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The New Public Library
The New Public Library

Design Innovation for the Twenty-First

Century

R. Thomas Hille
First published 2019
by Routledge
52 Vanderbilt Avenue,
New York, NY 10017

and by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon,
Oxon, OX14 4RN

Routledge is an imprint of the

Taylor & Francis Group,
an informa business

© 2019 R. Thomas Hille

The right of R. Thomas Hille to be identified as author of this work has been
asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright,
Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or

utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.

Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or

registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation
without intent to infringe.

Library of Congress Cataloging-inPublication Data

A catalog record for this title has been requested

ISBN: 978-113-832-670-5 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-113-832-673-6 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-042-944-968-0 (ebk)

Typeset in Grotesque Monotype

Designed by Franc Nunoo-Quarcoo

Publisher's Note
This book has been prepared from camera-ready copy provided by the
author.
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
Introduction
Part I: Precedents

Chapter 1 European Influences: Before 1800

Library of Celsus, Ephesus, Asia Minor: Roman,

Second Century
Gloucester Abbey Library, Gloucester, England:
English, Fourteenth Century
St. Walburg's Chapter House Library, Zutphen,
Netherlands: Dutch, 1563
Merton College Library, Oxford, England: English,
1623
Laurentian Library, Florence, Italy: Michelangelo,
1571
Library at El Escorial, Madrid, Spain: Juan de
Herrera, 1567
Trinity College Library, Cambridge, England:
Christopher Wren, 1695

Chapter 2 Early Public Libraries in the U.S.: 1800 to

1880s

University Of Virginia Library, Charlottesville,

Virginia: Thomas Jefferson, 1826
Boston Athenaeum, Boston, Massachusetts:
Edward Clarke Cabot, 1849
 Boston Public Library, Boston, Massachusetts:
Charles Kirk Kirby, 1859
Astor Library, New York, New York: Alexander
Saeltzer, 1854
Peabody Institute Library, Baltimore, Maryland:
Edmund G. Lind, 1878
Crane Memorial Library, Quincy, Massahchusetts:
H.H. Richardson, 1882
Chapter 3 Early Beaux-Arts Libraries: 1850s to 1910s

Bibliothèque Ste. Geneviève, Paris, France: Henri

Labrouste, 1850
Boston, Public Library, Boston, Massachusetts:
McKim Mead & White, 1895
New York Public Library, New York, New York:
Carrère & Hastings, 1911

Chapter 4 Carnegie Libraries: 1890s to 1920s

Ottumwa Public Library, Ottumwa, Iowa: Smith

& Gutterson, 1902
Decatur Public Library, Decatur, Illinois: Mauran
Russell & Garden, 1903
Washington Central Library, Washington, D.C.:
Ackerman & Ross, 1903
New York Public Library Branches, New York,
New York: Babb Cook & Willard / McKim Mead &
White/ Carrère & Hastings / James Brown Lord,
1902-1905

Chapter 5 Decentralized Departmental Libraries: 1890s

to 1930s
 Newberry Library, Chicago, Illinois: William
Frederick Poole / Henry Ives Cobb, 1893
Multnomah County ubrary, Portland, Oregon:
A.E. Doyle, 1913
Detroit Public Library, Detroit, Michigan: Cass
Gilbert, 1921
Cleveland Public Library, Cleveland, Ohio: Walker
& Weeks, 1925
Los Angeles Public Library, Los Angeles,
California: Bertram Goodhue, 1926
Enoch Pratt Free Library, Baltimore, Maryland:
Clyde N. & Nelson Friz / E.L. Tilton / A.M.
Githens, 1933
Chapter 6 Early Modern Libraries: 1920s and 1930s

Stockholm Public Library, Stockhslm, Sweden:

Erik Gunnar Asplund, 1921
Viipuri Library, Viipuri, Finland: Alvar Aalto, 1935
Mt. Angel Abbey Library, Mt. Angel, Oregon:
Alvar Aalto, 1970
New York Public Library 135th Street Branch
Addition, New York, New York: Louis Allen
Abramson, 1941

Chapter 7 Postwar Modern Libraries: 1950s to 1970s

Grosse Pointe Public Library, Grosse Pointe,

Michigan: Marcel Brewer, 1953
North End Branch Library, Boston, Massachusetts:
Carl Koch, 1965
Magnolia Branch Library, Seattle, Washington:
Kirk Wallace McKinley, 1964
 Cincinnati Main Library, Cincinnati, Ohio:
Woodie Garber, 1955
New Orleans Public Library, New Orleans,
Louisiana: Curtis & Davis, 1958
Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Library,
Washington, D.C.: Ludwig Mies van der Rohe,
1971
Atlanta Central Public Library: Atlanta, Georgia:
Marcel Breuer / Hamilton Smith, 1980,
Berlin State Library, Berlin, Germany: Hans
Scharoun, 1979
Chapter 8 Postmodern Libraries: 1970s and 1980s

Phillips. Exeter Academy Library, Exeter, New

Hampshire: Louis Kahn, 1972
Boston Public Library Addition: Boston,
Massachusetts: Johnson / Burgee, 1972
Sulzer Regional Library, Chicago, Illinois:
Hammond Beeby & Babka, 1985
Harold Washington Library Center, Chicago,
Illinois: Hammond Beeby & Babka, 1991
Part II: Projects

Chapter 9 Central Municipal and Regional Libraries

Bellevue Regional Library, Bellevue, Washington:

Zimmer Gunsul Frasca Partnership, 1993
Phoenix Burton Barr Central Library, Phoenix,
Arizona: Will Bruder / DWL Architects, 1995
Seattle Central Library, Seattle, Washington: OMA
/ LMN, 2004
Grande Bibliothèque Nationale du Québec,
Montreal, Québec: Patkau: Architects, 2005
 Winnipeg Centennial Library, Winnipeg,
Manitoba: Patkau Architects, 2005
Surrey City Centre Library, Surrey, British
Columbia: Bing Thom Architects, 2011
Vancouver Community Library, Vancouver,
Washington: The Miller Hull Partnership, 2011
Chapter 10 Urban Neighborhood Branch Libraries

Buckhead Branch Library, Atlanta, Georgia:

Scogin Elam & Bray Architects, 1989
Woodstock Branch Library, Portland, Oregons
Thomas Hacker Architects, 2000
Honan-Allston Branch Library, Allston,
Massachusetts: Machado Silvetti Associates, 2001
Capitol Hill Branch Library, Seattle, Washington:
Cutler Anderson Architects / Johnston Architects,
2003
Hillsdale Branch: Library, Portland, Oregon:
Thomas Hacker Architects, 2004
Montlake Branch Library Seattle, Washington:
Weinstein A+U, 2008
Ingleside Branch Library, San
Francisco,California: Fougeron Architecture, 2009
Watha T. Daniel/Shaw Neighborhood Library,
Washington, D.C.: Davis Brody, Bond, 2010
Benning Neighborhood Library, Washington,
D.C.: Davis Brody Bond, 2010
Anacostia Neighborhood Library, Washington,
D.C.: Freelon Group, 2010
Tenley-Friendship Neighborhood Library,
Washington, D.C.: Freelon Group, 2011
Francis A. Gregory Neighborhood Library,
Washington, D.C.: Adjaye Associates, 2012
 William O. Lockridge / Bellevue Neighborhood
Library, Washington, D.C:: Adjaye Associates.,
2012
Bayview Branch Library, San Francisco,
California: Thomas Hacker Architects, 2013
Pico Branch Library, Santa Monica, California:
Koning Eizenberg Architecture, 2014
Hennepin County Walker Library, Minneapolis,
Minnesota :VJAA, 2014
Chapter 11 Suburban Neighborhood Branch and
Community Libraries

Clayton County Library Headquarters, Johesboro,

Georgia: Seogin Elam & Bray Architects, 1988
Carol Cobb Turner Branch Library, Morrow,
Georgia: Scogin Elam & Bray Architects, 1991
Newton Library, Surrey, British Columbia: Patkau
Architects, 1992
Philmon Branch Library, Riverdale, Georgia:
Scogin Elam & Bray Architects, 1997
Maple Valley Library, Maple Valley, Washington:
Cutler Anderson Architects / Johnston Architects,
2001
Desert Broom Library, Phoenix, Arizona: Richärd
& Bauer, 2005
Hercules Public Library, Hercules, California: Will
Bruder Architects / HGA Architects, 2006
Cesar Chavez Library, Phoenix, Arizona: Line &
Space Architects, 2007
Arabian Public Library, Scottsdale, Arizona:
Richärd & Bauer, 2007
Agave Branch Library, Phoenix Arizona: Will
Bruder Architects, 2009
 Sunrise Mountain Library, Peoria, Arizona:
Richärd & Bauer, 2009
Kenmore Branch Library, Kenmore, Washington:
Weinstein A+U, 2011
Los Gatos Public Library, Los Gatos, California:
Noll & Tam Architects, 2012
Chapter 12 Collocated Libraries, Additions, and
Modernizations

Ballard Brandb Library and Neighborhood

Service Center, Seattle, Washington: Bohlin
Cywinski Jackson, 2005
Palo Verde Branch Library and Maryvale
Community Center, Phoenix, Arizona: Gould
Evans / Wendell Burnette Architects, 2006
Northgate Library and Community Center,
Seattle, Washington: The Miller Hull Partnership,
2007
Cambridge Public Library, Cambridge,
Massachusetts: William Rawn Associates / Ann
Beha Architects, 2009
South Mountain Community Library, Phoenix,
Arizona: Richärd & Bauer, 2011

Chapter 13 Libraries in Northern Europe

Almelo Public Library, Almelo, Netherlands;

Mecanoo, 1994
Peckham Library, London, England: Alsop &
Störmer, 2000
Idea Store Whitechapel, London, England: Adjaye
Associates, 2005
 Helmond City Library, Helmond, Netherlands:
Bolles & Wilson, 2010
Vennesla Library and Cultural Center, Vennesla,
Norway: Helen & Hard, 2011
Spijkenisse Library, Spijkenisse, Netherlands;
MVRDV Architects, 2012
Idea Store Watney Market, London, England:
Bisset Adams, 2013
Seinäjoki City Library Addition, Seinäjoki,
Finland: JKMM Architects, 2014
Bibliography
Image Credits
Architect and Firm Biographies
Index
Preface
There is perhaps no institution more fundamentally democratic than the
American public library, which came into existence over a century and a
half ago, and has thrived ever since. To accommodate this unique institution,
public library design has evolved over time to address the many practical
and logistical challenges intrinsic to the project type and also the special
architectural opportunities it represents. Architects and librarians, as well as
those who use libraries, have strong ideas about library design based on
different experiences and expectations, and the various functional, technical
and aesthetic considerations that come into play.

