“Good idea.” Alan strode across to the front desk, leaving Dan to stare in wonder at the impressive entrance hall.
The woman behind the desk looked up with a friendly smile. “Good afternoon, sir. What can I do for you?”
“I’m Alan Hargreaves. I have an appointment with Doctor Jenkinson.”
“Ah, yes.” The woman checked her screen then lifted a telephone. “If you wait here, I’ll let her know you’ve arrived.”
“Thank you.” Alan stood back while the call was made, and when Dan joined him, Alan leaned close, lowering his voice. “We’ve been guilty of sexism. Doctor Jenkinson is a woman.”
“Oh. It was hard to tell from an email,” Dan said. “Still, it’s an easy mistake to make, and I didn’t mean anything by it. I hardly think we’re the forces of oppression.”
“But we ought to have known better,” Alan replied. “It’s easy to dismiss the concerns of others when you’re more privileged than they are.”
Dan’s gaze flicked upward. “You’ll get no arguments from me. Hard to see it any other way when you’re standing beneath a marble statue of Prince Albert.”
“Oh, I think this might be her,” Alan said, and they watched as a young woman emerged from a side room and marched toward them.
“Mr Hargreaves,” she said with a smile. “I recognise you from your photo.”
“Guilty,” Alan said, pulling himself up to his full height. “And this is my research assistant, Dan Corrigan.”
Dan’s stare ought to have sliced Alan in two, but neither its target nor Doctor Jenkinson noticed.
“A pleasure to meet you,” she said, and they shook hands. “I have to tell you, Mr Hargreaves, that my son, Jake, is a huge fan of your books. I think we have every single one of your Uncle Derek series. And of course, he has the same name as your young hero, so that’s an added attraction.” She paused for breath. “Sorry, I’m gushing, but he was so thrilled when I told him I was meeting you. I must get you to sign a book before you go, that’s if you don’t mind.”
“No problem at all,” Alan said. “I should be delighted.”
“Great.”
“I thought you said your son was called Jake,” Dan chipped in, “but just now, you said he had the same name as…what was it…Uncle Eric? Which is it?”
Doctor Jenkinson turned to Dan. “How long have you been working for Alan?”
“Oh, not long at all,” Dan replied. “In fact, it feels like only a minute since I started.”
“He’s only recently joined me,” Alan explained. “Dan, you really must get up to speed. Uncle Derek, international explorer, is one of the main characters in my books, but as far as my fans are concerned, the real hero of the tales is his young nephew, Jake.”
“Absolutely,” Doctor Jenkinson said. “Derek usually ends up in trouble, but Jake is the one who saves the day.” She rubbed her hands together. “So, what’s in store for this thrilling instalment? Will Derek and Jake be setting off on a hunt across the globe for priceless ancient relics?”
“Actually, this is a new project,” Alan said quickly. “I’d be grateful if you’d keep this under your hat, but I’m working on a project set around the First World War.”
Doctor Jenkinson’s eyes widened. “Oh, but in your email, you said you wanted to see the artefacts donated by the Kenning family.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr Hargreaves, but as I said in my email, they’re all from Ancient Rome.”
Dan exchanged a look with Alan. “We were under the impression that there may be a few other items in the collection. Documents, personal items belonging to Gordon Kenning, that sort of thing.”
Doctor Jenkinson favoured them with a patient smile. “As I’m sure you’ll appreciate, my work here is very specialised. My field is ancient Rome, and if there were other items in the collection, they wouldn’t have been passed to me.” She let out a sigh. “I’m sorry, but it looks as though you’ve had a wasted journey, and I have a lot of work to get back to, so…”
Dan stepped closer to her, wearing his most charming smile. “I wonder, Doctor Jenkinson, do you think you might be able to put us in touch with the right person? We have come over here especially, and it would be a shame for Mr Hargreaves to go away empty-handed. We waited five days for this appointment, and he really is terribly busy with his writing schedule.”
“I’m afraid not,” Doctor Jenkinson started to say, but Dan carried on regardless.
