‘I’m twenty-one.’
‘Oh dear, you’ll think I’m very rude.’ Standing up, the woman held out her hand. ‘Dora Honeywell, secretary, receptionist and general maid of all work. Do sit down. I’ll go and look for David.’
* * * *
David Linton wasn’t the ancient scholar Susannah had expected. His face was pale but unlined. All the same, he was very stooped, thin and round-shouldered, and his hair was grey.
He wore a suit that looked as if it must have been his father’s, and he smelled of mothballs, too. The hand Susannah shook was cold and dry, all bones and tendons. ‘George has told us everything about you,’ he began, in a high-pitched, adolescent’s voice. ‘He tells me you’re a pearl of price.’
‘Did he?’ Susannah blushed. ‘I don’t have any experience,’ she said.
‘But you’ll soon learn,’ said David. Suddenly he grinned, and the grin transformed him, from ghost to human being. ‘Okay, then – would you like a guided tour?’
‘That would be great.’ Susannah smiled back at him, relieved. She liked this odd young man.
After showing her round the office, David took her up a winding staircase. In a shuttered gallery, shelves of books and files stood to attention.
‘This library’s very special,’ David murmured, as he took Susannah along a book-lined passage, pausing now and then to stroke a binding or align a book. ‘We have the best collection of early printed books in the UK. They’re all available to scholars, students, even the general public. We don’t charge any fees.’
‘Then how’s the library funded?’ asked Susannah.
‘By the Parker family,’ said David. ‘But didn’t George explain?’
Susannah shook her head.
‘Well,’ said David, ‘at the Dissolution, the head of the Parker family of Great Dereham decided to save as many books and documents as possible from the original Abbot’s Library.
‘One of the lay brothers was a Parker, and he was made responsible for smuggling out the stuff, in laundry baskets, wine jars and the like.’
‘That must have been quite risky?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ said David. ‘Of course, the vandals burned enormous quantities of books and manuscripts. But those that Francis Parker managed to save became the nucleus of a new collection.’
Susannah looked down the rows of volumes. On quite a few of them she could see scorch marks. ‘What happened then? ‘she asked.
‘In the nineteenth century, the Parker family made its fortune in the brewing trade. Nathaniel Parker suggested to the Dean that the remnants of the Abbot’s Library should be brought to this house, which was built in the early Middle Ages. We think it was a dormitory for novices. But in Nathaniel’s time it was a ruin, and the only empty building in the Close.’
‘These days, of course, the Parkers are very wealthy. The chairman’s youngest son – another Francis Parker – is a keen collector. So the library is well endowed.’
‘I suppose Mr Parker comes in often?’ said Susannah.
‘No, he doesn’t come here at all.’ David’s face grew clouded. ‘He’s a chronic invalid. But he buys material at auction, and through his various proxies. Sometimes I go to visit him, when he’s at Dereham Place.’
* * * *
Dora was waiting for them in her office, with tea and biscuits on a tray. It was nearly five o’clock. The great, nailed door that opened on to the Bishop’s Walk was closed.
‘We’ve found you a place to stay,’ said Dora, as Susannah was about to ask about flats or rooms. ‘At the Dean’s House, across the Close. The rooms are usually let to masters at the Cathedral School, but one’s free just now. You should be comfortable there.’
So, in the gathering twilight, Susannah walked across the Close to the Dean’s House, where the housekeeper showed her to a dingy little room under the eaves. But she’d seen much worse. She could make it nicer with some posters and a throw.
The following morning, she woke up to birdsong. Then the cathedral bells joined in, and soon she gave up any hope of getting back to sleep. She simply lay there, comfortable and contented, listening.
At seven she got up, got dressed, and went for a walk around the early-morning city. At nine, she went to work.
David took her to the room where records were kept and all the repairs were made. ‘Sleep well?’ he asked her briskly, as he laid out a blotter, pens and pencils on a regimented grid.
‘Yes, I did,’ she said, and realised no nightmares had disturbed her, for the first time in months. She looked around the room. ‘If you tell me where I can find the stuff you need translated, I’ll get started right away.’
