Spider Light(83)
It was worth risking Oliver’s annoyance, because when he handed the folder to her, she smiled and it was the genuine smile that Godfrey had hoped to see. Because he loved seeing her smile like that, he told her about the TV request for the cookbook, and read out a recipe for Mumbled Rabbit, which explained that in order to properly mumble your rabbit, you had first to chop it very finely, and then stir in a bundle of sweet herbs.
She enjoyed the recipe; she said he had cheered up her morning, and promised to let him know how the Latchkill papers turned out. After she left, Godfrey happily wrote to the BBC about the cookbook, describing it in sufficient detail to whet their appetites, but not actually giving away any of the recipes. This done, he felt that he could tackle Lord Byron after all, so he summoned Greg Foster to help him, because he could never remember how you found files on the computer.
Carrying the folder back to Charity Cottage, Antonia was aware that she was smiling inwardly at the prospect of entering Daniel Glass’s world again. It was like travelling to the comfortable house of an old and dear friend, and realizing you were almost there.
But spread out on the gateleg table, the papers Godfrey Toy had found did not look as informative as the first batch; they looked to be mostly elderly account books.
A real historian would have said this was primary source stuff and the basis of good research, but Antonia could not get much of a buzz from household bills and the buying of oatmeal (Freda Prout and her seven a.m. porridge again), or scrag-end of mutton and haricot beans.
She paused over what appeared to be a household inventory, clipped to a note in rather laboured writing, that said, ‘Dear Miss Bryony, here is the listing for the things I told you of. Peaches in brandy, preserved pears, goose-liver paté, Camembert cheese and Brie.’ This last had been originally spelled Bree, and then crossed out.
‘Also there were some pickled walnuts and a bottle of French brandy, so you will see what I mean when I say that young madam was playing fast and loose with my stores,’ finished the note, and signed itself, ‘Respectfully yours, C. Minching (Mrs)’.
The note was brittle and faded, and it gave Antonia a feeling of reaching out to touch a fragment of the past. She wondered who among Amberwood’s cast of characters might have been having illicit orgies on preserved peaches and pickled walnuts, and passed on to a list of medical supplies. From the look of this, Freda Prout had held to her belief in hyoscine as a sedative, but there was also a fragment of what looked like some case notes, recording several doses of chloroform administered to a patient resident in one of the private rooms.
…was confused and only semi-conscious. Placed in Room 22.
5.00 a.m.
Patient became aware of surroundings, and displayed extreme agitation. Bromide administered.
Thursday 2nd October
2.00 p.m.
Patient alternating between highly excitable state verging on hysteria and a deep melancholy.
4.00 p.m.
Bromide again administered–patient threw it across the room. (Dora Scullion summoned to sweep up broken glass and mop floor with carbolic and baking soda.)
Memorandum to Night Staff
Apomorphine mixed with hyoscine to be administered to this patient if necessary. All questions relating to treatment are to be referred to Matron not to Dr Glass, who will not, for the moment, have the care of this patient.
Signed: F. Prout (Matron)
Monday 6th October
Patient in Room 22 melancholic and withdrawn. When nurses or visitors present, she crouches in corner of the room, with her eyes shut. Later observed lying on her left side on the floor, pressing her head against the ground, and scrabbling at the floor with her hands.
Conclusion is that the patient is afraid of the light above the ground. To be treated with this in mind.
And that, infuriatingly, was all there was. Antonia read it several times, as if doing so might cause the rest of the notes to materialize.
Afraid of the light above the ground. Or–afraid of the vast and threatening open spaces that exist above the ground? Agoraphobia? Was that what had afflicted this unknown patient? Was there a connection to Charity Cottage–had it been an acute level of agoraphobia that had left that frightened imprint there? The same person? If so, it was no wonder Antonia was so deeply affected by it.
She replaced the photocopied sheets in the folder. What next? Oliver Remus had probably put her on the banned list as far as Quire’s intriguing cellars went, but there was no reason why she could not see what the local libraries had in the way of archived material.
Antonia had to make a conscious effort to leave the cottage for the journey into Amberwood Magna and the library. In the end, she took Daniel with her, and got through the short drive by imagining how he would have reacted to the volume of traffic on today’s roads. Would he have found it exhilarating or merely noisy? At least he would not have known what a terrible driver she was.
The library was a nice old Victorian building in a corner of the little market town’s square, and once inside Antonia felt safer. The first floor had been made into a small coffee shop. She thought she would make notes until lunchtime, and then study them over coffee and a sandwich.
This part of Cheshire seemed to have quite a lot of interesting snippets of history. Antonia went carefully through all the indexes, but the only thing vaguely connected to Quire House or Latchkill was a listing for some church records of St Michael’s Church, spanning the period between 1883 and 1899. Worth a look? Yes, 1899 had been the date on Daniel’s angry letters to Latchkill’s matron. Antonia asked for the records at the librarian’s desk.