“Well, I carefully reviewed some of my documents on Kitchener and rechecked his military war records. Two unusual documents cropped up. In the late spring of 1916, he made a special request to the Army for two armed bodyguards for an unspecified reason. In that age, bodyguards were something of a rarity, reserved for perhaps only the King. The other item was a strange letter I found in his military files.”
Stopping at a red light, she reached into a folder on the backseat and handed Summer a copy of the letter from Archbishop Davidson.
“Like I said, they are two flimsy items that probably mean nothing.”
Summer quickly scanned the letter, wrinkling her brow at its contents.
“This Manifest he refers to . . . Is it some sort of Church document?”
“I really haven’t a clue,” Julie replied. “That’s why our first stop is the Church of England’s archives at Lambeth Palace. I’ve ordered up the Archbishop’s personal records in hopes we might find something more substantial.”
They crossed the River Thames over the London Bridge and drove into Lambeth, where Julie parked the green Ford near the palace. Summer absorbed the beauty of the ancient building that fronted the water, with Buckingham Palace visible across the river. They made their way to the Grand Hall, where they were escorted to the library’s reading room. Summer noticed a thin, handsome man smile at them from a copy machine as they entered.
The archivist had a thick stack of folders waiting when Julie approached the desk.
“Here are the Archbishop’s records. I’m afraid we had nothing on file related to Lord Kitchener,” the young woman declared.
“Quite all right,” Julie replied. “Thank you for searching.”
The two women moved to a table and split the files and then began poring through the documents.
“The Archbishop was a rather prolific writer,” Summer noted, impressed with the volume.
“Apparently so. This is his correspondence for just the first half of 1916.”
As she attacked the file, Summer noticed the man at the copy machine gather some books and take a seat at the table directly behind her. Her nose detected a dose of cologne, musky but pleasing, which wafted from the man’s direction. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, she noticed he wore an antique-looking gold ring on his right hand.
She flipped through the letters quickly, finding them mostly dry pronouncements on budget and policy directed at the subordinate Bishops around Britain, along with their in-kind replies. After an hour, the women had both weeded through half of their piles.
“Here’s a letter from Kitchener,” Julie suddenly announced.
Summer peered anxiously across the table. “What does it say?”
“It appears to be a response to the Archbishop’s letter, as it is dated just a few days later. It’s short, so I’ll read it to you:
“Your Excellency,
“I regret that I am unable to comply with your recent request. The Manifest is a document of powerful historic consequence. It demands public exposure when the world is again at peace. I fear that in your hands, the Church would only bury the revelation, in order to protect its existing theological tenets.
“I beg of you to recall your subordinates, who continue to persecute me ceaselessly.
“Your obedient servant,
“H.H. Kitchener”
“Whatever could this Manifest be?” Summer wondered.
“I don’t know, but Kitchener clearly held a copy of it and felt it was important.”
“Obviously the Church did, too.”
Summer heard the man behind her clear his throat, then turn and lean over their table.
“Pardon me for overhearing, but did you say Kitchener?” he asked with a disarming smile.
“Yes,” Summer replied. “My friend Julie is writing a biography of the field marshal.”
“My name is Baker,” Ridley Bannister lied, obtaining introductions in return. “Might I suggest that a better source of Lord Kitchener historical documents may be found at the Imperial War Museum?”