipated this.”
Darcy’s mouth tightened. “I had reason to suspect it. I examined land records in November. There were inconsistencies—minor, easily dismissed—but persistent. Drainage altered, boundaries adjusted, and references to channels that no longer appear on modern maps. I did not know what to make of it then.”
“And now you do?”
Darcy sighed. “I know it is not isolated. Mr Bingley has taken up the inquiry where I left off. The fissure aligns with others—subtle ones, but present—running through the surrounding land. They trace a pattern.”
“And this pattern,” Matlock guessed, “has led you to revise certain assumptions.”
Darcy met his eyes. “It has confirmed them.”
A smile crawled across Matlock’s face. “You are suggesting that theLiber’sreferences to place have, indeed, been misunderstood by your aunt.”
“I am certain of it. I have been for some time.”
Matlock exhaled slowly. “Then you believe the centre lies in Hertfordshire. And you believe this with sufficient conviction to summon me here. You are aware of what you imply.”
“I am.”
Matlock’s voice, when it came, was quieter. “And the Lady? It must not be Anne, so who—?”
Darcy felt the words settle into place before he spoke them, as though they had been waiting for this moment to be acknowledged aloud.
“I know who she is. I… have known for some time.”
“You have!” Matlock leaned forward, his face paling. “What family? Where does she come from, if not the Peredur or Bedwyr lines? Do others remain?” He glanced curiously at Harrowe, who only drew back, shaking his head. He would not answer.
“The records do not support a continuous family line,” Darcy said, glancing at Harrowe. “Not in the manner Lady Catherine insists upon. She does not descend from a house of note, nor from one that has been preserved with any deliberate intention. If anything, her family history is marked by interruption—removals, marriages that break pattern, inheritances that pass sideways rather than down.”
Matlock’s brows knit. “Then you ask me to accept that the centre has shifted without stewardship, without preparation, without even recognition.”
“I ask you to accept that it has endured… no…. that it haschosenwithout them,” Darcy said. “Which is not the same thing as saying it has been preserved.”
Matlock’s expression remained doubtful. “It is a distinction without comfort.”
“No,” Darcy replied. “Nor is it one I arrived at lightly. You know how thoroughly I sought another explanation—how unwilling I was to accept a conclusion that upended both history and sense.”
Matlock studied him for a moment. “And yet you are certain.”
“I am,” Darcy said. “Because the pattern did not begin in London, nor with theory. It began months ago, in Hertfordshire, before I understood enough to name it.”
