“Because Arthur and I think another rector of St. Cuthbert’s, Henry Albert Naylor, took the manuscript on the night of the bombing. Don’t you think it’s a pretty big coincidence that the last two people who saw that manuscript were both rectors of St. Cuthbert’s?”
“I’d completely forgotten that Gladwyn held the St. Cuthbert’s living,” said Arthur, shaking his head. There seemed no end to what Bethany could discover that had escaped his notice. And of course his grandfather had also been rector of St. Cuthbert’s. Arthur wondered if he, too, had been somehow connected to the manuscript.
“But that’s not all,” said Bethany. “In 1872, Gladwyn became bishop and eventually he rebuilt the residences in the precincts that were damaged in the Civil War and then get this, he moved out of the bishop’s palace so it could be renovated and into the ‘modest cottage,’ as the book describes it, at Number Four, St. Martin’s Close. And he settled in. He never moved back because he liked being so close to the cathedral. And then listen to this. It’s from a letter written after his death by one of his fellow canons.
Robert Gladwyn, in addition to his many good works, was a gracious host, a renowned wit, and a man of keen intellect. He could converse on almost any topic and outspar his opponent in any controversy. His knowledge of Barchester, its cathedral, and the outlying parishes of Barsetshire was encyclopaedic and his visitor’s guide to the cathedral will no doubt be read for generations to come. He was a regular fixture in the cathedral library, where he was known to read for hours on end at a worn and gouged table that he preferred to more modern furnishings.
“That’s my table,” said Arthur. “That bit is one of the things that made me feel connected to Gladwyn.” Bethany continued.
But the true source of his erudition was said to come from his personal library of some thousand volumes, which he kept in his own lodgings and which he generously shared with those of the cathedral community who wished to borrow books. Many of these volumes he left to the cathedral at the time of his death, but some remained in his lodgings, where he established a library for future residents.
Bethany stopped reading and set the book on the table.
“Am I missing something?” said Arthur.
“Usually,” said David.
“Tell him the rest, Oscar,” said Bethany.
“Ah, so you and Oscar have been working the problem without me.”
“Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist. Oscar knew where to find the records of the choirboys, so I figured he’d know where to find the records of who else lived at Number Four, St. Martin’s Close.”
“And who else lived at Number Four, St. Martin’s Close?” asked Arthur.
“Henry Albert Naylor,” said Oscar.
Arthur gave a low whistle.
“Naylor,” said Bethany, “who may have stolen the manuscript on the night of the bombing, lived in a house with a private library established by Gladwyn, the last man we know examined the manuscript. What better place to squirrel away a book?”
“We should look,” said Arthur excitedly. “Who lives there now?”
“Once again the rector of St. Cuthbert’s,” said Oscar.
“And who is the rector of St. Cuthbert’s?” said David.
“The precentor,” said Oscar.
“The precentor,” said Arthur, expelling a breath.
“The precentor,” said Bethany. “And I have an idea how we can swim into the salmon’s library.”
—
The BBs broke up early because Oscar wanted to get back to the hospital and check on his mother. Arthur announced his intention to go to Compline, and was pleased when Bethany took his arm and walked with him to the cathedral. They composed two-thirds of the worshippers, the other being Canon Dale, whose best singing days were some decades behind him. Bethany had never been to Compline, but she read music well and Arthur was surprised to find her the best singer of the three of them by some margin.
“That’s a lovely service,” she said after Canon Dale had slipped away to his lodgings and she and Arthur sat alone in the chapel in the light of the dying candles. “I understand why you want to end your days like this.”
“I find it very comforting,” said Arthur.
“Even though you believe all those beautiful prayers fall on deaf ears?”
“Just because I don’t believe in God doesn’t mean that I don’t want to. And it doesn’t mean I can’t find comfort in routine and in connecting myself through those words and this space to a hundred generations who have come before me here.”
“That’s a nice thought,” said Bethany. They sat in silence for several minutes, until one of the candles flickered out. “Will you walk me home?”
“Gladly,” said Arthur. He blew out the remaining candles, and they made their way through the dimness of the cathedral out into a cool night. The spire stood in silhouette against the rising moon and only a few lights glowed in the windows of the houses in the close.
“I didn’t tell David and Oscar about the Grail,” said Bethany as they walked under the archway that led them into the High Street. “That’s just between you and me.”
“I appreciate that. I don’t know why my grandfather wanted me to keep the Grail search a secret, but I’d like to respect that wish as much as I can—at least for now.”
“I was looking at the marginalia in the Barchester Breviary today,” said Bethany. “If Barchester has a secret treasure, like the Holy Grail, for instance, it makes sense for it to be described in a coded manuscript, and it makes sense for that manuscript to be hidden by someone in authority.”
“I just hope the missing book really is a coded manuscript and not just a Psalter.”
“Have faith, Arthur,” said Bethany. They walked on in silence for a few minutes.
“Do you think I’m an antisocial recluse?” asked Arthur as they turned the corner into the lane leading to Bethany’s lodgings.
“I think you live in a world of books more than in a world of people. But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. And we still love you.”
“We?”
“Your friends, Arthur. And yes, I count myself in that number.”
“Bethany, would you . . . that is, I wonder if you might . . .”
“Spit it out, Arthur, before I change my mind about just how socially awkward you are.”
“I was thinking of visiting Mrs. Dimsdale tomorrow afternoon, and I wondered if you would go with me.”
“I thought you were busy tomorrow afternoon.”
“Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Gwyn said this morning that a man was coming up from Sotheby’s to look at the manuscripts tomorrow afternoon and that you were going to show him around.”
“Blast!” said Arthur. “I completely forgot. What a lovely prospect, showing the manuscripts to the man who will eviscerate the Barchester Cathedral Library.”
“Do you really think they’ll sell them?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Gwyn tell you about the north transept?”
“Yes,” said Arthur.