by Ann Swinfen
‘Your mother would be shocked, then, to see how we have had to live at home these past weeks, all huddled together in the church. These glasses?’
‘Aye. Can you manage?’
‘One at a time.’
By the time the servant returned we had the table laid well enough to satisfy Anthony’s mother’s standards, and sat down to a very acceptable dinner: a dish of sprats fried in batter, a pigeon pie with crisp pastry and a gravy rich with onions and red wine, roasted parsnips, and a custard tart to finish. The French wine, too was excellent.
‘The pie shops hereabouts must have improved mightily since I was last in London,’ I said, wiping my mouth and sitting back with my last glass of wine.
He laughed. ‘Nay, I sent him to the Peacock in Holborn. You remember. Best of the nearby inns. They will send over food to Gray’s if they know you. One may eat very well.’
I was glad to retire soon after we had eaten, for the fatigues of the journey and my uncomfortable nights had begun to overtake me. I laid my decent clothes on the coffer and pulled my wool night shift over my head before lowering myself carefully on to the bed. It was not very wide, but it was comfortable, with tightly strung ropes and both a flock and a feather mattress. It had grown colder as the evening drew in, so I was glad of the good blankets and the feather bed for covering. Anthony had said he let the fire go out at night, because of the cost of fuel, so I pulled the bedclothes close round my ears.
My first day in London had been remarkably fortunate, after that agonising walk from Aldersgate. I shuddered at the thought of what I could have done, had Anthony not come along as I was turned away at the gate. Since the Treasurer was away, a note sent in to him would have done me no good. I would have had nowhere to go, and in my weakened state I am not sure if I could have made my way even as far as the nearest tavern.
After that morning’s experience, I realised that my plan of applying for work with a merchant in Cheapside was folly. I could never make my way over so great a distance every day. Anthony’s suggestion that I might find clerking work here in the Inn was far more practical. As for the lucky chance that he had a spare room in his chambers, I could hardly believe my good fortune. I hoped that he was telling the truth, that the rent was indeed paid up until Lady Day. Still, I had never known him prevaricate. Whether or not Pension agreed to readmit me as a student, I could stay here for the coming weeks, provided I could earn enough to pay my share of the food and fuel. Perhaps by then I would have located Sir John Dillingworth’s lawyer and through him discovered the whereabouts of our charter. I would take Anthony into my confidence about the charter. After I had seen the Treasurer. Tomorrow. I slept.
Although the Treasurer’s chambers were also on the ground floor, Anthony said they were reached by five steps. He offered to come with me, but I was determined to manage without help. I allowed myself plenty of time and negotiated the steps slowly, pausing after each one to steady myself and catch my breath. The door was heavy, solid oak, and gave me almost more trouble than the steps, but I struggled through, finding myself in an outer chamber, an office with three clerks. A junior barrister was also there, in consultation with the senior clerk. As I entered, everyone stopped speaking and their eyes went immediately to my amputated leg. I bit my lip. At home everyone was accustomed to it now, but here in London I would have to endure such looks every time I encountered someone new.
‘Master Bennington? It is good to see you again, sir, after so long.’ At least Theodore Somers, the senior clerk, had recognised me. He stood up, with a murmured apology to the barrister, and came forward to shake me by the hand.
I saw him hesitate and knew what was passing through his mind. Should he or should he not make a reference to my injury? He would not. He gestured me towards an inner door.
‘The Treasurer is expecting you, sir, if you will just step this way.’
He opened the door for me.
‘Master Bennington to see you, Treasurer.’ He bowed me in.
My first thought was that the Treasurer had aged far more than I had expected. During my time as a student, he had been one of the Readers, but now filled the most senior position at the Inn. Why it was designated ‘Treasurer’, I did not know. It had puzzled me, coming from a Cambridge college. I would have expected ‘Master’. It looked to me now as though the position had taken its toll on him during the recent difficult years.
‘Good morrow to you, Master Bennington,’ he said, half rising from his chair and bowing across the large desk which stood between us. ‘Please take a seat.’
I sat down on one of the hard straight chairs which faced him across the desk.
‘I had not expected to see you again, I must confess.’ He took off his spectacles and polished them on a silk handkerchief. Putting them on again, he peered at me keenly. His eyes had flicked swiftly to my leg and away again. ‘How many years is it?’
‘Nearly seven, sir.’
‘Seven years! A great deal has happened since then, has it not?’
‘It has indeed.’
‘And what can I do for you?’
I drew a deep breath. ‘You may remember, sir, that I returned home at the end of my first year, expecting to come back in the autumn. My father was ill. I was needed on the farm during the summer, but I did not plan to abandon my studies. Then when war broke out, and teaching at Gray’s was suspended–’
‘Indeed, indeed. Very troubling times. But we are hoping to restore teaching. We have made a start.’
‘That is why I am here. As you can see, I am not fit to manage the family farm any longer.’
‘You have been in the army?’
He nodded toward my leg.
I gave him a brief account of my injuries and the gangrene. I had decided not to mention how I had received the injuries. For all I knew, he might be acting in a legal capacity for one of the companies of adventurers. Let him assume that the injuries had been sustained on the farm. Many such injuries occur.
