Paradise Walk

by Mary Malloy

  “So only when she was looking for something specific, like the Chaucer,” Jackie added.

  Lizzie agreed. She asked Edmund if he wanted to stay and work with them on searching the room. He answered that he had the rest of the day and evening available and was willing to help.

  As Jackie was the most knowledgeable about books and editions, it was decided that she should quickly examine each volume. Lizzie wanted to start with the Chaucer collection, but Jackie told her that it was better to develop a system and stick to it. They should start with the shelves nearest the door and work their way, shelf by shelf, around the room. She asked Lizzie to clear the desk and then instructed her to empty the first section of shelving, bring the books to her, and then examine the empty shelf to make sure that nothing was hidden there.

  Jackie looked at each volume, set it aside if it deserved further scrutiny, and made a pile to be returned to the shelf, which Edmund did. In this way they worked quickly around the room, processing almost a hundred books an hour for three hours. Jackie called out to Lizzie when she found a copy of John Leland’s Laborious Journey and Serche for Englandes Antiquities, and occasionally made a comment about a particularly rare or important volume. When they reached the Chaucer collection, they took their first break of the day.

  “Before we go any further, I need a cup of coffee,” Lizzie declared.

  “I could use something stronger,” Jackie said, “and I think I saw some pretty good scotch on the sideboard in the other room.”

  “Alison’s specialty,” Lizzie said. “It has lubricated all our work.” She offered to fix them all something to eat, and realized when she got to the kitchen that if Alison was not going to be returning home for several weeks she should get rid of the perishables and empty the trash. Their lunch consequently consisted of sandwiches made from cheese, apples and onions, accompanied by a salad of squash, beets and nuts. She made a pot of coffee, and found that Jackie and Edmund had perfectly replicated Alison’s scotch and soda recipe.

  As the three sat around the desk to eat, Jackie casually pulled books from the pile she had set aside. “A number of these,” she said, “used to be very valuable, until someone cut a hole in them.” She opened one to show a cavity cut into the pages, into which was stuffed a roll of bills.

  Edmund took the bills and unrolled them. “It’s the old currency,” he said, “before we converted to the decimal system.”

  “And before bill sizes became standardized,” Jackie said. “Look at the size of some of those! How did you ever fit them into a wallet?”

  “Our wallets were so big we had to drag them behind us in wagons,” Edmund answered with a straight face.

  Lizzie asked how much money was in the wad and if it still had any value.

  Edmund quickly counted it. “Two thousand and some pounds,” he said. “It was a substantial amount when it was hidden here. Today, the bills aren’t worth anything like their face value. You can buy them online for a few pounds.”

  Other books held additional money, some in modern currency, which Lizzie pulled out and put aside for Alison.

  “These books have papers tucked into them,” Jackie said, turning to the next small pile. “This book on astronomy, for instance, has a manuscript page of calculations.”

  “Alison’s father was an amateur astronomer,” Lizzie said.

  “Should we leave it in the book or take it out?”

  “Let me have it,” Lizzie said, “and I will make a note of where it was.”

  There were other papers that had lists of sums or dates, and three had incomplete family trees, and Lizzie took them as well.

  When the lunch plates were cleared and another round of scotches poured, they began on the Chaucer collection. Before they began to remove any of them from the shelves Jackie took a quick inventory.

  “Right now they are more or less organized by height,” she said. “That puts the earliest ones somewhat together as they tend to be small, but if we really want to understand how this collection was assembled, I think it might be useful if we organized them by date.”

  The whole collection was consequently brought to the desk and separated into piles, first quickly by centuries, as Jackie glanced at each one. The nineteenth- and twentieth-century copies were then returned to the shelf and Jackie sorted what was left into a careful chronology of editions.

  “It is a testimonial to the staying power of the book that it looks to have been published in almost every generation since Chaucer wrote it,” Edmund said, and both women agreed.

