“Lady Schrapnell will be so pleased,” Verity said. She squeezed down the aisle to look at it more closely. “Good heavens. That side must have been facing the wall. What are those? Fans?”
“Clams. Clams inscribed with the names of important naval battles,” I said. “Lepanto, Trafalgar, the Battle of the Swans.”
“It’s difficult imagining it changing the course of history,” Mrs. Bittner said, peering at Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace. “It doesn’t improve with age, does it? Like the Albert Memorial.”
“With which it has a good deal in common,” Verity said, touching an elephant.
“I don’t know,” I said, cocking my head to look at it sideways. “I’m beginning to feel a certain affection for it.”
“He’s time-lagged,” Verity said. “Ned, the elephant’s carrying a howdah full of pineapples and bananas to an eagle with a fish fork.”
“It’s not a fish fork,” I said. “It’s a flaming sword. And it’s not an eagle, it’s an archangel, guarding the entrance to the Garden of Eden. Or possibly the Zoo.”
“It is truly hideous,” Mrs. Bittner said. “I don’t know what I was thinking of. After all those trips, I was probably a bit time-lagged myself. And there was a good deal of smoke.”
Verity turned to stare at her, and then at me.
“How many trips did you make?” she said finally.
“Four,” Mrs. Bittner said. “No, five. The first one didn’t count. I came through too late. The whole nave was on fire, and I was nearly overcome by smoke inhalation. I still have trouble with my lungs.”
Verity was still staring at her, trying to take it in. “You made five trips to the cathedral?”
Mrs. Bittner nodded. “I only had a few minutes between the time the fire watch left and the fire got out of hand, and the slippage kept putting me later than I wanted. Five was all I had time for.”
Verity looked disbelievingly at me.
“Hand me down the bandbox,” Mrs. Bittner told her. “The second time I nearly got caught.”
“That was me,” I said. “I saw you running toward the sanctuary.”
“That was you?” she said, laughing, her hand on her chest. “I thought it was Provost Howard, and I was going to be arrested for a looter.”
Verity handed her the bandbox, and she took off the lid and began rummaging through the tissue paper. “I took the bishop’s bird stump on the last trip. I was trying to reach the Smiths’ Chapel, but it was on fire. I ran across to the Dyers’ Chapel and got the bronze candlesticks off the altar, but they were too hot. I dropped the first one, and it rolled away under one of the pews.”
And I found it, I thought, and thought it had been blown there by concussion.
“I went after it,” she said, digging matter-of-factly through tissue paper, “but the rafters were coming down, so I ran back up the nave, and I saw that the organ was on fire, it was all on fire—the woodwork and the choir and the sanctuary—that beautiful, beautiful cathedral—and I couldn’t save any of it. I didn’t think, I just grabbed the nearest thing I could find, and ran for the net, spilling chrysanthemums and water everywhere.” She took out a wad of tissue paper and unwrapped a bronze candlestick. “That’s why there’s only one.”
Mr. Dunworthy had said she was absolutely fearless, and she must have been, darting back and forth between crashing beams and falling incendiaries, the net opening on who-knows-what and no guarantee it would stay open, no guarantee the roof wouldn’t fall in. I looked at her in admiration.
“Ned,” she ordered, “bring me that painting. The one with the bedspread over it.”
I did, and she pulled the bedspread off a painting of Christ with the lost lamb in his arms. Verity, standing beside me, clasped my hand.
“The rest of the things are over there,” Mrs. Bittner said. “Under the plastic.”
And they were. The embroidered altar cloth from the Smiths’ Chapel. An engraved pewter chalice. A Sixteenth-Century wooden chest. A small statue of St. Michael. A mediaeval enam eled pyx. A silver candelabrum with the candles still in it. A misericord carved with one of the Seven Works of Mercy. The capper’s pall. A Georgian altar plate. And the wooden cross from the Girdlers’ Chapel, with the image of a child kneeling at the foot of it.
All the treasures of Coventry Cathedral.
“Harris said he thought it was a very fine maze, so far as
he was a judge; and we agreed that we would try to
get George to go into it, on our way back.”
