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.