‘Oh, there’s no great hurry.’ This morning, thought Susannah, David seemed very distant and abstracted. ‘Why don’t you help me with the post?’
They opened Francis Parker’s latest buys. In the biggest parcel was a mediaeval Book of Hours, dirty, stained and badly foxed. In another, they found a dozen charters, deeds of gift and ancient wills, bound inside a leather-covered volume. But the spine was broken and the stitching coming undone.
‘This binding needs to be removed,’ said David, reaching for a scalpel. ‘It’s of no value in itself, and the dye in the leather has marked the documents inside. Did you say you’d done much conservation?’
‘I’ve done none at all. Where did all this stuff come from?’ asked Susannah, as she watched David cut away the binding.
‘It belonged to James Crome Mortimer. Crome’s a village six or seven miles from Marbury. Mr Mortimer was a keen collector of wills and deeds of gift. But when he died, his children flogged the lot.’
‘Do we keep the binding?’
‘No, it’s worthless.’ David turned it over in his hands. ‘It’s eighteenth century, I’d guess. A very shoddy job. Look, the workman’s used a bit of newsprint as facing for the spine. It’ll be from an old Spectator or Gentleman’s Magazine.’
He dropped the binding in the bin, then glanced up at the clock. ‘I promised I’d call Francis at eleven, so I’ll go and use Dora’s phone. Why don’t you look at all these wills and things? I assume you can read Latin?’
‘Yes, a bit,’ Susannah said. ‘But I’ll need a dictionary.’
‘It’s in the bookcase there.’
Susannah read a couple of wills, and found out who was getting fine linen sheets, a woollen kirtle and a scarlet cloak. She read the deeds and charters. Then, with nothing left to do, she took the leather binding out of the bin. David had told her it was worthless, so she didn’t think he’d mind if she took a closer look at it.
Reaching for the scalpel, she cut away the leather from the Gentleman’s Magazine, which had been used to line both spine and covers. Between the leather and newsprint was some thicker, heavier stuff, which had helped to keep the cover rigid. This wasn’t card or paper – it looked more like vellum, and it was heavy in her hand.
She knew that in the eighteenth century paper was expensive. Bookbinders bought waste documents by weight, often to use as lining. This particular lining was covered with the elegant, angular characters that Susannah knew at once was English Insular script.
She smoothed it flat, then tried to read it. But the vellum was so dirty and the ink so pale that she could make out only single words, and these were all in Latin. She managed to pick out grain, new cheese, dried beans – and fresh-brewed beer.
When David came back in again, she put the cover aside and told him what was in the wills. But she could see he wasn’t listening to a single word she said. ‘Come on,’ he interrupted, as she was going to tell him about her interesting find, ‘I need to show you how we organise this place. The catalogues are over here.’
The library’s catalogues turned out to be card-indexed, dog-eared muddles. Susannah wondered why they didn’t have a computer – but thought she wouldn’t say so, yet.
By now, it was one o’clock. The minster bell rang first, a single, echoing baritone. Then a dozen other bells joined in, until the summer a
ir was full of music. The door of the office opened, and a tall, fair-haired Amazon strolled in.
‘Janet!’ David cried. ‘I thought you were still in Hereford.’
‘I came back yesterday.’ Swooping like a swallow in flight, the girl kissed David’s cheek. She grinned at Susannah. ‘Who’s this, then?’ she asked.
‘Susannah Miller, my new assistant.’
‘Oh, poor thing,’ said Janet. ‘Hi, Susannah.’
‘Hello.’ Susannah smiled, tried not to stare – but this was hard, because the girl was just so beautiful. In her middle twenties, she was slender but curvaceous, flaxen haired with deep blue, dark-lashed eyes. Tanned and fit, clad in torn denim jeans and a khaki army-surplus shirt, she looked as if she’d just come off a building site.
‘This is Janet Collins,’ David said. ‘She’s an archaeologist, she works for local council.’
‘But not for much longer.’ Janet raked long fingers through her soft, corn-coloured hair. ‘I don’t expect you lot in the private sector have heard anything about it, but the new report came out last week. My whole department’s being axed. Apparently, it isn’t cost-effective to keep diggers on the staff. Even if they’re all as cheap as me.’
