Chapter 12 TO WINCHESTER, SHE GOES
Chapter 12
T O W INCHESTER , S HE G OES
Present Day
After guzzling down an Earl Grey tea, Charli takes a cab to Paddington, the Tube to Waterloo, then the South Western Railway to Winchester. Though it doesn’t come without some stress and confusion, she is proud of her ability to navigate this foreign land. On the train, she listens to the Zac Brown Band and stares out the window, considering the idea that this is the land of her people.
Walking out of the station, she’s almost hit by a motorcyclist, as she’s still not used to people driving on the wrong side of the road. Well, they don’t consider it the wrong side, do they? She carries her backpack with the photos, her notebook, and her iPhone and charger. There’s also her trusty Kindle loaded with Louise Penny. She’s determined to finish the entire Inspector Gamache series before the next one publishes.
According to the website, the college opens at nine. She’d found that they did indeed have an archivist, a woman by the name of Sarah. Charli emailed her but hasn’t heard back. She figures the best thing to do is be there when they open and see what she can find out. Following the GPS on her phone, she hikes up a quiet residential road and bears left on High Street.
She finds herself at the top of a hill, walking down into the city. Unfurled before her is all of Winchester. Charli’s awestruck by its beauty and instantly feels as if she’s been pulled back in time. She removes her earbuds to take in every sound, the lyrical lilt of everyone’s accents, the rush of energy, the laughter, the conversations.
It’s a walk down Diagon Alley from the Harry Potter series, all these gorgeous and old brick and stucco buildings cascading down High Street, its cobblestones busy with a flurry of handsomely dressed pedestrians with their waxed jackets zipped high.
This must be what London had once looked like before the city became a cultural melting pot. This ... this was England. Her grandfather generations back had once walked these streets, and now she was here, and she was going to figure out what made him tick. And what he’d passed on that was so painful that she’d feel the aftershock more than a century later.
At least, she hopes so.
It’s either the buzz of the Earl Grey still lingering or the feeling of getting closer to the truth that sends her nearly skipping down High Street, brushing by stylish men and women starting their days. There are pubs everywhere, with names that catapult her back to a time when Oscar Wilde posted up to the bar for a pint of cask ale and fish and chips. And the boutiques. Had she not had a mission, she could spend all day looking at clothes.
But she does have a mission and follows the directions on her phone to the college. Swinging right through an alley that features a bakery wafting out yeasty goodness, she comes upon her first look at the cathedral. She’d read that a Norman bishop had spearheaded the start of construction in 1079, but it had taken five hundred years to complete. Nothing could have prepared her for this moment. Her eyes wander up and down. Never has she seen something so beautiful and daunting and commanding as this Gothic masterpiece. She recalls Ken Follett’s Pillars of the Earth , the novel she recently gifted her father that details the build of a vast cathedral. Having read it twice, she feels privy to some of what it took to create such a jewel. How strange the timing is that she happened to give her father the book recently, but it must be a coincidence.
Passing by a host of tempting restaurants, she walks straight toward the cathedral and imagines a far-gone time, long before cars and electricity. She can barely stand not going inside, but she presses on, following the GPS and winding around the cathedral to the back side, where she finds a gate that leads her outside the city walls. There must be no more magical place on earth than Winchester, and she’s there in March, before leaves have even sprouted on the trees, before the warmth has brought back the flowers and the green in the grass. She breathes in the air of her ancestors, wishing to tap into them.
Then she sees it ... Winchester College. And her delirious rush of enthusiasm falls away, leaving her suddenly overwhelmed by her task. She’s out of her element and also surely incapable of exacting any sort of real change in her family.
The college appears to be a fortress, raised outside the city walls, buildings of brick and stone and stucco that fit together like patchwork and evoke a scholastic dominance that grinds her to a stump of inferiority.
She walks down College Street toward what looks like the entrance, too distracted to do more than glance at the bookstore she’s passing. Two buildings down, she notices a sign on the wall of a small house: J ANE A USTEN SPENT HER LAST DAYS HERE .
She comes to a halt. “What?” She’s read all her books, of course. Who hasn’t? And she loves them so much. Well, she might prefer the darkness of the Bront? sisters, but for a woman like Charli who has spent a lifetime reading, it’s dazzling to stumble upon such a magnificent treasure. And how did she not know this existed until now?