  As Jackie leafed through one of them, a piece of paper fell out. It was a receipt from a bookseller: “Peter Quince, on London Bridge, Anno 1595.”

  Lizzie picked it up and held it silently up to Jackie, then both exploded in a shout of excitement.

  “What is it?” Edmund asked.

  “It is a receipt for this book,” Lizzie said.

  “Dated the year it was printed,” Jackie added. “If there are others like this, your brilliant idea can be supported.”

  A quick search of the rest of the books located three other receipts, which was disappointing to Lizzie, but Jackie was still very excited. As she went back to processing the books, she found a copy from 1540 with a spidery brown signature on the flyleaf: “William Kent, his book.” Between books with signatures of owners, and receipts for books purchased, nine of the books prior to 1800 could be associated with a member of the Kent family.

  “This would be a great paper at the Chaucer conference!” Jackie said as the evidence was assembled.

  “Maybe next year,” Lizzie said, “when we have been able to put the whole story together.”

  An examination of the modern editions revealed only one hidden treasure. In an edition of 1945, a cavity had been carved out that contained two folded pages. One had calculations similar to those they had found in the astronomy book; the second was a list of names, three to a line. “William Kent, Thomas Bokland, Dunstan Hockewold” were at the top of the list. The same surnames were repeated in line after line, though “Bokland” became “Buckland” and eventually was replaced by “Wickersham.” “Hockwald” was replaced by “Bruce” near the end of the list.

  “Hockwold,” Lizzie said, pointing at the name. “And here it is again, and again.” She moved her finger down the list. “What the hell?”

  Her companions looked on silently as Lizzie studied the page.

  “The top line is much older than the last,” Jackie said, reaching out to take the piece of paper. “The inks and signature styles are all different.” She rubbed the page between her finger and thumb and then sniffed the paper. “The compounds in some inks have a distinctive smell,” she said in response to the puzzled look Edmund gave her. She handed him the page. “This list has been kept over a very long time,” she said.

  “Obviously it shows a relationship between the Kent and Hockwold families,” he said. He read the last line: “William Kent, Hockwold Bruce, Frederick Wickersham.”

  “Is it a family tree of some kind?” Jackie asked.

  Lizzie shook her head. “There are only men’s names on the list.” She took the paper back from Edmund. “This might have something to do with the secret that Alison’s father meant to share with her.” She paused to ponder this. “What information would be important enough to be passed from generation to generation in three families? And yet would still have to be kept secret after what, a few hundred years?”

  “At least,” Jackie said. “How many lines are there?

  Lizzie quickly counted. “Fifteen lines.”

  “Say thirty years or so to a generation, with some being substantially longer and war and plague taking their toll. . . .”

  “Four hundred and fifty years,” Edmund said.

  “At least.”

  “What secret that old could possibly be worth killing for today?” Edmund looked at Lizzie as he asked the question, but she couldn’t think of an answer.

  “This can’t possibly be about the
Weaver’s journal,” she said. “It is a straightforward description of a pilgrimage.”

  “You’ve only read a translated transcript,” Jackie said. “Is it possible there is something there that Alison missed? Or that she kept from you?”

  Lizzie defended Alison. “She might have missed something, but I’m certain she isn’t deceiving me in any way about what is in the Weaver’s journal.”

  “Do you mind if I have a look at it?”

  Lizzie took the manuscript from the reliquary and gave it to Jackie. “I’m pretty sure the secret can’t be based on this though. It is from the late fourteenth century and this list of names starts when, a hundred and fifty years later?”

  The mystery occupied another fifteen minutes of their time until Edmund, looking at the clock, said that he would need to be starting home soon. “Do you want to try to process the rest of this room?” he asked.

  It was with some difficulty that they turned their attention back to the task, but they once again got into a working rhythm and began to process books even more quickly than before. On the last shelves, as they came around the room and back to the other side of the doorway, were a number of tall volumes, lying on their sides rather than standing up, as the shelves were too short to accommodate them. Among these were several atlases.