Three Men in a Boat
Jerome K. Jerome
CHAPTER 28
Deliveries—Finch Stalls—Lady Schrapnell Is Missing—Realizing What It Means—A Letter—The Mystery of Princess Arjumand Solved—Proposing in English—Reasons to Get Married—The Mystery of Finch’s Mission Solved—A New Mystery—Lady Schrapnell Sees the Bishop’s Bird Stump—The San Francisco Earthquake—Fate—A Happy Ending
Verity was the first one to recover. “It’s forty-five minutes till the consecration,” she said, looking at her watch. “We’ll never make it.”
“We’ll make it,” I said, grabbing up the handheld.
I rang up Mr. Dunworthy. “We’ve got it,” I said. “We need you to get us back to Oxford. Can you send a heli?”
“Princess Victoria’s attending the consecration,” he said, which didn’t seem to be an answer to my question.
“Security measures,” Verity explained. “No helis, aircraft, or zoomers allowed in the vicinity.”
“Can you arrange ground transport then?” I asked Mr. Dunworthy.
“The tube’s faster than any ground transport that we can send,” he said. “Why not just bring it on the tube?”
“We can’t,” I said. “We need at least,” I looked over at the treasures, which Verity was already carting down the attic stairs, “Two hundred seventy to three hundred cubic feet of transport space.”
“For the bishop’s bird stump?” he said. “It hasn’t grown, has it?”
“I’ll explain when I get there,” I said. I gave him Mrs. Bittner’s address. “Have a crew waiting for us when we get there,” I said. “Don’t let the consecration begin till we arrive. Is Finch there?”
“No, he’s over at the cathedral,” Mr. Dunworthy said.
“Tell him to stall,” I said. “And don’t let Lady Schrapnell find out about this if you can help it. Ring me back as soon as you’ve arranged for transport.”
I stuck the handheld in my blazer pocket, picked up the bishop’s bird stump, and started down the stairs with it. The handheld rang.
“Ned,” Lady Schrapnell said. “Where have you been? The consecration’s in less than three-quarters of an hour!”
“I know,” I said. “We’re coming as fast as we can, but we need transport. Can you arrange for a lorry? Or tube transport?”
“Tube transport is only for cargo,” she said. “I don’t want you to let the bishop’s bird stump out of your sight for one second. It’s been lost once. I don’t want it lost again.”
“Neither do I,” I said and rang off.
I picked up the bishop’s bird stump again. The handheld rang.
It was Mr. Dunworthy. “You will not believe what that woman wants us to do! She wants you to take the bishop’s bird stump to the nearest net and take it back in time to two days ago so it can be cleaned and polished before the consecration.”
“Did you tell her that’s impossible, that objects can’t be in two places at the same time?”
“Of course I told her, and she said—”
“‘Laws are made to be broken,’” I said. “I know. Are you sending us a lorry?”
“There’s not a single lorry in Coventry. Lady Schrapnell recruited every single one in four counties for the consecration. Carruthers is ringing up car and solar rental agencies.”
“But we’ve got to have three hundred cubic feet,” I said. “Can’t you send a lorry from Oxford?”
“Princess Victoria,�
� he said. “It would take hours to get there.”
“Because of all the traffic,” Verity interpreted.
“If there’s too much traffic for a lorry to get to us, how are we supposed to get to the cathedral?”
“Everyone will be at the cathedral by the time you arrive. Oh, good,” he said to someone else. “Carruthers has got hold of a rental agency”
“Good,” I said, and thought of something. “Don’t send a solar. It’s overcast here, looks like it might rain at any minute.”
“Oh, dear. Lady Schrapnell’s determined to have the sun shining for the consecration,” he said, and rang off.
This time I made it all the way down to the second floor with the bishop’s bird stump before the handheld rang again. It was Mr. Dunworthy again. “We’re sending a car.”
“A car won’t be big enough for—” I began.
“It should be there in ten minutes,” he said. “T.J. needs to talk to you about the incongruity.”