“I’m sure that while we wait, Mr Hargreaves would autograph as many books as you’d like.”
“Oh, yes,” Alan said. “And please, call me Alan.”
Doctor Jenkinson studied them in silence. “How long did you say you’d been working together?”
“A few weeks,” Dan said, just as Alan blurted out, “A few days.”
“Ah. I see.” Doctor Jenkinson seemed to be struggling to suppress a grin.
“I don’t know what you’re thinking,” Dan began, “but you’re probably wide of the mark. The truth is, we’re neighbours. We just happen to be working on a research project together.”
“You’re not his assistant?”
Dan shook his head.
“Then why the pretence?”
“I’m sorry to have led you up the garden path,” Alan said. “I suppose I thought it would lend us a bit of credibility.”
Doctor Jenkinson folded her arms across her chest. “Talk about a spectacular backfire.”
Alan winced. “Yes. I really am sorry. It was foolish, and I shouldn’t have allowed myself to get carried away.”
“But, it is kind of funny,” Doctor Jenkinson said, and when she looked at Alan, there was a twinkle in her eye. “In my bag downstairs, I have no less than twelve paperbacks that my son insisted I bring along today. I told him you wouldn’t have time to sign more than one or two, but you know how children are.”
Alan slipped his hand inside his pocket, and with a flourish, he produced a pen. “Would he like them all made out to Jake, or is there a special message he’d prefer?”
“Wait here.” Doctor Jenkinson gestured toward a bench. “Take a seat while I see if I can call in a favour. And, I’m going to collect the books, so don’t go anywhere. I won’t be long.” She walked away, striding purposefully across the hall, and once they’d dutifully taken up their positions on the bench, Alan ran his hand across his brow.
“I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life,” he said. “What must she think of me?”
“Do you care?” Dan asked. “Mind you, she’s an attractive woman, and obviously a fan. I saw the way she looked at you.”
“She’s probably married,” Alan shot back.
“Not necessarily.” Dan grinned. “Anyway, you’ve only yourself to blame if you’ve got off on the wrong foot. Honestly, who could ever believe that I was your assistant?”
“Plenty of people. Anyway, the last time I checked, you were the one in need of a job.”
Dan’s smile was tight, a muscle in his cheek twitching. “Touché.” For a moment, an awkward silence hung in the air, then a movement across the hall caught Dan’s eye, and he was relieved to see Doctor Jenkinson marching towards them, a bulging canvas tote bag dangling from her hand. And trailing in her wake was a man who fitted Dan’s idea of a professional historian, right down to the white lab coat and the wire-framed spectacles.
“I think we might be in luck,” Alan said, then he looked Dan in the eye. “I shouldn’t have said that about your job. It was a low blow.”
Dan shook his head. “No, I had it coming. I didn’t mean to be…”
“Irritatingly superior?” Alan offered. “Self-satisfied? Conceited?”
“That’ll do for starters,” Dan said. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll buy you a pint and we’ll call it quits, okay?”
“In the pub? You’ll actually come out for a drink?”
“Definitely.”
Alan rubbed his hands together. “It’s a dea
l. Now, I’d better get signing books. I have a feeling that I’ll have to finish the whole pile before we’re allowed to take one step further, and if there are only a dozen books in that bag, I shall be very surprised.”
“It’ll be worth it,” Dan said. “And if my theory about the good doctor is correct, you never know what might come of it.”
“You’re not going to say anything foolish, are you?” Alan asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. “For God’s sake, let’s keep this professional. I’ve been humiliated enough.”
“Whatever you say,” Dan said. “After all, I’m only a humble assistant.” And before Alan had a chance to reply, Dan stood to greet Doctor Jenkinson and her colleague.
CHAPTER 10
Exeter
“It’s just down here,” Doctor Harrison said, leading Dan and Alan down a narrow stairwell and descending into the bowels of the Royal Albert Memorial Museum. “Almost there.”
They emerged into a brightly lit corridor, but the historian did not slow his pace. “This is very kind of you,” Alan said. “I hope we’re not holding you up too much.”
