muniment room. It struck him as he began the hazardous climb that he was at a slight disadvantage in this proposed interview. He had a strong curiosity about Dr Sutch, but there was no reason to suppose that Dr Sutch had the slightest curiosity about him. No doubt the learned man would be civil. Yet he might perfectly well feel that here was merely a troublesome interruption of his dedicated task at Treskinnick.
The North Tower being a very massive affair, the chamber immediately under its roof was as large as a modest banqueting hall. Abundant as were the accumulated treasures of the Digitts in a paper and ink way (whether in bound volumes and letter-books or in dispersed bundles either trussed up in string or merely flapping around) there was tolerable space to move about in. The deer, foxes, badgers and otters – and also numerous plaster-and-paint versions of improbable-looking fish – had all been moved to one half of the room, and had an odd appearance of patiently awaiting attention they weren’t going to get. At the other end the various bits and pieces of nautical equipment had been piled up, one thing on top of another, in a higgledy-piggledy fashion.
Quite a lot of muscular effort must have been involved, and Charles wondered who had provided it. He couldn’t imagine Archie doing much in that line, or Ludlow being at all readily persuaded to muck in. A species of corvée levied around the estate was no doubt the answer. Certainly in one way or another the decks had been cleared for Dr Sutch. Down the length of the room two long trestle tables had been set up, and on these were piles of paper presumably in process of being set in order. There were also a couple of large steel filing-cabinets which must have been hoisted to their present elevation at considerable risk to life and limb.
All in all, Dr Sutch’s present surroundings didn’t much suggest the dignity of scholarship; nevertheless Dr Sutch received his visitor with all the aplomb of the Director of the British Museum or Bodley’s Librarian in the University of Oxford proposing to do the honours of his institution to one of the Crowned Heads of Europe.
‘Mr Charles Digitt?’ Dr Sutch asked with a grave bow.
‘Yes, I’m Charles Digitt. How do you do?’
‘How do you do?’ Dr Sutch shook hands. ‘May I venture to wish you many happy returns of the day?’
‘Oh, thank you very much.’ Charles had quite forgotten that it was his birthday, and it had been an occasion of which his kinsfolk at Treskinnick must have been culpably incognizant. ‘You must be quite a chronologist,’ he added rather feebly.
‘A facility in committing dates to memory is a useful, if humble, endowment to one in my walk of life, Mr Digitt. It enables me, for instance, to remind you that the anniversary of your father’s death falls the day after tomorrow. Lord Rupert would then be fifty-seven, had he been spared to us. A life most unhappily cut short in its prime.’
‘Yes, quite.’ Charles didn’t altogether like this facile command of the family annals, although these particular instances of it were harmless enough. ‘How is the hunt for Adrian getting on, Dr Sutch?’
‘We cannot, things being as they are’ – and Dr Sutch gestured comprehensively round the muniment room – ‘expect any very immediate success. But meanwhile, I am getting my bearings in a general way. It is curious to reflect that on his deathbed Adrian Digitt, as a devout Anglican, may have been distressed by the news of Dr Pusey’s condemnation and suspension at Oxford following upon his sermon on the Holy Eucharist. That was preached, you will recall, on the 14th of May. It was an interesting year, seeing both the publication of Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon and the foundation of The Economist by James Wilson. Yet who is to say what was that year’s most important event? It saw, too, the beginning of Sir Richard Owen’s Comparative Anatomy and Physiology of
The North Tower being a very massive affair, the chamber immediately under its roof was as large as a modest banqueting hall. Abundant as were the accumulated treasures of the Digitts in a paper and ink way (whether in bound volumes and letter-books or in dispersed bundles either trussed up in string or merely flapping around) there was tolerable space to move about in. The deer, foxes, badgers and otters – and also numerous plaster-and-paint versions of improbable-looking fish – had all been moved to one half of the room, and had an odd appearance of patiently awaiting attention they weren’t going to get. At the other end the various bits and pieces of nautical equipment had been piled up, one thing on top of another, in a higgledy-piggledy fashion.
Quite a lot of muscular effort must have been involved, and Charles wondered who had provided it. He couldn’t imagine Archie doing much in that line, or Ludlow being at all readily persuaded to muck in. A species of corvée levied around the estate was no doubt the answer. Certainly in one way or another the decks had been cleared for Dr Sutch. Down the length of the room two long trestle tables had been set up, and on these were piles of paper presumably in process of being set in order. There were also a couple of large steel filing-cabinets which must have been hoisted to their present elevation at considerable risk to life and limb.
All in all, Dr Sutch’s present surroundings didn’t much suggest the dignity of scholarship; nevertheless Dr Sutch received his visitor with all the aplomb of the Director of the British Museum or Bodley’s Librarian in the University of Oxford proposing to do the honours of his institution to one of the Crowned Heads of Europe.
‘Mr Charles Digitt?’ Dr Sutch asked with a grave bow.
‘Yes, I’m Charles Digitt. How do you do?’
‘How do you do?’ Dr Sutch shook hands. ‘May I venture to wish you many happy returns of the day?’
‘Oh, thank you very much.’ Charles had quite forgotten that it was his birthday, and it had been an occasion of which his kinsfolk at Treskinnick must have been culpably incognizant. ‘You must be quite a chronologist,’ he added rather feebly.
‘A facility in committing dates to memory is a useful, if humble, endowment to one in my walk of life, Mr Digitt. It enables me, for instance, to remind you that the anniversary of your father’s death falls the day after tomorrow. Lord Rupert would then be fifty-seven, had he been spared to us. A life most unhappily cut short in its prime.’
‘Yes, quite.’ Charles didn’t altogether like this facile command of the family annals, although these particular instances of it were harmless enough. ‘How is the hunt for Adrian getting on, Dr Sutch?’
‘We cannot, things being as they are’ – and Dr Sutch gestured comprehensively round the muniment room – ‘expect any very immediate success. But meanwhile, I am getting my bearings in a general way. It is curious to reflect that on his deathbed Adrian Digitt, as a devout Anglican, may have been distressed by the news of Dr Pusey’s condemnation and suspension at Oxford following upon his sermon on the Holy Eucharist. That was preached, you will recall, on the 14th of May. It was an interesting year, seeing both the publication of Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon and the foundation of The Economist by James Wilson. Yet who is to say what was that year’s most important event? It saw, too, the beginning of Sir Richard Owen’s Comparative Anatomy and Physiology of
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