As an architect, my own interest in libraries comes from experience in

practice and teaching, and my desire to better understand the architectural
potential of this important project type through the study of exemplary
work, past and present. The process of investigation began here with the
compilation of reference material on new public libraries, the documentation
of which was assembled incrementally over time from a variety of
secondary sources, supplemented eventually with field visits and
photographic documentation of my own. To better understand these projects
and the context of their development, I subsequently found it useful to delve
into related historical precedents, documenting the evolution of the project
type and its influences over time. The series of design themes that course
through the study, informing the analysis of projects and precedents, came
initially from my experience in practice and teaching, working with client
groups on projects to articulate design goals and priorities. The resulting
synthesis of these three components, I believe, presents a fairly
comprehensive picture of the current state of the art in public library design,
its development over time, and the underlying concepts that characterize
this unique project type and its potential for future development.
Regarding the material itself, several additional observations are useful here
for clarification. First, as a design study, the emphasis throughout is on
visual representation of the work, relying extensively on scale drawings and
photographs, with supportive text as necessary to provide background and
clarify intent. Many of the photographs are my own, showing lighting
conditions, wear and tear, and other signs of inhabitation “as found”—an
acknowledgement of the everyday use of the library environment, which is
often more cluttered and disarrayed than architects might like it to be. Also,
people and activities are shown, wherever possible, in the photographs as
indications of inhabitation; however, in many libraries photographs of
patrons and staff are not allowed. Most of the drawings here are
reconstituted from a variety of mostly secondary sources indicated in the
bibliography and may vary somewhat in detail and accuracy, depending on
the quality of the source material itself. Indications of furnishings, in many
cases, are also lacking in the source drawings, unavoidably limiting the
understanding of the way spaces are actually used.

Lastly, as a footnote on relevance, the emphasis here on public libraries

versus academic libraries, research libraries, and archives is a deliberate
acknowledgement, indeed a celebration of the social and political nature of
the institution’s charter, which guarantees free and open access for everyone
to the information, ideas, and learning opportunities public libraries offer. In
the current era of “alternative facts” and “fake news”, privatization of public
education and related resources, and the general attack on our most basic
democratic institutions, this is worth bearing in mind. In the words of James
Madison: “A popular Government, without popular information, or the
means of acquiring it, is but a Prologue to a Farce or a Tragedy; or, perhaps
both. Knowledge will forever govern ignorance: And a people who mean to
be their own Governors, must arm themselves with the power which
knowledge gives”.* Public libraries offer us that opportunity.
* Epilogue: Securing the Republic: James Madison to W.T. Barry
Acknowledgments
The formulation and development of this study would not have been
possible without the support and encouragement of many friends,
colleagues, students, educators, library staff and administrators, architects,
and design professionals with experience and expertise in the planning,
design, and management of public libraries.

First and foremost, I want to thank my wife, Dr. Jan L. Cassin, for her
unwavering support and encouragement for the project—her patience and
understanding; her intellectual curiosity and belief in the importance of the
work; and her untiring enthusiasm for travel far and wide to see and
document many of the libraries contained herein. Her critical observations
about architecture and design were always thoughtful and important to
consider, and her formidable editing skills were indispensable.

Special thanks also to my longtime friend and collaborator, Professor Franc

Nunoo-Quarcoo of the Penny W. Stamps School of Art and Design at the
University of Michigan, for his tireless work, informative discussions about
design and, most importantly, the elegant design and layout of the
publication itself. Without him, I can say with confidence, the seamless
confluence of content and presentation would never have been realized. Also
thanks to Maria Phillips for her moral support, her unerring critical eye, and
impressive organizational skills. Without her help, the end result of the
project would have been much diminished.

For copy editing, I am greatly indebted to my dear friend, Boyka Thayer.

With her unerring eye, she crossed all the t’s, dotted all the i’s, and forever
banished the split infinitive from my writing.

Professionally, I would like to thank, posthumously, my friend and mentor

Professor Imre Halasz of the School of Architecture and Planning at MIT,
with whom early in my career I worked closely on the preliminary planning
and design for the Rotch Library addition and modernization—a project that
inspired in me an enduring passion for library building. All of my thoughts
on the subject are ultimately filtered through this experience and Imre’s
intellectual and artistic approach to design.

For their enlightened approach to public library planning and design, I am

also indebted professionally to the administration and staff at King County
Library System and Integrus Architecture for our work together on
Covington Library. Many of the design themes presented here are the result
of this experience.

For related academic work in the area of design, I would like to thank
students and faculty in the Department of Architecture at the University of
Oregon who participated in the Sustainable Cities Initiative studio, working
with staff and administrators at the Springfield Library. Also, thanks to
faculty and students at the School of Design and Construction at
Washington State University who, along with library staff, participated in
the Neill Public Library studio in Pullman.

For reference and research assistance on library design, and for his unique
insights into the subject as a librarian and historian, I am indebted to Dr.
Alan Michelson of the University of Washington Built Environments
Library, who, as always, was generous with his time. Also thanks to
Professor Catherine Wetzel of the College of Architecture at IIT for help
obtaining photographs of Chicago libraries, and for sharing insights on the
numerous libraries we visited together here in Seattle.

Also, special thanks to staff and administrators in the many libraries who
allowed me access to their facilities to photograph, including: Almelo Public
Library, Atlanta-Fulton Public Library System, Berlin State Library, Boston
Public Library, Cambridge Public Library, Clayton County Library System,
Contra Costa County Library, Crane Public Library, DC Public Library,
Detroit Public Library, Enoch Pratt Free Library, Fort Vancouver Regional
Library, Gloucester Cathedral, Grosse Pointe Public Library, Helmond City
Library, The Historical Society of Washington DC, King County Library
System, Los Gatos Public Library, Merton College Oxford, Mt. Angel Abbey
and Seminary, Multnomah County Library System, Peabody Institute of The
John Hopkins University, Peoria Public Library System, Phillips Exeter
Academy, Phoenix Public Library, San Francisco Public Library, Scottsdale
Public Library, Seattle Public Library, Spijkenisse Library, St. Walburg’s
Church, Stockholm Public Library, Surrey Libraries, Trinity College
Cambridge Fellows, Southwark Council libraries, and Tower Hamlets
Council libraries and Idea Stores.

I am also indebted to the libraries, archives, offices, and institutions that

provided historical photographs for the PART I: Precedents section of the
publication, including: Alamy Stock Photos, Boston Public Library Print
Department, Cleveland Public Library Archives, HBRA Architects, Library
of Congress Prints and Photographs Division, New York Public Library
Digital Collections, New York Public Library Photographs and Prints
Division, Newberry Library, The Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton
County Digital Library, Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture,
and Wikimedia Commons.

Special thanks also to architectural offices that provided photographs for the
PART II: Projects section of the book, including: Patkau Architects, VJAA,
Helen & Hard Architects, and JKMM Architects.

For their support and patient guidance throughout the process of

publication, thanks to Routledge editors Krystal LaDuc, Katharine Maller,
and Wendy Fuller, and editorial assistants Julia Pollacco and Kalliope Dalto.
Introduction
Throughout history, libraries have played a vital role in our social, cultural,
and intellectual development, as repositories of the written word, and the
information and ideas it represents. The materials and activities libraries
have traditionally accommodated sustain a collective knowledge base that
encompasses no less than the record of human endeavor and the progress of
civilization over time. Dedicated to the preservation of scholarly materials,
mainly in the form of books, traditional libraries were rarefied places for
reading, study, and research—exclusive domains of the educated elite.
Closely associated with spheres of social, cultural, and political influence,
libraries conveyed power and prestige to those allowed privilege of access,
with collections housed in monasteries, cathedrals, palaces, and universities.

Public libraries, which promote broader access to books and the information
they contain, have appeared in various incarnations since early classical
times. The modern institution, as we know it today, however, is a product of
the nineteenth century, when dramatic increases in the production and
availability of printed materials, and popular demand for their use among a
growing and literate middle class, led to its formative development, first in
the U.S. and then in Great Britain. In an era of dramatic social change, its
early development paralleled the rise of modern industrialization and liberal
democracy, associated in the U.S. with mass immigration, and the
movement for universal, compulsory public education. Free and open to the
general public, and funded with public tax revenues, the library’s inherently
populist program was broadened to accommodate popular reading materials
and lending of books, and a more diverse user base that included, for the
first time, working people and families.

Public libraries today are popular and highly valued community resources
that continue to thrive in cities, towns, and neighborhoods across the U.S.
and elsewhere, enjoying broad public support for the services they provide.
Increasingly diverse in the materials they contain, and the programs and
activities they support, public libraries have continued to evolve over time,
differing in significant ways from their nineteenth century predecessors,
which were devoted mainly to reading and study, and the circulation and
storage of books. Books are still important in public libraries, and book
circulation remains robust; however, new forms of electronic media and
mass communication, including audio-visual materials, the Internet, and
social media, have dramatically affected library use in recent years, and will
continue to do so in the future. At the same time, the public library today
functions more and more as a new kind of social center, reinforcing its
importance in the community as a physical place—one that serves as a
forum for social interaction and exchange of ideas, accommodating a variety
of activities and programs for an increasingly diverse user base.

Architecturally, these changes have had profound effects on the development

of the public library as a project type, offering new and exciting
opportunities for design. Traditional design paradigms have given way to
new ones, more responsive to contemporary library needs and program
imperatives. As a result, we are experiencing today the emergence of a new
generation of innovative library design, and growing interest in the subject
among architects, library professionals, and the public at large. It is timely
now to recognize and assess this important body of work, to better
understand the factors that have influenced its design, and the implications
for future development.