‘So,’ I concluded, ‘I hoped I might be able to resume my studies here. My fees were all paid and I believe I completed my first year satisfactorily.’
He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them.
‘I remember that you were a good student, though sometimes a little wild.’
‘I have not much capacity for wildness now, sir, and I am seven years older.’
He nodded and smiled briefly. ‘It is not a decision I can make myself, you understand. I must put it to Pension. We have a meeting in two days’ time. We will be able to give you a decision then. Where are you lodging?’
‘Anthony Thirkettle has a spare room in his chambers. I am lodging there at present.’
‘Good. Good. Well, I hope we may be able to welcome you back, Master Bennington.’
He began to rise, to dismiss me. I struggled to my feet, leaning on my crutches.
‘There is one other matter, Treasurer.’
‘Aye?’
‘I shall need to earn enough to keep myself in London. There has been a disastrous flood at home, and I cannot expect money from my family. I thought, perhaps, if any of the Benchers need some clerical work done?’
He cocked his head. It was a strange suggestion from a student, for law students were normally too grand for such work.
‘I will enquire. However, I think you might find work in our library. We have received a large number of books in bequests from former members of Gray’s, who are now, alas, deceased. I know that our librarian, Master Hansen, is having some difficulty in cataloguing and arranging them all. You might ask there.’
‘Thank, you, Treasurer. I will do so.’
I bowed and made my way out of the room. The Treasurer’s response had been the best I might expect, but what the will of Pension would be, I could not tell. Some of the ancients, the most senior members, might vote against me, deploring my long absence. I must simply wait the next few days to learn my fate.
In the outer office the lawyer was gone and Theodore
Somers opened the outer door for me.
‘Will you be rejoining us, Master Bennington?’
‘I hope so.’ I smiled at him. ‘That is a decision Pension must make.’
‘It will be good to have you back. These have been difficult times, and we have lost several members. It is to be hoped that life may return to what it was, before too long.’
‘Indeed,’ I said. ‘Can you tell me where the library is now? Is it still housed in one of the Bencher’s chambers?’
‘Oh, no, sir. We have a new library building, in Coney Court, and our own official librarian, appointed two years ago, Master Hansen. It is the new half-timbered building on your right as you enter Coney Court.’
I thanked him and manoeuvred my way down the five steps. There had been a frost in the night, but fortunately someone – probably one of the Inn servants – had scattered sand over the steps, so there was less risk of my slipping.
As for my meeting with the Treasurer, it seemed that there was no point in wasting time. I would go at once to the library and ask if there might be work for me there. Crossing Chapel Court and entering Coney, I passed several members hurrying to and fro, their gowns flapping in the icy wind which had arisen again that morning. I was glad of my thick cloak, but as always the stump of my left leg was cold, and I shivered. I recognised some of the faces, mostly senior members, although there was one younger man, about Anthony’s age. His face was familiar, but I could not put a name to it. It seemed to be the same with him, for he hesitated, looking slightly puzzled, then bowed and walked on. I must ask Anthony who he might be. Altogether the whole place seemed much emptier than I remembered, but perhaps the cold weather was keeping people withindoors.
I found the new library building at once, its oak timber frame still the pale colour of freshly cut wood, where the beams of the older buildings had weathered to the beautiful silver grey of established oak. I was relieved to see that there were but three steps up to the door. It seemed that for the future I would be forever counting steps.
Inside, the building consisted of one large room, like a smaller version of the Inn’s Hall. It was well lit by tall windows, while there was a pleasant smell of leather bindings, fresh cut timber, and the lime wash on the walls. The room was divided into bays by tall bookcases, each bay containing a double row of reading desks, facing each other down the centre. Just to the right of the door a small area had been partitioned off with a low rail to provide a workplace for the librarian. And I saw at once what the Treasurer had meant. For the most part the bookshelves were empty. Instead every surface – reading desks, benches, even the floor – was covered with piles of books. Some mounted to four feet or more in precarious piles, some were still in half open crates. Everything was very dusty. It seemed that Goodwife Gorley or her like were not admitted to the library.
I thought at first that there was no one here, until a voice said, ‘May I help you, sir?’
It came from behind the librarian’s desk, which carried its own formidable wall of books. A head appeared, barely visible above the massive tomes filled with past case law. Master Hansen, it seemed, was a very small man.
He emerged around the side of his desk, indeed a very small man, not much above five feet, with a gnome-like countenance and very bright blue eyes behind his spectacles, which he removed in order to study me.
‘Master Hansen?’ I bowed as far as my crutches would permit. ‘The Treasurer said that you might have need of an assistant.’
He gave a puzzled frown. ‘There is indeed far too much work for one man, sir, far too much! But who are you? You do not appear to me to be a clerk.’
‘I am a former student of Gray’s, Tom Bennington, hoping to resume my studies, if Pension agrees. However, I must earn my keep while I live in London and the Treasurer suggested the library. I am very familiar with law books, which would be an advantage.’
I strove to keep a note of pleading out of my voice.
