Chapter 4:
In Which I Make an Important Decision
I turned the page, then shut the book. The Lady of Shropshire's story had been left incomplete. Perhaps it was continued somewhere in one of the volumes stacked around me. The very thought overwhelmed me and I stood up quickly. I had no idea how much time had passed, but I felt stiff and sluggish. My head was light and I sat down again.
I couldn't stop thinking about the Lady of Shropshire. What had ever happened to her? Had she ever produced an heir for the Lord Dernier? Did he become Earl of Marchand? I didn't know. The next chapter in the book was about an entirely different historical figure, a Father Frank Wright. Did I really want to begin reading another long history of another long forgotten resident of Warwick?
The short answer was yes. I did. The innkeeper was certain that King Harold had made good changes in Warwick--that he had been a King of the People. But apparently, it was not a theory that everyone ascribed to. In fact, the innkeeper apparently felt that he was in the minority of right minded thinkers on this point.
Why I was so interested in this question, I had no idea. I had only planned for this to a short stop--to get a drink and some directions back to the main road. I still had no idea exactly where I was.
The truth was, I didn't care. I wanted to get to the bottom of this question. As a cultural anthropologist, I reasoned that the study I would undertake to do here would be of supreme value and interest to my field, and I would, perhaps, make my name on this study of a small forgotten land. The conference, I thought, would take only a few days, and afterward, I could return--perhaps for a long while to read at my leisure. I would be able to pore over the volumes at great length. I reasoned that the find of this small library surpassed anything imaginable. The books, so well-preserved, were a magnificent find, one that scholars only dream of. And I resolved to make them my life's work, right then and there.
I stood up again, more slowly, and made my way upstairs to the tavern. The innkeeper's wife stood at the bar and greeted me cheerfully. I ordered a grilled cheese and a pint of ale.
The short answer was yes. I did. The innkeeper was certain that King Harold had made good changes in Warwick--that he had been a King of the People. But apparently, it was not a theory that everyone ascribed to. In fact, the innkeeper apparently felt that he was in the minority of right minded thinkers on this point.
Why I was so interested in this question, I had no idea. I had only planned for this to a short stop--to get a drink and some directions back to the main road. I still had no idea exactly where I was.
The truth was, I didn't care. I wanted to get to the bottom of this question. As a cultural anthropologist, I reasoned that the study I would undertake to do here would be of supreme value and interest to my field, and I would, perhaps, make my name on this study of a small forgotten land. The conference, I thought, would take only a few days, and afterward, I could return--perhaps for a long while to read at my leisure. I would be able to pore over the volumes at great length. I reasoned that the find of this small library surpassed anything imaginable. The books, so well-preserved, were a magnificent find, one that scholars only dream of. And I resolved to make them my life's work, right then and there.
I stood up again, more slowly, and made my way upstairs to the tavern. The innkeeper's wife stood at the bar and greeted me cheerfully. I ordered a grilled cheese and a pint of ale.
I felt drained, tired and even fretful. Was I making the right decision? I thought so, but it meant a total change of course from my current studies. I would be putting everything on hold. It was a big decision I was making.
The innkeeper's wife served lunch. Seeing my distress, she drew up a stool and said, "Tell me about it."
The innkeeper's wife served lunch. Seeing my distress, she drew up a stool and said, "Tell me about it."
Encouraged, I told her I was faced with a decision, perhaps the biggest of my life. She filled my glass again and said, "Important decision, huh? Thinking of getting married?"
I laughed and assured her it was not that sort of decision.
"It's a career decision. I think I might have discovered an opportunity. One that could change my whole life."
She looked at me, curiosity in her face. "A new job perhaps?"
"Yeah, something like that." I didn't like to say more than I needed to.
"Not happy with your current lot?"
Now that I thought about it, I wasn't. She had hit upon something I didn't like to admit. I was an average scholar, not of any particular importance in my field. Delivering the keynote address at the conference was, at that time in my life, the height of my lackluster career. In response to her questions, I began to talk about my work, my place in the department, the conference coming up.
I laughed and assured her it was not that sort of decision.
"It's a career decision. I think I might have discovered an opportunity. One that could change my whole life."
She looked at me, curiosity in her face. "A new job perhaps?"
"Yeah, something like that." I didn't like to say more than I needed to.
"Not happy with your current lot?"
Now that I thought about it, I wasn't. She had hit upon something I didn't like to admit. I was an average scholar, not of any particular importance in my field. Delivering the keynote address at the conference was, at that time in my life, the height of my lackluster career. In response to her questions, I began to talk about my work, my place in the department, the conference coming up.
