That was his last coherent thought before exhaustion overcame him somewhere beyond the city. The springs absorbed the worst of the road, the cushions were soft without being absurd, and the steady rhythm of horses and wheels worked upon him more effectively than any lullaby. He tried to think of Pemberley, of militia duties, of the antiquarian who would visit Gracechurch Street, of Lord Matlock’s promised protection for the Gardiner children.
Instead, as sleep drew him under, the darkness behind his eyes filled not with Roman gold or estate ledgers, but with a pair of fine eyes looking up at him from a London cellar.
∞∞∞
The weeks that followed were unlike anything Elizabeth had ever imagined.
Gracechurch Street, which had so recently seemed a house of grief and damp linens, became a place of continual footsteps, hushed exclamations, and ink-stained importance. Men from the museum came with notebooks, measuring rods, boxes lined with cloth, and expressions of such reverent delight that Elizabeth began to think scholars were merely children who had been allowed to grow older without giving up their treasures. Antiquarians bent over fragments of tile as though they had discovered the crown jewels, while laborers under careful direction brought up trays of coins, broken pottery, bits of worked stone, and once, to everyone’s astonishment, a small carved figure so worn with age that no one could immediately agree whether it represented a household god, a merchant’s charm, or some pagan deity whose name made one elderly gentleman nearly tremble with scholarly excitement.
Elizabeth found the whole proceeding fascinating.
She was not permitted below again, which she considered unreasonable but had been overruled by every person of sense in the house, including Susie, Mr. Philips, two antiquarians, and Mr. Darcy before he departed for Derbyshire. Thus, she was forced to content herself with watching from the cellar, where the objects were brought up, cleaned only enough to be identified, entered into ledgers, and set into trays according to where they had been found. She learned more in a week than she had in years of reading whatever books her father happened to leave unattended. There were words she had never heard before, Roman names pronounced with differing degrees of confidence,and long discussions over whether a particular shard had belonged to a roof tile, a vessel, or some architectural piece of tremendous interest to exactly three people in England.
Mr. Philips, meanwhile, was scarcely ever still. He attended meetings with museum men, government officials, solicitors, and persons of rank whose names made Susie’s eyes widen. Among these was Lord Matlock, Mr. Darcy’s uncle, who had taken charge of the matter with the quiet authority of a man accustomed to entering rooms and finding them already inclined to listen. Elizabeth had not met him, though she had heard a great deal of him from her uncle, who returned from each interview looking half-exhausted and half-amused.
“The higher one goes in society,” Mr. Philips told her one evening, “the more people seem to speak in suggestions while meaning commands.”
“That sounds like my mother with better manners.”
Mr. Philips had laughed for the first time in days.
On the afternoon that everything changed again, Elizabeth was seated in a chair in the cellar with a shawl around her shoulders and a notebook in her lap, pretending to be of use while actually watching Dr. Llewellyn argue with a younger assistant over whether a particular coin ought to be entered as found in the third or fourth layer of silt. She had discovered that scholarly men could disagree over the placement of a coin with all the heat her mother reserved for lace, and she was beginning to enjoy the spectacle when footsteps sounded upon the stairs.
She looked up, expecting John or Susie.
Instead, Mr. Philips entered, and behind him, a man and woman dressed in fashionable clothing.
Elizabeth sprang to her feet so quickly that the notebook slid from her lap and struck the floor. “Uncle?”
Mr. Philips gave her a reassuring look, though there was something in his face she could not immediately read. “Lizzy, Lord and Lady Matlock wished to meet you.”
Lady Matlock came forward first. She was a handsome woman perhaps a little past middle age, with a kind face, intelligent eyes, and the sort of composure that made Elizabeth immediately conscious of her own ink-stained fingers. The countess took in the cellar, the trays, the mud, the scholars, and Elizabeth herself with interest rather than condescension, which put Elizabeth more at ease than any grand graciousness could have done.
“So this is the young lady who began all the commotion,” Lady Matlock said warmly.
Elizabeth curtsied. “I cannot claim to have done so intentionally, my lady.”
“Very few truly interesting things are done intentionally,” Lord Matlock replied. “At least, not in my experience.”
He was tall, though not so tall as his nephew, with the same dark hair now threaded with gray and the same grave eyes softened by humor. Elizabeth could see the family resemblance at once, though Lord Matlock’s expression was more open.
“My niece did a foolish thing,” Mr. Philips said, though there was affection in his tone. “But I am increasingly grateful she did.”
Elizabeth blushed. “I prefer courageous.”
“I prefer alive,” he returned.
Lord Matlock smiled, then grew more serious. “Miss Bennet, I shall not keep you in suspense. The Crown has been informed of your discovery, as has the Prince. There is considerable gratitude, both for the discovery itself and for the fact that you and your uncle did not conceal it or attempt to profit from it secretly.”
Elizabeth glanced at her uncle. “That would have been rather difficult, given the number of men now traipsing through the house.”
“Difficult, yes. Impossible, no,” Lord Matlock said. “Honesty remains notable even when dishonesty would have been inconvenient.”
Elizabeth did not know how to answer that, so she remained silent.
“The Crown wishes to bestow a gift upon you in recognition of your bravery and discretion,” the earl continued. “Before any recommendation was made final, I wished to meet you myself.”
“A gift?” Elizabeth repeated.
