Chapter 19 THE ARCHIVES
Chapter 19
T HE A RCHIVES
It’s Monday. Noah is true to his word and stays out of her way the rest of her stay. She doesn’t even bother eating breakfast, worried that he’d be there, but as she’s walking out with her bag, he’s nowhere in sight. She sneaks out the back and beelines it to Winchester College. Doesn’t even take a moment to look at the cathedral one last time.
The mirror told a sad tale today. Lines of a fifty-year-old crease her forehead. She’s barely slept. The only thing that offers any light in her life is that she’s finally going to get somewhere with her search. At least she hopes so. Any thoughts of Noah she tries to cast away, setting them on fire and letting them burn, burn, burn. If anything, she’s been reminded through the whole thing with him that not only is it her father who needs help; it’s her too.
Charli checks in with the front gate and says she has an appointment. The same person she’s spoken to before tells her to hold on a minute. Charli is relieved when she sees Sarah come through a back door. She’s a little older than the photo on the website, perhaps fifty or so. She wears red-framed glasses and looks kind of like ... well, an archivist.
“I’m so sorry about pushing you off,” she starts out, sticking her hand out for a shake.
Charli takes it. “No, no, I’m sorry for stalking you. How are you feeling?”
“Oh, I’m much better, thank you. Just one of those winter colds, you know. Don’t worry, I slathered myself in sanitizer. Anyway, I’ll never get used to that chill that comes through sometimes. You’re from Boston, though. I’m sure this is a summer day to you.”
“It’s certainly a little warmer here.”
“So you’ve done the tour. Shall we walk upstairs to my office and have a chat then?”
Charli follows her up a set of spiral stairs that must have been built a thousand years ago. Sarah opens a door into a magical library of archives. Books fill the built-in shelves that stretch all the way to the ceiling, which explains the ladder next to the window that looks over the roof of Winchester. The cathedral rises high and holy over the city wall.
In the center of the room is a long wooden table; at the end is Sarah’s desk. Her computer has two screens. Sticky notes cling to every available spot.
“How long have you been doing this?” Charli asks.
“I’m a bit new, actually. Started last year, still trying to find my way around.”
“Why does a school have an archivist anyway? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Sarah looks shocked. “I’m sure Harvard does as well. Many of the older schools in England do. We even have a museum. I’m sure you’ve seen it.”
“I have.”
Sarah sits and invites Charli to the chair by the window. Sarah swivels around. “There’s nothing like history to help us raise money, and that’s so much of why I’m here. The alumni appreciate our legacy.”
“And then people like me looking for information?”
“All the time. I just had a novelist visit the other day. I think his name was Boo, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Boo who?”
“I can’t quite recall at the moment.”
Charli plows ahead. “Well, I know you’re busy. I don’t want to take much of your time ...”
“I’m happy to help, but you’re right—let’s jump right in. I got your messages ... all of them.” She laughs, and Charli does too. Charli’s emailed and phoned a few too many times. “But why don’t we start from the top? You believe your grandfather attended.”
Charli opens her purse and extracts the photos, hands the first to Sarah, and explains what led her here.
Sarah takes the second photo and examines it. “He seems taken by her, that’s for sure.”
“Right?”
“He’s a looker. Both of them are.”
Charli sits at the edge of her seat. “I have this weird feeling that he loved this woman a great deal. And he still had the photo after all those years—kept it hidden behind another frame.”
Sarah points. “And there’s the Winchester tie.”
“Is it for sure?”
“Absolutely. That’s it.”
Charli almost thrusts her fist in the air in a victorious chant. “Flip it over.”
Sarah does and says, “For Miles. What does that mean?”
“That’s exactly what I wondered. I’m thinking that it might be a nickname, though no one in my family had ever heard of it. Or is it her name? Kind of an odd girl’s name.”
Sarah shakes her head. “Wouldn’t be her name.”
“So here I am, and I was hoping that you could help me see if we can find him.”
“We don’t have a lot to work with, though we can certainly search by name. Do you know how old he was when he died? We can work backward and get close to the year.”
“He was sixty-two when he died in 1925, according to Ancestry.com. I’m guessing he was here in the late seventies, early eighties. Of the eighteen hundreds, of course.”
