Violet transcribes the last page of the Granier diary at last, having recovered it from Cymbalisty's office (with a little help from Anna and Miranda). As promised, there's a revelation - but it's not really the kind we wanted...
I know, you've been clamouring at me to get that last page of Anthony Granier's diary, and I've been quiet about the whole thing. My personal life is getting complicated, so you'll just have to live with it. (No, I do not want to talk about it.)
You all told me that Anna put that last page back into Cymbalisty's office; not sure why the police would've given it back to her, but maybe they weren't aware it was Academy property. Not like it's got stamps on it or anything. Unfortunately, I don't have a way to get into that locked office, and my usual means for that kind of trick is too busy being cow-eyed over a girl to talk to me, much less to help me. So I did what came naturally, and enlisted the help of the girl, instead.
Miranda really is a very sweet person, and she understood quickly how much I'd like to finish reading that last page. She hardly needed convincing at all, honestly. She didn't have access, either, but she spoke to my dad, and made a good case about needing to retrieve items in the office important to the continued smooth running of the library. (He'd never buy it from me, he knows me too well.) At any rate, he agreed and got the security people to put the right authority onto her key.
So Miranda's been letting me peek in at the page the last few days. It's slow going without Cymbalisty's expertise. Granier had terrible script, for starters, and of course the document isn't in terrific shape. I had to do a lot of research in my off-hours to work it out. I never thought I'd miss Cymbalisty as much as all this, but he really was a clever sort.
So without further ado, here is the page. Not that it's anything but a huge disappointment.
29 April 1736
At last, stole several minutes with Edwina in the great refectory at about the third hour after dawn when my lord's men had broken their fast and gone on their way. She, sighing mightily, declared that she did not wish for my company. I would not brook this and held her fast demanding she should explain to me why she had disdained my society and my bed these past days.
She, sighing again, said: "I cannot speak the words. For then, surely, you would disdain me."
I assured her that this could never be. She, smiling, asked if I could not let the matter bide, pretend that all that had been between we two had never been. I declared that I could not. "Then," she said, "I will confess the matter to you, and you will no longer wish for my society."
So saying, she made this speech:
"My lord," she said, "I am with child. I did not know for certain these few days but now the matter seems to me right clear. The child is yours, my lord."
I could not conceal my horror and alarm at this. Ah, wanion. That such things should be. I wished to look upon her but could not. I cast my eyes downward and muttered some words of consolation but made my good-byes sharply. I must think on this and these pages are no longer secure enough to do so.