The New Public Library: Design Innovation for the Twenty–First Century is
an in-depth design study of an exemplary collection of historical and
contemporary public libraries from the U.S., Canada, and northern Europe,
representing a diverse body of work that builds on the past as it looks to the
future. PART I: Precedents is a survey of historically significant public
library architecture, tracing the development of the project type over time.
Its primary focus is on precedents from the U.S., where the modern public
library originated, and its design has been most comprehensively developed.
Early precedents from Europe are included for historical context and
thematic continuity. PART II: Projects is a survey of contemporary public
libraries, focusing on current developments in design. The selection includes
projects from the U.S., Canada, and northern Europe, all completed within
the past 30 years. Projects vary in scale and complexity, representing a broad
sampling of design approaches in different contexts.

The design themes that follow provide a critical framework for

understanding and assessing this work and its underlying design intent. All
have origins in the development of historical precedents, evolving over time
to accommodate changing program needs and opportunities. Prioritization
of themes varies from project to project based on specific circumstances;
however, their general application is comprehensive and, ultimately,
definitive of the new public library.

Library Identity
Library identity promotes a unique sense of place responsive to the physical,
cultural, and social context of the library and the community it serves. It
suggests a strong physical presence and distinctive architectural expression
appropriate to the civic and community functions of the library, and the
larger built and natural environments that surround it.

Historically, library identity is closely associated with the classical traditions

of Ancient Greece and Rome that celebrate the library as a venerable civic
institution distinguished by the formal architectural treatment of the edifice,
the room, and the written materials contained within. Monumental in scale
and hierarchical in organization, its architectural influence, like the classical
ideals it embodies, is timeless and enduring, recurring over time in the
Renaissance hall libraries of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, the
Beaux-Arts public libraries of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries,
and, more recently, the postmodern libraries of the 1980s and 1990s.
Similarly, the medieval traditions of Europe are reflected in the architecture
of the monastic library, which, in association with the church, represents an
alternative approach to library identity based on the functional
accommodation of natural light and books for the comfort and convenience
of the reader. Intimate in scale and less formal in its organization, it too
represents an enduring legacy that includes the functionalist expression of
the modern library in the twentieth century, with its pragmatic planning,
rejection of classical norms and conventions, and appropriation of more
prosaic architectural forms associated with commercial and residential use.

Today, library identity encompasses a broad spectrum of design influences

that clarify the library’s unique place within the community and give
broader meaning and expression to its form. Traditional classical
conventions and norms are less prevalent in its design, which is radically
transformed by a variety of innovative architectural strategies and solutions
—functionally responsive, and freely expressive of new program needs and
site opportunities. Inside and out, the public library today is an informal and
active place—distinctive, dynamic, vibrant and attractive—its identity more
commercial than institutional in spirit, similar in many respects to
contemporary retail environments. Site and context are important
architectural influences, establishing relationships to characteristic features
of the built environment, including those associated with residential and
commercial use. Responsiveness to the natural environment is also critical
for the library’s sense of place, establishing relationships to the landscape
and highlighting special features of the local climate. On the site, a strong
physical presence is important, acknowledging the library’s special place
within the community, and its symbolic function as a civic beacon. Inside,
outlook and views reinforce connections to the surrounding context, while
feature rooms, courtyards, and gardens focus inward, emphasizing the
library’s function as a special place of refuge and retreat.
Community Use
Community use facilitates access to the shared resources and activities of
the library, encouraging public interaction by providing strong physical
connections to the surrounding community. For accessibility, the public
library is conveniently located, open and inviting to the community, and
closely associated with other public resources and amenities.

Historical precedents for community use originate with the civic libraries of
Ancient Greece and Rome, as well as some monastic and church libraries of
the medieval and Renaissance eras in Europe, all of which supported some
level of public use, but with access limited to a relatively small educated
class. In the mid-nineteenth century, the modern public library in the U.S.
and Great Britain dramatically expanded community access by opening the
library and its resources to everyone in the community, including, for the
first time, working people and families. Smaller branches popularized in the
Carnegie era further extended the outreach of the library, providing greater
access to outlying neighborhoods in cities. Architecturally, public libraries of
the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, like their classical precedents,
are relatively insular and introverted, with closed interior spaces separated
from the day-to-day activities of the community outside. In the mid-
twentieth century, the functional expression of the postwar modern library
is more extroverted, opening interior spaces of the library to the outside to
encourage community use, much like contemporary commercial retail and
residential environments.

Today, the new public library is centrally located in the community it serves
—prominent and accessible to encourage everyday use. Its architectural
expression is attractive and inviting, less institutional in character, and more
like a contemporary commercial retail environment. Outside, openness and
transparency reveal activities and resources of the library inside, opening
views there to the surrounding community. Special lighting effects and
signage encourage nighttime use and enhance the library’s physical presence
in the community. Convenient pedestrian access further encourages
community use, along with onsite parking and convenient street access for
cars. Outside, community interaction is reinforced by the library’s proximity
to other public buildings and open spaces, including: municipal complexes,
civic centers, community centers, recreational facilities, neighborhood
service centers, city parks, and outdoor public markets. Additional
community activities are accommodated within the library, including: public
meetings, lectures, exhibits, social gatherings, and performances.

Variety of Library Activities

Variety of library activities supports the widest possible range of uses within
the library, expanding access to information, and providing new
opportunities for learning and exchange of ideas. The public library today is
an active and inclusive place, accommodating diverse activities that reflect
the varied interests and needs of the community it serves.

Historically, the medieval alcove library associated with the monastic

tradition supported a limited range of activities, accommodating books and
readers together in a consolidated room reserved exclusively for reading and
study. The hall library of the Renaissance also accommodated books and
readers in the same room, which, in the classical tradition, was larger and
more decorative, providing an informal venue for social gathering, scholarly
discourse, and public display. With the advent of the public library in the
nineteenth century, library activities become increasingly diversified with
the integration of the circulating library, with its popular collections and
associated activity spaces. In the late nineteenth and early twentieth
centuries, the Carnegie program popularized the children’s library, along
with other new activity spaces for lectures, classroom instruction, exhibits,
and historical collections. Early and postwar modern libraries in the
twentieth century continued the trend toward diversified use, incorporating
a variety of multipurpose spaces for browsing, informal reading, social
gathering, and other related activities, now more spatially unified and
interconnected.

The public library today accommodates a more diverse range of activities

than ever before—activities that can be formal or informal, active or passive,
public or private, collective or individual. Traditional library use associated
with reading, study, and research is now expanded to include a wide offering
of associated community activities like meetings, classroom instruction,
workshops, group study, lectures, performances, exhibits, receptions, social
gatherings, and children’s programs. Associated activity spaces can be open
and extroverted, incorporating informal reading areas, open-shelf
collections, public computers, information and circulation desks, and flexible
seating for special library programs. Others, like community rooms,
classrooms, auditoriums, meeting rooms and study rooms, are more
introverted and enclosed, in some cases, with direct outside access for
afterhours use. Special designated areas for children, teens, adults, and
seniors function like libraries within the library, maintaining a degree of
autonomy and separation, with their own collections, services, and
specialized program spaces.

Access To Library Materials

Access to materials facilitates public use of library resources by making
them more directly available to the user. In the public library today, free and
open access to books and other library materials is encouraged wherever
possible, eliminating physical barriers that impede their use.

Historically, access to library materials is closely associated with library

organization and the corresponding relationships between readers and
books. In the medieval alcove library, where the relationship is direct, the
individual reader had immediate access to books for reference, reading, and
study, without the intervention of a librarian. In the Renaissance hall library,
books were openly displayed within the room as an architectural feature, but
direct access to the reader was prohibited, requiring the assistance of library
staff. In the mid-nineteenth century, closed-stack bookrooms further limited
access to books in growing collections, which were stored remotely, with
centralized library services in between for control. At the same time, the
advent of the public library, with its popular circulating collection, enhanced
access for working people and families by making books available for use
outside the library. In the Carnegie libraries of the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, open-shelf collections for browsing were introduced,
further enhancing access to popular collections. In large libraries at the time,
decentralized subject departments facilitated access to collections, reducing
the need for remote closed-stack book storage. Early and postwar modern
libraries in the twentieth century continued the trend toward openness and
accessibility, with open-shelf collections attractively displayed like
merchandise in a contemporary retail environment.

Today, the contents of the library are more accessible to the public than ever
before, enhancing utilization of available resources, and minimizing the
need for closed stacks and other forms of remote storage that require the
intervention of library services. The quantity and variety of these materials
continue to increase, as the library incorporates a growing assortment of
new digital media like e-books, books on tape, CDs, and DVDs that
complement more traditional print media like books, magazines, and
newspapers. Throughout the library, open-shelf collections showcase these
materials, which are attractively displayed and convenient to access. To
encourage browsing and lingering, movement is routed through collections,
not around them, and informal sitting and reading areas are decentralized
and interspersed throughout. For improved visual access to materials and
associated spaces, the library environment is open and transparent, inside
and out, with integrated feature lighting and signage. Computers and Wi-Fi
networks are also incorporated throughout the library, providing convenient
public access to an extensive offering of additional online materials and
services.

Flexibility and Adaptability

Flexibility and adaptability maximize utilization of space in the library by
accommodating multiuse and change over time. The library environment
today is dynamic and tractable, flexibly planned to support a greater variety
of program activities, and readily adaptable to accommodate growth and
change. Historically, the evolution of library planning, from carrel and
lectern to alcove and hall, is a direct reflection of the on-going problem of
growing collections and how to house them. In the nineteenth century, long-
term adaptability for this purpose was nominally addressed with the
introduction of efficient, closed-access book stacks, which could be filled in
or expanded incrementally as needed, without impacting the traditional
reading room, where bookshelves and furniture remain relatively fixed. In
the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, decentralized subject
departments in large Beaux-Arts libraries accommodated incremental
growth of collections, reading rooms, and services, which were increasingly
open and interconnected to encourage flexible use. In the early modern
libraries of the twentieth century, open planning and enhanced spatial
relationships between different activity areas provided additional flexibility
for multiuse. In the mid-twentieth century, modern libraries of the postwar
era incorporated more extensive open planning based on commercial office
and retail models, with flexible furnishings that encouraged multiuse and
long-term adaptability.