Sarah swings around to her computer and hammers the keyboard. Her finger occasionally goes to the screen to help her follow a line.
After about five minutes, she turns back to Charli. “I don’t see a reference to Samuel Hall. So why not try Miles Hall, right?”
Sarah’s back at it before Charli has even dipped her chin for a nod. Another round of typing and searching before Sarah says, “Nope, nothing under Miles Hall.”
“Ugh, that’s so maddening. I was sure there might be.”
“We could search first names or last names, but it won’t be as easy. Of course, Samuel is a very popular name, so we’ll have to sift through quite a lot. We might get luckier with Miles.”
Charli hopes Sarah isn’t done with her. “Do you have time?” she asks hesitantly.
“Oh, I love a good challenge,” Sarah says. “Why don’t I start pulling up photos?”
“You have class photos?”
“For most years.”
Charli is elated.
Sarah goes back to typing, and then they’re both looking at a black-and-white photo of about twenty-five boys standing in a courtyard. Charli squints. “They’re not as crisp as I hoped.”
“No, it’s not a perfect science, is it? Photography was just getting underway.”
Twenty minutes pass. They search every year, every grade. It’s not only the official class photos she has. They pore through any associated shots with the search year, including those of sports teams and clubs.
“Wait, that could be him,” Charli says with far more excitement than she usually exudes. She holds up her photo next to the screen. “I’m pretty sure it is.” Chills run all over her; she’s done it! She’s found him!
“I am in agreement,” Sarah says.
“I can’t believe it. What’s his ...” Charli’s afraid to ask. Something tells her to be cautious. “What’s his name?” she finally gets out.
Sarah leans in to make out the text. “Miles Pemberton,” she whispers.
“Miles Pemberton.” She says his name again and again as she stares at her relative. “I had the first name right, but why did he change his last name?” Thank goodness she came to Winchester as opposed to chasing down the remaining leads she had in London.
This is the break she’s been looking for, and her mind turns to scrambled eggs as she races through thoughts of how he could fit into the constellation in Costa Rica. Was he the evil one in the constellation, the man who seemed to murder the woman who fell to the floor? He looks so ... so innocent.
“Oh, name changes happened more than you would think,” Sarah answers. “Especially if he went to America. Misspellings are quite common, though Pemberton is a long way from Hall. He could have simply wanted a new start.”
It’s more than that, Charli thinks. “What can we learn about him? I mean ... do you have any more information?”
“Let’s see.”
Sarah reads from the screen. “His parents were James and Cora Pemberton. Looks like James was a Winchester alum. Oh, he also had a younger brother who attended: Edward. And let’s see ...” She hammers away at the keys. “Not a ton of information, but I see a reference to him here, in the Wykehamist magazine.”
“What’s that?” Charli’s still holding on to the fact that not only has she found Miles, but she’s found his family. Which means she’s found her family too. And this giant step gives her hope that maybe this wild-goose chase isn’t one after all. If she isn’t careful, she might call this fun.
“It was a monthly publication. More of a pamphlet, but it caught people up on the goings-on. Something to share with parents and alumni. Seems he was in the Shakespeare Society, part of a performance his senior year.”
She hears the Bard’s name and nearly chokes on the information. “Wait, I’m huge into Shakespeare. I wonder if he’s the reason.” She holds her hands out in front of her, looks at them as if she can see his blood running with hers. “I feel so connected to him.”
Charli remembers Sarah is there and says, “Sorry, just got excited.”
“They did The Merchant of Venice that year.”
The hair on the back of Charli’s neck stands up. “That was the name of my bookstore! Well, I didn’t open it, but I almost did. It was going to be called The Merchant of Boston. Before that, it was going to be the Iambic Inkpot, but ... long story. What are the odds?”
“How special. And he rowed for the crew team. Did you as well?”
Charli smiles. “No, no crew team.”
“I must warn you,” Sarah says, “I do have an eleven. But we have a few more minutes.”
“Is there anything else?” Charli asks, frustrated that they’re running out of time. She can’t even take a minute to relish Miles’s and her connection with Shakespeare. “Can we know where he went after graduating?”
“This is all that’s showing up. I can look up more this afternoon and tomorrow, but our database from that time period should be up to date. We’re still collating earlier records.” She turns. “But you have a name.”