For a moment, she’s not even thinking about Samuel or Winchester College or her struggling father back home. She’s the nerd she’s always been and nothing more. She never would have made it through life without books, and how many of her favorite authors had been inspired by this one woman, this otherworldly talent that lived here? Right here.
Charli spends ten minutes recalling Austen stories and peering through the windows and wondering what Jane was like, what her life was like. How was it that Jane could do such great things in her time, changing the world, and Charli couldn’t even open a bookstore?
She eventually pulls herself away and walks with trepidation to the entrance of the college. A student in a gown passes by her as she enters, and Charli kicks her thoughts away. In their stead, she imagines Samuel wearing such a gown, walking these same steps. Then what? Why would he be alone on a boat to America at such a young age?
Through a door to the right comes a woman’s bouncy voice. “Here for the tour?”
“No, I don’t think so. I was ... I was hoping to connect with Sarah.”
“Do you have an appointment?”
Charli shakes her head. Of course she should have made an appointment. She could have called this morning and spoken to someone as opposed to waiting for an email reply.
“No.”
The lady’s earrings rattle as she speaks. “Let me ring her, but I suspect you might need to set a time with her. She’s busy right now with the alumni weekend coming up.”
Charli’s heart sinks. “If you could tell her that I’m only in town a few hours and that I’ve traveled all the way from Boston and need her help.”
“Yes, I will do that.”
Charli can’t stop pacing as she waits.
A long three minutes later, the tour guide returns and says, “I’m so sorry. She’s unavailable right now, but if you email her, she’ll get right back to you.”
“I did already. Did she get it?”
Her earrings dance about like wind chimes. “I don’t know, but she’s on top of things.”
Swallowing an urge to lunge past the woman and race up the stairs to find Sarah, she asks, “Would you let her know that it’s an incredibly important and time-sensitive matter?”
“Yes, of course.”
Charli adds defeatedly, “But I guess I would love to do a tour if that’s available.”
“We do have a couple of spots. Be here in twenty minutes.”
Charli walks back by Jane Austen’s place to the bookstore she’d passed. There was a time when she could wander a bookstore’s aisles for hours, but now they feel like heavy reminders of her own inadequacy. Still, she’s too curious not to walk inside. She browses the various books on Winchester and falls into a conversation with one of the staff.
“I didn’t even know Jane Austen was from here,” Charli says.
“Oh, yes,” the man says jovially. “She lived next door and shopped here, found the last books she read in her life on these very shelves.”
Charli looks around respectfully, imagining Jane thumbing through the books, seeking inspiration. It’s nearly too much to imagine her third great-grandfather and Jane, who came before him, both sharing the same space.
“She’s buried in the cathedral, you know. Certainly worth a visit just to be close to greatness.”
“I will make that happen.” She shakes her head in awe.
Charli joins the Winchester College tour at 10:00 a.m. A lively woman in a black gown speaks with dramatic flair. “Welcome to Winchester College. I’m delighted to share some of the secrets of this fine school. We’ll start right here. To the left of the Porters’ Lodge, this building that is now the library featured what every school should have: a brewery! Up until well into the twentieth century, the men of Winchester College drank beer all day. No water at all.”
She sticks her pointer into the air. “Why, you might ask. Because there was no proper sewage, so the water was tainted and made you ill. Gave you typhoid fever, among other things. Day and night the men—as the students are called here—drank their beer, even before class. Isn’t that the way to do it?”
She points toward an archway. “Only the warden who lived up there got the good stuff, though. High-alcohol beer and the finest cuts of lamb. The men, meanwhile, ate rotten mutton and stale bread. Though they go on to become leaders of our country, they are raised with a firm hand.” Charli can almost taste the bread as she imagines her ancestor becoming a man within these walls.
The guide takes them under the warden’s quarters and into the courtyard. She talks about how only the scholars live on the grounds, that most men lived in boardinghouses outside the school walls.
“Up until only recently, after strong protest from the students and parents, there was no heat in the building. And that meant no hot water either. Can you imagine waking up with a cold dunk every morning? A firm hand, I tell you.”
