The Office of the Dead. Andrew Taylor
sometimes I helped with the accounts. I did most of the inventory when we sold the business.’
The music spiralled round and round above our heads. Just like me, it was trying to get out.
‘How interesting,’ Hudson said. ‘Well, if you really are looking for something local, in fact I know of a temporary part-time job which might fit the bill. It’s actually in the Close and to some extent you could choose the hours you work. But I don’t know whether it would suit you. Or indeed whether you would suit it.’ He smiled at me, taking the sting from the words. ‘I want someone to catalogue the Cathedral Library.’
I stared blankly at him. Still smiling, he stared back.
‘But I wouldn’t know where to start,’ I said. ‘Surely you’d need a librarian or a scholar or someone like that? It’s not the sort of thing I could do.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It’s obvious.’
‘Mrs Appleyard, what’s obvious to me is that it could suit us both if you were able to help. So it’s worth investigating, don’t you think?’
I shrugged, ungracious to the last.
‘Why don’t you have a look at the library now? It won’t take a moment.’
He was a persistent little man and in the end it was easier to do what he wanted than to refuse. He fetched a key from the vestry and then took me over to a door at the west end of the south choir aisle. He unlocked it and we stepped into a long vaulted room.
Suddenly it was much lighter. On the east wall, high above my head, were two great Norman windows filled with plain glass. A faded Turkish runner ran from the door along the length of the room’s long axis towards a pair of tables at the far end. On either side of the runner were wooden bookcases, seven feet high, dividing the room into bays. The temperature wasn’t much warmer than in the Cathedral itself, which meant it felt chilly even to someone inured to the draughts of the Dark Hostelry.
‘Originally the room would have been two chapels opening out of the south transept,’ Peter Hudson said. ‘It was converted into a library for the Cathedral in the eighteen-seventies. No one knows for sure, but we think there must be at least nine or ten thousand books here, possibly more.’
We walked the length of the room. I looked at the rank after rank of spines, most vertical, a few horizontal, bound in leather, bound in cloth. The air smelled of dust and dead paper. I already knew I didn’t have the training to do a job like this and probably not the aptitude either. But what I saw now was the sheer physical immensity of it.
One night at Hillgard House, Janet and I had sneaked out of our dormitory, slipped down the stairs and out of a side door. The sky was clear. We were in the middle of the country and in any case there was a blackout because it was wartime. We lay on our backs on the lawn, feeling the dew soaking through our nightdresses, and stared up at the summer sky.
‘How many stars are there?’ Janet murmured.
And I’d said, ‘You could never count them.’
Terror had risen in me, a sort of awe. Facing all those books in the Cathedral Library I felt the same awe, only once removed from panic. Like the night sky, the library was too big. It contained too many things. I just wasn’t on the right scale for it.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t think this will work.’
‘Let’s sit down and talk about it,’ Hudson suggested.
At the end of the room were two large tables and an ill-assorted collection of what looked like retired dining chairs. Behind the tables was a cupboard built along the length of the wall. Hudson pulled out one of the chairs and dusted it with his handkerchief. I sat down.
‘It’s such a big job, and anyway I wouldn’t know how to do it. I expect a lot of the books are valuable. I could damage them.’
He dusted another chair and sat down with a sigh of relief. Clasping his hands on the table, he smiled at me. ‘Let me tell you what the job would entail before you make up your mind.’
‘Aren’t there medieval manuscripts? I wouldn’t have the first idea how to read them.’
‘The Cathedral does possess a few medieval manuscripts and early printed books. But they’re not here. They’re either under lock and key in the Treasury or they’re on loan to Cambridge University Library or the British Museum. Nothing to worry about there.’
‘If you say so.’
‘You see, this library is a relatively recent affair. What happened was this – in the nineteenth century Dean Pellew left the Cathedral his books, about twelve hundred volumes. That’s the nucleus of the collection. He also left us a sum of money as an endowment. So the chapter has a separate library fund which is there for buying new books and which can also be used for paying an assistant to manage the day-to-day work of the library. When the endowment was set up it was arranged that one of the canons should be the librarian and oversee the running of it. My immediate predecessor took over in 1931. He died in office last year so he had a long run for his money. But he didn’t do much with the library.’ Hudson smiled at me. ‘And for the last ten years of his life, I doubt if he gave it a thought. Somehow it came to be understood that Cathedral librarian was one of those honorary posts. We’ve got enough of those on the Foundation, heaven knows. And then I took over.’
‘Janet said there’s a possibility the books might be given to the Theological College Library.’
He nodded. ‘The dean and chapter have decided to close the Cathedral Library. It’s not been formally announced yet but it’s an open secret. The legal position’s rather complicated – it’s a question of diverting the endowment to something else relating to the Cathedral. And then there are the books, which is where you would come in. They’re hardly ever used here, and frankly it’s a waste of space having them here.’
‘I wouldn’t have thought space was a problem in this building.’
‘You’d be surprised. It’s our duty to make the best use of our resources we can. But to go back to the books. One possibility is that we give some or all of them to another library, and yes, perhaps the one at the Theological College might be appropriate.’
I noticed he did not mention the possibility that the Theological College might close.
‘Or we may sell some or all of them. But we can’t really decide what to do until we know what we’ve got. There’s never been a complete catalogue, you see.’ He stood up and lifted down a heavy foolscap volume from a shelf. He blew off the dust and placed it on the table. ‘Dean Pellew’s original collection is listed in here. Just authors and titles, nothing more, and I’d be surprised if we’ve still got them all. And then over the years there’ve been one or two half-hearted attempts to record acquisitions as they were made. Some of them are in here.’ He tapped the book. ‘Others are in the filing cabinet by the door.’
Hudson sat down again. He took out a pipe, peered into its bowl and then put it back in his pocket. I wondered what he would pay me and whether it would be enough to allow me to stay on in Rosington. He was going bald on top. Next I wondered whether he and his wife were fond of each other, and what they were like when they were alone together. Her name was June. She was one of the few ladies in the Close who not only recognized me but said hello when we met.
‘Couldn’t you get someone from a bookshop to look at the books?’
‘We could. They would certainly do a valuation or us, I imagine. But we don’t even know if we want to sell them yet. And if we wanted a catalogue, we’d have to pay them to do it.’ He hesitated, and added, ‘There’s another reason why I’d like the books catalogued before we make up our minds what to do with them. There are a few oddities in the library. I’d like a chance to weed them out.’
‘What do you mean exactly?’
‘Apparently my predecessor found a copy of Mrs Beeton’s Household