Page 63 of The Long Road Back to Yesterday

When Elizabeth was at last alone, she crossed to her trunk and withdrew the volume by John Brand. She ran her fingers over the gilt lettering on the cover.

Observations on Popular Antiquities.

This was the book the clerk had described as a collection of superstitions, fairy beliefs, ghost stories, omens, customs, and folk traditions. Surely within its pages lay some clue that might help her save Lydia, and perhaps even her father and mother.

The thought filled her with such anticipation that her hands began to tremble. She prayed she would not be disappointed, and then she opened the thick volume and began to read.

Time slipped away unnoticed.

Only when the candle flame began to waver and sink into the socket did Elizabeth realize how late the hour had grown. She glanced at her little watch. It was well past midnight. She had been reading for more than two hours.

Rising from her chair, she stretched the stiffness from her back.

The first two chapters concerned the ghost stories of Derbyshire. Some apparitions were said to haunt ancient manor houses, others lonely roads, and still others secluded woodlands. Elizabeth found these tales of little interest, but she persevered, lest she overlook some detail that might aid her own search.

For now, however, the hour had grown too late. Indeed, it was already the morrow. Reluctantly closing the volume, she moved to the bed. Then, with a soundless laugh, she did a little dance, remembering that in but a few hours, she would finally see Arbor Low with her own eyes... and the very handsome, exceedingly amiable Mr. Darcy, who had promised to act as her guide.

Chapter 26: Arbor Low

Elizabeth woke to a rustling at the hearth. Anna tended the fire. Taking her watch from the side table, she saw that it was already six in the morning. She would dress for the day and study for an hour before breakfast. She meant to read in the family parlor rather than seclude herself in her bedchamber and appear an unsociable and disobliging guest.

The servant said, “Miss Elizabeth, I have filled the water pitcher, and all stands ready for your morning ablutions.”

Elizabeth rose from the bed. “Thank you, Anna.”

An hour later, dressed for the day and descending the stairs, she reflected upon the convenience of having one’s own maid, especially in a house as large as this one.

She found her uncle Edward and Mr. Radcliff at the table reading their papers. Both men rose when she entered. She curtsied and made her greetings, set her book upon a side table, then served herself from the sideboard.

“Lizzy, did you sleep well? I pray you did not sit up late reading.”

She chose not to answer the latter. “I slept very deeply, Uncle. It was a pleasure to sleep upon a down mattress between fine linen sheets.”

He chuckled. “Yes, indeed. I too am grateful for the luxury.” He addressed Mr. Radcliff. “Your hospitality is so generous that you may never be rid of me, James.”

“You are always welcome, Edward. Elena is often at loose ends now that the boys are both at Harrow. She pines for family.”

“Then we have done her a fine service by bringing Lizzy to her. But I must warn you, James. My niece has the leanings of a bluestocking.”

Mr. Radcliff raised his brows. “Does a particular area of study interest you, Miss Elizabeth?”

How could she explain her fascination with the henge without appearing fanciful or, worse, eccentric?

“My father was a scholar of the Greek poets and also enjoyed the writings of Virgil, among others. I have studied these works since the age of ten.”

Mr. Radcliff chuckled. “So, you are as learned as any young gentleman of your age?”

“Perhaps, sir, though I suspect some young gentlemen would object to the comparison.” She looked amused, then continued. “In the last months of his life, my father introduced me to the writings of Stukeley, and since his passing, I have deepened my studies to include other antiquarians.” She motioned toward her book. “I finished Stukeley on our journey here and have now begun Brand.”

He raised his eyebrows with a comical expression, part apologetic and part abashed. “You have no doubt heard the verse that says a prophet is not without honor except in his own country?” When she indicated that she had, he continued.

“Such has been true of our own Derbyshire antiquarian, Samuel Pegge, and of the henge itself. I admit, Miss Elizabeth, that though I have a copy of Pegge’s scholarly paper on Arbor Low, I have never taken the time to read it.”

Elizabeth raised her brows.

He continued, “My father acquired it, for he had a deep interest in stone circles, and there is an entire system of them in this county. For myself, the henge offers a beautiful place for a walk, but I prefer to read of current affairs. There is no accounting for taste, is there, miss?”

“No, sir, there is not. You seem a remarkably liberal man. I trust you will not frown upon my choice of study or my indulgence in scholarly pursuits.”