“No. It’s a matter he never likes referring to,” answered Sanderton. “It was not merely financial. I fancy Laycock infected him with his own personal animus against the lawyer. It’s plain he’s still easily upset about the affair. ‘We shall have to go warily,’ he is often saying when we discuss any new arrangements for the library. Since coming here he’s changed visibly.”
“In what way?” pressed Courtleigh with some curiosity.
“Well, for one thing,” resumed Sanderton, “he had his travel notes and research material put into that little reading-cabinet at the end of the gallery, and he works in there daily when at home. Of course, there’s nothing surprising in that for, as you know, the final volume of his Primitive Burial Rites is not yet complete. But the doctor’s got it firmly into his head that Faik’s spies are often hanging about the place. It may seem fantastic but he certainly puts little limit to what that man would do, and declares there are several books here they would like to get their hands upon. That’s why the choicest things are kept in the Muniment Room.
“But that’s not all. The poor man was—and still is—constantly interrupting his studies by fancying he can hear the thieves actually in the place. I admit the library, like most old buildings, has its queer noises at times; but the doctor will not be persuaded it is only that. Anyway, he became very interested in the Puseyites (though he never mixes with them!) and got the idea all at once of putting in the oratory. The whole building had for a long time been the family chapel and, as he said, it seemed only fitting to have prayers in it again. I was pleased at this for I thought he intended restoring the library, at least partially, to its former use. I thought it would be a good thing to get the domestic staff down sometimes, and I gladly offered to read matins and evensong there daily.”
The professor smiled at this bit of clerical zeal, but it was dark, and the other went on:
“But that was not what Dr. Propert wanted. His mind was set on a private oratory where he could slip in and say prayers alone before and after going to his books up in the cabinet. The place, as you saw, is rather quaint: he got various pieces of old church furniture to fit it up. But I’ve always felt that I was not very happy there. For one thing, it faces west; but for some perverse reason he would have it so. The consequence is I rarely go inside except to celebrate on certain saints’ days about which the doctor is very particular.”
After this lengthy recital the rector gave vent to a great sigh like a man much bewildered by half-knowledge.
“Well,” said Courtleigh with grim cheerfulness, “you’ve tied yourself up to some very eccentric company. I shall feel quite guilty leaving you tomorrow! By the way, is anything known about this Faik’s present activities and whereabouts?”
“Before leaving here,” said Sanderton, “he bought a small property at Hengsward, beyond Malton, but they say he’s mostly on the move. ‘Away in London’ is all the news I ever hear.”
“Hm,” grunted the professor, as they reached the rectory gate, “it’s my opinion the less you see of that gentleman the better.”
II
It was autumn before Courtleigh could make his second visit. During the long vacation he often thought of Peryford but was unable then to get away. One day, however, there came a letter from Sanderton reporting that Dr. Propert had unexpectedly become benevolently disposed toward Durham. The news was a complete surprise to Courtleigh who wrote eagerly to know what had led to such a turn of events. I will give the gist of the situation without quoting all the correspondence. Here it is.
Something has already been said about the doctor’s ultra-Tractarian sympathies in matters of religion and of his zeal for ceremonies. It seems a tragic irony that this new access of piety should have expressed him to the ruin of his lifetime’s greatest hope. For, along with his devotional bent, Propert was a notable scholar. He had indeed been a Fellow of Carpe Corpus, and it was an open secret that his valuable collection of books was to be bequeathed to that college. Furthermore, people with a knowledge of the probabilities considered it a foregone conclusion that Propert would be made Master at the next election.
The prospect of that honor was in fact the old man’s most cherished ambition and accounted partly for his return to England. You may judge, therefore, what a blow it was to him when news came through that Cornwick, the other candidate, had been chosen instead. In due time it also transpired that the vote had only gone against him in consequence of certain malicious reports set forward by Faik—himself a Carpe Corpus man—that Propert had become a secret Papist.
It was without doubt a gross calumny which the unfortunate victim most strenuously answered, both directly and through the papers. But, as is usual in such cases, it was impossible to establish the author of the blow, and in any case the deed was done. After taking all possible legal advice the poor doctor had to realize that there could be no redress. But for ever afterward there would rankle in his mind, not so much the disappointment as the dastardly stab behind it.
Thus, with his declining years overshadowed by bitterness, he lived more than ever among his books in the reading-cabinet or in the oratory below, leaning upon the sympathetic offices of Mr. Sanderton, his chaplain.
Now this good man, being nephew of one of the Canons of Durham, had always entertained a lively concern for the new university then beginning to establish itself in the north. It was in this connection that his friendship with Professor Courtleigh had been ripened. The pair of them had drawn up a list of works which they considered the indispensable minimum for the use of the undergraduates; and Sanderton had sent along some of his own volumes as a gift. Only by chance did Dr. Propert make this discovery in conversation with his chaplain for it would have been abhorrent to Sanderton either to advertise his own donation or to suggest that another should follow his example. Yet, when the discovery was made, something of the bachelor cleric’s devotion to so obscure a cause appealed to the old collector. Before long he himself—weaned by bitterness of any remaining love for his own college—began to take a growing interest in what he playfully called “our poor little Oxford of the north.”
