Prescott nodded. “That makes this document only the third handwritten parchment copy of the Declaration of Independence in existence. The other two are the Matlack copy in the National Archives and a second, known as the Sussex Declaration. That copy was discovered in England a few years ago in the West Sussex Record Office, where it had been languishing for nearly two hundred years. It had been a gift to the third Duke of Richmond, who had been a big supporter of the American side during the Revolution.’”

He waited for me to take that in. “The Sussex Declaration was written horizontally and the names of the signers were copied out in a different order—not by state—by whoever hand-wrote the document,” he said. “However, the Jefferson Declaration, as I’m calling it, was written in exactly the same vertical format as the copy that was signed in Philadelphia and it’s the same size. The difference is that Jefferson signed everyone’s name. They weren’t original signatures.”

I turned back to look at the rows of signatures.

“Have a closer look, Lucie,” Prescott said. “Do you notice anything unusual? About the signatures, I mean.”

I squinted and after a moment, I said, “Well, it’s clear they were all written by the same person. And … John Hancock’s signature, which is usually the biggest, is quite small.”

“Very observant.” Prescott sounded approving. “Do you notice whose signature is the biggest in this version?”

I squinted again. “Thomas Jefferson’s.”

He cackled. “Hilarious, isn’t it? A little inside joke, because Hancock’s signature was so big in the original document. He said he signed it like that so the king of England would be sure to be able to read it. But in this copy, my copy, Jefferson got the last laugh.”

“Prescott, this really is an incredible document,” I said. “The ink has faded a lot less than the copy in the Archives.”

“It has. I also acquired a collection of letters written by Dolley Madison to her husband, as well as others written to her during the War of 1812. The ink on those letters is equally well preserved. And I acquired a rare copy of the diary of Paul Jennings, one of the Madisons’ trusted White House slaves. It was the first White House memoir ever published.”

Things were starting to make sense. “Does this copy of the Declaration of Independence have anything to do with the Madeira that Ian found and Leland supposedly still has hidden away? You want it because James Madison was meant to drink a toast to the signing of the Declaration in 1809—am I right? Those could have been the very bottles.”

“You’re mostly right,” he said. “I want to drink those bottles of Madeira at a special party I’m planning for my brother Masons on December 14, just before the Miranda Foundation’s holiday gala.”

“You want to drink it?”