The library environment today, more than ever before, is both flexible and
adaptable to accommodate multiuse and change over time. Open planning,
with tractable furnishings, fixtures, and equipment, including bookshelves,
allows maximum utilization of the library facility, which can be
reconfigured to support a greater variety of program activities, now and in
the future. Inside, library interiors are open and transparent, with complex
spatial relationships that encourage multiuse and interaction of
complementary program activities throughout. For flexible planning, open
clear-span structures leave floors open and unobstructed, with the capacity
to support books in a variety of locations. Movable, non-bearing partition
walls ensure long-term adaptability to support a greater variety of uses
without modification of the building’s basic infrastructure. Raised floors
accommodate flexible and unobtrusive mechanical, electrical and data
systems, which, along with lighting systems, can be easily accessed and
reconfigured to accommodate changes in layout and space utilization. In the
era of digital media, the uncertain future of print media, and its impact on
the size of collections, reiterates the need for greater flexibility and
adaptability in the library’s planning and organization.

Quality of Library Environment

Quality of environment ensures that the library is a comfortable, attractive,
and stimulating place to be, enhancing livability for community use. The
public library today is a vibrant, varied, and dynamic place, incorporating
natural light and views, a rich palette of materials, colors and finishes,
feature lighting and signage, and integrated artwork.

Historically, the most fundamental amenity of the library environment is

natural light, the use of which, for livability, is varied. In the medieval alcove
library, its function was purely utilitarian, providing illumination for the
comfort and convenience of the reader. By contrast, in the Renaissance hall
library, its use was more aesthetic, providing general illumination of the
room and its formal decorative treatment, which were paramount in the
design. Early public libraries of the hall-and-alcove type in the nineteenth
century combined the two forms, illuminating the room for architectural
effect, and providing the reader with functional daylighting, which, in time,
was supplemented with artificial sources. In the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, large departmental libraries continued this trend, with
decentralized reading rooms and collections that facilitate access to natural
light for utility as well as aesthetics. At the same time, the enduring legacy
of the classical tradition reinforces the institutional character of the library
environment and its civic associations. In the early modern libraries of the
twentieth century, natural light was more diversified and spatially
articulated, enhancing both the function and form of the library
environment, which was further enhanced by the expressive use of natural
materials and naturalistic forms. Modern libraries of the postwar era
continued this trend, incorporating natural materials, color accents, feature
lighting, artwork, and outside views, using contemporary residential and
commercial retail models of design for reference.

For quality of environment, the library today is designed for comfort,

convenience, and visual appeal, accommodating a wide variety of activities
in an informal, non-institutional setting. Balanced and controlled natural
light is incorporated throughout, both for functional daylighting, and as an
architectural feature, often in association with outside views of the site and
surrounding context. Materials and finishes are tactile and expressive,
humanizing the library environment through the introduction of color,
texture, and visual warmth. Throughout the library, integrated artwork
complements the architecture, providing meaning and context for library
activities, especially those associated with children. Feature lighting provides
visual contrast and highlight for enhanced display of library collections, and
a broad range of related activities. For wayfinding and visual interest,
signage is also integrated architecturally, using contemporary commercial
retail models for reference.
Integration of Technology
Integration of technology facilitates access to information and ideas by
incorporating new digital technologies into the library environment. The
public library today provides unprecedented community access to a wide
variety of digital media, computer technology, and online services for
reading, reference, research, entertainment, and communication.

Historically, the technological development of traditional print media to

meet an ever-increasing market demand correlated directly with the
problem of growing library collections, and how best to house them. The
evolution of reading materials from scroll to codex to book, papyrus to
vellum to paper, and manuscript to print, gave rise to the parallel
development of the library facility itself, from carrel to lectern to alcove to
hall, and beyond. Quantitatively, increases in the capacity of libraries over
time were dramatic, with volumes in large collections numbering in the
hundreds in medieval times, the tens of thousands in the Renaissance era,
and millions today. In the late twentieth century, the introduction of new
digital media continued to expand this capacity, while offering the potential
of reducing the physical size of collections and, subsequently, the library
facility itself.

Today, the public library provides access to a combination of traditional

print and new digital media, which are complementary of one another,
rather than mutually exclusive. In addition to books, magazines, and
newspapers, the library offers a wide selection of digital media available on
disk or for downloading, including e-books, books on tape, CDs, and DVDs.
For Internet access, personal computers are available to the public at
dedicated stations, which are centrally located in open, common areas of the
library. Wi-Fi services for laptop computers and other portable electronic
devices provide additional remote access to the Internet in other non-
dedicated areas of the library. For reference and research, online public
access catalogues (OPACs) are dispersed throughout the library, providing
direct access to library services, which are also available via the Internet.
Dedicated computer classrooms for technical instruction and training are
open and accessible to the library, with glass enclosures for transparency
and sound isolation. Access and servicing of IT systems throughout the
library are facilitated with raised computer floors that provide flexibility and
adaptability over time.
Part I Precedents
Library of Celsus
Gloucester Abbey Library
St. Walburg's Chapter House Library
Merton College Library
Laurentian Library
Library at El Escorial
Trinity College Library
University of Virginia Library
Boston Athenaeum
Boston Public Library
Astor Library
Peabody Institute Library
Crane Memorial Library
Bibliothèque Ste. Geneviève
Boston Public Library
New York Public Library
Ottumwa Public Library
Decatur Public Library
Washington Central Library
New York Public Library Branches
Newberry Library
Multnomah County Library
Detroit Public Library
Cleveland Public Library
Los Angeles Public Library
Enoch Pratt Free Library
Stockholm Public Library
Viipuri Library
Mt. Angel Abbey Library
 New York Public Library 135th Street Branch Addition
Grosse Pointe Public Library
North End Branch Library
Magnolia Branch Library
Cincinnati Main Library
New Orleans Public Library
Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial Library
Atlanta Central Public Library
Berlin State Library
Phillips Exeter Academy Library
Boston Public Library Addition
Sulzer Regional Library
Harold Washington Library Center

The survey of design precedents that follows focuses primarily on

developments in the U.S., where the public library as a modern institution
first appeared, and where its architectural influence over time has been most
pervasive. In the period before 1800, it includes European libraries of the
early classical, medieval, and Renaissance eras, the influences of which were
important in the development of the American public library in the
nineteenth century. From 1800 to the 1880s, early public libraries in the U.S.
represent the formative architectural development of the building type,
adapting traditional European precedents to accommodate the new public
library program. From the 1850s to 1910s, early Beaux-Arts libraries, based
on classical precedents, incorporate closed stacks to house growing
collections, establishing in the process new relationships between the formal
reading room, books, and library services. From the 1890s to 1920s, the
widespread proliferation of Carnegie libraries establishes a new era of public
library building in the U.S., introducing important program and design
innovations that improve functionality and expand the library’s user base.
From the 1890s to 1930s, decentralized departmental libraries present new
strategies and opportunities for organizing large collections, with distributed
stacks and reading rooms facilitating public access to materials and services.
From the 1920s to 1940s, early modern libraries in Europe and the U.S.
introduce a new functionalism in architecture that facilitates library
operations and the integration of readers, books, and library services. From
the 1950s to 1970s, postwar modern libraries emblematic of a more
pragmatic, utilitarian approach to design, deinstitutionalize the library
environment by making it more informal, flexible, and livable. In the 1970s
and 1980s, postmodern libraries show a renewed interest in classical Beaux-
Arts precedents as viable models of planning and design adapted for
contemporary use.
Chapter 1 European Influences–Before
1800
Library of Celsus
Gloucester Abbey Library
St. Walburg's Chapter House Library
Merton College Library
Laurentian Library
Library at El Escorial
Trinity College Library

The public library is a quintessentially American institution, first developed

and widely popularized in the U.S., beginning in the mid-nineteenth century.
Its earliest architectural influences, however, are European in origin,
representing divergent traditions in library building that extend as far back
historically as the classical and medieval eras. In classical times, the libraries
of ancient Greece and Rome were developed as civic monuments, often
freestanding and purpose-built, dedicated to scholarly study and discourse,
with an emphasis on the formal reading room, and display of books as an
integral part of the architecture. By contrast, the medieval library that
followed was more utilitarian in design, emphasizing pragmatic
accommodation of the individual reader engaged in private study. Here the
architectural emphasis was on natural light, and integrated furnishings that
facilitated direct access to books, typically accommodated within the
confines of existing building complexes like monasteries, churches, and
universities. Evolution of the medieval system, from carrel and lectern to
stall, culminated in the development of the archetypal alcove library,
designed to accommodate growing collections and an increasingly diverse
user base. During the Renaissance, revival of classical forms resulted in the
development of the archetypal hall library, focusing again on the
architecture of the room, which now incorporated a sophisticated wall
system of shelving for storing and displaying large collections of books.
Integration of classical and medieval precedents subsequently produced a
hybrid hall-and-alcove library that would be carried forward and adapted in
the earliest public libraries of the nineteenth century in America.

Library of Celsus
Ephesus, Asia Minor

Roman

Second Century

The influence on library design from the classical era of ancient Greece and
Rome is profound and enduring, although few examples survive today. The
classical library in its time was an important cultural and social center for
scholarly study and discourse—a repository of written materials that
provided access to the collective knowledge base of classical civilization. Its
architecture was an exuberant celebration of the edifice and room, which
were designed to impress with their formality, monumentality, and opulent
decoration. The latter included the prominent display of reading materials,
which were an integral part of the architecture. As civic institutions, many
classical libraries, Greek and Roman, were public; however, widespread
illiteracy and associated class distinctions limited their patronage.

The second century Library of Celsus, at Ephesus in Asia Minor, is a rare

surviving example of library building from the Roman era, incorporating
basic features of the classical type. Here, the interior of the library is a single
room—a large rectangular hall for the storage of written materials, as well as
reading. Around the perimeter walls, rolled manuscripts are stored and
displayed in a series of recessed cabinets, arranged in three tiers, with open
galleries above for access to the upper levels. Entry into the room, wider
than it is deep, is in the transverse direction through one of three doorways
—a nonhierarchical arrangement that acknowledges the secular nature of the
library. The rear wall of the room is dominated by a large apse that likely
contained a statue of the library’s benefactor, whose remains are interred in
a vaulted chamber beneath the main hall. East facing clerestories and,
perhaps, an oculus in the roof are the main sources of natural light, which
emanates from above, providing an insular and introverted interior
environment conducive to reading and study.

