Spider Light(13)
This was meat and drink to Godfrey, although he always flinched inwardly if anyone asked about Twygrist. But he had become quite adept at dealing with this by now, and so he said Miss Weston was welcome to any information that would help. They had disinterred a few things for the leaflets and the displays, but there was still oceans of stuff in Quire’s cellars which they had hardly looked at. There might be something about the Forrester family down there, although the term family was stretching it a good deal, because only old Josiah and his daughter had lived here.
‘Their bit of Quire’s history only spanned sixty or seventy years and when the daughter–Thomasina–died, the family died with her. So there won’t be a great deal of Forrester stuff.’
Antonia said that anything there was would be fine, and Godfrey said it was a pity that Professor Remus was away at the moment, because he would know what material they had on Thomasina, although it had to be said that when Oliver did return his mind might still be attuned to first-folio Elizabethan plays or autographed verses from the Romantic period. It might take a day or two for him to adjust to Amberwood again, although when you did have his attention, you had it two hundred per cent, if Miss Weston knew what he meant.
Miss Weston said she knew exactly what he meant, and there was no particular rush and she could come back another day, but Godfrey would not hear of this. He looked out the keys to the cellars, and summoned the sulky Greg Foster to help carry things up the stairs.
‘I don’t mind carrying boxes,’ said Antonia, but this did not suit Godfrey’s idea of what was right, and he swept the unwilling Greg down to the cellars with them, issuing worried warnings to Antonia about the stairs being narrow and rickety, and the lighting a bit dim.
As she went down the steps, Antonia said, ‘There was a reference to an old asylum in the leaflets as well. Would you have anything on that, d’you think?’
‘Latchkill,’ said Godfrey, nodding. ‘Yes, there might be a few fragments. Sad old place, from all accounts, but those places usually were, weren’t they?’
‘What happened to it?’
‘It was demolished in the 1960s or early 1970s,’ said Godfrey. ‘I think there was some attempt to get it registered as a listed building, but in the end they said it was beyond restoring, and it went.’
‘How sad,’ said Antonia, trying not to feel disappointed.
The large black and white cat appeared from somewhere and elected to accompany them into the cellars, seating itself on a ledge and preparing to watch their exploits with an air of indulgent curiosity. Godfrey said they had better shoo him out in case he got shut in down here, and before doing so introduced him to Antonia as Raffles.
‘Raffles?’ Antonia’s mind went to the famous hotel, but Godfrey said, ‘He’s a very gentlemanly cat-burglar. He’s always perfectly polite about his crimes, but if you let him into the cottage, never leave out food.’
‘Oh, I see.’
Raffles took his unhurried leave, and Godfrey burrowed, white-rabbit-like into the packing cases, tea chests and boxes. In a surprisingly short space of time he identified a small carton marked ‘Forrester’, which contained four or five large but very battered manilla envelopes.
‘Newspaper cuttings, a few letters and financial statements. It looks as if there’s some stuff from Latchkill, as well. But there isn’t very much, I’m afraid. Would it be enough to give you a start?’
He looked so anxiously hopeful that Antonia, eyeing the envelopes hungrily, said it would give her more than a start.
‘But everything looks terrifyingly fragile. Would it be better if I had photocopies to work from? I’ll happily pay—’
But Godfrey would not dream of making a charge, and said that copies could be made right away. He would have thought of that himself if he had not been so woolly-minded about machines and technology. Professor Remus was urging him to learn how to operate a computer, which he was trying to avoid, although he supposed it would make the cataloguing a lot easier.
To her horror, Antonia heard herself say, ‘I’ve got a laptop. And I’ve done a bit of cataloguing work. I’m here for a couple of months, so if you wanted any help—’ At this point she managed to shut up in case she let it out that the cataloguing experience had been acquired by re-vamping the prison library, a project which had gone some way to saving her sanity in gaol.
But Godfrey was entranced at the offer, and said he would certainly take her up on it. How extremely kind of her. He had a party of visitors due after lunch, which would take up most of today, but perhaps Miss Weston could come back tomorrow and they could discuss it? Should they say half past three? Quire closed at four, so there were unlikely to be many visitors still around.
The laptop had been a gift from Jonathan. ‘Call it a coming-out present,’ he’d said, giving it to her after their lunch in London, and speaking in the offhand tone of a man who would be torn into pieces by wild horses galloping in different directions rather than admit to a generous action or an emotional response. Antonia had tried to accept the laptop in the spirit in which it had been given. She could not imagine what had prompted her to offer it and her own services to Godfrey Toy this morning.
It was already surprisingly comforting to see the squat, ugly cottage standing on the edge of the parkland. Antonia approached it buoyantly, because it already represented a degree of safety even with that patch of dark fear in the kitchen. But let’s not think about that. Let’s enjoy unlocking the front door and coming into the sitting room, turning up the heating against the damp autumnal day and seeing the glow of the electric fire reflected on the windowpanes. Recognizing the house’s scents–old timbers and the occasional drift of woodsmoke from the fireplace.