‘Oh my golly!’ one them said in a thicksouthern American accent. ‘Did you ever seen such a thing?’
‘It’s like I’m in The Friary!’ herfriend replied. ‘Good afternoon, Your Ladyship,’ she added in her bestattempt at an aristocratic British accent.
The first woman turned to Morton. ‘Would you look at that? Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?’
He had, but he didn’t like to put adampener on their visit. ‘No, it’s amazing,’ Morton said, trying to soundmore excited than he felt. He had to agree, though, that the saloon wasfairly impressive. The room was long and rectangular with a high, vaultedceiling. Stone gothic arches gave Morton a glimpse of the stream ofvisitors being herded through the first floor.
The line continued to move through thewooden-panelled room with its enormous stone fireplace, where the coats of armsof five generations of Mansfields were intricately carved.
The saloon opened out onto a large hallwaydominated by a sparkling chandelier and several imposing oil paintings oflong-deceased members of the Mansfield family. Morton took out his guidebook and took a cursory glance at the information given about some of thepaintings. The vast majority had been hanging since pre-Edwardian times.
Morton continued through the hallway, pastseveral out-of-bounds doors until he reached the extensive library. Whenhe entered the vast room, he understood why it was described in the guide bookas ‘the jewel in the Blackfriars crown’. It was one of the largestprivate collections of books that Morton had ever seen. Visitors werefunnelled through the library in a one-way system, giving little time to stopand take in the splendour of the room. He looked longingly at the dustybooks, tantalisingly close, yet imprisoned by lines of wire, never to betouched or read again. It seemed a tragic waste to Morton that such animpressive collection of tomes should have been reduced to a mere back-drop fora Sunday night television drama.
From his peripheral vision, Morton wasaware that he was being pointed at. He turned to see the lady from thevisitors’ desk smiling and directing a well-groomed man and lady towards him.
‘Morning, I’m Milton Mansfield; this is mywife, Daphne,’ the man said, in a perfect Etonian voice, as he shook Morton’shand. He looked to be in his late sixties, wearing an expensive-lookingsuit and a red bow-tie.
‘Morton Farrier, pleased to meet you,’ hesaid, a little dumbfounded that his request to speak to someone about thefamily archives had reached the upper echelons of the house.
Daphne Mansfield stepped forward andoffered her hand. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said with a smile. Shewas a good twenty years Milton’s junior with perfect make-up and a short blondebob. ‘You look familiar. Mr Farrier, did you say?’
‘Yes, that’s right. I’m a forensicgenealogist…’ Morton was interrupted by a raucous laugh coming from the otherside of the library. He turned to see one of the Americans taking photosof the other draped over a life-size cut-out of The Friary’s leadingman.
‘Excuse me a moment,’ Daphne said, aboutto intercept a pink-lipstick kiss being planted on the cut-out.
‘They love the show over there,’ Miltonsaid. ‘So, how can we help you, Mr Farrier?’
‘Well, I’m really after looking at anystaff or household accounts and records which you might have here pertaining tothe period around 1911. I’m assuming they’re here as there is very littlefor Blackfriars at East Sussex Archives,’ Morton said. To his right, henoticed that Daphne, mid-way through a polite chastising, was looking athim. She cast a doubtful smile in his direction then returned herattention to the Americans.
Milton nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, all of our records are still kept in-house. A small fire in 1939did some damage, but pretty well we’ve got a good collection down there. We’ve got an archivist, Sidney Mersham, who oversees it all. I don’t knowoff-hand exactly what we’ve got for the period you’re interested in. I’mafraid Sidney is rather busy today, the poor chap’s being hounded by thewriters of The Friary. I’m sure he wouldn’t object to a quickdiscussion at another time.’
‘That would be great,’ Mortonreplied. He fished in his jacket pocket and handed over a businesscard. ‘Perhaps Sidney could give me a call?’
‘I’ll pass it on to him right away.’
Daphne, having subdued the Americans,returned to her husband’s side. ‘I’ve realised from where I recogniseyou. You’re the one who brought down the Windsor-Sackville family, aren’tyou.’ Her smile had faded, leaving her disapproval etched on her face.
‘That old bunch of crooks!’ Milton saidwith an exaggerated guffaw. ‘That needed doing centuries ago!’
Morton noticed Daphne firmly squeeze herhusband’s arm. ‘May I ask what it is you’re looking for at Blackfriars,Mr Farrier?’ she asked.
‘Not what I’m looking for—whom,’Morton said, before briefly explaining about the outline of the Mercer Case.
‘I see,’ Daphne said. ‘And what isit that you hope to find among our records?’
‘Anything which might give a clue to herdaily routine here, particularly people she worked with. I’m working onthe premise that somebody at the time knew what happened to her.’
‘Well, we’ve nothing to hide, unlike theWindsor-Sackville rogues,’ Milton laughed. ‘Have a good rummage, you’vegot your work cut out trying to conduct a missing person’s enquiry more than acentury later.’
Morton smiled. ‘I’ll find her,’ hesaid confidently. ‘I look forward to hearing from Sidney in due course.’
‘Yes, we’ll let you get back to yourtour. Enjoy,’ Milton said.
Daphne nodded with a cautious smile andthen threaded her arm through Milton’s and led him from the room. As soonas they were out of his earshot, she turned to him and instigated what lookedto Morton like a very animated conversation. He had a gut feeling thathad Daphne remained in the conversation, he would not have received theinvitation to meet with Sidney and possibly search among their archives; hehoped that her influence would not now jeopardise his access.
Morton took one final look around thelibrary before continuing the tour upstairs past various bedrooms, which wereall well-appointed with full Edwardian splendour and many of which herecognised from The Friary.
Having completed the tour of the house,Morton made his way to the tearoom, which was located in an airy, convertedbarn a short distance from the house. Morton ordered a large latte andtook a seat at a round metallic table. He sat
