Chapter Nine
Evelyn was beginning to feel like a sheep, one that had been herded into a pen by a very enthusiastic sheepdog, and that sheepdog was called Alison.
For whatever reason, Alison was so inspired by the campaign that she’d come down to the museum in her lunch break to update her.
‘Combined it with a jog,’ she said, running on the spot to prove her point.
She explained that she was planning a press release, but she needed more stories. ‘I feel like there are lots of connections out there. We just need to winkle them all out.’
Then Alison started talking about some idea of Jacob’s to make a website. ‘We could show off the most interesting objects – take the appeal wider,’ Alison said.
Evelyn was no fan of technology, but it dawned on her that this could be beneficial.
If there was a website, people could just stay at home and look at the pictures online rather than tramping through her museum, stealing her varnished Cornish pasties and complaining about her oddly worded labels, born out of the necessity of thinking up descriptions without using the letter E.
‘That sounds interesting,’ she replied.
Alison said Sariah was a bit of a tech whiz and asked if she could come and take some photos for the website. ‘I mean, your drawings were lovely, but we want lots and lots of pictures. Which would be a bit time-consuming for you.’
Alison had a diplomatic way about her, as if she was used to placating people. She said Sariah and Evelyn could pick out some more objects together. ‘But be sure to include the original four items from your poster, won’t you?’ she added, as she started limbering up for the run back to work.
‘The lace, the painting, the cup and the embroidery.’ Evelyn ticked them off on her fingers.
‘Yes. Definitely the embroidery,’ Alison said and then she was gone, running up the quay.
Watching her go, Evelyn found she was warming to Alison’s quiet persistence, and it was nice that she had recognised the beauty in the embroidered sailcloth.
Like her own hand-worked lace, that keepsake had clearly been made with love.
However, when Sariah Carnie arrived at her museum some days later, Evelyn wished she’d never said yes.
Where Alison had been gently insistent, Sariah was plain spiky.
From the jut of her chin to the way she jabbed at her laptop, everything about her was hard-edged – even her smile, which she turned on and off like a switch being flicked.
‘Right, first thing I’ll need is the catalogue of your collections,’ she said, narrowing her eyes as she looked around the museum.
Evelyn faltered. ‘Oh, I don’t have any catalogue. I mean, it’s ongoing.’ She mustered a smile. ‘I thought we could just have a look round and see what we like.’
Impatience radiated off Sariah.
‘But we could start with the four objects I put on the poster,’ Evelyn said and led her towards the case containing her small fragment of lace, keen to ensure it made it onto the website.
‘Mm, yes, very pretty,’ Sariah said in a perfunctory way and snapped it on her phone. ‘Next?’
Evelyn led Sariah to the framed piece of embroidery, then the little painting and finally to the cracked teacup.
‘I don’t think we’ll bother with that,’ Sariah said with a forced laugh. ‘Let’s stick to museum-quality objects. Not broken old crockery.’
Evelyn had had enough of Sariah’s rudeness. She took a deep breath and had every intention of giving this uptight woman short shrift, when they were interrupted by a knocking sound.
‘Hiya, anyone home?’ Della was standing in the museum doorway. ‘Is this a good time?’
‘It’s a very good time,’ Evelyn said. ‘Come in. We need your help.’
In the end, Evelyn left the two of them to it. ‘Just choose things that look suitable,’ she said. ‘I’ve made my selection – even if one of them has been rather rudely vetoed.’
Sariah looked away, suddenly absorbed in a display of seagull and goose feathers. ‘Well I never. These were used to clean windows in the olden days,’ she said with fake enthusiasm.
Evelyn frowned. ‘Just show me your selection before you go,’ she said and retreated to her office area, where she added another couple of hardbacks to the fortress of books that encircled her desk.
The two women took their time and, now and then, Evelyn heard them talking and the odd burst of laughter.
But it wasn’t the unkind sort of laughter she’d heard from other visitors.
It sounded like they were having fun. When Sariah and Della had finished, they came and stood in front of her desk, nudging each other like naughty schoolgirls.
Sariah started swiping through photos on her phone. ‘Here’s the pictures we took. I got shots of your labels too, so I can include the correct information.’ She sounded more conciliatory than before.
‘It was surprisingly hard to whittle things down,’ Della added. ‘Once you start looking, there’s an awful lot of interesting stuff here, you know.’
Evelyn did know, but it was nice to hear it confirmed.
Then she and Della stood either side of Sariah to look through the photographs and, as Evelyn saw them on the tiny screen, she couldn’t help feeling a small swell of pride.
The first three items were her lace, the embroidered boat at sea and the pretty little painting.
Then came Sariah and Della’s own choices, which included:
A baby’s high chair, oak, circa 1930–40
A ceramic chamber pot, decorated with a poppy and leaf design, 1950s
A wristwatch, stopped at 11.21, donated by Mrs Brown of Rattle Street
A pair of children’s slippers, felt and lambswool, 1920s
A handmade doll, carved from driftwood and dressed in silk and cotton, circa 1900
A green porcelain vase with crackle glaze, date unknown
A framed display of fishermen’s knots
A necklace of faience and gold beads
A brass tin, presented to sailors upon the occasion of Christmas 1914 by Princess Mary, containing tobacco and a tinder lighter (unused).
‘I took more pictures, but these are the ones we liked the best,’ Sariah said.
Evelyn nodded her approval because the women had chosen objects that spoke of forgotten lives.
She’d often wondered about the family of children that had each taken a turn on the old-fashioned high chair, gradually wearing the wood on the arms smooth, or which wartime sailor had resisted smoking his tin of tobacco because it felt too precious.
Then Sariah opened up her laptop, did some clicking and a page sprang to life. At the top it said Portheast Museum of Maritime Curiosities, then underneath, Save Our Museum.
‘I’ve already got a template in place, so all I need to do is add the copy and images,’ Sariah said.
‘Alison is getting the local media to cover the website launch and I’ll include a Get In Touch page so people can email us their memories.
’ She snapped her laptop shut. ‘All we need to do now is wait for those stories to come in.’
Della, who had been surprisingly quiet, said, ‘You know what would be really good?’
Evelyn raised an eyebrow, humouring her.
‘Once you get some interesting stories, you could hold an exhibition.’
‘An exhibition?’ Evelyn repeated dumbly.
‘Yeah, I know it’s a pretty radical idea, having an exhibition in a museum.’ Della laughed at her own joke. ‘But give it some thought, hey?’