Mr. Sanderton, indeed, was half delighted and half startled to see how rapidly the fire of this fresh enthusiasm was devouring his patron’s whole attention. Nothing could abate his eagerness. A slight seizure, which overtook the doctor in the summer, not only caused no diminution of interest but actually spurred him to an urgency of benevolent planning which took the little clergyman’s breath away. Whispers reached Oxford that the Propert books were now likely to go to Durham, that the doctor was aging visibly, and that one of the professors from up north had even been invited to Peryford to select a number of the volumes to be transferred for use forthwith.
And so it came about that in October Courtleigh was down at Peryford Priory for the second time. Sanderton took him at once to meet the doctor, and the three of them had a thorough and very pleasant conference. It was agreed to draw up a legal instrument next day and make an inspection of the books at the same time. The following morning saw them busy in the library itself; and in the afternoon the doctor’s solicitor came down from York to attend them there. It would have been a memorable day in any case but it was made more so by a strange intrusion.
For who should have the temerity to present himself again at Peryford but Faik! He came uninvited and without warning. Whether he deceived himself into believing that Propert was not aware of his infamous part in the college election, or whether he considered he could at last safely trade upon his old friend’s good nature to accept him again, I cannot tell. Perhaps it was merely that he had the vulgarity to suppose that, armed with money and a direct proposal, he could carry off his purpose well enough.
Anyhow he had, knowingly or unknowingly, chosen a critical moment to reappear. The great library was a scene of unusual activity. The legal business had been concluded; and the doctor, assisted by Courtleigh, was superintending the labors of carpenter Hook and two old servingmen in the removal of some
heavy tomes across to the Muniment Room, while Mr. Sanderton and the lawyer were in conversation by the gallery stairs, when the butler opened the door and ushered in the unwelcome visitor.
The air became electrified at once. The rector, who was nearest the door, made a stiff bow; Courtleigh and the solicitor looked up in mild surprise; but the doctor confronted his former friend with a withering stare.
“Good afternoon, Propert,” cried the intruder with false geniality, “I’m sorry to surprise you like this. You seem busy!”
“Professor Courtleigh is here by my invitation on a little matter concerning some books. May I ask what your business is?” replied Propert coldly.
“Ah,” said Faik in urbane tones, “I’ve heard some talk about your interest in Durham. But you have a duty to your own college, you know. I’m sure you’ve not forgotten that, despite that unfortunate little incident.”
“Mr. Faik,” repeated the doctor, “what is your business?”
Things were beginning to look ugly when, at a sign from the rector, Hook and the other men withdrew on tiptoe.
“If we must be so blunt,” resumed Faik, more briskly now, “I’ve been commissioned by the Master and resident Fellows of Carpe Corpus to make an offer to purchase the whole collection of your books, Dr. Propert.”
“I have no books to sell,” answered the doctor curtly, and added with tremulous warmth, “the college might have had them as a gift—but for its readiness to listen to blackguards who slander honest men. I have decided, sir, to put my poor volumes at the disposal of a needier and, I hope, more grateful body.”
“A most regrettable step,” muttered Faik uncomfortably, “but there is still time to make a compromise. The college authorizes me to offer ten thousand pounds for the major part of the books, provided certain specified volumes are included.”
The doctor was silent. Faik mistook the opportunity to press further: “Ten thousand pounds is a large sum. With it much might be done to benefit another institution,” he urged, glancing suggestively toward the professor. “Nor would the terms preclude many useful volumes also going elsewhere.”
He paused, looking more hopeful. Then the doctor said quietly, “Perhaps Mr. Bates will lead the way to the cabinet. I’d like you all to come, gentlemen.”
They trooped upstairs after the lawyer and along the gallery to the little apartment at the end.
“And now,” said the doctor, “will you, Mr. Bates, be so good as to read out for Mr. Faik’s benefit the terms of my will which you witnessed earlier on—the portion, that is, relating to the books?”
The solicitor opened the dead-box again and, finding the place among the documents, read the relevant clauses and then repeated, “. . . and the residue of all books, manuscripts, incunabula, charters, tracts or pamphlets, contained in or appertaining to, the aforesaid Frater Library . . . I bequeath to the University of Durham . . .”
“I hope, Mr. Faik,” said the doctor gravely after a pause, “you will now consider that your proposals are fully and decisively answered.” It was a devastating blow, and Faik was evidently crestfallen. Yet he had not quite done, even then.
“This is a most lamentable decision, Dr. Propert,” he said heavily, “but I will convey your answer to the college.” He paused, strumming on one of the oak presses, then looked up to add, “I have but one more request or offer to make, and this time a personal one on my own account.”
“There was,” he continued, “in this library a certain Household Book of Peryford Priory which has always very much interested me. That it is valuable as a fifteenth-century record I am well aware. Nor do I ask it altogether as a favor. I am, I say as a collector, specially attracted by the volume. May I offer five hundred pounds for it now?”
Courtleigh and the rest looked quickly at the doctor.