Outside, a large entrance portico accommodates reading and scholarly

discourse, the latter adding a social dimension to the library program. For
civic presence, the library is prominently located on a public forecourt, at
the south entrance to the agora—the town’s main market and meeting place.
Its monumental decorative front is raised on a podium that separates it from
the everyday activities of the street, acknowledging the library’s special civic
function.
Plan 1 Forecourt

2 Entrance portico

3 Hall

4 Raised platform (galleries above)

5 Cabinets

6 Apse (crypt below)

7 Ambulatory corridor and stairs

1–1 Entrance portico
1–3 Main entrance and forecourt

1–2 Entrance portico

Section 1 Forecourt

2 Entrance portico

3 Hall

4 Raised platform

5 Galleries

6 Apse

7 Crypt

Gloucester Abbey Library

Gloucester, England

English

Fourteenth Century

In the Middle Ages, new influences in library planning and design arose as
books and book production moved to monasteries and abbeys—remote
outposts of civilization where libraries were transformed as places of quiet
reflection and religious study, closely associated with the Catholic Church
and newly formed monastic orders. Medieval monastic life was dedicated to
a combination of prayer, manual labor, and daily devotional reading, the
latter requiring the provision of at least one book for each member of the
monastic community. Early medieval libraries had modest collections that
fulfilled this need, typically containing no more than a few hundred
volumes.
1–4 Cloister courtyard

Architecturally, the medieval library was less formal in its organization than
its classical predecessors, focusing on the functional accommodation of the
reader, rather than the architectural treatment of the edifice, the interior
space, and the display of library materials. It was generally associated with
the cloister courtyard—a place of seclusion at the center of monastic life,
where members of the religious community wrote, studied, taught, and
learned. Originally, these activities took place in the open air of the cloister
walk, which, for convenience, was located on the side of the cloister closest
to the chapel, where prayer and religious services took place. Books were
stored and secured in the traditional armarium or book press of Roman
origin, recessed in the rear wall of the cloister walk, or freestanding in front
of it. As collections grew in size, books were sometimes stored in a separate
room, often located adjacent to the cloister between the chapter hall and
south transept of the chapel. Over time, cloister walks were enclosed with
windows to extend their seasonal use, and carrels were installed to provide
greater comfort and privacy for readers. Inserted between columns of the
cloister walk, ideally facing south, carrels were typically constructed of
wood, and occasionally of stone, with dividing partitions spaced several feet
apart, corresponding to the column bay and the vertical window mullions
that subdivide it. Only a few feet deep at most, carrels were partial height to
the ceiling, with clerestory windows above providing natural light in the
enclosed cloister walk. Carrel windows were clear-glazed for reading, and
partially enclosed with decorative wood screens for doors that facilitated
supervision and allowed light and air to pass through.