‘What will you do now?’ Susannah asked.
‘Go freelance, I suppose, like almost everyone else I know.’ Janet scowled. ‘Just let them just wait. They’ll wish they hadn’t sacked me.’
‘Of course they will,’ soothed David. ‘Jan’s been with the local Museum Department for about five years,’ he told Susannah. ‘She’s been involved in work on early settlement in Marbury, especially during Roman and Anglo-Saxon times.’
‘Have you done lots of excavations, then?’ Susannah asked.
‘I wouldn’t say I’ve done lots. We have to fight for every penny of funding. But we’ve looked at several different sites, and we’ve found some interesting stuff.’
Janet fished in the pocket of her shirt. ‘A farmer brought these in today. His son had a metal detector for his birthday, and found these earrings in a field.’
Susannah looked at the three or four bits of green, corroded metal that might have once been jewellery. ‘Are they very valuable?’ she asked.
Janet shook her head. ‘No, they’re just base metal. It’s the shape that’s interesting. This animal decoration, for example – this shell-and-spiral pattern. It’s otherwise unheard of in Anglo-Saxon art.’
‘You’re sure this is Anglo-Saxon stuff?’ asked David.
‘Well, it isn’t Roman. It isn’t Scandinavian, it certainly isn’t Frankish, and I don’t think it’s Chinese!’ Janet grinned. ‘I know what you’ll say now – and yes, you’re right. These bits and bobs could have come in a load of hardcore or manure, hundreds of miles away from Marbury.’
‘But the boy must know where he found them?’
‘No, he couldn’t remember.’ Janet sniffed.’ But if he’s been grubbing around with a spade or shovel, he’ll have destroyed the contexts, anyway.’
‘Might you persuade the City Hall to sponsor a little dig?’
‘I very much doubt it.’ Janet grimaced. ‘Dave, will you be in the Lamb tonight?’
‘I’m not sure,’ David said. ‘I might pop over to see Francis.’
‘He won’t keep you long, so we’ll expect you about half nine or ten. You come too, Susannah.’ Janet scooped up her treasures. ‘See you later, eh?’
As Janet strode through the studded door, Susannah stood up. ‘I think I’ll go and get some lunch,’ she said. ‘Shall I bring back anything for you?’
‘No, thank you.’ David shook his head. ‘I don’t eat in the day time – I get migraines if I do.’
* * * *
Susannah had arranged for her letters to be forwarded to Marbury’s main post office. Today, there were some postcards from her college friends, and George had sent on one from Gavin Hunter.
It was from Istanbul, where Gavin’s mates had gone down with some bug. But Gavin was okay, and had been to look at some Roman ruins – see overleaf.
Susannah saw graceful marble columns set against a background of foam-flecked turquoise sea. For a moment, she wished she was in Turkey too, sitting on a silver beach, drinking raki, chilling out…
What would Gavin do with his life, she wondered. He’d gone to college for the ride – he’d never done any work. His father might be something in the City, and the family home was huge, but it was also very shabby. Even if Mr Hunter did work ninety hours a week, she didn’t suppose there was enough spare cash to support his son in idleness.
She spent the next few days looking for material for the minster’s history. David left her to her own devices. In fact, he was hardly ever in the library, so it was a week or more before she showed him the piece of vellum that she’d salvaged from the leather binding.
He didn’t seem very excited. ‘In the eighteenth century,’ he began, ‘it was common practice to recycle card and paper. Most master bookbinders were cultivated men. They usually picked out anything important from the piles of scrap bought in. So don’t get too excited. This will probably be some laundry list.’
He peered intently at the vellum. ‘It’s definitely post-conquest, anyway.’
‘How can you tell?’
‘The script is English Insular, but these little twirls and curlicues suggest a Norman scribe. I’d guess this was written by a Frenchman, about 1100. What a state it’s in! Someone must have spilled his beer on this bit.’
David picked up his magnifying glass. ‘Eels,’ he said. ‘Cheese, fine wheaten bread, strong ale, new butter – this seems to be a tally of provisions, probably written by the victualler in some monastery. Or maybe it’s a shopping list.’