She listened for a long time. Finally, she asked, "So what are you considering? What is the big decision that must be made?"
Spurred on by the ale, I launched into a lengthy explanation of my considered course of action. I would attend the conference and return to the inn. I would spend weeks, months, perhaps even years in the study of the Chronicles of Warwick. I would devote my life's work to it, and thereby become a renowned scholar in my field. A find of this magnitude deserved the attention of academia. The discoveries unearthed by a patient study of the manuscripts and volumes in the underground library would
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have enormous impacts on our understanding of history. All of this I said with the greatest fervor and conviction.
I drained my glass and set it on the counter.
I drained my glass and set it on the counter.
The innkeeper's wife had fallen silent, her blue eyes pierced me with a fixed stare.
"Well? What do you think?" It was a long time before she answered, and when she did, all she said was, "You won't find much companionship round here, Professor." When she answered, her voice sounded rather cold and distant. "This place ain't right for the likes of you, Professor." I brushed off the remark. Perhaps she didn't like to think of a long time stay from an outsider. Or maybe she hated to think of how such a discovery could put the tiny village where she lived on the map. Scores of intellectuals might come to excavate the findings I'd made in the little storage cellar. And that wasn't all--not by a long shot--for there was all of the surrounding area to search for artifacts. Perhaps she liked her life of seclusion, away from prying outsiders like myself. |
I reassured her that I preferred the quiet seclusion of the country, that I admired the bucolic pastures and tiny farms that dotted the landscape, even the quaint little village and the homely little inn.
"You won't return here, if ever you leave. No one does."
"You won't return here, if ever you leave. No one does."
"Of course, I will. This is the opportunity of a lifetime for me. It is all I will ever think about."
The innkeeper's wife eyed me severely. "Let me explain," I continued, animatedly. "There is a wealth of information here that has never been studied, never published. It cannot be ignored." "I don't think you understand," she answered quietly, without looking up. "I think I do," I countered, not wanting to be defensive, but finding my hackles up. "You don't like the idea of outsiders, do you? You don't want the story of Warwick told." "Nothing could be further from the truth," she returned, now heated herself. "Outsiders come and go, but they never return. You are a visitor, nothing more. When you leave, it will be forever." I heard what she said, without listening. I was no passing tourist. I had a vested interest in the area, in those volumes stored in the cellar ... there was no question that I would return, whatever she might say. Her attempts to dissuade me strengthened my resolve, made my decision easier. I would take a year sabbatical. I would return as soon as the conference ended. I would spend the next year at the inn, and perhaps the year after that I would invite students from the university to assist in my research. I was convinced of the magnitude of the discovery. What lay before me now was to begin the study, the work of poring through the materials, to publish my findings. "I don't think you understand, Professor." Her voice had softened, but there was a quiet steel in it that lent what she said next an unnerving edge. "I see that you're excited, if you don't mind my saying so, but I think you ought to know, sir, that there is nothing of interest for you here. You must go, and quickly, and never think of returning to this place." "I appreciate your concern. Really, I do," I returned quickly, seeing her anguish, "but I cannot simply abandon this find. Perhaps you do not understand, ma'am, the full import of this discovery to my field. You see, nothing has ever been published on the history of Warwick. It is virtually unknown to academia. "In fact," I continued, now more slowly than before, "I think I can truthfully say that there are only a handful of mentions of this kingdom in all of recorded history." I let these words sink in, waiting for her response which would surely indicate her understanding. |
She stood up, a silent terror in her eyes. "Then nothing more may be said upon the matter."
"Right, then," I chirped cheerfully. I collected myself with more than usual energy and strode across the room toward the stairs. "I shall be going in the morning, then, and returning next week. Please have my room ready for a long stay."
"Right, then," I chirped cheerfully. I collected myself with more than usual energy and strode across the room toward the stairs. "I shall be going in the morning, then, and returning next week. Please have my room ready for a long stay."
Without a word, she nodded. I deduced from this that the reservations would be made, and I comforted myself that my return to the inn in a week's time would be sufficient to prove my serious intent.
It is hard to admit what transpired next.