The library at Gloucester Abbey in England, from the late-fourteenth

century, is the only surviving example of the system, incorporating a series
of twenty stone carrels along the north walk of the cloister, directly adjacent
to the church. Each carrel is four feet wide, two feet deep, and seven feet
high, with a small window facing the cloister, and large clerestories above
providing natural light in the cloister walk. For privacy, wooden screens
separate the library from the south and east walks of the cloister, where
processions into the church take place.
Other documents randomly have
different content
gladstone bag containing a few necessary articles for a Saturday-to-
Monday’s stay in the country, since he invariably kept a supply of
clothes at his home. With a nod to the station-master, to whom he
was well-known, Fuller left the station, and ignoring the application
of several cabmen, struck at an angle to reach the high road. He
was soon on the hard metal and walked along swiftly and easily
swinging his bag, glad of the exercise to grow warm again, as the
day was cold and he was chilled from sitting in the train. As it was
now the end of November there was a slight grey fog spreading its
veil over the surrounding country, and the sun was conspicuous by
its absence. But that Alan thought of Marie’s bright face, which he
would be certain to see smiling before him on this day or the next,
he would have been depressed by the want of sunshine. But what
lover who hopes to look into the eyes of the girl he adores within a
specified number of hours can feel down-hearted, however gloomy
the skies or moist the earth? Not Alan Fuller, who moved on to his
much-desired goal with love songs humming in his active brain. And
the burden of these was “Marie Marie Marie!” with the delicious
name joined to the most eulogistic adjectives in the English tongue.
It was when he was almost within sight of Belstone village that
the motor bicycle came along. Alan heard the buzz of the machine
round the corner and stood aside to let it pass, indifferent to its
coming and going. But when he saw a slim old man with an ascetic,
clean-shaven face, smartly dressed in a grey suit with brown gaiters,
seated thereon, he both started and called out in his surprise.
“Mr. Sorley. This is unexpected. You on a bicycle?”
The rider shut off the motive power and brought his machine to a
standstill a few yards past the young man. “You are astonished,” he
said, coming back wheeling the bicycle. “Well, Alan, I don’t wonder
at it. At the age of sixty, it is not many people who would risk their
brittle bones in this way.”
“No, indeed,” replied Fuller, staring at Mr. Sorley’s fresh complexion
and closely-cropped white hair surmounted by a very juvenile tweed
cap. “And I thought you were such an indoor man.”
 “Pooh! pooh! pooh!” said Sorley good-humoredly. “You know how
particular I am about exercise, Alan. I walk every day a certain
distance in order to keep myself in health. For years I have slipped
out to range the park; but with increasing age should come
increasing activity, so, I have bought this,” he shook the machine,
“and already—in three weeks that is—I have learned to ride it
without fear. I can explore the country now, and intend to do so, my
dear lad. The park is too small for me, and I must take all the
exercise possible if I wish to keep my looks and vitality. Increasing
age: increasing activity,” said Mr. Sorley again, “there you are.”
“Increasing age generally means sitting by the fire and going to
bed early, sir,” replied Alan dryly, “don’t overdo it.”
“My boy, there is nothing so objectionable as advice.”
“I beg your pardon. I only thought——”
“Then don’t think on my behalf at all events,” snapped Mr. Sorley,
who appeared rather ruffled by Fuller’s reflection on his age. “When
you come to my years, Alan, I doubt if you will look so healthy as I
do.”
The young man mentally admitted that it was possible he might
not wear so well. Sorley was a marvel of preservation, and although
he had turned sixty certainly did not look more than forty-five at the
most, save for his white hair. His face was almost without wrinkles;
his form, spare and lean, was unbowed, and the up-to-date clothes
he always affected gave him quite a youthful air at a distance. In
fact he was a very handsome man in an elderly way, and but for his
shifty eyes and slack mouth—these marred his appearance
considerably—he would have impressed people even more than he
already did. But with all his juvenile aspect and ingratiating ways,
there was something untrustworthy about the man. At least Alan
thought so, and had always thought so, but perhaps he might have
been more observant than the usual run of humanity, for Marie’s
uncle was extremely popular, although his usual life was somewhat
after the style of a hermit. But this Mr. Sorley ascribed less to
inclination than to the want of money, since he humorously said that
he and Marie, unable to make both ends meet, had to make one end
vegetables.
“You are wonderful, Mr. Sorley,” said Alan, hastening to soothe the
old man’s easily hurt vanity. “I never saw you look better. How do
you manage to knock all these years off your age?”
“Abstention from over-drinking and overeating,” said Mr. Sorley
briskly, giving his recipe for everlasting youth. “An hour’s sleep in the
afternoon and plenty of it at night. Cold tubs, dumbbell exercises in
the altogether as Trilby says with the window open, judicious walks
and an optimistic way of looking at things. There you are,” he ended
with his favourite catch-phrase as usual.
“Now you must add trips on a motor bicycle,” laughed Alan,
smiling. “By the way, how is Marie?”
“Blooming as a rose, fresh as a daisy, cheerful as a lark,” prattled
Mr. Sorley, with a swift and not altogether approving glance at the
speaker’s face. “She’ll be getting married soon. I can’t expect to
keep such beauty and grace hidden from the world. And she must
make a good match, my lad”—this was for Alan’s particular benefit
as the young man knew very well——“a title and money, good looks
and a landed estate, with brains added. That is the suitor I have
chosen for Marie.”
“You are looking for a bird of paradise,” said Fuller, coloring at the
hint conveyed, “does such perfection exist in a mere human being?”
“I hope so; I hope so,” said Sorley, still cheery and still shifty in his
glance, “we must look for the rarity, my lad. But I’m in no hurry to
lose Marie. She is a great comfort to her old uncle. I was annoyed
the other day, greatly annoyed, and she talked me into quite a good
humor.”
“What annoyed you, sir?” asked Fuller, not because he cared, but
merely from a desire to chat about Miss Inderwick.
“A funeral which took place in the village.”
“Oh, Baldwin Grison’s funeral?”
 Sorley brought his shifty green eyes to the young man’s face.
“What do you know about Baldwin Grison?” he asked sharply, and,
as it seemed to Alan’s suspicious nature, rather uneasily.
“All that the newspapers could tell me, Mr. Sorley. He was
murdered at Rotherhithe by some unknown person, and his sister
brought the body down here for burial in the village churchyard.”
“That last wasn’t in the newspapers,” retorted the other quickly
and looking everywhere but at Alan’s face.
“No, it wasn’t. But my friend Latimer—you may remember meeting
him at the vicarage, Mr. Sorley—was at the inquest and afterwards
spoke to Miss Grison, who told him of her intention.”
“Did she tell him also that her brother was my secretary twenty
years ago, Alan?” demanded Sorley, his face growing red and his
eyes glittering. “Did she say how he was turned out of the house as
a drunken swine?”
“Miss Grison hinted something of those things at the inquest, but
did not go into details, and, as they were unnecessary, she was not
pressed. But she told Latimer that her brother had been discharged
by you for some reason.”
“He was a hard drinker, and also smoked opium,” said Sorley
angrily. “I did what I could for him, but had to discharge him in the
long run. That woman had no right to bring the body here and bury
it under my nose, as it might be. Decency should have prevented
her bringing back the man to a place whence he was kicked out
twenty years ago.”
“She didn’t bring back the man, but his remains, sir.”
“It would have been better had she thrown those into a London
ditch,” replied Sorley tartly. “Grison was a bad servant to me and a
bad brother to her and a profligate animal. I don’t wonder he was
murdered.”
“Can you suggest any motive for the commission of the crime?”
asked Fuller, looking straightly at the elder man.
 “Grison was a drunkard, an opium-smoker, a liar and a loafer. A
man like that must have made many enemies, and in the low slum
he lived in he certainly risked what has, in the end, happened. The
wonder is that he was not murdered before, Alan.”
“Well, he had one good point,” said Fuller meaningly and to force
confidence if possible on the part of Sorley. “He wasn’t a thief.”
“Can you prove that he was not?”
“Can you prove that he was?” demanded Alan in his turn. “At all
events you omitted that particular crime from your category.”
“The poor devil’s dead and I don’t wish to say more about him
than I have already stated,” said Sorley moodily, and beginning to
start his machine, “but I trust that his silly sister will not come and
worry me.”
“Why should she?” asked Fuller, noticing that the man before him
evaded the question of Grison being a thief.
“There’s no reason in the world why she should, except that she
was infatuated with her brother and believed that I had discharged
him unjustly. I shouldn’t be surprised if she came to tell me that
again, by word of mouth as she has told me dozens of times by
letter. She ascribed Grison’s downfall to me, and was always asking
me to assist him when he was at Rotherhithe during the last twenty
years. Of course I didn’t, both because I am poor as you know, Alan,
and for the simple reason that Grison was not worth helping. I was
his best friend, and far from bringing about his downfall I did my
best to keep him straight. But all in vain: all in vain. He became
quite a scandal in the place and Mrs. Inderwick, my sister, insisted
that I should get rid of him. I did so, and he went to the dogs
entirely. So there you are, Alan, my boy, and I can’t stay here all day
talking about a matter which annoys me intensely.”
By this time the machine was alive with energy and Mr. Sorley
swung himself into the saddle as he ended his voluble speech. With
a nod he set the starting gear in motion, and almost instantaneously
was a dot on the horizon travelling towards Lewes at the speed of a
swallow. Alan looked after him thoughtfully, and tried to arrive at
some conclusion regarding his apparently frank speech. By the time
he reached the vicarage he came to one resolution at least, and that
was to say nothing for the present to Mr. Sorley about the peacock.
The young man could scarcely decide himself what made him refrain
from speaking, save that the old gentleman’s manner and vague
speech communicated to him a sort of uneasy feeling, which hinted
that reticence was wise for the time being. It might have been some
sixth sense which induced the decision, for Fuller certainly could not
argue out the matter logically. However, he determined to obey the
intuition, and to avoid making a confidant of the uncle, while
speaking freely of his errand to the niece. There was no feeling in
his mind against discussing with Marie the theft of the peacock as
the possible motive for the murder of the man her relative seemed
to detest so thoroughly.
As usual the young man received the warmest of welcomes from
his parents, who adored their only son and thought him the most
wonderful person in the world. The vicar assuredly did not worship
the marvellous boy so devotedly as did Mrs. Fuller; nevertheless he
took a great pride in Alan’s handsome looks and clever brains and
general good conduct. He was a bright-eyed, rosy-faced little man,
who scarcely came up to his tall son’s shoulder, with a kindly nature,
which was always being imposed upon. His wife, a sweet-faced old
lady, tall, grey-haired, and singularly graceful, was more practical in
many ways than her husband. She checked the vicar’s too generous
way of dealing with those who took advantage of his lavish kindness,
and was the true ruling power in the house. Her weak point was
Alan, and she often sighed to think that he would never find a
woman worthy to be his wife. A dozen of the best women in the
world rolled into one perfect creature would never have come up to
the standard she had set up in her own mind which the future Mrs.
Alan Fuller was to reach.
Alan always enjoyed his home visits, not only because he loved his
parents with a tenderness and respect rare in these modern days of
revolt against domestic authority, but also on account of the quiet
and well-ordered life which made the vicarage so uncommonly
pleasant. Mrs. Fuller was a famous housewife, and managed her
establishment with such rare tact that she kept her servants for
years. Her husband’s income was not a large one, but no one would
have guessed this, seeing the perfectly appointed dinner-table and
the dainty meal prepared. The vicar’s wife had brought to her
husband by way of dowry a quantity of valuable old furniture, so
that every room looked graciously beautiful. And as the house was
quaint and old, and kept in perfect repair and order, those not in the
secret of the income believed that the Fullers had ample means. But
everything grateful to the eye and the touch and the palate was due
to the “vicaress,” as her husband jocularly called her. The worst-
tempered person in the world would have succumbed to the
soothing influences which permeated the place.
“Home, home, sweet, sweet home,” hummed Alan, when the trio
sat in the fragrant old drawing-room after an admirable dinner.
“Mother darling, you have no idea how restful this is, after the noise
and bustle of London.”
Mrs. Fuller smiled from her favorite chair, and went on with her
tatting, busy as a bee, for she was rarely idle. In her silver-grey
dress with a lace cap of dainty gossamer resting on her white hair,
worn cast back after the style of Marie Antoinette, and her old-
fashioned set of amethyst ornaments, she looked singularly
charming. In the subdued light which came through the pink
lampshades she looked like some gentle ghost of early Victorian
days, soothingly womanly and motherly. She had grown old
gracefully, and as the diamonds flashed from her rings while she
tatted diligently Alan thought what a delightful gentlewoman she
looked, placid, dignified and gracious.
It was the vicar who answered his son’s question, although Alan
had scarcely put his remark as such. “Ah, my boy, you’d soon grow
weary of this drowsy place, and would long for the crowded hour of
glorious life. It is the contrast that makes you appreciate our Eden.”
Mrs. Fuller nodded her approval. “White always shows up best
against black.”
 “Well, you have had some London black down here lately, mother.”
And when she looked at him inquiringly, Alan continued, “I mean the
funeral.”
The vicar’s face grew sad. “Yes! yes! That was indeed an
unpleasant reminder of what lies beyond our quiet hills. Poor Grison
and poor Louisa tool I do not know which I am most sorry for.”
“For Louisa?” said Mrs. Fuller, raising her quiet eyes. “You need
not be sorry for her, John. She did her duty and more than her duty
by that poor creature who has gone to his account, so she has
nothing to reproach herself with. I am glad she is staying for a few
days, as I wish to have a talk with her.”
“Is Miss Grison staying here then?” asked Alan, wondering if it
would be worth while to look her up.
“At Mrs. Millington’s, the dressmaker, my dear. She and Louisa
were close friends twenty years and more ago.”
“That was when Grison was secretary to Mr. Sorley.”
“Yes,” chimed in the vicar. “But who told you about that, my boy?”
“Miss Grison spoke about it at the inquest and also to Dick and
Inspector Moon, father. Then I met Mr. Sorley on my way here and
he told me that he had employed the man, but had to get rid of him
for drink, and——”
“I don’t think that is true,” interrupted Mrs. Fuller with some
indignation in her usually gentle voice. “Poor Baldwin—we called him
so when he was a young man—did not drink to excess, although he
certainly took more than was good for him at times.”
“Then why was he discharged?”
“I cannot say, Alan, nor can anyone else. Louisa knows, but she
would never tell me. But Mr. Sorley was much to blame in throwing
Baldwin on the world without a character, since he was too weak to
stand by himself. Louisa did what she could, but he fell from bad to
worse until—alas! alas! Tell me, Alan, has anything been discovered
as to who killed him?”
“Not yet, mother. You have read the papers.”
 “Oh yes. Louisa sent all the reports down to your father and to
me, knowing that we took a deep interest in Baldwin. Don’t you
remember him, Alan? You were a little boy of six or seven then.”
Alan shook his head. “I have a faint recollection only, mother. A
little man, wasn’t he, with fair hair and blue eyes? But there, I may
have got that impression from Dick’s description. He saw the
corpse.”
“Don’t talk about such things, Alan,” said the vicar hastily. “It
worries your mother: she is very impressionable. Let us be thankful
that the poor creature has been brought back to lie in our quiet
churchyard. As to the person who murdered him, he will suffer for
his sin in God’s good time.”
“I doubt if the truth will ever be discovered,” said Alan with a
shrug. “By the way, father, do you remember that peacock of jewels
which was the fetish or luck of the Inderwicks?”
Not knowing what connection there was between the murder of
Grison and the ornament in question, the vicar thought that the
apparently irrelevant inquiry was made by his son in obedience to
his request that the crime should not be discussed in the presence of
Mrs. Fuller. “Everyone in the village, if not in the county, knows
about the peacock,” he said with an approving smile, “but as to its
bringing luck, I do not believe in such superstitions, my boy.”
“Perhaps not,” said his wife quietly, “but you must confess, John,
that since what the Inderwicks call their luck has been missing
nothing has gone well with them—that is with Marie, who alone
represents the family.”
“Nonsense, my dear. Marie is young, healthy, pretty, and happy
enough in her own way, as Sorley is kindness itself to her. There’s no
bad luck haunting the girl so far as I can see.”
“No, of course not. But I allude rather to her poverty. The
Inderwicks used to be rich, and Mrs. Inderwick was left
comparatively well off. Then she lost her money when Marie was
born, and afterwards died.”
 “Inderwick—Marie’s father, that is—should not have made Sorley
trustee, for he is, and always was a bad business man. He acted
honestly enough, I daresay, but even with his sister’s consent he
should never have speculated as he did. No wonder the money was
lost.”
“What were the speculations?” asked Alan.
“Land in Australia—in Melbourne chiefly, I believe. There was a big
land boom there, over twenty years ago. Then everything failed and
bank after bank went smash. Before Sorley could get a letter or even
a telegram out, everything was gone. However, Marie has The
Monastery and the park and sufficient to keep her in food and dress,
so she can’t grumble.”
“Marie never does grumble,” said Mrs. Fuller decidedly, “she is the
brightest person I know. But it’s a dull life for a young girl at The
Monastery. She ought to have a season in London and be presented
at Court and have an opportunity,” here she stole a shy glance at
Alan’s expressive face, “of making a good match. With Marie’s blood
and looks she should secure a title.”
“Well, perhaps she will, when the peacock returns to bring back
the luck,” said Alan, refusing to be drawn into an argument with his
mother over Marie.
“It will never be found,” said the vicar positively. “How was it lost,
father?”
“I can’t tell you. But it has been missing twenty years and is not
likely to reappear. Marie can do very well without it. Such
superstition is ridiculous. And now we must have prayers,” ended Mr.
Fuller inconsequently. His wife looked up amused, since she knew
that he acted thus because he had no patience with her belief in the
peacock as a fetish.
And while prayers were being said Alan wondered if the peacock
would ever reappear, in spite of his father’s doubts, to influence
Marie’s destiny.
 CHAPTER III
A STORY OF THE PAST

