There were three emails in Michael’s in-box on Monday morning. The first was from Owen Bracegirdle in the History Faculty, responding to Michael’s request for help in tracing Deadlight Hall’s past.
‘A good source would be Land Registration documents and Searches or Transfers of Title, at the Rural Council Offices,’ wrote Owen. ‘They’re publicly accessible documents, and it’s a legitimate request to look at them – particularly if the place is being chopped into flats and sold off piecemeal. Tell me you aren’t chasing spooks again – no, on second thoughts, don’t tell me that at all, because I love a good mystery, and you and Nell do seem to get into such intriguing situations.’
Michael replied suitably to Owen, then consulted his diary, and found that apart from the weekly meeting with his faculty head, he was free until late afternoon. This meant he could spend most of the morning tracing Deadlight Hall’s past. Professor Rosendale would certainly not be expecting him to spend so much time delving into the subject for him, but Michael was curious. There was something strange about the place, and he wanted to find out more. If he could uncover anything that would help or reassure the professor, all to the good.
The next email was from the photographer, who had called the previous day to take the publicity photographs of Wilberforce for the new book.
Hi Michael
Great to meet you yesterday – just love the shots we got of your fantastic rooms.
I’m sure we can get the camera stand and the light meter repaired – again, please forget about paying for that, I’ve got oodles of insurance, and if I haven’t your publishers will probably stump up the dosh, although don’t tell them I said that.
I hope Wilberforce’s tail hasn’t suffered too badly. My word, he can yowl when he’s annoyed, can’t he? And I hope you can get the curtains mended and the cushion re-stuffed.
I’ll come back early next week to photograph him properly. It would be good if you can actually get him to sit down this time. Have you thought about trank pills – most vets do them. I’m sure they’d help.
Best,
Rafe
The third email was from Michael’s editor, who was hoping to hear that the photographer had got some fabulous shots of Wilberforce.
Michael would be pleased to hear they were going to set up a separate fan page for Wilberforce on their website, inviting the cat’s many young fans to write in. Perhaps Michael might dash off a few words telling the eager young readers a little about Wilberforce’s background? A sort of potted biog, only not too potted. Around 750 words would be good. There was no real rush, but it would be nice if they could have it by midweek.
Michael sent a polite note to the photographer, and then, ignoring the claims of several essays on the metaphysical poets which were waiting for his critical attention, sat down to write a background for the fictional Wilberforce. In the event, he rather enjoyed creating several colourful ancestors, which included various piratical gentlemen, a fruity Thespian personage whom family legend credited with having written most of Shakespeare’s plays, and a Tower of London cat who had unintentionally foiled a Gunpowder Plot shortly before Guy Fawkes’ famous conspiracy. (‘And Master Wilberforce forgot to bring the matches, so the City of London and the King were saved.’)