‘Just a shopping list?’
‘It might turn out to be of interest.’ David looked up and grinned. ‘If you like – and if you can read the writing – you could translate it all. It would be good practice.’
‘Then will you throw it away?’
‘Oh no, we’ll keep it here on file. If you have the time and inclination, you could do some detective work. We might be able to date it a bit more accurately then.’
Chapter 3
The following day, David seemed even more than usually abstracted. He showed no interest in the post, so Susannah opened it herself. She thought he must be waiting for a call from Francis Parker. Then, would be off to Dereham Place.
At half past ten, he snatched up his car keys. ‘I’m going to see Francis,’ he announced. ‘If his secretary calls, tell her I’m on my way.’
About five minutes after David left, the phone did ring. ‘Hi, is that Susannah?’ asked a deep, male voice.
‘Yes,’ replied Susannah, then realised who it must be. ‘It’s Gavin, isn’t it? How are you?’
‘I’m fine. So how are you getting on with all the bookworms and mouldy bits of parchment? Must be an improvement on George’s boring index, anyway.’
‘Yes, it is,’ Susannah said, and laughed. ‘But how did you know where to find me? I didn’t tell your mother I was coming to Marbury.’
‘No, I’ll bet you didn’t – I don’t imagine you got a word in edgeways.’ Disloyally, Gavin laughed. ‘I should have warned you about Mum. George gave me your number.’
‘Oh, I see. Actually, I was going to ring your mother, to arrange to bring your car back. Thank you for the postcards, by the way. So how was Turkey, then?’
‘Much too hot,’ said Gavin. ‘The place we stayed in was disgusting. Lice the size of ladybirds, and flies as big as sparrows. But anyway, congratulations. On your result, I mean.’
‘Thank you,’ said Susannah. ‘Your mother said you did quite well yourself.’
‘Better than forecast, yeah. I thought I’d probably get a third, or fail.’
‘What are you doing these days?’
‘Oh, you’ll be so impressed when you hear this. I’ve got a job.’ But before Susannah could ask what sort of job, or offer to drive the Citroёn back to Berkshire that weeke
nd, he said, ‘I know I only offered you Jemima until I got back to England. But would you like to hang on to her a bit?’
‘But don’t you need her now?’
‘Not really. You know what it’s like in London. You spend an hour looking for a space, then you’ve got no change for the wretched meter – it’s a total pain.’
‘Then I’ll keep her in Marbury until you want her back. Tell me when you need her, and I’ll drive her down. Well, it was really nice of you to ring – ‘
‘Hang on a minute,’ interrupted Gavin. ‘I’m coming to Marbury some time soon. I’m doing a tour of the regions with my minder.’
‘Your minder?’ said Susannah. ‘You said you’d got a job. What are you doing?’
‘If I explain, you’re not to laugh.’
‘Why should I laugh?’
‘Well, everyone else thinks it’s hilarious. The fact is, I’m a graduate trainee, at Fraser Redman. They make tractors, balers, combine harvesters and stuff.’
‘But I’d have thought you’d need to be an engineer or something, to work for Fraser Redman?’
‘No, they’re not that fussy.’ Gavin sighed. ‘So anyway, it’s a job.’
‘It sound like quite a good one.’
‘Yeah, we’ll see. Listen, I’m on a decent skive. Me and my boss are visiting all the factories and suppliers in the Midlands. I’ll be in Marbury on the tenth. I’d like to buy you dinner, as a sort of thank you for helping me out that time. I’ve never had a headache like it.’
‘Yes, you did look sick.’
‘I thought I’d die. But anyway, that’s all behind me now, I’ve joined the real world. My mother is so proud.’
‘I can imagine,’ laughed Susannah. ‘Okay, then – see you soon.’
* * * *
David came back at half past twelve, smelling of gin and nicotine. He sat down at his desk, laid his head on the blotter and closed his eyes.
Susannah looked at Dora, who had just walked in.
‘Let him sleep,’ she said. ‘I’ll make him coffee later. Just move those books and papers.’
‘Does he get like this often?’ asked Susannah.
Elegy for a Queen Page 2
