She cautiously led them up a flight of stairs and into a pale blue room with a wooden crib on one wall. She gently laid the baby in the crib, eliciting a slight whimper from him before he drifted back to sleep.
“Over here are my grandfather’s things,” she whispered, stepping to a high wooden shelf. Old clothbound books filled the shelves, fronted by black-and-white photographs of men in uniform. Julie picked up one photograph showing a young soldier standing next to Kitchener.
“Is this your grandfather?”
“Yes, with Lord Kitchener. He headed up the entire Army during the war, did you know?”
Julie smiled. “Yes. He’s actually the reason we are here.”
“Grandfather often spoke about how he would have died along with Kitchener on his ship that sank during a voyage to Russia. But his father was gravely ill, and Kitchener had excused him from the trip.”
“Ericka, we found a letter from your grandfather indicating that Kitchener had sent him his personal diary for safekeeping,” Julie said. “We’re hoping to locate that diary.”
“If grandfather kept it, it would be here. Please, have a look.”
Julie had read Kitchener’s earlier diaries, which had been kept in small hardbound books. Scanning the shelves, she froze when she spotted a similarly bound book on the top shelf.
“Summer… can you reach that small blue book up high?” she asked nervously.
Stretching to her toes, Summer reached up and pulled the book down and handed it to Julie. The historian’s heart began to beat faster when she noticed there was no title printed on the spine or front cover. Slowly opening the cover, she turned to a lined title page. In neat handwritten script was written:
“That’s it,” Summer blurted, staring at the page.
Julie turned the page and began reading the first entries, which described efforts by the author to boost compensation for new military recruits. She soon flipped to the last written entry, located halfway through the book, which was dated June 1, 1916. She then closed the book and looked hopefully at Norris.
“This lost diary has long been sought by historians of Kitchener,” she said quietly.
“If it means that much to you, then go ahead and take it,” Norris replied, waving her hand at the book as if it were of no consequence. “No one around here is likely to be reading it anytime soon,” she added, smiling toward her sleeping baby.
“I will donate it to the Kitchener collection at Broome Park, if you should ever change your mind about that.”
“I’m sure Grandfather would be thrilled to know that there are still people around with an interest in Kitchener and ‘the Great War,’ as he used to call it.”
Julie and Summer thanked the young mother for the diary, then tiptoed down the stairs and out of the house.
“Your detour to Dover certainly produced an unexpected bit of good luck,” Julie said with a smile as they stepped to her car.
“Persistence leads to luck every time,” Summer replied.
Excited with their discovery, Julie was oblivious to the black motorcycle that followed them off Dorchester Lane and onto the road to Canterbury, holding a steady pace several cars behind. As Julie drove, Summer skimmed through the diary, reading passages of interest out loud.
“Listen to this,” she said. “‘March third. Received an unexpected letter from the Archbishop of Canterbury requesting a private viewing of the Manifest. The cat has finally escaped the bag, though how, I do not know. The late Dr. Worthington had assured me his secrecy in life, but perhaps he has failed me in death. No matter. I declined the Archbishop’s invitation while risking his ire, in hopes that the matter can be deferred until the time when we are once again at peace.’”
“Dr. Worthington, you say?” Julie asked. “He was a well-known Cambridge archaeologist around the turn of the last century. He carried out several high-profile excavations in Palestine, if my memory serves.”
“That would seem an odd connection,” Summer replied, skimming more pages. “Kitchener was right about upsetting the Archbishop, though. Two weeks later, he has this to say: ‘Called upon this morning by Bishop Lowery of Portsmouth, on behalf of Archbishop Davidson. He eloquently expressed a strong desire for me to donate the Manifest to the Church of England for the good of all mankind. He failed to elaborate, however, on the Church’s intended use of the document. From the earliest moments, my kindred hopes were for a benevolent quest for the truth. It is now regrettably apparent that my Church is reacting in fear, with suppression and concealment their primary aim. In their hands, the Manifest might disappear for all posterity. This I cannot allow, and I informed Bishop Lowery as much, to his extreme disappointment. Though now is not the time, I believe that at the conclusion of this great conflict, a public release of the Manifest will offer a spark of hope for all mankind.’”
“He certainly makes this Manifest sound profound,” Julie said. “And now Bishop Lowery has made an appearance. His cryptic letter to Davidson in June suddenly becomes more interesting.”
“Kitchener doesn’t provide much detail, but his anguish with the Church keeps growing,” Summer said. “In April, he writes, ‘Plans for the summer offensive in France are nearly complete. The constant harassment from the Archbishop’s minions is becoming overwhelming. P.M. has approved my request for a security detail. Thankfully, I didn’t have to specify why.’”
“So our friends Wingate and Stearns finally appear on the scene,” Julie noted.
Summer thumbed faster through the pages as they approached the outskirts of Canterbury.
“In his April and May passages, he is bogged down with war planning and an occasional weekend away with relatives at Broome Park. Wait, though, listen to this. ‘May fifteenth. Received another threatening call from Bishop Lowery. With his nefarious manner, I believe the country would be better served if he headed the Directorate of Military Intelligence rather than the Portsmouth Diocese.’ A day later, he writes, ‘Caught in a streetside confrontation by an anonymous C of E member who demanded the Manifest. Corporal Stearns disposed of the renegade without further incident. I’m beginning to regret ever discovering the blasted thing back in ’seventy- seven… or letting Dr. Worthington decipher it last year. Who would have imagined that an old slip of papyrus sold by a beggar during our survey of Palestine would have such consequence?’”
Summer turned to the next page. “Does that date mean anything to you?”
Julie contemplated her earlier writings on Kitchener. “That was well before his famous heroics in Khartoum. In 1877, I believe he was stationed in the Middle East. That’s about the time that he took over an Army survey party in northern Palestine, as part of the Palestine Exploration Fund established by Queen Victoria.”
“He worked as a surveyor?”
“Yes, and he took over the field survey team when its commander fell ill. They did quite top-notch work, despite being threatened on several occasions by local Arab tribesmen. Much of the Palestine survey data was in fact still being utilized as recently as the nineteen sixties. But as for Kitchener, he was traveling throughout the Middle East at that point, so there’s no telling where he specifically may have acquired it. Unfortunately, he didn’t begin keeping a diary until many years later.”
“It must be very old if it is a papyrus document.” Summer neared the end of the diary and halted at a late May entry.
“Julie, this is it,” she gasped. “He writes, ‘Another dire warning received from the Archbishop. I daresay they seem to be stopping at nothing in obtaining their desired wants. I have little doubt they haven’t already slipped into Broome Park for a look around. My response will hopefully put them at bay. I told them that I am taking the Manifest to Russia and placing it on loan with the Orthodox Church in Petrograd for safekeeping until the war’s end. Imagine their chagrin if they knew I actually safeguarded it with Sally, under the watchful eyes of Emily, till my return.’”
“So he didn’t take it to Russia,” Julie said, her voice crackling with excitement.
“Apparently not. Listen to this. On June first, he writes, ‘My last entry for now. Prying eyes seem to be everywhere. I feel an uneasy dread about the trip at hand, but it is vital that the Russians stay with us and not negotiate a unilateral armistice with Germany. Will pass this diary to Corporal Wingate for safekeeping. H.H.K.’”
“I’ve read other accounts that he was uneasy when he departed and seemed to be dreading the trip,” said Julie. “He must have had a premonition.”
“Probably so or he wouldn’t have left the diary behind. But the bigger question is, who was Sally?”
“She must have been someone trustworthy, but I don’t believe I’ve ever run across anyone named Sally in
