The Library Paradox (9 page)

The alleged victims of ritual murder (said one book) were invariably stabbed, in order to collect the blood which thus ran. The murders were made to coincide with the date, in early April, upon which the Israelites yearly celebrate their own archaic form of Easter, the Passover, which commemorates their escape from slavery in Egypt recounted in the Old Testament. The book went on to mention the ten plagues of Egypt of the Old Testament, which God caused to fall upon the Egyptians when Pharaoh refused to let the Hebrews depart, and recalled in particular the death of the firstborn male in each Egyptian household, which finally broke his resistance. The author explained that on the Passover festival, the Jews eat unleavened bread to commemorate the suddenness of their flight from Egypt under the leadership of Moses, for which the bread they had prepared had no time to rise. He argued that the tradition of using blood originated in the fact that some of the blood of the firstborn children, during the tenth plague, ran into their unleavened bread before it was carried off, which surprised me as the Bible explicitly states that the children were smitten by the hand of God, without any mention of flowing blood. That those smitten firstborns, had they lived, would have been brought up in the worship of Anubis and Horus and Thoth, thus making it difficult to understand why Christian blood should be felt to be necessary today, was a further inconsistency which the author failed to address.

I began to wonder who had marked the passages I was reading, and if it had been the professor himself. His name was inscribed on the flyleaf, and it seemed natural to suppose that none but the proprietor would mark a book. It made sense, since I assumed that he must have done research on the entries in his list, research that had perhaps been stored in the thick, now empty ‘B.L.’ folder. Putting down the
Lives of the Saints
and taking up a second book in which I had seen a mention of Saint Simon, I began searching directly for the marked passages. Alas, they were numerous and contained descriptions of the tortures inflicted on the child and the pain he had suffered before which the accounts in the preceding book paled.

I felt myself growing flushed and faint with anguish, and the sweat dripped off my brow until I could bear it no longer, and dropping the book upon the desk, I leant back in my chair. I wished to reflect upon the meaning of what I had just learnt, but I could think of nothing but little Cedric’s tender body, his sweet limbs, his fat dimpled hands, and the blood circulating within him like the juice of a sweet fresh cherry. I wanted to hold him in my arms more desperately than I ever did when he was actually playing around my legs. I wanted him to be the happiest little boy that ever lived, so that he could perhaps make a little gift of some of the precious drops of his delight to the little dead boy in Heaven. The trial of the Jews in Trent obviously appeared to be no more significant or credible than any of those innumerable sickening farces played out during the Spanish Inquisition, which was initiated by the same Pope
merely three years later. Yet it was an undoubted fact that the little boy himself had died, and a vision of his cherub’s face, superimposed upon little Cedric’s, would not leave my mind. How such a tiny creature, who had done nothing in this world apart from dying miserably, could be canonised was mysterious to me, until I read that visitors to his tomb claimed to have experienced hundreds of miracles.

My mind wandered irresistibly to the house of my childhood, with its nooks and crannies and its wild garden. Dora and her husband are very happy there, and it is certainly a heavenly place for the twins … and yet … anything can happen.

The air of the library suddenly seemed to have become unbearably thick and stuffy. I felt that if I could not get some air instantly, I would certainly faint. Leaping up, I rushed outside, ran to the gate, and running into the street, I began to walk rapidly, farther and farther from the hateful library, until I spotted a post office. Entering it quickly, I spent some money on a few words of tenderness and anxiety which I expedited to Dora with a demand for instant response; the act relieved me of some of my tension, and I turned to walk to Emily’s house in the quickly falling, still wintry dusk.

She was home when I arrived, and the kettle was boiling over a merry fire. My spirits lifted slightly at the sight of her rosy face.

‘Oh, here you are! Have you discovered anything? Are our plans still good for tonight? Vanessa, what is the matter? How pale you look!’ she added, glancing up at me from the tea tray she was busily arranging.

