“I haven’t been up here in years,” said Arthur.
“So, anyway,” said Bethany, taking Arthur by the hand, “I remember seeing something the other day.” She pulled him down the aisle and through a low curtained doorway to the left of the altar and into the sacristy, little more than a closet. Arthur tried not to think what it felt like to be holding hands with Bethany, and instead to wonder what she wanted to show him, but he felt a pang of disappointment when she dropped his hand.
“What is it?” said Arthur. “Why are we in here?”
“That,” said Bethany, pointing to the wall above Arthur’s head.
He turned to see a painted wooden board. At the top it read: Rectors of St. Cuthbert’s. “There,” said Bethany, pointing toward the bottom of the board, “just above Charles Edward Harding. That’s our man: Henry Albert Naylor, 1937–1946. That must be the man in the gray robe. The question is, where did Mr. Naylor hide the book?”
But Arthur didn’t hear her. While Bethany stood waiting for his response, brushing her hair out of her face, Arthur stared at the board on the wall and the name just below Henry Albert Naylor. Charles Edward Harding had been rector of St. Cuthbert’s from 1946 to 1980. Charles Edward Harding was Arthur’s grandfather. The man who had told Arthur that Barchester was the resting place of the Holy Grail had succeeded Henry Albert Naylor, the last man seen with the missing manuscript. Arthur had known, as a child, that his grandfather was a retired clergyman, but he had never asked for, nor had his grandfather ever offered, details of his service. But now it seemed the Holy Grail might be linked to the Book of Ewolda; the Book of Ewolda was linked to Henry Albert Naylor; and Henry Albert Naylor was linked to Arthur’s grandfather. Had his grandfather seen the missing manuscript? Did he know what secrets it contained? And did those secrets lead him to believe the Grail was in Barchester and to send his grandson looking for it?
“Arthur! Ground control to Major Prescott. Can you hear me?”
“Yes, sorry,” said Arthur. “My mind wandered for a moment.”
“Wandered,” said Bethany. “It took a hike.”
Arthur thought for an instant about telling Bethany that his grandfather’s name was on the board, but even though they were cohorts in the search for the Book of Ewolda, he still didn’t want her knowing his suspicions about the Grail. For now, he would, as his grandfather had asked, keep the Grail and anything not directly pertaining to the search for the manuscript secret.
“Sorry, what were you asking?” said Arthur.
“I was asking where Mr. Naylor hid your precious manuscript.”
“That,” said Arthur, “is a very good question.”
—
“I’m afraid I’ve some . . . difficult news, Arthur,” said Gwyn sternly as the two were just passing into the water meadows the following Tuesday morning.
“The cathedral is to be turned into flats,” said Arthur. “And the manuscript collection used for wallpaper.”
“It’s not quite to that point yet,” said the dean. “This is more to do with you personally. One of the canons has insisted that we get the new guidebook to the designers by the end of the month. He seems to think we are missing out on tourist dollars by not having an up-to-date guide. So that means I really must insist that you deliver the text to me by the end of next week.”
“It’s the precentor, isn’t it?”
“It doesn’t matter who it is,” said Gwyn, “I agree. It must get done.”
“Very well,” said Arthur. “I may well be on the way to discovering the story of our founder, but if you insist on a half-written guide I shall endeavor to provide it.”
“Arthur, you are always on the verge of discovering the story of our founder. And you had better do more than endeavor. The chapter are insistent that if the manuscript is not delivered they will pass the assignment to someone else and demand the advance back.”
“Who else could do it?” said Arthur. “No one else could do it.”
“I’m sure Oscar could be persuaded to step in,” said Gwyn.
“Oscar would never do that to me.”
“He wouldn’t be doing anything to you, but he might do something for me.”
“Oh, my Lord in heaven.”
“Please don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Arthur.”
“I didn’t take his name in vain—only his address.”
—
“Nothing!” said Bethany as Arthur stepped into the library.
“Good afternoon to you, too,” said Arthur. Bethany’s equipment stood idle, there was no manuscript on her stand awaiting digitization, and if her unkempt hair was any sign, as Arthur had come to suspect that it was, she was extremely frustrated. Arthur could not judge her mood by her eyes, as these remained hidden behind the screen of her laptop.
“I took a break from work to see if I could find out anything about Henry Albert Naylor. I’ve been searching for two hours and I’ve got nothing. No obituary, no publications. It’s like this guy was intentionally trying to avoid having a digital footprint.”
“Yes, a lot of people did that in 1946,” said Arthur.
“Oh, ha-ha-ha,” said Bethany. “You’ve no idea how frustrating it is when you can’t find what you’re looking for.”
Arthur could not prevent himself from laughing out loud. “I’ve no idea? Really? I’ve been trying for years to find out something about St. Ewolda, and you’ve given up after two hours? Never was a generation so addicted to instant gratification.”
“My generation is not that removed from yours, Arthur,” said Bethany, closing her laptop and leaning back in her chair. “Just because you act like you’re from the same generation as Henry Albert Naylor doesn’t make it true. And yes, I understand that research is usually fruitless and that sometimes you never find what you’re looking for. I’m not an idiot and I’m not a brat, I’m just, at this moment, annoyed because I wanted to impress you and now I can’t.”
“I keep doing that, don’t I?” said Arthur.
“What, being an ass?”
“Something like that. I’m sorry. And I certainly understand the frustration of the researcher, but I think this is one case in which I can help you out.” He walked across the library to Oscar’s desk and ran his finger along a group of thick volumes, bound in black cloth, that filled two shelves behind Oscar’s chair. He pulled out one of these tomes and opened it on the desk. As soon as the pages fell open a musty smell filled the air. Arthur usually paused to savor this smell, slightly different for every book, but today he flipped quickly through the pages until he found what he was looking for. “Here you are,” he said. “Henry Albert Naylor. I guess today books win.”
“You like that, don’t you?” said Bethany crossing the room to see the book that Arthur now turned around for her. “Lecturing and winning, the two favorite occupations of Mr. Arthur Prescott. So what is this?”
“Crockford’s Clerical Directory for 1941,” said Arthur. “It’s a list of all the clergymen in the U.K. with short biographies.”