Seymour Davenport arrived at the observatory at ten o’clock sharp to drip noisily on the stone floor in the front hall. Haidée was passing by that direction when the observatory librarian arrived. The butler, Villiers, had opened the door for him and did not try to hide an expression of horror when the librarian took off his sopping tri-cornered hat and black coat and handed it to him. Villiers held the wet items with his thumbs and forefingers before saying in a haughty voice that he would see Davenport’s things “dried out.”
Davenport soon spotted Haidée in the nearby doorway and gave her a casual wave. “Mademoiselle Avenall! How nice to see you again. I trust your day has been going well?”
Haidée thought back to the kitchen incident and then to Renaud’s unexpected yet considerate gesture. She had not managed to thank him before he disappeared back down to his research in the cellar. The marten, now belly full of the fruit that it had filched from its new mistress’s breakfast—was now draped over her shoulder like a mink wrap, fast asleep. Finally, she replied, “Well enough.”
“You are lucky that you have the luxury of staying inside today,” said Davenport. “It’s dreadful weather out there. No lightning storms, mind you, but wet and miserable nonetheless.”
“Yes, I noticed that from the window this morning,” Haidée replied. “I hope you did not get here with mishaps.”
“No mishaps. Just a lot of wishing that it wasn’t so wet.”
She nodded before plunging ahead. “Monsieur, since you are familiar with the observatory, I had hoped that you would be able to answer some questions for me.”
Davenport rubbed his chin and eyed her with a canny expression. “Hm. I see. Well, perhaps the library would have some answers as well. We could talk in there.” And then more lowly, almost so low that she had to strain to hear, he said, “There are fewer ears there.”
Haidée would have never tried to explore the observatory herself in search of the library. The place was entirely too Byzantine for her liking and she was quite sure that her own sense of direction was quite poor. So she was glad that Davenport took the lead and headed down the main corridor from the front door and then turned right into a small branching hallway. At the end, there were three steps through a decorative archway covered in red and gold tiles before a rather plain door that the librarian unlocked with a small iron key.
“It is a rather pointless exercise to lock this room,” Davenport told her as he jiggled the key into the lock and then pushed the door open. “There really isn’t much to steal in here besides old moldering books. And you have got to admit that the market for them on the mainland, never mind Mont Saint Filan, is quite small.”
“People could come here and borrow without permission,” Haidée pointed out, “And then conveniently forget to return them.”
“That’s true,” Davenport agreed, “But the only people who have any interest in these volumes are the people who work here.”
In a sure tread, out of habit, Davenport made a semicircular survey about the room to light the sconces along the wall with the three candle candelabra that he had taken from the front hall. At the end of the room was a small dark fireplace. Davenport set the candelabra on the mantle and took down a plain metal tinderbox to help him light the hearth. As he got the fire going, he threw in a log from a small pile of wood lying near a brass poker stand.
Haidée had followed and had closed the door behind them. The library itself was probably not much bigger than double the size of her guest room. The walls, if they were not interrupted with curtained windows or a fireplace, were lined with bookcases containing tomes bound in leather—some of them with gold titles etched into their spines. The curtains were as red as the archway leading to the library door. There was a massive oak table in the center of the room with a few books and an unlit candle on top of it. There were chairs here and there—as well as the occasional wooden footrest—as well as a desk near the hearth which had one book, scraps of paper, and a familiar looking cylindrical bottle of ink on its flat surface.
Davenport settled down onto the padded chair on the other side of the desk and groaned. “Ah, my bones aren’t what they used to be. The perils of getting old. Bring up a seat.”
Haidée nodded and pushed a straight-backed chair close to the edge of the desk and sat down. She peered at the few objects on the surface with interest. “There is a bottle of ink just like that on the desk in my room.”
“It’s common enough,” the librarian replied. He took out a handkerchief from a pocket and proceeded to blow his nose loudly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if all the other astronomers used this as well.” His voiced sounded a bit muffled from underneath his handkerchief.
“Hm.” She made a mental note to see if indeed that was also true. That meant riffling through the other astronomers’ desks—assuming she could get access to them. “This library seems tucked out of the way. Wouldn’t the astronomers find this location rather inconvenient?”
“They’ve never said so to me,” Davenport replied. “This library was here before I came here. It was here before even Everard was appointed as the head to run this place. Did you know that the observatory used to be a church?”
She shook her head. “I did see the statues at the front hall of all the saints, but I had believed that they were merely decorations of some sort. But if this place used to be a church, why was this place converted into an observatory? Surely Father DeLorme would have had this place instead of the small chapel near the village.”
“That’s an interesting observation,” mused Davenport. “From what I understand, this observatory used to be a church, perhaps as recently as fifty years ago. I am not quite sure. Everard was here the earliest and he wasn’t the first one. He’s a bit fuzzy on the dates himself—I had the impression that he did not care as long as he was doing his own research. At any rate, this place was a church and it is said that it was built during the Roman times.”
“Is it that old?” Haidée said surprised. “It doesn’t really look like my idea of a Roman building. For one thing, the place is very complicated with its hallways and corridors. I’m afraid I might get lost myself.”
“I don’t think it’s that old either. I believe it was built a little later than that, near the end of the Empire when some of the Eastern influences from Byzantium filtered into here and there were Moors living as far north as here at the time—before they were expelled. If you think about it, Mont Saint Filan is the perfect place to build a church—or rather a monastery. This island is isolated for most of the month and that holds a certain mystery.”
“Monks lived here?” She glanced around the room, suddenly aware that she was invading what used to be a male enclave.
“Yes. The location ensured that this place was isolated. But then for one reason or other, the place was abandoned. One would think that the Church would have retained control of this place for one reason or another, but then it switched to government hands. And you do know what the government thinks about the Church. So then, this place was turned into the observatory you see now.”
“Is this place still owned by the government?”
Davenport gave an odd smile. “Always assume so. They have their fingers in everywhere.”