‘I have been reading some frightful things,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to talk about them; they are too awful. And they are not exactly pertinent to the investigation; they are from the Middle Ages. But there is a link to the little boy called James Wilson. I cannot talk about it now; it is really too horrible and I do not know enough yet. I don’t even know why Professor Ralston was interested in all this, and if it has any connection with his murder. But he was certainly a strange man with a rather horrid mind. Ugh.’ I sat down gloomily, still feeling the frustrating emptiness in my arms where a plump toddler ought to be firmly wedged.

I saw that Emily longed to ask questions, but my frowning brow discouraged the idea. We remained for some time in silence.

‘I told Amy to come home around now, if she could, and bring Jonathan with her,’ she said after a while, with an effort at brightness. ‘I expect them any minute. They are very keen on making a serious effort to understand and exactly explain the seeming contradiction in the timing. Jonathan says that an impossibility is itself an impossibility, and therefore a solution must exist. What do you think?’

I smiled faintly, and shaking myself slightly, I gathered my spirits together.

‘I quite agree with Jonathan’s principle,’ I said. ‘Whether our modest capacities can actually discover the solution is another question. We shall certainly try our best. I wonder what will come of it? Perhaps we really shall see something; it is, after all, impossible to fully grasp a situation on the basis of a mere explanation, no matter how detailed. By the
way, do you have a good watch or clock to do the timing with? We will need a second hand.’

‘My watch has a second hand,’ she said, showing me a dainty charm, which hung from her wrist on a thick chain of silver links. ‘I believe that Amy has one as well. I wonder where she is? She and Jonathan should be here already.’

A ring at the door answered her words.

‘There you go,’ I said.

‘But why on earth doesn’t Amy use her key?’ wondered Emily, going to open the door.

It was not Jonathan and Amy who stood waiting upon the mat, but a youth in blue with brass buttons.

‘I have a telegram here for Mrs Weatherburn,’ he said, holding out a paper. I rushed to the door, and snatching it from him, tore it open. Emily watched me breathlessly, and I saw the pleasure and relief in my own face matched in hers, as I read these comforting words:
Delightful babies full bloom enjoying tremendously Dora.

‘Ah, I am coming back to life,’ I said with a sigh that arose from the depths of my lungs, as I fetched a coin for the boy.

‘Is that why you looked so preoccupied?’ said Emily. ‘I hadn’t realised it; were you worried about your babies?’

‘It is the first time I have ever left them,’ I admitted. ‘But it was all exacerbated by these things I read today. Oh, this does make me happy!’ and I folded up the precious paper and tucked it into my dress.

Jonathan and Amy appeared shortly afterwards, and we fell to preparing a modest supper together.

‘Open this bottle of wine while we slice the vegetables,’ said Emily, handing it to Jonathan; ‘we purchased it especially for this evening. We thought that a little extra courage might not come amiss.’

‘Anything you wish,’ said Jonathan, gazing at her with a look which I suddenly realised could only be described as devotion. ‘Give me a corkscrew.’

‘A corkscrew? Oh!’ said Emily with a slight blush. ‘We didn’t think of that. Do we have one, Amy?’

‘Ah, I don’t believe so,’ said that young lady. ‘We never drink wine. Jonathan, do invent something, I’m sure you can. As long as you don’t let pieces of the cork fall into the wine! One always reads that that is disgusting.’

‘Well, give me your work basket,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’ll try it with this thing here, what do you call it,’ he added, turning over the things, and discovering a crochet hook. ‘I’ll pierce it with this big needle first.’

He bent over the cork, and Amy, her hands covered with flour as she kneaded and rolled out a pie crust, turned to smile at Emily. But Emily, concentrating hard on her preparations, did not look up.

Wherever I go, I seem to perceive currents of emotion under the surface. Something is certainly going on here, and perhaps even several unspoken things, but as of yet, I do not really understand them. Unless, of course, it is all in my imagination …

While the girls prepared chicken pie and Jonathan made every effort to cause the broken bits of cork to move up and out rather than down into the bottle, I boiled up some milk
and set it to simmer very slowly with rice for a pudding. Our cooking took some time, and by the time we sat down to dinner, a velvet darkness had fallen outside and we were very hungry. The meal together was light-hearted and lovely. I almost felt myself envying the enjoyable lives that students lead, with modest demands and few amenities except for the immeasurable one of independence and freedom.

