Chapter 7
Research over the next few days consumed me almost completely. I carried it out in the quiet refuge of my study, shutting the door on the outside world and surrendering myself to the papers that seemed to multiply across my desk with every passing hour. My earlier visit to the National Archives had laid the groundwork, but there had been gaps—frustrating spaces where names disappeared, dates contradicted one another, and whole branches of families seemed to dissolve into nothing. Now, at last, the certificates I had ordered began arriving through the post. I handled each one carefully. They were brittle sheets of history: birth certificates, marriage records, death registrations. Some were clear and precise; others contained handwriting so cramped and faded that I found myself leaning beneath the desk lamp with a magnifying glass, trying to decide whether a letter was an e or an i , whether a number was a three or an eight. Yet each document gave me something. A date. An address....
