The Steady Running of the Hour: A Novel (8 page)

Walsingham had always been a staunch advocate of guideless climbing, but his later ascents were notable for their daring, particularly his perseverance in the face of deteriorating weather;
he developed a reputation as an insular, mercurial climber, his keen mountain sense governed by instinct rather than intellect. Hugh Price later wrote that Walsingham ‘was introspective to a fault, except while climbing, where he compensated by never thinking at all’. On several occasions Walsingham is said to have saved his climbing party from disaster, avoiding rockfalls and avalanches, and navigating safe routes under harrowing conditions. On 20 August 1922 he famously arrested the fall of two climbing partners on the Grandes Jorasses, anchoring his rope around the head of his ice axe barely in time to secure the belay.

The initial 1921 expedition to Mount Everest was little more than a reconnaissance, and the climbing party led by Hugh Price struggled to find a feasible route towards the summit. Walsingham applied for a place on the 1922 Everest expedition, but was not accepted despite Price’s endorsement, possibly because the committee judged Walsingham’s temperament unreliable – he was known as an irreverent, even impertinent climber whose inherent mistrust of authority had been cemented by the war. Walsingham contributed money to the expedition in spite of this rejection, a gesture that impressed the committee and may have won him his place upon the third Everest expedition in 1924. He trained rigorously through the winter of 1923–4, conditioning himself according to the latest athletic principles, and even consulting a professional coach. But the British climbing community, committed to genteel amateurism, regarded such methods with suspicion, with the predictable result that although inexperienced at high altitude, Walsingham was probably the strongest member of the 1924 expedition.

From its arrival at the Rongbuk Glacier in April 1924, the third Everest expedition was plagued by bad weather, and the climbers established their high camps on the North Col only at great cost to their physical fitness. Walsingham suffered particularly from a throat injury, acquired in the war and exacerbated by the altitude. On 4 June Walsingham wrote to Young that he felt ‘weaker than a child, sicker than an invalid, and madder than any fiend who ever chopped steps
in ice. But certain, terribly certain, that I must and shall make it to the top’. On 7 June Price and Walsingham made an attempt on the summit without supplemental oxygen. Traversing the north face of the mountain, Price was pushed back by snowblindness, but Walsingham insisted on continuing towards the summit alone.

The circumstances of Walsingham’s death remain unknown. The onset of a storm in the late afternoon suggests he may have died from exposure, or he may have fallen down Everest’s north face, a drop of thousands of feet.

Walsingham was commemorated in a cairn erected near the expedition’s Rongbuk Valley base camp, and a memorial was installed in 1926 in the chapel of Magdalene College.

I flip to the front of the encyclopedia and check the publication date: 1951. Then I take a pencil from the reference desk and copy the information into my notebook. Walsingham’s name gives no results in the electronic catalogue, so I call up a half-dozen books relating to the 1924 expedition. This is only the beginning; I spend all day in these sunless rooms. In the morning I read of the Everest expedition in the South Asian room, under portraits of turbaned Mughal emperors, resplendent with their swords and jewels. By noon I’m in the microfilm room, paging through newspaper indices for references to Walsingham and Soames-Andersson. There are many newspaper articles from 1924 on the expedition and Ashley’s death, but they all parrot the same information with no mention of his private life. In the afternoon I’m in the manuscript room, begging a librarian to let me see the letters of the artist Eleanor Grafton, née Soames-Andersson.

—It’s a special allocation, he says. You’d need a letter from your university and then you would have to receive approval from the library.

—But I’m not affiliated with a university.

—Then you’ve no chance.

I plead further with the librarian, explaining that I’m related to the author of these letters. The clerk listens impassively.

—Even if I wanted to, he says, I couldn’t give you the letters. There are procedures here.

I return to my seat and stare at the desk in frustration, twirling the pencil in my hand. The pencil is dark purple and engraved in white capitals:
THE WORLD’S KNOWLEDGE
. Piled before me are five books on the expedition, two books on the war, and a photocopy of the only relevant clipping I’d found in two hours of microfilm research. It is from
The Times
of London, dated October 13, 1924.

EVEREST CLIMBER’S ESTATE IN LIMBO
HEIR TO SHIPPING FORTUNE MISSING

The Times
has learned that part of the estate of Mr. Ashley Walsingham, who died on Mount Everest in June, has been placed in trust after a failure to locate the principal beneficiary.

Mr. Walsingham was heir to the estate of his great-uncle George H. Risley, the famed shipping magnate who made his fortune as founder and managing director of Moor Line Ltd. The value of Mr. Walsingham’s estate is unknown, but sources in the City say that Mr. Risley’s estate must have been ‘considerable.’

The missing beneficiary’s name has not been revealed. The law firm handling the case, Messrs. Twyning & Hooper, has declined to comment on the matter.

Mr. Walsingham perished on Mount Everest in an attempt on the mountain’s summit. The King paid tribute to the explorer, saying ‘he will ever be remembered as a fine example of a mountaineer – ready to risk his life for his companions and to face dangers on behalf of science and discovery.’

The small display on my desk illuminates. A message glows in green letters:
PLEASE CONTACT ISSUE DESK
.