She beckons the crowd to follow. “ Manners makyth man . That is the slogan for Winchester College, and that is what our man William of Wykeham created. He believed that it didn’t matter where you came from, who your parents were. All that mattered is what you did with it ... how you contributed to society.”
“Sounds like a great man,” one of the tourists said in a Scandinavian accent.
“Indeed he was.”
Charli wonders what Samuel thought of such a saying, how he went on to contribute to society.
After the tour, she returns to High Street to find something to eat. She hasn’t seen the river Itchen yet, so heads that way, farther down the hill. She almost stops for a poke bowl but doesn’t like the look of the avocados. She continues on and comes across a charming pub called the Smythun. The pubs in England all have such an inviting look, mouthwatering food specials scrawled on chalkboards, polished windows with nothing but happiness and pints inside. It’s barely twelve, and she already sees an army of mugs on the tables.
Inside, the beams supporting the ceiling are uneven and weathered, like old train tracks. An iron chandelier hangs from the center. The windowsills look like they’ve been painted over time and time again. A fire crackles by the bar, giving the air a smoky odor. On the mantel are burning candles and photos that could be hundreds of years old.
A plaque reads: F OUNDED IN 1524. How is that even possible? They were still building the cathedral! Impressive brass tap heads stand atop a wooden bar that is a piece of art itself. How many men and women had bellied up to it to find comfort on their worst days? Five hundred years’ worth of broken hearts and abandoned dreams. High above, empty mugs hang in lines. She sees names on the bottom of each and knows these are the vessels of every local in town. The patrons wear shiny shoes and scarves and prim-and-proper dresses. They are joyous beings, all laughing and making Charli feel like she doesn’t belong.
She takes a seat by the window at a two-top that looks out over the hustle of High Street. On the table is a bottle of Sarson’s malt vinegar, Heinz ketchup, and a menu on a clipboard. She looks it over and settles on a super salad with buffaloumi, which she guesses is Halloumi cheese made from the milk of water buffalo.
Having been to more than one pub since she arrived, she knows to go up to the bar. She leaves her jacket and bag to claim the space and makes her way past a couple busting up over a joke. It’s the first time she’s noticed someone behind the bar.
Charli stares him down, thinking she does need to eat.
He finally turns.
Poof, her whole world goes numb for a moment. She doesn’t know what is happening, but she likes it. He’s handsome—no, gorgeous—and she’s never seen anyone like him before and why is she feeling this way? and her brain is starting to come back to life when he steps forward.
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
His voice is calming and low, resonant. Her nerves settle, and she says again, looking up to find his eyes this time, “Hi.”
The guy smirks, almost like he’s used to being noticed and knows all too well how handsome he is. He wears a pressed white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A tasteful watch with a caramel-colored band clings to his wrist. His forearms are muscular. His chiseled face reminds her of a man she saw in an advertisement in the airline magazine. He’s a treasure, truly. Charli doesn’t remember the last time she’s studied a man, especially with him standing a few feet away, but she does so now. He has cobalt-blue eyes that are kind and gentle and yet strong. He wears a well-trimmed beard, light and blond. And his hair is cropped close to his head.
“Where ya coming from?” he asks. “You look like you’re a long way from home.” It’s loud in there, and he leans down to hear her answer.
Charli is upping her game by the second, sitting up straight and suddenly wondering how she looks. She hates and loves that he’s doing this to her, and she wants to scream, “How dare you?” Instead, she answers calmly, “I’m from Boston. In the US.”
“Ah, thanks for the clarification.” He gives a smile that could get a woman in trouble. “I thought it might be the Boston in Uruguay.”
She rewards his humor with a sliver of a smile. He’s a naughty one.
He scoots right along. “What’ll ya have?”
“What’s good?”
“I like the partridge. But you’ll need a beer first.”
“What do you recommend?”
“The Alfred’s Saxon Bronze will do right by ya.”
“Okay.”
“And the partridge?”
“How about the super salad, with the buffaloumi?”
“Yeah, that’ll do too.”
“What’s your name?”
“Charli,” she blurts.
“Charli. I’m Noah. A pleasure to meet you.”
He sticks out his hand. She takes it and feels the ceiling bend as a surge of energy rushes through her. It’s so powerful that she has to step away. But she does so with all the cool in the world. Well, now that she’d already given up her name and blushed a bit. “I’m right over here.” She points to the table.