‘Let us tell her all about it, Jonathan,’ said Amy, as we sat down around the table. ‘We have done what we promised; we shall be able to introduce you to our cousin Rivka and her family. Tomorrow would be possible. What are your plans for tomorrow?’

‘I need to go back to that library and finish my work there,’ I said, repressing a shudder. ‘And then, I must do something else very important; banal, perhaps, but the first thing that must be done in any investigation of this kind. I must find out what I can about Professor Ralston’s last will and testament.’

‘Do you have the right to see it?’ said Amy in surprise. ‘Wills are private, aren’t they?’

‘Actually, they are not. All wills eventually end up at Somerset House and may be consulted by the general public.’

‘Somerset House? That’s convenient – why, it’s right next to the college! But I thought they had only marriages there.’

‘Marriages, births, deaths, wills,’ I answered. ‘I have been there before, and it is most useful. But I will not be going tomorrow. Professor Ralston’s will cannot be there
yet; it is much too early. I have heard that his father is still travelling on the Continent and may not return to this country for another few days. The will must be opened and read in the presence of everyone concerned, so it may not even have been read as yet.’

‘Then what can you expect to find out, and where will you go?’

‘I shall go to see his lawyers. Probably I will not learn as much as I would like to. Lawyers are not forthcoming. But I hope that at the very least, I can find out if there is a will. And perhaps I can find out when the professor’s father is expected home.’

‘That and the researches will not take up your evening, will it?’ asked Amy eagerly. ‘We asked Rivka if we could come tomorrow evening, and she invited us all for dinner. Will that be all right?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I exclaimed. ‘I shall be happy to go there with you. In fact, I am most interested to meet them. Yet I still wonder – do you truly believe that they could somehow help us identify a completely unknown rabbi whose description could probably fit half the people in the East End?’

‘Not half,’ she smiled. ‘Seriously, we think it is possible. Rivka may not be able to help much, as she does not know the extended community very well, and even their language still holds some difficulties for her. But her husband has lived there for many years, and has a thousand and one friends and acquaintances. It is a strange community: news spreads like wildfire within it, but information from the outside world doesn’t always penetrate, and when it
does, it is often given a very peculiar slant. People would be much more likely to know about the latest childbirth in the neighbouring street than about the fall of the Prime Minister, and if they did learn about it, they might attribute it to some curious cause that we would never imagine – the evil eye, for instance. Well, let me not exaggerate – they are more or less ordinary people, of course, and they read the newspapers just as we do. What I mean to say is that the community is as ingrown as a village and nobody’s doings within it are likely to remain secret.’

‘But what doings are we talking about? The man Jonathan saw may have done nothing more than simply taking an omnibus into town.’

‘A trip into London might have been noticed by someone. We’ll just have to feel our way – you are the detective, after all!’

‘Well, I guess it will not be any foggier than the beginnings of a certain number of my previous investigations,’ I remarked. ‘We shall see when we get there. Now, if we have had enough of still-rather-liquid rice pudding and only-slightly-cork-flavoured wine, we had better think of going straight to Professor Ralston’s library and attempting our experiment.’

The three young people leapt up with alacrity, and swept away the dishes in record time. Wrapping ourselves warmly against the pinch of March, we stepped outside and made our way on foot to Adelphi Street. It was by now nearly ten o’clock in the evening and dark as pitch; we had decided that this would be a good time, as it would be too late for
many people to be about on the street, yet not so late that passers-by or neighbours might get suspicious at the sight of lights and activity within, and call the police.

‘The street gate is locked,’ said Jonathan, rattling it as we drew up. ‘Oh, Vanessa, this is annoying! I hadn’t thought of it; they never used to lock it when the professor lived here. How shall we get in?’

‘I have the key,’ I said, taking it out.

‘Good work!’ he said admiringly. ‘Ho,’ he added, glancing around, ‘when I think that this is where it all happened! I was right here when the man came out, and just about in the middle there when I saw the other two.’