I left the next morning and arrived at the conference in due time. I was invigorated by a powerful secret, which I communicated to no one. My exuberance was infectious, and charged me with a powerful glow. For the duration of the week, I was surrounded by admiring peers, and even commended by old professors of unsurpassable renown. All the while, I found myself unable to forget the store of knowledge that I had left behind me in the homely little inn. It was my constant companion and my enduring source of inspiration. I delivered the keynote address on the culminating day of the conference to overwhelming reception. It was the height of my career, but I didn't allow myself to feel so, recalling to myself the vast stores of unpublished materials that lay before me in Warwick, to which I planned to return upon the conference's end. I brushed off several offers to study at important archives, saying only that I had other projects under way, which--I explained--the sensitive nature of prevented me from saying anything about. All I would disclose is that I had stumbled upon an "important find," but no details would I give as to its true magnitude or import. At the end of the week, I left hurriedly, and set off for Warwick.
What can I say about what I found there?
For quite a long time, I believed that I had simply lost my way. The inn had been quite secluded, and it was only upon being lost that I had found it in the first place. Now, try as I might, it seemed that there was no way to locate it again. I drove down roads I remembered having taken the week before, to no avail. When night fell, I began to worry I would have to sleep in the car. I slowed down, for fear that I might hit one of the many deer that populated the fields on either side of the dirt road I traveled down. Just when I was sure I would find nowhere to stop, I saw in the distance a familiar sight and my heart leapt with joy at it.
It was the inn. But not as I remembered it. It was dark and the yard was strangely overgrown. I stopped the car and shouldered my bag, making my way up the strangled walk to the door of the inn. I rapped three times upon the door.
Reader, how can I expect you to believe what happened next? I didn't believe it myself.
I waited some moments, fully expectant to find the jolly innkeeper on the doorstep clapping me on the back and welcoming me in. I even thought it possible to his wife might greet me, shocked at my return. No such thing happened.
In fact, no one came to the door at all. I didn't like to think of sleeping in the car, especially when a warm bed awaited me upstairs, so I tried the door gently, hoping seriously that the innkeeper and his wife would forgive my intrusion.
I walked in and fell over a pile of debris. It was too dark to see. I called out, "Hello--?" Only deafening silence was heard. In the gloom, I began to make out a changed picture indeed.
I left the next morning and arrived at the conference in due time. I was invigorated by a powerful secret, which I communicated to no one. My exuberance was infectious, and charged me with a powerful glow. For the duration of the week, I was surrounded by admiring peers, and even commended by old professors of unsurpassable renown. All the while, I found myself unable to forget the store of knowledge that I had left behind me in the homely little inn. It was my constant companion and my enduring source of inspiration. I delivered the keynote address on the culminating day of the conference to overwhelming reception. It was the height of my career, but I didn't allow myself to feel so, recalling to myself the vast stores of unpublished materials that lay before me in Warwick, to which I planned to return upon the conference's end. I brushed off several offers to study at important archives, saying only that I had other projects under way, which--I explained--the sensitive nature of prevented me from saying anything about. All I would disclose is that I had stumbled upon an "important find," but no details would I give as to its true magnitude or import. At the end of the week, I left hurriedly, and set off for Warwick.
What can I say about what I found there?
For quite a long time, I believed that I had simply lost my way. The inn had been quite secluded, and it was only upon being lost that I had found it in the first place. Now, try as I might, it seemed that there was no way to locate it again. I drove down roads I remembered having taken the week before, to no avail. When night fell, I began to worry I would have to sleep in the car. I slowed down, for fear that I might hit one of the many deer that populated the fields on either side of the dirt road I traveled down. Just when I was sure I would find nowhere to stop, I saw in the distance a familiar sight and my heart leapt with joy at it.
It was the inn. But not as I remembered it. It was dark and the yard was strangely overgrown. I stopped the car and shouldered my bag, making my way up the strangled walk to the door of the inn. I rapped three times upon the door.
Reader, how can I expect you to believe what happened next? I didn't believe it myself.
I waited some moments, fully expectant to find the jolly innkeeper on the doorstep clapping me on the back and welcoming me in. I even thought it possible to his wife might greet me, shocked at my return. No such thing happened.
In fact, no one came to the door at all. I didn't like to think of sleeping in the car, especially when a warm bed awaited me upstairs, so I tried the door gently, hoping seriously that the innkeeper and his wife would forgive my intrusion.
I walked in and fell over a pile of debris. It was too dark to see. I called out, "Hello--?" Only deafening silence was heard. In the gloom, I began to make out a changed picture indeed.
I lit a candle and began searching over the place. There was no sign of the innkeeper or his wife. In fact, the place appeared to have been abandoned for many years. Worn out, overturned furniture cluttered the tavern and the rooms upstairs were empty for all but a few worthless pieces of clutter. In all respects, the warm and cheerful inn I recalled was nothing as it had been before.