  “Here is something of interest for you, Lizzie,” Jackie said, leafing quickly through a sixteenth-century atlas of England. “It seems to have someone’s path marked on it from Bath to Canterbury.”

  Lizzie put down the pile of books she was carrying and went to look at it.

  “It is almost your pilgrimage trail,” Jackie said. “In fact, it seems to be two different, but almost identical paths.” She leaned in to examine it more closely, then gestured to Lizzie. “The first line was put on in iron gall ink, so that could be quite old. The second one is India ink, which is more recent in European use.”

  Lizzie took the book from her and looked at several of the smaller area maps that had been annotated. “I think I’ll take this with me,” she said, “and look more closely at it.”

  It was now almost ten o’clock and Edmund announced that he needed to get back to Bristol.

  “What should we do about the reliquary?” Lizzie asked.

  “I think a safe deposit box is the best answer, especially while Alison is away from home. I’ll take care of it.”

  Jackie suggested that he take a few of the Chaucers. “They are really valuable,” she said. “Once Lizzie makes her presentation at the conference, it might draw attention to the collection, and as you say, with Alison gone. . . .”

  Edmund agreed to take them. “But I’m not so sure Lizzie should make the presentation at the conference,” he said as he placed the reliquary and the books into a box.

  “Why not?” Lizzie asked.

  He put his arm around her. “I’m just not convinced it’s safe,” he said. “We aren’t sure what set off Hockwold Bruce, and he may not be the only one with an interest in what you have to say about the journal and the tapestry.”

  Jackie had an entirely different opinion. “This information is too important not to make it public, and Lizzie needs to protect Alison’s work, and her own, by declaring their ownership of it. Besides,” she added, “the best way to protect yourself from a secret is to reveal it.

  “It might still be dangerous,” he said with concern.

  “Danger from whom? Chaucer scholars? What are they going to do, write something bad? They’ll do that anyway.”

  Lizzie felt caught between the oppositional opinions of her friends. “I really have to make this presentation for Alison,” she said to Edmund. “One of her colleagues already knows she has the journal, and a librarian at Oxford knows the tapestry is a map of the trip. If they spill the beans before Alison or I can announce it, then someone else could scoop her on the work and that would be terrible.”

  Jackie had been thinking about Edmund’s concerns. “If there is still any danger related to a secret shared by Hockwold Bruce and Alison’s father, then it would probably come from the last person named on the list.” She picked up the paper again and read the name: “Frederick Wickersham.” She looked from Alison to Edmund. “I will Google him,” she said. “Then we can find out where he is located and Lizzie can avoid him.”

  Edmund was clearly not convinced, but he could see that there was no way to keep Lizzie from going to Oxford for the conference.

  Chapter 21

  The Chaucer meeting was held in the conference center at St. Hugh’s College, so Lizzie was able to show Jackie the tapestry before she gave her presentation. They had spent the last three days visiting with Alison every morning, and working their way through her books in the afternoons and evenings, but hadn’t found anything more that might reveal the secret that Alison’s father had inadvertently kept from her.

  Jackie, who was conversant with Middle English, had searched the Weaver’s journal for additional clues but hadn’t found anything that wasn’t represented well by Alison in her transcription. She spent several hours plodding through scans of the documents of the Commission for the Destruction of Shrines, but she had as yet found no artifacts mentioned that bore the Weaver’s monogram. She had also searched for information on Frederick Wickersham. The most likely candidate to match the name on the list was a solicitor who had recently died at the age of 88. His son of the same name was already dead, and there was a grandson, also named Frederick Wickersham, who was a graduate student at Oxford. It seemed unlikely to both Jackie and Lizzie that this Frederick Wickersham could be a threat.

  As they sat on the couch opposite the tapestry, Jackie read to Lizzie from the conference program. “There is someone named Dante Zettler giving a paper on the sources of the Wife of Bath’s tale.”

