Chapter 15

Elizabeth felt like she had just had a day-long spa retreat by the time the flat once again filled with people. It was exactly what she had needed – time alone to read, drink coffee, and pamper. A few hours of that, and her emotional state had improved 110%. She felt like apologizing to Browning again for being so overly sensitive yesterday, it had really just been the fact that she was overtired. She decided it was making even more of a mountain out of a molehill to mention it, but she was very thankful she had control of her emotions now.

They congregated in the living room, perched on top of mounds of blankets, to plan their day. “Can we go to Portobello Road? I read about it in the tour book, and I just loved that movie.” Meg was the easiest to please out of the three, and her wish was easy to grant. “Okay, Portobello Road is our first stop” Browning said, writing it down on the top of his “To-Do, London, Saturday” list. Elizabeth couldn’t believe he was actually making a to-do list, it was taking anal to a whole new level. Still, he was going to over plan the day, she might as well make sure her wishes were represented: “I would love to go to the British Library again, they have a beautiful museum there that I saw a few years back and would love to see again.” This met whatever internal checklist Browning had made for worthy activities, so British Library was added to the list. “Oh, and we should go to St. Paul’s or Westminister for an afternoon service– that would be lovely.” Elizabeth looked to Meg for support, and she vigorously nodded her head in agreement. They both turned their stares onto Browning, ready to beat him into submission, but he seemed to not mind the idea, and wrote it down. He also wrote London Dungeon down, but Elizabeth and Meg were quick to veto that idea. Soon they had a short list they could all agree on, and they set off to get those to-do’s checked off.

The day really was lovely; the weather was perfectly suited to exploring London above ground, instead of being forced into the Tube. The sun was light but not oppressive, and even the smoggy London air seemed to be clear and fresh. The three of them started their day by fighting through the crowds at Portobello Road, eventually giving up, and sitting on barstools at a café, watching the crowds go by behind the safety of a window. The British Library had been just as delightful as Elizabeth remembered it. Even Browning and Meg were thrilled by it, and they were surprised to find they spent almost 3 hours just exploring the one room museum of important books and manuscripts. They went from there to Westminster, to take the normal tourist photos among crowds of tourists taking the same photos. “Here, let’s get one of the three of us in front of Big Ben!” Meg was the most excited out of the three, and she was more than willing to grab a friendly looking tourist to snap the photo. Elizabeth hated ever being confused for a tourist, in any country, but especially not in a country she was now officially a resident of. She quickly hurried them along to the Abbey for the 4 pm service. The service was the same as the regular Anglican evensong, although it was quite a different experience to be singing the glorious songs in such a magnificent environment. Elizabeth found it a deeply moving experience, but Meg and Browning were not very comfortable, and were happy to slip out half way through to explore Poet’s Corner in the back.

“Well, we have two choices, head home now and get back at a reasonable hour, or be irresponsible, bash around London for a few more hours, and get back to Oxford at an ungodly hour. What will it be, ladies?” Browning said this like a school master, who was giving a test and was pushing towards the right answer. Meg and Elizabeth gave each other a conspiratorial look: “Oh, I don’t know, I think I could tear up the town a few more hours” Meg said, winking at Elizabeth. Elizabeth took her cue: “Responsibility is highly overrated.” Browning seemed to take personal offence at this idea, so Elizabeth quickly changed the subject, “Do you know what would be fun to do? We should try to get rush seats at the Globe Theatre, or maybe I should say rush standing spots. We can be groundlings!” Meg thought that sounded like a great idea, but Browning pulled out his academic persona: “The Globe Theatre is just a money-making venture for tourists. They really can’t know what the Globe was really like, and it’s…” Meg cut her brother off, “You’re silly, can’t you just come and enjoy some open-air Shakespeare?” It was two against one, so Meg and Elizabeth happily dragged the still somewhat unwilling Browning behind them to get tickets.

“That was really a beautiful production, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a creative staging of The Tempest” Elizabeth said, as they were discussing the evening during the Tube ride to the bus station. Meg nodded, “I’ve never seen that play performed before, but I certainly enjoyed seeing it a lot more than I enjoyed reading it!” Browning seemed unable to let go of his pride, “Well, I for one am tired up from having to stand the whole time, and I couldn’t see half of it because the man in front of me had such big hair.” Elizabeth and Meg ignored him, they both knew he loved the Tempest and had been impressed with the performance at the Globe, he was just trying to save face because he had been so against it in the beginning. They were all tired out from being part of The Groundlings, the people who stand in the wide pit at the front of the stage to watch the performance. It’s a lovely gesture to the original theatergoers of Shakespeare’s day, but for the average Londoner, a bit tiring. “This is us” Elizabeth felt the need to state, because Meg never noticed what stations they were passing, and Browning was half asleep. They all got off, found their way up to the bus stop, and settled into adjacent seats in the front row of the top level of the bright, yellow and blue bus. “Wake me up in Oxford” muttered Browning, and Meg nodded the same to Elizabeth. They were both asleep before the bus left the stop. This left Elizabeth with some lovely time to herself, she had been meaning to journal. It was one of her bad habits, journaling on moving objects, and half of her entries were shakily written, which apologies like “I’m writing this on the train…plane…bus….car.” So she dug out her journal and a plain ballpoint pen, and settled back in her seat, bracing her feet against the window in front of her.