The ancient village of Belstone, hidden in a fold of low-lying,

undulating hills, is inhabited chiefly by agricultural laborers. One
irregular street, four or five narrow lanes, and a few behind-the-time
shops, together with many small cottages, constitute this
sequestered hamlet. There are a great number of farms and several
country seats in the district, but those who own them usually buy
the necessaries of life at Lewes, so Belstone cannot depend upon
trade for its support. The villagers, however, do not mind this
neglect, as they are sleepy-headed and indifferent to all, so long as
they earn sufficient for bed and board. The sole houses of any note
are the vicarage at one end of the village, and the great mansion of
the Inderwicks at the other. Formerly the owners of The Monastery—
as the place is called—were Lords of the Manor, but, as their
property has dwindled to a few acres, the title has passed to a
modern and more prosperous family. The Inderwicks, formerly so
rich and powerful, are now of small account amongst the gentry of
the county.
The Rev. John Fuller always maintained that the prehistoric name
of the village was Baalstone, and that it was so termed after an altar
or stone to Baal or Bel, a deity whom the Ph[oe]nicians had
introduced into Britain. But it is more than questionable whether
these sea-rovers ever traded so far as Sussex, and Mr. Fuller’s
assumption can be taken for what it is worth, although he held
stoutly to his opinion. But be this as it may undoubtedly there was a
Druidical temple where the big house now stands, later a shrine to
Diana, and afterwards an altar to Woden, until early Christian
missionaries built on the same spot a primitive flint and mortar
church. Finally came a Benedictine monastery, which lasted until the
reign of that arch-iconoclast, Henry VIII. From the expelled monks it
had passed into the possession of Nicholas Inderwick, one of
Cromwell’s favorite gentlemen, and had been owned by his
descendants ever since. The spot had therefore always been a holy
one, until secularised in the days of the great Tudor monarch, and
perhaps for this reason had never brought good fortune to the
Inderwicks, who had built up what prosperity they had attained to
on the ruin of sacred things and the misfortunes of sacred people.
Certainly evil luck had followed them for generations: they had lost
land, money, position and authority, and their family tree had been
cut down root and branch, until only one feeble twig sprouted from
the mouldering trunk. Marie Inderwick was the last descendant of
the ancient line, and dwelt in the house of her ancestors on a
penurious income which barely sufficed to keep her in food and fire
and clothes. And when she married, or died, it was to be expected
that the family name would vanish from the land.
All these things Alan knew very well, as all his life they had been
talked about in the village and at the vicarage. There was also a
prophecy of an expelled monk dating over three hundred years ago,
which promised renewed prosperity to the Inderwicks when their
fortunes were lowest. The young man could not think how much
lower the fortunes could sink, and wondered as he strolled towards
the monastery, if now was the appointed time for the fulfilment of
the ancient saying:—
“When most is lost and most are dead,
The spoilers then shall raise their head.
Jewels and gold from over-seas,
Will bring them peace and joy and ease.”
Of course Alan in his reading of the prophecy modernized the
antique diction. There was much more of it, but only Marie knew the
whole of Fate’s decree, and was accustomed to repeat it hopefully
when she felt down-hearted. She always insisted that sooner or later
the curse pronounced on the Inderwicks by the monk would be
removed.
As there was no money to keep things in order, the place was
woefully neglected. The great iron gates which swung from pillars
surmounted by the Inderwick escutcheon in the grip of tall dragons
had not been opened for many years, and access to the park was
gained through a small side entrance set in the mouldering brick wall
which encircled the domain. The park itself was so overgrown and
wild and tangled and savage that it might have been that very wood
which shut in the enchanted palace of the Sleeping Beauty. Alan
dreamed that it might be so, and that he might be the fairy prince
destined to awaken Marie to a new life. And indeed since she loved
him, and he adored her, he had succeeded so far; but how her
fortunes were to be mended at the present juncture he could not
see. Yet had he been gifted with psychic powers he would have
known more or less positively that he was on the eve of entering a
new lane down which he would lead the girl towards happiness and
prosperity.
A short brisk walk up the neglected avenue brought Fuller into the
wide open space wherein was placed the great mansion. Some
portions of the original monastery remained, but during hundreds of
years it had been so altered that the monks would have had some
difficulty in recognizing their former habitation. Parts of the building
had been pulled down and other parts built up, that had been
altered and this had been permitted to remain in its original state, so
that the old house presented an incongruous appearance which
could be ascribed to no particular epoch of architecture. With its
walls of grey flint, brown stone, red brick, and here and there blocks
of white marble somewhat soiled by wind and rain and sunshine, it
looked singularly picturesque. And the whole was overgrown with
ivy, dank and green and wonderfully luxuriant, since it was never
trimmed and never cut. The big building looked as though it were
bound to the soil by the tough tendrils and what with the rank
coarse grasses and the trees which grew right up to the walls, it
might have been part and parcel of the earth itself, so swathed was
it in greenery. There was something noble and austere about the
dwelling befitting perhaps the Benedictines who had dwelt in it at
one time, but it looked altogether too sombre and unwholesome to
shelter the fair head of Marie Inderwick, who was all smiles and
sunshine. And as Alan advanced towards the huge porch which was
supported on twisted pillars, she unexpectedly made her appearance
like a gleam of light shooting across a thunderous sky. It was Alan
the lover, and not Fuller the lawyer, who made this poetic
comparison.
“Darling! darling!” cried Marie, running down the broken steps
with outstretched hands. “I knew you would come. But how late you
are! I saw you in the church this morning, and have been expecting
you all the afternoon. It is now three o’clock and only at this
moment do you put in an appearance. No, I won’t be kissed. Uncle
may be at the window and would make trouble, as he always does.
Besides you don’t deserve a kiss, when you neglect me so.”
“I shall take one for all that,” said Alan, suiting the action to the
word, “and in spite of possible dragon eyes at the window.”
“But your neglect,” pouted Marie, playing with his necktie,
arranging it and rearranging it after the manner of women whose
fingers must always be busy.
“Dearest, I stayed for the midday communion, and when I came
out you had gone home with your uncle.”
“He hurried me away, Alan. He’s always very particular to keep an
eye on me when you come down.”
“Undoubtedly. He wants you to marry a title.”
Marie shrugged her shoulders in a French fashion which she had
acquired from a Parisian school friend at the Brighton seminary. “As
if anyone would marry a pauper like me.’
“I think any man who has an eye for the beautiful would only be
too glad to marry such a lovely pauper.”
“That’s nice. Say it again and slowly.”
“A lovely pauper, an adorable pauper, an angelic———”
 “Stop! stop! You flatter too much. You don’t mean what you say.”
“Not a word,” confessed Alan candidly.
Marie grew red and her eyes flashed. “Then how dare you say
such things!”
“You expect me to and you shouldn’t fish.”
“In shallow water? Certainly not! Alan Eric Reginald Fuller,” she
gave him his complete name and pinched his arm, “you are a bear.”
“Bears hug,” said the lover, taking her in his arms.
“Oh, my gracious, you will get me into trouble,” cried Marie,
extricating herself with some difficulty and flying across the lawn,
followed hot-footed by Alan. “Come and hide out of sight of those
horrid windows. Uncle Ran is sure to see us otherwise, and will order
me indoors. Come! come,” she sang like a siren and fled after the
fashion of Atalanta into the woods.
The trees were bare of leaves, but here and there a fir stood up
green and sombre, while the undergrowth of brambles and grass
and ferns and various weeds had not yet lost their autumnal tints so
that the park did not as yet look entirely wintry. The day was warm
too for late November, and pale sunshine irradiated the grey depths
of the sky, so that the birds had plucked up heart to sing, perhaps in
the hope of averting coming snows. At top-speed Marie flew down a
side path which twisted and straightened at intervals for a
considerable distance until it ended In a kind of sunken dell in the
centre of which was a circle of cemented stones rising slightly above
the fading herbage. Over this was a wooden canopy of ancient
appearance with a tiled red roof weather-worn and mellow, and
beneath, a deep hole which seemed to penetrate into the bowels of
the earth. This was St. Peter’s Dell and St. Peter’s Well since the
monastery had been dedicated to the chief of the Apostles. Marie
loved the spot, and haunted it in summer for the sake of its
coolness. Now she came because she knew that her philanderings
with the forbidden lover would not be seen by anyone.
“And Uncle Ran is asleep,” she explained as she perched herself on
the ragged rim of stones. “He always sleeps for an hour in the
afternoon, because he says that it keeps him alive.”
“I wish it didn’t,” growled Alan, placing himself beside the girl, and
putting an arm round her, probably to prevent her from falling into
the depths. “I don’t like your Uncle Ran, dear.”
“Since he won’t let you make love to me, I can quite understand
that,” said Marie rather pertly; “but he’s all the relative I have so I
must make the best of him, Alan. But you haven’t told me how I am
looking.”
“Why, I’ve used at least a dozen adjectives. But I shall examine
you carefully, darling, and give you my honest opinion.”
Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her face upward, and
looked into the happy blue eyes. Marie was indeed a very pretty girl,
although not perhaps so superlatively lovely as Alan imagined. Her
face would never have launched a thousand ships, or set fire to Troy
Town. But her complexion was transparent and as delicately tinted
as a rose, with the dewy look, so to speak, of that flower at dawn.
Her hair was golden and waved over her white forehead in rebellious
little curls. Then she had sapphire eyes and a straight little Greek
nose, and two fresh red lips, which seemed to invite the kiss Alan
now bestowed. As her figure was wrapped up in a heavy fur cloak of
great antiquity, it could not be seen at the moment, but Alan, who
was well acquainted with its suave contours, knew that it was the
most perfect figure in the three kingdoms, as her hands and feet
were the smallest and most well-shaped. But what really drew his
heart to Marie was her sweet expression and candid looks. Some
women—few, of course—might have possessed Marie’s items of