“Tell him I’ll talk to him when I get back,” I said, and rang off.
The handheld rang. I switched it off and finished carrying the bishop’s bird stump down to the little foyer, which was already filled with things.
“They’re sending a car,” I said to Verity. “It should be here in ten minutes,” and went in the parlor to see Mrs. Bittner.
“They’re sending a car to take us to the consecration,” I told her. She was sitting in one of the chintz-covered chairs. “Can I fetch you your coat? Or your bag?”
“No, thank you,” she said quietly. “You’re certain it’s a good idea to take the bishop’s bird stump out into the world, that it won’t alter history?”
“It already has,” I said. “And so have you. You realize what you’ve done means, don’t you? Because of you, we’ve discovered a whole class of objects which can be brought forward through the net. Other treasures which were destroyed by fire. Artworks and books and—”
“Sir Richard Burton’s writings,” she said. She looked up at me. “His wife burnt them after he died. Because she loved him.”
I sat down on the sofa. “Do you not want us to take the bishop’s bird stump?” I said.
“No.” She shook her white head. “No. It belongs in the cathedral.”
I leaned forward and took her hands. “Because of you, the past won’t be as irretrievable as we thought it was.”
“Parts of the past,” she said quietly. “You’d best go bring the rest of the things down.”
I nodded and started back up to the attic. Halfway up the stairs I ran into Verity, carefully carrying down the capper’s pall on her outstretched arms.
“It’s simply amazing,” she said in a very good imitation of Mrs. Mering’s voice, “the treasures people have in their attics.”
I grinned at her and went on up. I brought down the children’s cross and the altar plate and was on my way down with the Sixteenth-Century wooden chest when Verity called up the stairs to me. “The car’s here.”
“It’s not a solar, is it?” I called down to her.
“No,” she said. “It’s a hearse.”
“Does it have the coffin in it?”
“No.”
“Good. Then it should be large enough,” I said, and carried out the chest.
It was an ancient fossil-fueled hearse which looked like it had been used in the Pandemic, but it was at least large and opened at the back. The driver was staring at the heap of treasures. “Having a jumble sale, are you?”
“Yes,” I said, and put the chest in the back.
“It’ll never all fit,” he said.
I shoved the chest as far forward as it would go and took the silver candelabrum Verity handed me. “It’ll fit,” I said. “I am an old hand at packing. Give me that.”
It all fit, though the only way we could make it work was by putting the statue of St. Michael in the front seat. “Mrs. Bittner can sit up front,” I told Verity, “but you and I will have to sit in the back.”
“What about the bishop’s bird stump?” she said.
“It can sit on my lap.”
I went back inside to the parlor. “We’ve got the car loaded,” I said to Mrs. Bittner, “are you ready?” even though it was obvious she wasn’t. She was still sitting quietly in the chintz-covered chair.
She shook her head. “I will not be going with you after all,” she said. “My bronchitis—”
“Not going?” Verity said from the door. “But you’re the one who saved the treasures. You should go and see them in the cathedral.”
“I have already seen them in the cathedral,” she said. “They cannot look any more beautiful than they did that night, among the flames.”
“Your husband would want you there,” Verity said. “He loved the cathedral.”
“It is only an outward symbol of a larger reality,” she said. “Like the continuum.”
The driver stuck his head in the door. “I thought you said you were in a hurry.”
“We’re coming,” I said over my shoulder.
“Please come,” Verity said, kneeling beside the chair. “You should be there.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bittner said. “You don’t see the guilty party accompanying Harriet and Lord Peter on their honeymoon, do you? No. The guilty party is left alone to contemplate his sins and consider the consequences of his actions, which is what I intend to do. Although in my case, the consequences are not quite what one would have expected. They take a bit of getting used to. I have been wearing sackcloth and ashes so long.”
She flashed us a sudden smile, and I saw all at once what Jim Dunworthy and Shoji Fujisaki and Bitty Bittner had all fallen in love with.
“You’re certain you won’t come?” Verity said, fighting back tears.
