To Say Nothing of the Dog

And I found it, I thought, and thought it had been blown there by concussion.

“I went after it,” she said, digging matter-of-factly through tissue paper, “but the rafters were coming down, so I ran back up the nave, and I saw that the organ was on fire, it was all on fire — the woodwork and the choir and the sanctuary — that beautiful, beautiful cathedral — and I couldn’t save any of it. I didn’t think, I just grabbed the nearest thing I could find, and ran for the net, spilling chrysanthemums and water everywhere.” She took out a wad of tissue paper and unwrapped a bronze candlestick. “That’s why there’s only one.”

Mr. Dunworthy had said she was absolutely fearless, and she must have been, darting back and forth between crashing beams and falling incendiaries, the net opening on who-knows-what and no guarantee it would stay open, no guarantee the roof wouldn’t fall in. I looked at her in admiration.

“Ned,” she ordered, “bring me that painting. The one with the bedspread over it.”

I did, and she pulled the bedspread off a painting of Christ with the lost lamb in his arms. Verity, standing beside me, clasped my hand.

“The rest of the things are over there,” Mrs. Bittner said. “Under the plastic.”

And they were. The embroidered altar cloth from the Smiths’ Chapel. An engraved pewter chalice. A Sixteenth-Century wooden chest. A small statue of St. Michael. A mediaeval enameled pyx. A silver candelabrum with the candles still in it. A misericord carved with one of the Seven Works of Mercy. The capper’s pall. A Georgian altar plate. And the wooden cross from the Girdlers’ Chapel, with the image of a child kneeling at the foot of it.

All the treasures of Coventry Cathedral.

“Harris said he thought it was a very fine maze, so far as he was a judge; and we agreed that we would try to get George to go into it, on our way back.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Verity was the first one to recover. “It’s forty-five minutes till the consecration,” she said, looking at her watch… “We’ll never make it.”

“We’ll make it,” I said, grabbing up the handheld.

I rang up Mr. Dunworthy. “We’ve got it,” I said. “We need you to get us back to Oxford. Can you send a heli?”

“Princess Victoria’s attending the consecration,” he said, which didn’t seem to be an answer to my question.

“Security measures,” Verity explained. “No helis, aircraft, or zoomers allowed in the vicinity.”

“Can you arrange ground transport then?” I asked Mr. Dunworthy.

“The tube’s faster than any ground transport that we can send,” he said. “Why not just bring it on the tube?”

“We can’t,” I said. “We need at least,” I looked over at the treasures, which Verity was already carting down the attic stairs, “270 to three hundred cubic feet of transport space.”

“For the bishop’s bird stump?” he said. “It hasn’t grown, has it?”

“I’ll explain when I get there,” I said. I gave him Mrs. Bittner’s address. “Have a crew waiting for us when we get there,” I said. “Don’t let the consecration begin till we arrive. Is Finch there?”

“No, he’s over at the cathedral,” Mr. Dunworthy said.

“Tell him to stall,” I said. “And don’t let Lady Schrapnell find out about this if you can help it. Ring me back as soon as you’ve arranged for transport.”

I stuck the handheld in my blazer pocket, picked up the bishop’s bird stump, and started down the stairs with it. The handheld rang.

“Ned,” Lady Schrapnell said. “Where have you been? The consecration’s in less than three-quarters of an hour!”

“I know,” I said. “We’re coming as fast as we can, but we need transport. Can you arrange for a lorry? Or tube transport?”

“Tube transport is only for cargo,” she said. “I don’t want you to let the bishop’s bird stump out of your sight for one second. It’s been lost once. I don’t want it lost again.”

“Neither do I,” I said and rang off.

I picked up the bishop’s bird stump again. The handheld rang.

It was Mr. Dunworthy. “You will not believe what that woman wants us to do! She wants you to take the bishop’s bird stump to the nearest net and take it back in time to two days ago so it can be cleaned and polished before the consecration.”

“Did you tell her that’s impossible, that objects can’t be in two places at the same time?”

“Of course I told her, and she said—”

“ ‘Laws are made to be broken,’ ” I said. “I know. Are you sending us a lorry?”

“There’s not a single lorry in Coventry. Lady Schrapnell recruited every single one in four counties for the consecration. Carruthers is ringing up car and solar rental agencies.”

“But we’ve got to have three hundred cubic feet,” I said. “Can’t you send a lorry from Oxford?”

“Princess Victoria,” he said. “It would take hours to get there.”

“Because of all the traffic,” Verity interpreted.

“If there’s too much traffic for a lorry to get to us, how are we supposed to get to the cathedral?”

“Everyone will be at the cathedral by the time you arrive. Oh, good,” he said to someone else. “Carruthers has got hold of a rental agency.”

“Good,” I said, and thought of something. “Don’t send a solar. It’s overcast here, looks like it might rain at any minute.”

“Oh, dear. Lady Schrapnell’s determined to have the sun shining for the consecration,” he said, and rang off.

This time I made it all the way down to the second floor with the bishop’s bird stump before the handheld rang again. It was Mr. Dunworthy again. “We’re sending a car.”

“A car won’t be big enough for—” I began.

“It should be there in ten minutes,” he said. “T.J. needs to talk to you about the incongruity.”

“Tell him I’ll talk to him when I get back,” I said, and rang off.

The handheld rang. I switched it off and finished carrying the bishop’s bird stump down to the little foyer, which was already filled with things.

“They’re sending a car,” I said to Verity. “It should be here in ten minutes,” and went in the parlor to see Mrs. Bittner.

“They’re sending a car to take us to the consecration,” I told her. She was sitting in one of the chintz-covered chairs. “Can I fetch you your coat? Or your bag?”

“No, thank you,” she said quietly. “You’re certain it’s a good idea to take the bishop’s bird stump out into the world, that it won’t alter history?”

“It already has,” I said. “And so have you. You realize what you’ve done means, don’t you? Because of you, we’ve discovered a whole class of objects which can be brought forward through the net. Other treasures which were destroyed by fire. Artworks and books and—”

“Sir Richard Burton’s writings,” she said. She looked up at me. “His wife burnt them after he died. Because she loved him.”

I sat down on the sofa. “Do you not want us to take the bishop’s bird stump?” I said.

“No.” She shook her white head. “No. It belongs in the cathedral.”

I leaned forward and took her hands. “Because of you, the past won’t be as irretrievable as we thought it was.”

“Parts of the past,” she said quietly. “You’d best go bring the rest of the things down.”

I nodded and started back up to the attic. Halfway up the stairs I ran into Verity, carefully carrying down the capper’s pall on her outstretched arms.

“It’s simply amazing,” she said in a very good imitation of Mrs. Mering’s voice, “the treasures people have in their attics.”