May 19
My, it has been a long time since I have written. Which is unfortunate, because this journal will only have entries about the exciting things that I do, and will likely misrepresent my entire time in England and make it out to be one excitement after another with no work in between. This, however, mustn’t keep me from journaling now, right? I’m on the bus home from a weekend in London and I’ve had a lovely time. Meg and Browning invited me, and I think the weekend has really solidified my friendship with them. It’s good to feel like I have two real friends in Oxford, that I can call if I need someone to talk to. And I’ll always know who to call when I need someone to ‘do London’ with!

Which reminds me, I should report that London is still the fantastic city I remembered it to be. We explored all the usual haunts, and I fell back into love with such a cosmopolitan city that is so full of literary history. I could live there for the rest of my life and just explore – if it wasn’t so stinking expensive! As it is, I’ll just have to be content living in Charlbury for as long as I possibly can., before I have to go back to my more mundane existence in Canada.

Oh, and I almost forgot – the most exciting news of all! I met the most wonderful women – randomly, coming out of the washroom in a coffee shop! Her name is Alexa Drew and she is my tutor, Dr. Nottim’s friend. Turns out Alexa has been helping Dr. Nottim plan my tutorials – she’s been a sort of fairy godmother every step of the way. Well, obviously, I was very pleased to meet her and we had a long chat. Her field of research is very similar to mine, and actually, she is doing exactly what I’ve always hoped I could do – work full time under a research grant. Oddly enough, she told me her grant is from the organization that Dante is the director of. (Oh dear, I don’t think I even journalled about Dante! He is a nice older man who I met when my chair broke at the Bodleian – long, painfully embarrassing story. We went for coffee later and he told me all about his organization that supports Scottish research, which, I have now learned, is the organization Alexa gets her grant from.) Anyway, meeting Alexa and hearing what she does for a living has given me hope – there is a small chance sometime in the future I could do the same – that is if I prove my worth with my thesis. This makes me all the more determined to push through and make the connections I need between Raymond’s life, letters, and works; so that I can really make my thesis shine. We’ll see. But overall, a very profitable and enjoyable London weekend.

She finished her entry with a flourish, re-capped her pen and stuffed everything back into the top of her duffel. The bus was still chugging down the motorway between London and Oxford, and there was nothing but grey banks to see out the windows. So Elizabeth just sat and stared at her feet, and started to look forward to getting back to her cottage and a warm bed.

A week later Elizabeth had fully adjusted back from her London excursion, and in fact had almost forgotten about her meeting with Alexa, until one day in the library when Dante tapped her on the shoulder. “Hello there, Elizabeth. And how are you doing this fine May day?” Elizabeth was startled and had to keep herself from screaming. “Oh my – you scared me. It’s so quiet in here I get completely absorbed in my books.” Dante smiled, “Speaking of quiet, I think the people around us would like some. Can you take a five minute break to pop outside for some fresh air and a chat?” Elizabeth quickly agreed, “As long as it involves a quick coffee, too!”

They stepped out into the most beautiful of May evenings, and strolled down the dim pathway towards the main lane. It was that transient moment between day and evening, when the dusk had settled but the street lamps weren’t turned on yet. Elizabeth breathed in the air, as they walked underneath the most beautiful apple blossom tree on the edge of St. Mary’s church. “Goodness, spring in Oxford puts all other springs to shame” Elizabeth proclaimed. Dante looked at her and laughed, “your youthful enthusiasm puts me to shame. It’s been a long time since I’ve enjoyed Oxford through the eyes of a visitor.” “Oh” Elizabeth quickly countered him, “I’m not a visitor – I really do feel like I live here now, that this is my home. I mean, I know I’m not officially a resident, 5 months doesn’t quite cut it; but, to me, I’ve settled her.” Dante nodded, “well then pardon me, I agree that you are not a visitor and are instead a resident. Happy?” “Very.”

Dante and Elizabeth had a brief talk in the coffee shop before he walked her back to the library to get to work. She greatly enjoyed the break from her work, and she was happy to have such a wise, gentleman for a friend. As they stopped near the gate to the Radcliffe Camera path, Dante faced her. “Elizabeth, there is a reason I wanted to talk to you this evening. You see, Alexa has presented a proposal to me that involves you, and I wanted to gently question you about it, without you knowing. I hope you can forgive me, but what just happened was a sort of semi-interview.” Elizabeth was quite surprised. They had talked about how her research was going, how she had been settling into Oxford, and how she was enjoying British life. It seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. Dante explained: “I find people put on a false show of sorts in formal interviews, a combination of nerves and a desire to get the opportunitiy. In my experience, an easy coffee shop conversation – before the candidate knows they are being considered, is the perfect way to ask questions and get real answers.” Elizabeth nodded, she got the picture, now she was more than anxious to know what she was being considered for. Dante must have noticed her questioning look. “You may be wondering what you are being considered for?” Elizabeth nodded. “Well, I am afraid I can’t tell you. Instead, I’d like to set up an appointment at my office, which will be a more formal meeting. Perhaps in a fortnight?” Elizabeth sighed, she could tell he wasn’t going to give her any clues. “Alright, although it will be hard to wait. Dante took her phone number and promised that his secretary would be in touch to set up a date and time. Elizabeth said goodbye and went back into the library, although she already knew she wouldn’t be getting any more work done tonight. No, instead, her mind was already flying through the possibilities of what he could want, and she almost didn’t want to let herself hope that this would be the answer to her problem and biggest fear of having to leave England.