“Next week. When my bronchitis is better,” she said. “I’ll let you two give me a personal tour.”
“You said you had to be in Oxford by eleven,” the driver said. “You’ll never make it.”
“We’ll make it,” I said, and helped Mrs. Bittner to her feet so she could walk us out to the car.
“You’re certain you’ll be all right?” Verity said.
Mrs. Bittner patted Verity’s hand. “Perfectly all right. Everything has turned out far better than could have been expected. The Allies have won World War II,” she smiled that Zuleika Dobson smile again, “and I have got that hideous bishop’s bird stump out of my attic. What could be better?”
“I couldn’t see over the cross, so I put it up front,” the driver said. “You two will have to sit in the back.”
I kissed Mrs. Bittner on the cheek. “Thank you,” I said and crawled in. The driver handed me the bishop’s bird stump. I set it on my lap. Verity crawled in across from me, waving to Mrs. Bittner, and we were off and running.
I turned the handheld back on and rang up Mr. Dunworthy. “We’re on our way,” I said. “We should be there in about forty minutes. Tell Finch he needs to keep stalling. Have you arranged to have a crew there to meet us?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Good. Is the archbishop there yet?”
“No, but Lady Schrapnell is, and she’s having a fit. She wants to know where you found the bishop’s bird stump and what sort of flowers are supposed to go in it. For the order of service.”
“Tell her yellow chrysanthemums,” I said.
I rang off. “All taken care of,” I said to Verity.
“Not quite, Sherlock,” she said, sitting against the side of the hearse with her knees hunched up. “There are still a few things that need explaining.”
“I agree,” I said. “You said you knew what Finch’s related mission was. What is it?”
“Bringing back nonsignificant objects,” she said.
“Nonsignificant objects? But we’ve only just found out that’s possible,” I said. “And nonsignificant objects didn’t have anything to do with our incongruity.”
“True,” she said, “but for over a week, T.J. and Mr. Dunworthy thought they d
id and were trying all sorts of things.”
“But nothing burned down in Muchings End or Iffley while we were there. What did Finch bring through? Cabbages?”
The handheld rang. “Ned,” Lady Schrapnell said. “Where are you?”
“On our way,” I said. “Between—” I leaned forward to our driver. “Where are we?”
“Between Banbury and Adderbury,” he said.
“Between Banbury and Adderbury,” I said. “We’ll be there as soon as we can.”
“I still don’t see why we couldn’t have shipped it back to the past,” Lady Schrapnell said. “It would have been so much simpler. Is the bishop’s bird stump in good shape?”
There was no answer to that. “We’ll be there as soon as we can,” I said again, and rang off.
“All right, it’s my turn to ask the questions,” Verity said.“There’s still something I don’t understand. How did getting Tossie to Coventry on the fifteenth of June to see the bishop’s bird stump and fall in love with Baine fix the incongruity?”
“It didn’t,” I said. “That isn’t why Tossie was there.”
“But her seeing the bishop’s bird stump inspired Lady Schrapnell to rebuild Coventry and send me back to read the diary, which led me to rescue Princess Arjumand—”
“Which was all part of the self-correction. But the principal reason Tossie had to be there on the fifteenth was so she could be caught flirting with the Reverend Mr. Doult.”
“Oh!” she said. “By the girl with the penwipers.”
“Very good, Harriet,” I said. “The girl with the penwipers. Whose name was Miss Delphinium Sharpe.”
“The woman in charge of the Flower Committee.”
“Not anymore,” I said. “When she saw Tossie flirting with the Reverend Mr. Doult, she was, you may remember, extremely upset. She flounced off with her penwipers, and as we were leaving the church, she was walking up Bayley Lane, her long nose in the air. I saw the Reverend Mr. Doult hurrying after her to placate her. And, now this is the part I’m not certain of, but my guess is, in the course of the argument that followed, she burst into tears, and he ended up proposing. Which meant that the Reverend Mr. Doult didn’t stay in the cathedral position, but obtained a church living in some rural vicarage.”
To Say Nothing of the Dog Page 56