I found some candles in a drawer in the kitchen and lit one with my lighter. The warmth of the candle's flicker cheered me, and I began to arrange the sitting room.
I found some candles in a drawer in the kitchen and lit one with my lighter. The warmth of the candle's flicker cheered me, and I began to arrange the sitting room.
I went over it and over it in my mind. But I could make no sense of it at all. I entertained a desperate fear that the innkeeper had left suddenly to remove all possibility of my studying the Chronicles. Perhaps they had all been taken, and I would never see them again. I comforted myself with the memory that it had been him who had introduced me to the volumes. In the eery darkness, I entertained all manner of horrible suspicions. Perhaps the innkeeper had been murdered, and everything taken by thieves. Perhaps a terrible disaster had taken place here ... I didn't know. How long I spent wondering, I do not know. Finally, my growling stomach woke me from my revery, and I recalled that I had a leftover sandwich in the car. After eating, I was too exhausted to wonder more, and fell into a restless sleep on the rug.
My dreams were haunted by the thought of thieves who came in the night, wearing dark masks and carrying knives. In every dream, the thieves came looking for books and threatened me menacingly, holding me down and brandishing daggers. Over and over again, I found myself forced to give up my most prized possessions, my books, having to pack them into crates. At the close of each dream, I wept in abject horror as the head of the gang of thieves set fire to the crates, and I was forced to watch the destruction of all I held dear in the world.
I woke often that night, convinced that I'd heard a noise. Lying awake on the floor, I heard animal sounds--rattling, scurrying, scratching. These noises infiltrated my dreams and became great rodents which gnawed and chewed paper. I worked frantically to save the books, but always to no avail.
Finally, in the wee hours of the morning, I gave up sleeping. No longer able to restrain my curiosity, I determined to check the cellar. |
I had some difficulty making my way to the little cellar where the innkeeper had first shown me the Chronicles of Warwick. I don't honestly know what I expected to find there. Perhaps I had some hopes that it would be unchanged. That by some miracle, whatever had happened to the innkeeper and his wife had not affected the storehouse of irreplaceable historical documents which only I knew about. I traversed the outer room quickly, and held my breath as I opened the door to the little hidden room beyond.
The destruction was near complete. There were some books left there, to be sure. But what remained was a paltry number compared to the original wealth that I had encountered but a week ago. For a long time, I stood surveying the remains, wondering if there was enough left to make a life's work of. What if the remaining books were but worthless volumes. Certainly, the collection was incomplete.
Under normal circumstances, I am quite sure that I would have left the inn never to return. I was filled with utter dismay. It seemed to me that all of my hopes and dreams were dashed. But in my revery, I heard the words of the innkeeper's wife return to me, "Outsiders come and go, but they never return." Oddly, those words gave me hope. I had already beaten the odds. I had returned, despite what she said. I was here. And it was then that I determined not to let circumstances prevent me from doing what I resolved to do.
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Reader, I have resolved to bring out the story of Warwick. It will be my life's work, regardless of the difficulty, however impossible it might be.
I have decided to stay at the inn and make the best of it here. I will work assiduously to tell the true story of Warwick. You may follow my work here, on this weblog. Please understand that only a fraction of the original library remains to me. It will be my life's work to restore what was once in the innkeeper's possession. But it is a resolution I will not back down on.
As I discover more about the history of Warwick, I will update this site. You will find the profiles and stories of individual people of Warwick as I uncover them. Already, I have uploaded what I recall from my earlier reading, and you will find this information under the "Families" tab. As I discover the connections between people and places, I will link them together for ease of understanding. I also plan to update my own story here to keep you apprised of my condition and the state of my research.
Think of me, dear Reader. I shall need you in the coming days.
--Richard Dearforth, Narrator
I have decided to stay at the inn and make the best of it here. I will work assiduously to tell the true story of Warwick. You may follow my work here, on this weblog. Please understand that only a fraction of the original library remains to me. It will be my life's work to restore what was once in the innkeeper's possession. But it is a resolution I will not back down on.
As I discover more about the history of Warwick, I will update this site. You will find the profiles and stories of individual people of Warwick as I uncover them. Already, I have uploaded what I recall from my earlier reading, and you will find this information under the "Families" tab. As I discover the connections between people and places, I will link them together for ease of understanding. I also plan to update my own story here to keep you apprised of my condition and the state of my research.
Think of me, dear Reader. I shall need you in the coming days.
--Richard Dearforth, Narrator