“I think I’ll find you.”
His accent is to die for, she thinks, as she turns away and returns to her table. She looks out the window for a moment, pretending to enjoy the view, but in truth taking stock of what just happened. He blew her skirt up, and it won’t come back down.
She slides her eyes back, and he’s looking at her. Not even slyly either. He’s pulling a pint and staring right at her. He offers her a smile, finishes with the beer, and walks over to a man with his legs crossed, reading the newspaper. She opens her bag and pretends she’s doing something, but she’s not doing anything at all. She feels almost postcoital. Good thing there’s not a pack of cigarettes on the table.
Finally, she sits back and looks at her phone. She remembers why she’s here and looks at her email. Sarah has written her back! Charli reads enthusiastically, glad for the distraction. Sarah says that she’s got some space tomorrow, but today is stacked up.
Frustration sets in. “Oh, c’mon.” She stabs out a quick response, then sits back and thinks that she should have checked out of her hotel so she could stay a night. She should have anticipated some issues. And depending on what she finds, she might need another day anyway. Good job, Charli, figuring that out after the fact.
Noah comes her way, sets down an amber beer in front of her, and takes a seat. He’s as casual as could be, as if they’re best friends. He’s about to ask her out.
“What brings you to Winchester?”
She takes a sip of beer; it’s a good one. “I’m researching my family.”
“Ah, one of those.”
“There’s more than one of me?”
“I run into one of you about once a week. You’re in town for a while then?”
“No, just the day. I had a meeting at Winchester College that was delayed until tomorrow, so I’m going back to London in a bit.”
He sets his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hand. “Not to intrude, but if you need to stay, we are an inn. Happen to have a room available upstairs.”
A tingle runs from her feet to her spine. And elsewhere. Maybe he’s just being nice, but she’s no fool. If she stays the night in Winchester, let alone in this building, things will happen— not that she’s opposed.
“Yeah,” she says. “Probably not. But thanks, though.”
He shrugs, like he doesn’t care either way.
Which drives her bonkers . It’s a card she should have played. She almost tells him he’s a little brash for his own good but resists.
“Anyway,” he says, “your food will be right up.”
He stands and returns to the bar, and she picks up her phone to try to lose herself. But she can’t stop thinking of him, lifting her eyes to him. He’s magnetic, the way he’s drawing her in. Does he take a seat with every woman who walks into the bar?
She drinks her beer and stares out the window, then at her phone. If he’s not careful, she’ll have to douse the fire by dumping the beer on her lap.
Sarah finally responds. I’m so sorry. I don’t have a minute. Charli takes a handful of hair and pulls at it. She doesn’t want to ride all the way back to London, but she hates the idea of wasting money on two places. And she doesn’t even have a change of clothes.
He’s back in front of her. Noah sets down a salad that looks too good to come from the kitchen of a pub, these gorgeous veggies and cuts of cheese lined with grill marks. She’d assumed she’d be living off boiled potatoes the entire trip but has been thankfully mistaken.
“Bon appétit,” he says, and then walks his firm derriere back to the bar.
She returns to her dilemma regarding the college. The other option is what she should have done in the first place, asked Sarah over email if there was a Samuel Hall that attended. Or a Miles Hall. Maybe they could do it all without meeting. But Inspector Gamache wouldn’t leave it to email. And neither will she.
Charli searches her phone with tingly fingers and discovers five stars and rave reviews for both the pub and inn. The rooms are nice. What’s stopping her? If it came to it, would a fling in a foreign land really be so bad?
She looks up at Noah. He’s chatting with another customer, laughing again. He’s so friendly. Is he actually dangerous? He couldn’t be that dangerous with a smile like that.
Her bowl is clean, and her beer is almost empty when he returns again. “How’d you like it?”
“I loved it. Great food.”
“I know.”
They share a look, and another electric current runs between them. They both give a slight laugh at the same time, showing that they’re on the same page.
She could stay here, take him up on his offer. A round-trip train ticket wasn’t cheap. And what could be the harm? He is cute. No matter what happens, she’s gone tomorrow.
“About that room. Maybe I will take you up on it.”
He smiles like he knew she’d come around. She hates to be a foregone conclusion and decides that she’s going to make him work for it.