Charli nods. “Yes, I do. I’m so grateful.”
“What I’d do is go up High Street to the Hampshire Record Office. Do you know—”
“Yes, I was there the other day.”
“Now that you have names, you can find all sorts of stuff. Of course, the British Newspaper Archives. See what you can find out.”
Sarah gives her a few more ideas; then Charli rises to leave. “Please let me know if there’s anything else you can think of. Thank you so much.”
“My pleasure.”
Charli takes the long way to High Street so she can avoid getting close to the inn and risking running into Noah or his family. She hurts to the core, this emptiness that she wants desperately to go away. The dumbest thing is that she doesn’t want to call her aunt or her father to break the news. She wants to call Noah.
Back at the Hampshire Record Office, she takes a number and a seat in a far corner away from everyone else. She opens her phone with the annoying hope that Noah has texted her again. Perhaps he’s still fighting for her. Alas, no such luck. She types one out to him. I’m sorry, Noah. I know I could have handled it better. I guess I’m just afraid. And a realist. I know where this is going.
She deletes all of it and tries again. About to board the train. Great meeting at the college! Thanks for everything.
Thank God she stops herself at the last second from sending that inauthentic awfulness. He knows her too well for that one.
She could stay. Of course, she’d have to tell him why she’s in Winchester. He doesn’t have all the facts. And maybe he wouldn’t care. Of course he wouldn’t care.
Charli can still feel his hand in hers. She can hear his laugh, taste his kiss. She chuckles when she recalls a joke he told. It seems the entire records office looks over at her then, and she whispers, “Sorry.”
When her number is called, she walks down the familiar hallway and into the office with the number 14 on it. “How can I help you?” the man sitting at his desk asks. He has a mild twitch in his left eye.
“I’m American; well, I’m sure you can hear that. I’m trying to find out more information about my family,” she says, putting a cork on her inner dialogue.
“Oh, that’s not what we do here.”
Her eyebrows crinkle. “But I thought ...”
“You’re looking for the McDonald’s down the street.”
Charli tilts her head. “Are you joking with me?”
He shows a crooked-toothed smile. She can see he’s harmless, too, and she grants him a laugh in return. “That was a good one,” she says dutifully.
“Let’s have a look. What’s the name?”
“Pemberton. Miles Pemberton. And his parents James and Cora. I know he was born in 1863, so ...”
“Let’s start with James and Cora Pemberton.”
His typing is a tortoise on Xanax compared to the archivist’s. After what feels like forever, he says, “There’s one James Pemberton in Hampshire that’s coming up, and he was a landowner and member of the House of Lords.”
“As in a member of Parliament?”
“Technically, he’s a peer, not a member, but yes.” He’s typing again. “Oh, oh yes. There’s still a Pemberton in the House of Lords. His name is Steven Pemberton.”
“What? I’m confused.”
“The House of Lords used to be an inherited position. They got rid of most of those positions recently, save a few. Now you must be voted in. Pemberton is still active as a peer, though.” The man swings his screen around. “Looks like we’ve got James and Cora right here.”
Charli can’t believe it. Her fourth great-grandparents are looking back at her. James stands beside his wife, one elbow out, his fist resting against his side. Neatly cut gray hair protrudes out from under a black top hat. Under a sharp nose, he wears a bushy mustache twisted at the end. He has a look of annoyed arrogance. If Charli had to guess, he’s bothered by having to pose for so long. Though dressed fancifully, Cora is not an attractive woman, and she doesn’t look any happier than her husband. Her eyes are set far apart from each other. Her rounded nose tips upward.
The two look no different from Miles and his wife, Margaret, in their picture, or William and Georgina in the photos Charli had seen of her parents. How could she possibly have been born happy and smiling when she comes from this stock?
Once he’s given her sufficient time, the man pulls the screen back so that he can see it. He starts to type. “What was the other one you mentioned, their son?”
“Miles was one of two.”
“Miles, yes.” More typing. “Wait,” he says. His face contorts into worry. “Is this ... that’s right. Oh, dear.”
“What is it?” Charli could never guess in a million years.
The man sighs and pulls off his glasses. Sets them down. “I’m sorry, this is rather sensitive.”
“What is it?”
“Your man Miles. He was convicted of murder in 1881 ... and sentenced to hang.”