Uncle Julien looked gravely at his niece and nephew. “I know my brother liked to keep his secrets, but it’s quite beyond me why he felt it necessary to keep this original, and complete edition of Paradise Lost from the rest of the world.”
The Bodleian
Natalie stood up suddenly and made a pronouncement. “I think it’s time we performed another detail of Uncle Richard’s will. Tomorrow we must go to the Bodleian.”
Calvin looked up, startled. “I forgot all about that! We’re supposed to clean out his office as soon as possible,” he told Julien. “We have very specific instructions about it.”
Natalie went to the desk and opened the top drawer with a set of keys that she kept in her pocket. “Here it is,” she said, pulling out the will and handing it to her uncle. He perused the papers for a few minutes and nodded curtly.
“He was indeed specific,” Julien declared. “You have certainly done your duty thus far, and been very diligent executors.” He glanced meaningfully at the manuscript still resting in his lap.
“Let’s hope that’s all he meant for us to find in this room,” Calvin said with feeling. “I’ve done enough dusting to last the rest of my life.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Natalie said, “and we will certainly benefit from a change of scene. But our first priority is this poem, and maybe we’ll find information in his office about what Uncle Richard intended us to do with it.”
“Good idea,” said Uncle Julien. “I defer to you both as executors of his will, and offer my help and guidance as far as you require it.”
Calvin grasped his hand, thanking him sincerely. “We couldn’t have come this far without you, Uncle. If it wasn’t for you, we’d probably have sent the poem to some lab, and who knows what may have happened to it then!”
Natalie shuddered at the idea that they might have left their discovery to strangers. “That’s why you were summoned so cleverly by Uncle Richard,” she added. “He wanted you to help us.”
Calvin looked out the window and was surprised. “Why, it’s already dark out. No wonder I’m so hungry.”
“Let’s go find Mrs. Murphy and see what she’s cooked up for us,” suggested Uncle Julien. He smoothed his thick mane of silvered hair and headed out the door with a smile of anticipation.
They gathered in the kitchen once more, where Mrs. Murphy was preparing a stew to ward off the chilly November night.
“You must have read my mind, Annie,” Julien said, using Mrs. Murphy’s given name for the first time. “On a night like this, a good, hearty stew is just the thing!”
She blushed in a most unaccustomed manner. Natalie and Calvin gave each other furtive smiles. They had never seen their old nanny disconcerted by any man. Natalie rummaged in a cupboard and brought four champagne glasses and a bottle of Moët & Chandon to the table.
“Ah, a woman after my own heart,” sighed Julien.
She poured four glasses and handed them round the table. “I propose a toast,” she said. “To Uncle Richard, who we sorely miss, and to Uncle Julien, who we treasure all the more.”
“Hear, hear!” Calvin added added cheerfully.
Two bottles and a few celebratory hours later, the little party shuffled sleepily upstairs.
~
The next morning, Calvin was up at first light, despite consuming prodigious amounts of champagne and staying up till almost two. He had always been an early riser, unlike his sister who often stayed up much too late and slept until noon. Calvin decided not to wake anyone just yet, and crept down the hall in his robe and slippers to Uncle Richard’s old room. The door creaked when he pushed it open, and he stood just inside the room, gazing around sadly. It was still hard for him to believe his uncle was gone from their lives. He was the only father Calvin had ever known. How he’d miss their late night discussions! Uncle Richard was a learned man on a great many subjects but he was particularly fond of history, as was his nephew. He had an especial interest in the history of the Middle East and India, where he had spent a great deal of time in his youth. Julien had always been content to keep residence in Paris, but Richard was an adventurer, and as soon as he came of age, he bought an airline ticket to India, where he remained for two years. How vivid were his descriptions of the jungles found there, especially the Bandipur, which was established as a national park by the Mysore Maharajahs. His uncle well knew his fondness for wild animals, and nurtured in Calvin a love for the earth and all her creatures.
“Thank you, Uncle,” Calvin whispered into the empty room, and shut the door softly.
After showering and dressing in his favorite pair of wooly gray trousers and a warm sweater, he left his room to rouse his sister and uncle.
“Let’s get some food and go,” he urged them in turn. “I’m anxious to see Uncle Richard’s office. I haven’t been there in years.”
After a hearty breakfast, they waved goodbye to Mrs. Murphy and set out. They piled into Natalie’s vintage Triumph, given to her by Uncle Richard on her sixteenth birthday.
Uncle Julien crouched in the front seat and clutched his cane. “I can’t believe you still have this infernal piece of machinery,” he griped, longing for the spaciousness of his Bentley.
“Oh, Uncle! I love this car. It’s a classic! I’ll never get rid of it,” said Natalie with feeling.
“Just as well,” sighed her uncle. “It’s better than those beastly, gas-guzzling American monstrosities, I suppose.”
“Don’t worry, we don’t have far to go,” she said soothingly.
She sped off down the road, which was wet with rain and autumn leaves, and headed for Oxford’s grand old library, twenty minutes away. When they arrived in town, Julien asked her to park on Holywell Street, near the Clarendon Building. “I know Richard’s office is at Radcliffe Camera,” he said, “but I would enjoy a walk.”
“A fine idea,” Calvin agreed, jumping lithely from the backseat to help his uncle emerge from the low-slung car.
As they strolled leisurely down Catte Street, towards the Old Library and Radcliffe Camera, Natalie remarked how unusual it was for Uncle Richard to eschew the Clarendon building as his choice of office. “Wouldn’t it have been more convenient to have an office in the administrative building, rather than on the other side of the Old Library?”
“He had his reasons, I’m sure,” concluded Julien. “but I don’t doubt that his colleagues sometimes wished he was closer at hand.” He told them a little trivia about Catte Street, and all the name changes it had endured over the centuries. “First it was named Kattestreet in the thirteenth century, later becoming Mousecatcher’s Lane, then to Cat Street, Catherine Street, and finally what it’s called today, Catte Street.”
Natalie smiled. “I like Mousecatcher’s Lane best.”
They passed New College Lane and glanced to their left at the Bridge of Sighs. “Such a curious sight to see in England,” Julien noted.
“An unfortunate misnomer,” Calvin said with a derisive snort. “Looks more like the Rialto Bridge to me, but I guess that doesn’t sound as poetic.”
They continued on, past the Divinity School, the Old Library, and finally stopping at Radcliffe Camera. Towering before them was an elegant, circular structure made of stone. There were three levels to the building: the bottom circled with arched niches and the second comprised of windows topped with pediments, with Corinthian columns between.
They stood on the wet pavement for a few