It took me a moment to realize that she was quoting Chaucer and that I shouldn’t downplay my success. She added, “You didn’t achieve this just because of your exceptional memory, Anya. It’s been extremely helpful, no one’s going to deny that, but it was your hard work and talent as a scholar that got you over the line. If you hadn’t studied so hard you wouldn’t have been able to make the connections that you needed to translate Folio 9. Possessing a memory as good as yours in no way diminishes your achievement. Don’t dwell on it, Anya. Focus on what’s next. You’re about to be in demand.”
She was right. Job offers rolled in, dazzling me. Mostly they came from departments I’d longed to work in, at some of the best universities and institutions in the world. There were two outliers, and both were unexpected.
The first arrived via Trevelyan herself. She invited me to ameeting in her rooms. When I got there, a man was already seated in half shadow by the leaded window, which had a view of the college’s garden and the stained-glass window of its ancient chapel. It was a damp, cold day. The buds on the magnolia tree were swollen. A crow pecked at the lawn and unearthed a struggling worm.
Trevelyan introduced the man to me, offering shortbread and jasmine tea that she poured into her best set of cups. Steam trailed from the spout of the teapot, dampening her cuffs. I noticed she was wearing a silk blouse that I’d only seen before at formal dinners.
The man was tall and pale, with a long, narrow nose and rimless glasses. His suit was beautifully tailored, his long legs elegantly crossed. He wore brogues that were hand tooled. I’d learned to notice this kind of detail since coming to Oxford: things that signaled wealth and power.
He asked me if I’d ever considered working for the Ministry of Defense, and it took me a moment to understand that he was from MI5 and he was inviting me to become a spy. While I thought about my answer, the bells in the chapel chimed solemnly, and I realized that Trevelyan must genuinely have faith in my abilities, or she wouldn’t have let this meeting happen.
I told the man no, thank you, because I couldn’t imagine living a life where I wasn’t allowed to tell people what I did. My mother and Sid were everything to me. How could I have the normal existence I longed for if I had to look over my shoulder 24-7 or sleep with one eye open?
Which, of course, turned out to be ironic.
The other unexpected offer came from Scotland.
To: Anya Brown
From: Diana Cornish
Subject: Interview The Institute of Manuscript Studies, St. Andrews
Date: March 20, 2024
Dear Dr. Brown,
I hope you don’t mind me contacting you unsolicited. I wouldn’t do so if I didn’t think I had something to say that might be of interest to you.
I’ve read your work on Folio 9 and to say that I’m impressed would be an understatement. Congratulations on an outstanding achievement. Our institute in St. Andrews has a very special opening for a new staff member, and we feel strongly that you’d be an excellent fit. We’re not your run-of-the-mill university department; we pride ourselves on being better than that.
I appreciate that you’ve probably had a lot of interest (and probably some sterling offers) already, but if you could spare some time to have a chat with me, I’d much appreciate it, and I know you won’t regret it.
I hope to hear from you.
With warmest wishes,
Professor Diana Cornish
The Institute of Manuscript Studies
St. Andrews
The email from St. Andrews arrived just at the right time to intrigue me.
I’d had a great interview with Yale University, where they’d hinted heavily that I would be receiving an offer from them, which was the dream. Yale’s Beinecke Library was home to an incredible collection of ancient texts, including the Voynich manuscript, the most famous untranslatable text in the world, and probably the most mysterious. But there was a catch. I knew, deep in my heart of hearts, that even if they made me an offer, I couldn’t accept it, because how could I put an ocean between me and Mum? Her health was on a downward trajectory that none of us could ignore, no matter how much she wanted us to. Of course, she was desperate for me to go to wherever was most prestigious and gave me the best opportunities.Follow your dreams, Anya. Don’t compromise your life for other people. Don’t let this bloody cancer affect your decision. And never make decisions because of a man!I listened to her, but I couldn’t ignore reality. I knew that if I went to Yale, every time I got onto a plane, I’d worry I’d never see her again.
And there was the small matter of being in love with Sid.
I’d considered staying at Oxford, but I’d been there seven years already, and Professor Trevelyan and I agreed that a change was a good idea. Cambridge had made an approach but was out of the question; I would never set foot in that city. There were other excellent universities in the UK, but with Yale casting a long shadow I was struggling to feel passionate enough about any of them. The St. Andrews email, though, was intriguing.
I forwarded it to Professor Trevelyan for a sanity check. I hadn’t heard of the Institute of Manuscript Studies before, which seemed like it should be a red flag.
She replied immediately: “I don’t think you have anything to lose by meeting Professor Cornish, and you might have a lot to gain. The Institute of Manuscript Studies is small but elite. This could be very good for you and suit your personal circumstances. Even if you’re not interested in what the professor is offering, she’s a great contact to have.”
I put a lot of store in what Trevelyan said. She’d been incredibly supportive through my PhD and even more so lately, when I was becoming reluctant to burden Mum with my problems. She’d stepped up. I wrote back to Professor Cornish and told her I’d be happy to meet her in London.
Trevelyan told me a little more about the Institute. It was small and had only been founded five years earlier. Not many people knew much about it, but among those who did, it was very well respected; it was also exceptionally well funded.