  “He is Alison’s nemesis,” Lizzie explained. “A junior colleague in her department who once tried to copy the Weaver’s journal without her permission.”

  “We don’t like him then? ”

  “We don’t know him yet, but we do not expect or intend to like him.”

  “He is on for an hour this morning. I see that you have twenty minutes in the ‘Announcements of New Work’ section this afternoon. There are a couple of slots left open in that panel for late signups. Are you sure I can’t just make a mention of the Kent family’s generations-long collecting of Canterbury Tales editions?”

  “No, I forbid you to speak about it until Alison has a chance to look at all the material. That will have to wait for next year.”

  They were approached by Michael Moberley and Lizzie introduced the two librarians to one another. “I’m so sorry to hear about Professor Kent’s accident,” he said. “But am very glad that you are able to step in for her. She called me this morning to assure me that you are a full collaborator in her project.”

  Lizzie gave a nod of acknowledgement. Alison’s call, and Michael mentioning it, seemed an unnecessary formality to her.

  “Oh, here is Professor Zettler,” Michael said, pulling a young man aside and introducing them. “This is Professor Manning from America. She’ll be reading the paper for Professor Kent.”

  Dante Zettler was about thirty years old and fastidious about his appearance. His expensive suit was perfectly tailored, and the blue-patterned tie he wore picked up the color of his eyes, which seemed too obvious to be an accident.

  “So sorry to hear about dear Alison,” he said, taking Lizzie by the hand. “I hope you didn’t come all the way from America for this; I would have been happy to read Alison’s paper for her; we’re colleagues you know.”

  “It’s not exactly a paper yet,” Lizzie said. “It is an announcement, and I will simply describe the work in progress.”

  “Can I assume then that you and she are collaborating on the work?” He smiled throughout their conversation, but Lizzie couldn’t help feeling that he was fishing for information and nervous about what she might know.

  “Yes, you can assume that,” she said. She pulled Jackie forward
and introduced them. “We were just talking about your paper on the sources of the Wife of Bath’s tale,” Lizzie said. “It is a topic in which we are keenly interested.”

  Dante Zettler raised an eyebrow. “Indeed?”

  “Yes,” Jackie echoed, “very interested. We look forward to hearing your lecture.”

  Jackie had a smile on her face that reminded Lizzie of one of the Rockettes in a Christmas show. From behind Dante’s back she gave her friend a look to tone it down.

  “Perhaps we could have lunch together?” Dante asked. “I’d like to get your critique of my ideas after you have heard them.”

  “I still have preparations to make to my own presentation,” Lizzie answered, “but could we sit with you at the banquet tonight?” She wanted to wait until he had heard a full description of the Weaver’s journal before she talked to him.

  “I think the seating chart has been arranged,” he said, “but let me speak to the proctor and see if I can be moved to join you. It would be delightful,” he said, before leaving them.

  “He’s a bit weasily, I think,” Jackie said as he walked away. “No wonder we don’t like him.”

  “You don’t mind having dinner with him, do you?”

  Jackie gave Lizzie a wink and a sly smile. “Of course not! I assume we are feasting with him in order to taunt him.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then let the games begin! Let’s go hear what he has to say about the Wife of Bath.”

  The lecture that Dante Zettler gave on the sources of the Wife of Bath’s tale was torturously dense, even to Lizzie and Jackie, who really had been interested in the subject when he started speaking. While he attempted the occasional grand flourish or humorous aside, they mostly went unacknowledged by his audience.

  “Geoffrey Chaucer did not so much write the story told by the character described by Russell Chamberlain in his 1986 book, The Idea of England, as—and I quote—‘the broad-beamed, ineradicably vulgar, indestructible Wife of Bath’—end quote, so much as he crafted it from multiple sources. Let us examine them.” His stress of certain words and simpering accent made the prospect of the next hour exceedingly dreadful.