Elizabeth’s “eureka” moment happened just after lunch. She was in her usual section of the Upper Camera in the Radcliffe. She had eaten a large lunch, and the warm early summer sun combined with a full stomach had made her half-dozing. Just as she was about to give in, and rest her head on her book for just a little nap – she noticed a book on the shelf next to her. She had sat at this very desk dozens of times over the past months, but she’d never looked at the books around her, only the books she found through searching the catalog. Her eyes struggled to focus and process what she was seeing “A Comprehensive History of Scottish Female Novel Writers from the 18th Century.” Elizabeth was fully awake now, “Oh my goodness – I can’t believe it’s been right under my nose.” Her heart was racing now, and she had the distinct feeling that she would find exactly what she needed in this book. She slid it gently from its place, and filled out the form to leave in its stead.

Her fingers were trembling as she opened the cover and flipped through the first few pages to find the contents. She was even having trouble reading as she scanned down the list of names, every muscle in her body was tense, pumped full of adrenalin. There it was, Raymond, Mae – 89. It seemed extraordinarily hard to find page 89, she had the fleeting panicked thought that someone had cut out the chapter on Raymond. But, no, it was just her impatience, eventually she found the chapter she was looking for, and began to read with relish.

Raymond, Mae was born Mae McDonnell on October 25, 1818. She had a prolific career as a writer which began later in life. Although she is best known for her fiction works, she also contributed a number of works in the fields of Scottish clan history. All together she wrote 28 works, 25 of which were published during her lifetime. Her writing was simple and straightforward, which is perhaps why she is not especially remembered as a gifted author. Instead, she is known for her attention to detail and using real life events and places to great affect in her novels.

Still, Raymond is probably best known for her personal life. Unlike most authors, Raymond was very much in the public eye. Her birth in 1818 was heralded in many papers around the world, because she was believed to be the illegitimate child of the King. Although it was never proven, the attention would follow Mae throughout her life, in fact, becoming a pest that she eventually began to ignore. It is interesting to note that Raymond never discussed the question of her birth or the attention it brought in any of her works or personal letters. A journal has never been discovered, likely because Raymond was very intentional about protecting her privacy. Her thoroughness has made the researcher’s task a hard one. Little is known about Raymond’s mother, or about her formative years. Her school years are also veiled in secrecy. Only in her late 40’s did Mae seem to begin her public life. She began writing and publishing, and was also more comfortable with the attention of the press.

Once Raymond began writing and publishing, her life became much more apparent to those who wished to study her. It was discovered that she lived and wrote from the Upper Hebrides, Scotland; even though she had been born in Glasgow and had spent most of her years growing up in a small village named Mindon, between Glasgow and the England border. The marriage record of her wedding to Joseph Raymond was discovered, proving what Mae herself would never admit – there had been a wedding in a small independent church that took place while Mae was still living in Mindon. The couple married later in life, and it may have been part of the catalyst that pushed Mae to begin writing. The wedding was in 1856, and Mae’s first book was published in 1865. Another factor may have been the birth of Joseph and Mae Raymond’s only child, Susan, in 1857. It was very late in life for Mae to be having a child, and her thankfulness is apparent in what has been found of her personal correspondence during this time.

Mae’s work was appreciated during her lifetime, but she never reached the level of many of the other renowned authors of the day. She seemed content to have a small, but loyal, readership, who would not feel the need to pry into her personal life. After her death, there was enough interest in Raymond to support the publication of her last few works. Eventually, though she was dismissed as too simple and straightforward by the critics. Recently, there has been a resurgence of interest in Raymond, mostly because of suspicions that her personal life held some secret that she wanted to hide. The intensely personal author was buried according to her wishes, in a simple grave in her mother’s parish church in Mindon. When Joseph died, he was buried next to her, in an equally simple grave, as according to Mae’s wishes. Her daughter still lives in the family home in Mindon.

“There it is – the answers I’ve been looking for! Or at least the clues of where to find the answers!” Elizabeth was thrilled. She recognized the oddity of how excited she got over finding a chapter in an old book, but still – she’d rather have the adrenalin rush of turning the pages of an old book trying to find clues than have to live a life where the only source of adrenalin was watching sports on the television! And this wasn’t just any old book – this was the old book that was like a treasure map to Elizabeth – it wasn’t the goal in itself, but it was exactly what she needed to find her way into Raymond’s history.