beauty in the shape of form and coloring, but no one, and Alan said
this aloud with great decision, ever owned such heavenly smiles or
could give such tender glances. Marie sighed and approved of the
praise and nestled her head against his rough frieze overcoat.
“You always tell the truth, darling,” she said, after he had assured
her that she was something higher than an angel.
“Always!” Alan kissed her again for the tenth time. “And now I
want you to tell me the truth, Marie.”
 She looked up somewhat puzzled. “About what?”
“About the peacock of jewels, which———”
The girl drew away from his encircling arm and slipped to the
ground. “Why do you want to speak about that?” she asked,
standing before him and looking as charming as the Queen of Sheba
when she visited Solomon; “it was lost before I was born, and no
one ever speaks of it. Except Uncle Ran,” she added with an
afterthought, “he loves jewels, as you know, and always regrets the
loss, although the peacock belongs to me and not to him.”
“Marie,” said Alan again and gravely, “come and sit down, as I
have something important to tell you which you must not repeat to
your uncle until I give you leave.”
“I shall sit here,” said Miss Inderwick, sinking on to the trunk of a
fallen tree which was a few feet away, “and I wish you wouldn’t look
so solemn or talk about such things. You make me nervous.”
“There is nothing to be nervous about, my dear.”
“Then why am I not to repeat what you say to Uncle Ran?”
demanded Marie in an inconsequent manner.
“Because I think if Mr. Sorley got that peacock he would be greedy
enough to keep it to himself.”
“He couldn’t. It’s mine.”
“He would, because he looks upon your property as his own.”
“The peacock was left to me by my father’s will, along with the
park and the house,” insisted Marie folding her hands pensively. “It
was particularly mentioned because of the good fortune it will bring
—that is when the secret is discovered.”
“The secret. What secret?” Alan spoke almost sharply.
“That connected with the golden peacock. You know the story?”
“Only that there is such a fetish, which is supposed to be the luck
of the Inderwicks.”
“And has been for one hundred years and more. But the secret
———”
 “I have heard nothing about that.”
“Now I come to think of it, I daresay you haven’t. I only became
acquainted with the real meaning of the peacock of jewels a year
ago. I read all about it in a manuscript which I found in the library.
When was the battle of Plassey, Alan?”
“In 1757,” answered Fuller, who had a good memory for dates.
“It was won by Lord Clive, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. But what has that to do with the peacock?”
“A great deal, as you shall hear.”
“One moment, Marie. Is this peacock of Indian workmanship?”
“No. It was made by a man called Simon Ferrier, who was the
servant of my great great great—I don’t know how many greats—
grandfather.”
“Let us say the grandfather who lived about the time of Plassey.
What was his name?”
“George Inderwick. He went to India to———” Here Marie broke
off and looked at her lover searchingly. “But why do you ask about
the peacock?”
“I’ll explain that when I have heard the legend.”
“It isn’t a legend, but a true story, and you are very mysterious,”
said the girl somewhat incoherently. “Well then, George Inderwick
went out to India long before the battle of Plassey in the hope of
restoring the family fortunes. He was only a younger brother and left
The Monastery in possession of Julian Inderwick. Things were very
bad with the family then and they have been worse since. Now”—
Marie sighed—“everything is lost unless the treasure is discovered.”
“The treasure?” Alan looked excited. “Is there a treasure?”
“Of course, you stupid thing. That is the secret of the peacock.”
Alan became exasperated by the way in which he had to drag
things out of her and frowned. “I wish you would tell me the story
clearly,” he said tartly.
 “I shall do so if you won’t interrupt so often,” retorted Marie. Then
looking round the quiet dell, as if for inspiration, and finally finding it
in the eager look in her lover’s eyes, she began the tale. “George
went to India along with his servant, Simon Ferrier, who was his
foster-brother———”
“Wait a bit,” interrupted Fuller again. “Who wrote this
manuscript?”
“Simon Ferrier, and I won’t tell you anything if you keep asking
questions, Alan. How can I speak when you talk?”
“I am dumb, my dearest virago. Go on.”
“I’m not a virago, you horrid boy. Well then, George went to
Madras as a clerk of the East India Company, and was lent to some
rajah to drill his army. He learned soldiering from Lord Clive,
although he wasn’t Lord Clive at the time. Simon went with George
to some hill fort and palace and the two became quite friendly with
the rajah. Then some enemy of the native prince they served
stormed the palace or town or whatever it was, and killed the lot of
them.”
“Even George and Simon?” asked Alan, noting the loose way in
which she was telling the tale, and privately deciding to ask for the
manuscript, so that he might read it himself.
“No, you silly. They were taken prisoners. But before the place
was captured, the Begum—that’s the rajah’s wife—gave all her
jewels to Mr. Inderwick, because he saved her life, and the life of her
son. Simon hid them when he and his master were captured by the
other king, or rajah, or———”
“Never mind; say captured by the enemy.”
“Oh, very well,” said Marie obediently, “when they were captured
by the enemy. They were a long time in captivity, and George was
forced to drill the native troops, while Simon was made to work as a
jeweller.”
“Why as a jeweller?”
 “Oh, it seems that he had been brought up in England as a
watchmaker, and having mended some clock belonging to the
enemy, he was set to work in a shop to make ornaments for the
enemy’s wives. He learned how to make Indian ornaments and
became very clever—at least he says so himself, but perhaps he was
bragging.”
“I don’t think so, if the stories about the beauty of the peacock he
made are to be believed,” said Fuller thoughtfully, and recalling
certain stories related by old village women who had set eyes on the
ornament in question before it had disappeared. “Go on, dear. This is
interesting.”
“The most interesting part is to come,” replied Marie, nodding her
small head with a wise air. “Simon managed to get away, and went
back to where he had hidden the jewels. He dug them up and came
to England———”
“Leaving his master in captivity. How shabby of him.”
“He only did what his master told him,” said Marie quickly. “He
was to take the jewels to England and give them to Julian Inderwick
so that the fortunes of the family might be restored. But Simon did
not like Julian and found out that he was a spendthrift and a
gambler. If he had given him the jewels they would have been
wasted, and the Inderwicks would have been none the better for
them. Simon therefore said nothing about his mission, but he hid the
jewels and then returned to India to rejoin his master, who was now
free and was fighting beside Lord Clive.”
“Well, and what happened then?”
“When the battle of Plassey was being fought, and before Simon
could return to his master, he was taken prisoner by those who had
before held him captive. They had come to know about the jewels,
and insisted that he should tell where they were. Simon was even
tortured to make him tell, but he refused to speak, so they grew
tired and set him to work again, as a jeweller. It was then that he
made the peacock.”
“Why the peacock particularly?”
 “Because he wished to let George Inderwick know where the
jewels of the Begum were hidden in England, and could only do so
by indicating the place through this golden peacock.”
“But in what way?”
“I don’t know. I can’t find out. Simon feared lest the secret should
be discovered by the Indians and lest they should send someone to
England to get back the gems. He therefore, as I say, made the
peacock, and contrived to have it taken to George Inderwick through
a native who was friendly to him. He then died, after writing the
manuscript, telling his master that the secret was hidden in the
peacock. He was murdered, I believe, as he says at the end of his
manuscript that he expected to be put to death.”
“But what was the use of sending the secret to George when it
could not be guessed?”
“It was stupid,” admitted Marie thoughtfully, “since George never
managed to find out from the peacock where the jewels were. In his
anxiety to keep the secret from everyone but his master, Simon
over-reached himself, and entirely forgot that George would find it
as hard to learn the truth as anyone else into whose hands the
peacock fell. However, he died, and the ornament with the
manuscript came to George. After the battle of Plassey George
returned home with some money, and tried hard to learn the
whereabouts of the jewels from the peacock. Julian by this time had
died, so the younger brother succeeded to the estate—what there
was left of it. He—George, I mean—was poor all his life, as he
brought back very little from India, and all he could do was to keep
what Julian had left.”
“Well?” asked Alan, seeing that she said no more.
“That is all. George left a will saying that the jewels were to be
found if the secret of the peacock was discovered. But Simon, in his
desire to keep them safe, had hidden the truth too securely.
Everyone has tried to find the truth, even Uncle Ran, for I asked
him, but all have failed.”
“How much are the jewels worth?” asked Fuller after a pause.
 “Oh,” Marie jumped up and spread her hands, “thousands and
thousands of pounds, dear! One hundred thousand, two hundred
thousand, I don’t know how much. There are rubies and emeralds
and opals and diamonds and—and——” she stopped for want of
breath. “Isn’t it wonderful, Alan?”
“Wonderful indeed,” admitted the young man.
“So there is one or two hundred thousand pounds attached to the
possession of the peacock of jewels if its secret can only be
discovered. Hum! It’s worth risking one’s neck for.”
Marie ran up and shook him by the arm. “How can you say such
horrid things?”
“I am not talking of my own neck, Marie, but of that belonging to
the man who murdered Baldwin Grison.”
“Oh.” The girl stared. “I know that the poor man was murdered.
Mrs. Millington—she’s the village dressmaker, and a friend of mine—
told me about that crime. Louisa Grison was Mrs. Millington’s
bridesmaid, and they are very much attached, and—and—but, Alan,
what has the peacock to do with this horrid murder?”
“Much. Baldwin Grison was murdered, as I truly believe, so that
his assassin might obtain it. Now listen, dear, and be sure you don’t
repeat what I say to your uncle.”
“No, I won’t. Though I don’t see why you want to keep things
secret from him. Go on. What is it?”
Fuller quickly and concisely told her all that he had learned from
Dick Latimer and Inspector Moon relative to the Rotherhithe murder,
and laid great stress on the fact that Jotty the street-arab had seen
the peacock of jewels. Marie listened with open mouth.
“But you can’t be sure that the poor man was murdered because
of the peacock,” she said when he ended. “Besides, how could he
have it?”
“Oh, that last is easy. Grison was your uncle’s secretary and may
have taken the peacock out of revenge, knowing that Mr. Sorley was
fond of jewels. On the other hand, Grison may have read the very
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