“I can give you half an hour,” Doctor Harrison said over his shoulder. “To be honest, it’s nice to take a break from my routine work.” He stopped beside a plain white door, its surface unmarked. “This is one of our archives. You wouldn’t normally have access, but Sally vouched for you, and that’s good enough for me.”
“I presume that Sally is Doctor Jenkinson’s first name,” Dan said, smiling at Alan.
“Yes,” Doctor Harrison replied. “She’s great, isn’t she? She brightens this place up, I can tell you.”
“Definitely,” Dan said, but before he could go on, Alan said, “Will we need to wear white coats or anything?”
Doctor Harrison shook his head. “No. We don’t even use gloves most of the time; they can make you clumsy. Anyway, I’ll have to fetch the documents for you, and if anything’s too fragile, I won’t be handing it over I’m afraid. Conservation comes first, but so long as your hands are clean and dry, you’ll be fine.” He peered at them. “Your hands are clean, I take it?”
“Absolutely,” Alan said, waggling his fingers in the air. “It’s quite exciting, isn’t it? The thrill of discovery, of delving into the distant past.”
“It can be,” Doctor Harrison replied, pulling open the door. “And then there are days when you hit one dead end after another. It’s like panning for gold. You have to sift through a tonne of dirt to find the nuggets, but when you do, you feel like the work was worthwhile.”
Dan’s smile faded. “If we’ve only got half an hour, I suppose our chances of success are minimal.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Doctor Harrison said. “You already have your inquiry pinned down to one small collection, and from what Sally said, you’re only interested in the Great War. In my field, that would be considered quite a precise starting point.”
“Actually, we’re only looking at the years immediately after the war,” Alan explained. “1919 to 1920.”
“Even better.” Doctor Harrison extended his arm toward the doorway. “After you. It’s a controlled environment, so I have to make sure the door is sealed once we’re inside.”
Dan and Alan filed into the room, gazing at the orderly rows and columns of white drawers lining both walls. “How many documents do you have in here?” Dan asked, his voice echoing eerily.
“One hundred and seventy-two thousand, five hundred and three,” Doctor Harrison replied. “And that’s just in this room. Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to the Kenning collection.” He bustled past them, and they followed at his heels, Dan looking around, deep in thought.
The weight of history seemed to press in on him from the crowded rows of drawers. How many lives had left nothing behind but the sheets of crumpled paper carefully stacked in sealed compartments like this? And how many more souls had left even less of a mark on the world, their records discarded and left to crumble to dust, their lives fading from memory? Over the last few days, he and Alan had spent hours researching the aftermath of the First World War, and he’d lost count of the images of war graves that he’d seen. Across the fields of Belgium and France, the almost endless rows of headstones stood to attention as if waiting for an event that would never come. To this day, the cemeteries were tended and cared for, kept in immaculate condition, but the people who lay beneath the stones were gone, and the last veteran of those horrific battles had died some time ago. We will remember them, Dan thought, recalling the words spoken at every Armistice Day event. But while the flames of remembrance burned bright, the memories could only grow more abstract. We mourn for a generation, Dan decided, but there’s no one who can point to a headstone and say, “He was my friend.”
Gordon Kenning had lost his only brother, it was no wonder that he’d turned away from the military. But to become a recluse? To hide away in his country mansion collecting Roman artefacts that he knew to be fake? To hide his grief in a coded message?
There was something else here. From what Martin Kenning had said in the cemetery, it sounded as though Gordon had lost faith in all the institutions that had governed his life. Perhaps now, at last, they were going to find out why.
“Are you all right?” Alan asked quietly. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”
Dan managed a noncommittal shrug. “I’m fine. It’s just cold down here.”
“Thirteen degrees Celsius,” Doctor Harrison called out, “and a mere thirty-five percent relative humidity. If I’m going to be in here for long, I bring a coat.” He stopped and turned to face them. “This is the right section. But before we dive in, if there’s anything specific you’re looking for, I can check the index and save a lot of time. Is it definitely 1919 and 1920 that you want?”
