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“My grandmother did not copy everything,” she said, spreading several loose sheets upon the desk. “There are references to other pages, and some of Mara’s writing is scarcely visible unless the light falls across it. We must put these in an order we can follow.”

“Has she written of trying it herself?”

“A little.” Mrs. Reynolds found a line upon one of the copies. “Here. ‘I had not her warmth.’ And farther down, she says she kept the cord.”

Elizabeth bent over the page. The words between those two statements had not been copied. A note in the margin referred to a folded leaf among the originals.

“Then she tried after Elspeth died.”

“So I believe. I have not yet made out enough to tell you how.”

They found the folded leaf among the originals. Its outer crease had begun to split. Mrs. Reynolds slid a clean sheet beneath it and stopped before the brittle paper could tear.

“We must take more time with this one.”

Elizabeth looked from the old paper to the fresh thread in her basket. She need not wait for every missing word before practising what they already knew.

“Then we shall return to it tomorrow. But I shall try the warmth again tonight.”

Mrs. Reynolds covered the original. Elizabeth took the copied instructions with her, leaving Mara’s cord undisturbed within its folded account.

Chapter Thirty-six

TWO DAYS EARLIER, on Friday afternoon, Darcy had gone to the Hargreaveses’ cottage.

Martha looked at Darcy’s bandaged hand before she looked at his face.

“Should you be out, sir?”

“Mr. Ellis permits me to walk.”

“All the way here?”

“He did not prescribe a particular destination.”

“Then you must sit down when you reach it.”

Darcy obeyed. In the two days since his fall, he had begun to suspect that every person upon the estate knew more of the surgeon’s instructions than he did. Thomas drew the chair nearer the hearth while Martha took Darcy’s hat. Neither allowed him to assist.

Anna sat upon Ruth’s knee, turning her silver rattle over and over between both hands. At his voice she looked up. He held out his left hand, and Ruth brought her near enough to take his finger.

“Not the other one,” he said when Anna discovered the dressing.

“She thinks everything is put there for her,” Ruth replied.

“A reasonable conclusion, in this room.”

He smiled at the child but did not ask to hold her. The temptation to prove that he could manage was considerable. The possibility of hurting his hand and being obliged to give her back in haste persuaded him to leave her where she was.

“I should like to speak with all of you,” he said.

Martha sat down. Thomas, who had been examining the kettle without finding anything wrong with it, turned from the hearth.

“You have settled upon something for her?” Martha asked.

“I have thought of something. I should like to know whether it can be made to suit her.”

The distinction sounded excessively careful even to him. He had rehearsed a more impressive beginning upon the walk, but Martha’s anxious face made it seem unkind to persist with it.