“I have, sir,” replied that veteran with just a hint of somber irony, “already heard from Mr. Sanderton’s predecessor of your interest in this rather—let us call it—obscure book. But the fact is we have (without—at my request—going so far as to inspect its contents) very particularly disposed of the book in question only an hour ago.”
He bent to open a cupboard at the side, and returned with an ancient calf-bound volume.
“As it is, its significance is largely wasted to be sure,” he continued pensively as he weighed it in his hands, and cleared his throat to assume what might have been a mock tone of public speaking. “But in order to make its contents generally available, and fully intelligible—for let us be frank and say there are some apparently meaningless entries in it—I have asked Professor Courtleigh to undertake to bring out an annotated edition, and also to compose a preface embodying something of my personal biography. The whole thing, you see, will form a sort of memorial volume. For, I confess, I have lately entertained the vanity of acquainting the world how this little book has affected my own humble fortunes; and I fancy the disclosures may prove of some interest in academic circles. They certainly would go far to account for my change of intention toward my old college. On behalf of the authorities at Durham, Professor Courtleigh has very obligingly agreed to this—and, incidentally, we have also arranged that the bequest of my books come into effect immediately after the public issue of the memorial volume.”
Faik was visibly disturbed. But the doctor, carrying the book with him and leading the way downstairs again, pursued the theme with benign malice, apparently addressing Faik:
“I am afraid any pleasure you or others could derive from the perusal of this publication may have to be postponed a little while as I do not wish it to appear in my lifetime. Probably you will not have long to wait; but until I am gone I wish the whole matter to remain dormant. When the time comes the Professor will find jotted down at the end of the Household Book a concise testimony of the facts he is to use—as well as some other curious matter which for a long time I was not able to understand and whose precise meaning I shall probably never comprehend fully—though (as you will in good time find from my comments there) I have made some headway with the clues. Yes, yes . . .”
Whatever these last remarks may have meant—and four faces were evidently arrested with intrigue—the doctor’s voice trailed off at this point into silent musing. Then he pulled himself up sharp and in a different tone remarked, “Tomorrow we will have the volume specially deposited and sealed, but for tonight I think it should be safe enough as it is in the Muniment Room.”
By this time, he was again on the ground floor at the foot of the stone stairs at the other side of the library. In another minute he had gone up, placed the book somewhere within the Muniment Room and locked its heavy door.
“I don’t think,” he concluded simply as he rejoined the others, “we need detain ourselves here any longer, gentlemen.”
The scene was over. Faik, tense with chagrin and alarm, departed abruptly as Propert, wearing a strange smile, stood meaningly at the outer door. As soon as the intruder had gone he insisted on locking it himself, then caught up with his friends who had set off for the hall, buzzing with excitement. The gong was sounding for dinner as they left the park and its much-disputed library under the gathering pall of night.
And a very memorable night it was, that 17th of October. A great gale was blowing and the trees about the old house were tossing wildly when Dr. Propert, his chaplain, and the professor withdrew after dinner to the smoking room.
Talk had turned again to Faik and his unexpected visit, and the doctor evinced a gleeful sense of elation at the way in which the deal with Durham had been culminated on a day which served to thwart his enemy so neatly. Certainly it was a rare thing for anyone to see the old benefactor so openly festive.
Perhaps, indeed, the excitement of the day had been too much for him. At any rate Mr. Sanderton could not but observe his patron’s feverish mien and suggest an early bed. But the doctor brushed aside all solicitation, so set was he upon discussing with Courtleigh the business of publishing the memoirs that would one day vindicate him. Mor
e wine was ordered in, and the two guests settled down to hear what their host would disclose concerning Faik and his practices.
Courtleigh had been saying how mystified he was by the guarded words used by the doctor that afternoon in reference to the contents of the Household Book which, he observed with a whimsical shrug, neither Sanderton nor himself had yet seen.
Propert was silent awhile pondering the hint. Then he said, “Yes, I suppose it is time I let you both into the secret, especially after the transactions today. I had to be ambiguous in the presence of Faik, for—though I am certain he knew all about the jottings I referred to—I didn’t want him to challenge me for proof. You see,” he added with a wry inclination of the head, “you’ve got to be careful about accusing a man of certain things.
“The contents of the book,” he continued, “the original contents, are normal enough; a diary of expenditure, inventories of gear and stores, cellarer’s accounts and what not, such as you expect in a noble establishment of the fifteenth century. But there are later entries too; strange recipes—some of them quite barbarous—scraps of proverbs and weather lore. Again, not very surprising. Then, jotted in with this, a lot of rigmarole (some of it quite recently written) that I found totally meaningless at first. Lately, however, I have begun to see the purpose of it. I won’t tell you my conclusions yet, but tomorrow we’ll go down to the library again and you shall see it for yourselves.”
His listeners could only remain mystified but deferential. “I ought to say,” he added, “that it was Mr. Laycock’s suspicions which first put me on the track. He was both a good man and a discerning man, though at first I thought his suggestion absurd. The whole thing is remarkably deep and complicated and, but for my dear friend (who had delved a good deal into some of the backwaters of profane learning), there is no knowing how far matters would have gone. And now, before anything public is done, I have arranged to give Faik an opportunity of, er, well, of proving his guilt!”
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