‘I’m loosely attached. I recruit occasionally. This way please.’
The place was huge. The echoing central Hall was part of the original building with typical medieval narrow windows. At the far end, an ornate oak staircase with ten shallow steps and a broad half landing branched off left and right to a gallery running round all four sides of the hall.
Various rooms opened off this gallery. An entire suite seemed to be devoted to costumes and equipment. People trotted busily with armfuls of cloth and mouthfuls of pins. Garments in varying stages of completion hung from hangers or from tailor’s dummies. The rooms were bright, sunny, and full of chatter.
‘We do a lot of work for film and television,’ explained Mrs Enderby, in charge of Wardrobe. She was small and round, with a sweet smile. ‘Sometimes they only want research and we send them details of appropriate costumes and materials, but sometimes we get to make them too. This one, for instance, is for an historical adaptation of the life of Charles II and the Restoration. Lots of bosoms and sex obviously, but I’ve always thought Charles to be a much underrated monarch. This dress is for Nell Gwynn in her “orange” period and that one for the French strumpet, Louise de Kérouaille.’
‘It’s lovely,’ I said softly, carefully not touching the material. ‘The detail is superb. Sadly, it’s a bit modern for me.’
‘Dr Maxwell is Ancient History,’ said Mrs De Winter. Apologetically, I thought.
‘Oh dear,’ sighed Mrs Enderby. ‘Well, it’s not all bad news, I suppose. There’ll be drapery and togas and tunics, of course, but even so …’ She tailed off. I had obviously disappointed her.
From there, we moved next door to Professor Rapson, in charge of Research and Development. He was so typically the eccentric professor that initially I suspected a bit of a wind-up. Super-tall and super-thin, with a shock of Einstein hair, his big beaky nose reminded me of the front end of a destroyer. And he had no eyebrows, which should have been a bit of clue really; but he smiled kindly and invited us in for a closer look at his cluttered kingdom. I caught a tantalising glimpse of a buried desk, books everywhere, and, further on, a laboratory-type set up.
‘Dr Maxwell hasn’t had her interview yet,’ said Mrs De Winter in rather a warning tone of voice.
‘Oh, oh, right, yes, no, I see,’ he said, letting go of my elbow. ‘Well, this is what I tend to think of as “practical” history, my dear. The secret of Greek Fire? We’re on it. How did a Roman chariot handle? We’ll build you one and you can find out for yourself. What range does a trebuchet have? Exactly how far can you fling a dead cow? How long does it take to pull someone’s brains out through their nose? Any questions like that then you come to me and we’ll find your answers for you! That’s what we do!’
One of his expansively waving arms caught a beaker of something murky that could easily have been embalming fluid, the Elixir of Life, or Socrates’ hemlock and knocked it off the workbench to shatter on the floor. Everyone stepped back. The liquid bubbled, hissed, and looked as if it was eating through the floor. I could see many other such damp patches.
‘Oh, my goodness! Jamie! Jamie! Jamie, my boy, just nip downstairs, will you? My compliments to Dr Dowson and tell him it’s coming through his ceiling again!’
A young lad nodded amiably, got up from his workbench, and threaded his way through the tangle of half-completed models, unidentifiable equipment, tottering piles of books, and smudged whiteboards. He grinned at me as he passed. In fact, they all seemed a very friendly bunch. The only slightly odd thing was Mrs De Winter preceding every introduction with the warning that I hadn’t had the interview yet. People smiled and shook hands but nowhere did I get to venture beyond the doorway.
I met Mrs Mack who presided over the kitchens. Meals, she informed me, were available twenty-four hours a day. I tried to think why an historical establishment would keep such hours but failed. Not that I was complaining. I can eat twenty-four hours a day, no problem.
The bar and lounge next door were nearly the same size as the dining room, showing an interesting grasp of priorities. Everything was shabby with heavy use and lack of money, but the bar particularly so.
Further down the same corridor, a small shop sold paperbacks, chocolate, toiletries, and other essential items.