I cast a longing eye towards a padded window seat near a radiator but turn my heels towards the seating area in the middle of the room. Bartie and I settle into a pair of garden chairs while H stretches out on a sun lounger. “I was looking for you, actually. I need to ask for your help.”
Without a word of complaint over the fact that I’ve interrupted his private time, Bartie smiles and invites me to continue. “Of course, Ms Nat. I’m always happy to help our Ceremonies team. What can I do for you?”
I glance over at H, but he’s looking at the other side of the room. Apparently, it’s up to me to pitch Bartie on my plan for the gala. I sit up, looking Bartie right in the eye, leaving no doubt that I’m serious. “Bartie, I’d like your help to bring the magical field to life. For everyone. To see….” Bartie is already shaking his head, but I rush on, “For everyone to see that magical people exist.”
Looking at me as though he is questioning my sanity, Bartie furiously shakes his head. “No, absolutely not. I’m sorry, Ms Nat. It isn’t done.”
“It isn’t done, or it can’t be done?” I clarify.
Bartie freezes in place, my question catching him unaware. “Both? Either? I have no idea, but it simply must not happen. If everyone knew that Oxford had magic, we’d all find ourselves torn apart and locked up in some laboratory being studied by scientists.”
I lean forward, placing a hand on the armrest of Bartie’s chair. “What if people didn’t know that they were seeing magic?”
Bartie wipes a hand over his face. “I don’t understand. You want to show them the magical elements, but don’t want to tell them it’s magic? How would that work?” He prods H to wake him from his impromptu nap. “H? Were you aware of this? How could you allow her to even ask such a question?”
“‘Ear her out, mate.” H yawns and rolls back over. “She kept me up ‘alf tha night jabberin’ away. I thought she’d lost her marbles at first, but iffen ya give her a few minutes, ya’ll come around.”
Arching back in surprise, Bartie scrunches his brow, staring at H as though he’s waiting for him to turn this whole conversation into a joke. When the silence stretches on, Bartie turns back towards me. “Somehow, I doubt that, but very well. Explain away, Ms Nat. The floor is yours.”
Once again, I launch into my idea for the gala theme, revealing the secrets which will move it from merely interesting to leaving the gala attendees with a memory that will last a lifetime. Bartie’s help will be critical if I want to pull this off.
I start with my conversation with Catherine Morgan and her tale about the former St Margaret scholars who thought they went back in time. I reassure him I don’t want to recreate Versailles in our gardens, but instead want to organise an event where the attendees can see the history of St Margaret come to life.
Frowning, Bartie asks, “Why can’t you hire actors to play the role of the historical figures?”
“I could, but no matter how good they are, no modern-day actor could ever compare with the authenticity of our Eternals. My idea hinges on the attendees believing wholeheartedly that they are speaking with the real people who walked these very college grounds years ago. They have to be able to ask any question they want and get a truthful answer.”
Bartie is still unconvinced. “Surely we could write up some notes, you could brief the actors and actresses…”
I interrupt before he can go any further. “Bartie, the gala is two weeks away. Even if I could find an acting crew tomorrow, they still wouldn’t have time to properly prepare. Have you forgotten who attends these events? Actual historians! If even one detail is wrong, it will undermine the entire event.”
After a moment of silence, I pull out the last card I have hidden up my sleeve. “Bartie, if you won’t do it for me, will you at least think about doing it for the magic of Oxford? You know that the magical field is out of alignment. Our connections are weakening. We need this gala, this ceremony, to be an incredible success.” I lift my eyes, locking them with his. “This is our only hope. Our best hope. Don’t kill it before you properly consider whether it could be done.”
Bartie is the first to break our stare, standing from his chair. As he paces around the room, I can hear him mumbling under his breath, barely loud enough for me to make out the words. “I would never have imagined! I mean, we’ve never done it before, but there’s no reason to think we couldn’t. We’ll need to talk to some others, perhaps Ms Morgan first given she was the original inspiration?”
Having decided, Bartie lifts his head and nods at the doorway. “Let’s go, we don’t have a moment to lose.”
It isn’t until we step into the Fellows Garden that we realise we’re missing someone. Poor H nodded off during my discussion with Bartie, exhausted from the hours he spent brainstorming with me the night before. I go back inside, gathering a sleeping H into my arms, before following Bartie as we retrace our steps across the college grounds. When we reach the main building, I beg Bartie to stop so I can deposit H in the cat bed in my office. For a magical creature, he’s awfully heavy.
Closing my office door with a soft click, Bartie and I navigate the main building hallways, following the signs for the entrance where Catherine Morgan’s portrait hangs. As we grow near, Bartie calls Catherine’s name, his ghostly voice booming down the hallway with excitement. Thank goodness no one else can hear him.
Catherine leans forward, stepping clear out of the painting when she