Dan nodded. “Yes. Anything belonging to Gordon Kenning would be great, but we’re particularly looking for personal documents such as journals or correspondence.”
“Over the last few days, we’ve learned a healthy mistrust of official sources,” Alan added. “It’s possible that Gordon’s brother, Cyril, died of the Spanish flu, and we understand that the authorities suppressed the details at the time.”
“Hence the name Spanish flu,” Doctor Harrison said. “The authorities were keen to give the impression that the disease was particularly bad elsewhere, when in fact, the crowded military hospitals and trains ensured the illness spread rapidly through the troops. I suppose, these days, we’d call it spin or fake news, but there’s nothing new about propaganda. Take it from me; I’ve seen screeds of the stuff. Mind you, it can be illuminating. It tells you what people were prepared to believe, which can provide valuable insights into the way they thought and acted.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Dan felt a twitch of impatience stirring in his gut. They were so close now, he couldn’t wait another second. “All the same, we’ll start with the personal documents, and if there’s anything with a reference to Cyril Kenning, that would be great.”
“Right. If you stay put for a second, I’ll see what I can dig up from the index.” Doctor Harrison hurried down the room to a desk at the far end, where he hunched over a computer, tapping rapidly at the keyboard.
“What do you think we’ll find?” Alan asked Dan. “Will you be disappointed if it turns out that Martin has already told us everything?”
Dan hesitated. “I’d be very surprised if that turns out to be the case, but I don’t think I’d be too disappointed. After all, in a funny sort of way, I’ve enjoyed the challenge. It’s kept my mind busy for a while.”
“Me too,” Alan said. “I almost don’t want it to be over.”
“Wait and see. But it looks like we won’t have to hang around much longer. He’s coming back.”
“And he looks pleased with himself.” Alan chortled under his breath. “Do you think we’ll have to show him that we’ve cleaned our fingernails?”
“At this point, nothing would surprise me.”
“Right,” Doctor Har
rison said, striding towards them, waving a slip of paper. “We only need one drawer, so that’s perfect.” He scanned the wall then pulled a drawer from its slot, carrying it carefully across to a table in the centre of the room and laying it down. “Give me a second.”
Dan and Alan hovered beside him, watching as he laid out a series of yellowing pages along the bench. “Can we pick them up?” Dan asked.
“Yes, but please be careful,” Doctor Harrison said, “and you might not believe that I have to say this, but please, if you have to turn a page, don’t lick your fingers. Sometimes, people do it without thinking.”
“Noted,” Dan said, bending over the bench. He scanned the text of the first document, but it seemed to be a typically mundane piece of family correspondence. The signature was on the second page, and Dan struggled to make it out. “Gordon’s mother was called Hester, wasn’t she?”
“Yes,” Alan stated. “She lived until 1941, but she never remarried. We couldn’t find out what happened to her husband. All we know about Timothy Kenning is that he died young, probably in 1905.”
“You two have been doing your research,” Doctor Harrison said while he laid out more pages along the bench. “Perhaps you’ve missed your vocations.”
“Maybe,” Dan replied without looking up. “We’ve done little else but search through websites for the last five days. When I close my eyes, I see names and dates, battles and hospitals, regiments and battalions.”
“Tell me about it,” Alan chipped in. “We’ve hunted high and low, but until now, we’ve been defeated. These documents are our last hope.”
“Cyril will be in here somewhere,” Dan said, moving on to the next document. “He and Gordon were close, so they must’ve exchanged letters.”
Doctor Harrison grunted. “You’re assuming the letters would’ve been kept. Do you keep all your correspondence?”
Dan straightened his back. “I don’t have a lot, but I keep some of it: the ones that are important to me, letters from my parents.”
“And what will happen to all those letters when you die?” Doctor Harrison asked. “Have you made arrangements for them to be preserved? And even supposing that your next of kin try to follow your wishes, one bundle of papers looks much like another. Will your descendants understand what they’re looking at? And a hundred years from now, will your precious letters still exist?”
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