I show my reader’s card at the issue desk and a woman hands me a green cardboard box labeled
Grafton, Eleanor S.A.: Personal Correspondence 1915–1931
. On the way back to my desk I pass by the reference counter, but the librarian I spoke to is gone.

The box holds seven envelopes, all addressed to Eleanor’s husband Charles, who seems to have been stationed with the army in Palestine from late 1916 onward. The letters discuss Eleanor’s art career and various financial matters, with frequent references to specific individuals, but I can make little sense of these. Many people are referred to only by a surname or first initial, and the difficulty is aggravated by the unfamiliar handwriting.

I study the letters, learning that Eleanor went to Sweden in late 1916 and my grandmother Charlotte was born there. I read on. On the second page of a letter from December 1916, something catches my attention and I read it again until I feel sure of its meaning. I copy the passage into my notebook.

It seems certain now that we shall need to send at least an additional 2,000 kronor to refit the Ejen house in haste. Apparently Mrs. Hasslo consulted several joiners & workmen, and as the house was never intended as a winter residence, and the season is bitterly cold there, it will require substantial refitting. At a minimum this includes a new WC and stove upstairs, new double-glazed windows, new doors to the outside, the addition of insulating materials to the attic, &c. The remoteness of the location also accounts for this sum, as the workmen shall have to stay on the island until the labour is complete, and this incurs a surcharge.

The winter stores & building materials have already arrived on site; with luck much will be done before we arrive. Mrs. Hasslo confirms the doctor in Leksand is highly regarded. As for the nurse, I believe even if we don’t engage one from England we shall have to bring one up from Stockholm or a similar distance to get someone worthwhile. All things considered, I think we should
feel more comfortable with an English nurse – the sensible thing is to hire someone soon & have her arrive by the end of January. If we begin advertising now in London, I imagine we can secure someone both experienced and capable, and hope she is willing to travel.

It’s been agreed we shall pay nothing for the refitting, nor shall the winter’s expenses be split – Papa insists on paying it all. We may, however, find it best to pay now & be reimbursed later to ensure the work is completed on time.

I take a large atlas of Sweden from the reference shelf and flip to the overview map. Running my finger along the towns and villages I find Leksand, 150 miles northwest of Stockholm.

I turn to a detail map farther back in the atlas. A few miles from Leksand I recognize the name Ejen, printed in italics over a mass of pale blue water. Ejen is a lake. A small island is pictured in the center of the lake, but the island isn’t named. I make a photocopy of the map.

I call Prichard from a phone booth outside the library. His secretary tells me he isn’t available and I’m transferred to Khan, but when I describe the letter to Khan he tells me to hold. A few minutes later Prichard’s voice greets me cordially. I read the letter to him from my notebook.

—I’m afraid, Prichard replies, that I’m not sure what you’re getting at.

—Eleanor says ‘before we arrive,’ even though Charles wasn’t going with her to Sweden. He was in Palestine all of 1917. And she says her father was going to for pay for everything, the expenses wouldn’t be split.

—I don’t see—

—Imogen must have gone with her. That’s the only thing that would explain it all. Why go up north to winter in a remote house that’d never been used in winter?

—One moment, please.

I hear another voice speaking in the background. Prichard responds, muffling the receiver. The other voice disappears.

—My apologies, he says. As regards the letter, there could be other explanations. Someone else might have accompanied her.

—But it makes sense. Eleanor would tell everyone she was pregnant. That’d be expected, she’d been married for years. Then Eleanor would go to Sweden with Imogen, and after Imogen’s child was born, Eleanor could raise it as her own. Isn’t that what women did then, if they got pregnant before marriage? They went away and came back without the child—

—I suppose some of them did. But why go to all that trouble if Imogen wasn’t coming back to England?

—I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out yet.

—Did you read all that was there?

—Yeah. There were seven letters, and one of them was the one you showed me in your office. This was the only thing I found.

—Then by all means, keep looking. Your letter is certainly interesting, but you’ll need something more definitive. Unfortunately, I’ve a client meeting shortly. I shall let you research onward with my blessing. Do stay in touch.

I hang up the phone and walk onto the road in the rain, still holding the notebook.

19 August 1916

Queen’s Hall

Marylebone, Central London

The concert concluded, the musicians fit their instruments in velvet-lined cases. The audience stands. Some chat idly in the aisles; others file out toward the exit. The murmur of conversation grows steadily.

Ashley sits in the last row studying a Great Western Railway timetable. He has already seen Imogen. He is waiting for her to notice him on her way out. Ashley takes a fountain pen from his pocket and circles the 9:38 from Paddington to Didcot.

Imogen takes the seat beside him. Her eyes fixed on the stage, she leans toward him and whispers.

—So it is you.

Ashley puts the timetable back in his tunic pocket.

—One might imagine, he says, that you were following me.

—Did you enjoy the concert?

—Immensely.

—Then why sit at the back?

—I came in late.

—And why were you late?

Ashley smiles. He looks away down the aisle.

—I was outside, he admits. Wondering if I ought to come in.

—I’m glad you did.

An elderly woman with a cane tries to squeeze by them in the aisle. They rise to let her pass. Standing now, they do not sit back down.

—I cross on Thursday, Ashley stammers. I mean that—it’s a splendid day. What do you think of a stroll?