‘But my dear sir!’ He felt about himself, it seemed for a handkerchief, then pulled out his shirt tail and polished his spectacles on that. ‘I am paid a pittance, a mere pittance! I cannot afford to employ an assistant.’
I was somewhat taken aback. ‘I do not think the Treasurer meant that you should pay me out of your own pocket, Master Hansen. Surely Gray’s would cover any expense.’
‘In that case it will be up to Pension to decide.’
It seemed that every aspect of my future lay in the hands of the members of Pension.
‘But you would be glad of assistance? You could request that I should be employed?’ Remembering the Treasurer’s words, I added cunningly, ‘There is a meeting in two days’ time. You could send in a request to be considered then.’
‘I do indeed need assistance. Do you think you would like the work? Are you able for it?’
‘Why do I not help you now? I am at liberty.’
Anthony was spending most of the day discussing the land inheritance case with the Bencher who was employing him. I would be as well getting an idea of the work here as idling away in his chambers.
Hansen gave me a sharp look. ‘But I say again, are you able?’
I clenched my teeth. I would need to be honest.
‘I cannot climb a ladder to the high bookshelves, no. And I cannot carry heavy boxes of books, no. But I can manage single books, even large ones.’
I hoped this was true.
‘However, I understand from the Treasurer that the chief task is first to catalogue the books.’ I nodded toward the untidy piles and full crates. ‘I write a fair secretary hand, and I am quick. If you show me your system for sorting and arranging the different categories of books, I am sure I can save you a great deal of time. Let us see how we fare. I am glad to offer you my services today.’
He could hardly refuse such an offer of help. I looked about, feeling some sympathy for the fellow. The task was truly daunting for one man, even for two. He beckoned me round to the far side of his desk, where he had a row of ledgers laid out and explained which books were to be listed in each: case histories, general law books, Latin and Greek classics, and a great variety of general books which had been bequeathed to the Inn, including philosophy, poetry, history, memoirs, books on navigation and exploration. The list was unending.
‘These books have nothing to do with the Law,’ he said, waving his hand dismissively at some collections of poetry from the last century and a seafarer’s account of a voyage down the coast of Africa. ‘However, as they have been given to us, we must find a place for them.’
For myself, I thought there was much of interest here. How Gideon would have rubbed his hands in glee, and Mercy would have snatched up the poetry to read at once, but all I said was, ‘It is good for students to broaden their minds by reading widely. So we were taught at Cambridge.’
He gave a snort at this, but I did not pursue it. My task here was the simple recording of books, not a discussion of their use.
‘We have columns here,’ he said, pointing with the clean end of his quill, ‘for the author, the title, a brief description (you may usually find this on the title page), the date it was received by the Inn if that is known, and the benefactor, if it was a gift. The final column holds the key to where it will be shelved.’
‘How do I know what to enter there?’
He drew a sheet of foolscap from the far side of his desk.
‘I have set out here a table showing all the major categories of books, with a description of each category and the key letters and numbers to the shelves.’
I looked about at the empty shelves.
‘But I do not see any key on the shelves.’
‘I have not progressed that far yet.’ He was impatient. ‘Once I have an understanding of how many books fall into each category, then I shall know how many shelves should be set aside for them.’
I nodded. ‘I understand.’
‘You may work at this other table.’ He swept the pile of books off a smaller table next to his
desk. ‘It will be necessary for us to have the table of categories available for us both to use. There are quills and ink here. Take care you do not make any blots.’ He gave me a fierce look. ‘If you do the work well, I will consider making a request for your services to Pension. See to it that you make no mistakes.’
I felt this was somewhat ungracious of him, since I was generously giving up my day to help him, but I held my tongue. I would need his good will if I were to find employment here. I took off my cloak and laid it on top of one of the crates, but he clicked his tongue and carried it off to be hung on a hook by the door. I rolled my sleeves up to my elbows, for I had no wish to stain my good shirt and doublet with ink, which is impossible to remove. With some difficulty I managed to shift a stool next to the table he had allotted me, and leaned my crutches against the table’s edge. I helped myself to inkwell, quills, sand sifter.
Hansen carried over a pile of books and placed them before me.
‘These are from the bequest of the late Reader, Sir Thomas Bordman. They are all casebooks, so they are to be entered into this ledger with the blue binding. We cannot be for ever passing ledgers back and forth between us. You must catalogue one group at a time.’
I nodded. I sharpened a quill to my satisfaction with the small knife I carried in my pocket and set to. When Pension met in two days’ time I should know whether this would be where I would be spending many hours in the coming weeks. It would hardly prove exciting, but if it enabled me to live in London, I was grateful.
Chapter Three
Mercy
Our horse Blaze was as eager as I was to escape the confines of the church and the glebe lands, and set off at a brisk pace up the lane to Turbary Holm. Unlike me, he had no apprehensions as to what would confront us there. The road home meant his own welcome stall in a peaceful barn, away from the crowding he had endured for more than a month. For my part, I rode with a sense of dread. Our home had already been flooded several feet deep when the soldiers and I had trudged past it through the blizzard, carrying a half-conscious Tom, and ourselves numb with despair. We had watched helplessly as George was swept away on the flood and there had been nothing left for us to do but to reach the sanctuary of the church.
