With a minute nod of his head, the hulkstood back and allowed Morton to drive towards the house. What alovely maître d’, Morton thought, as he parked up close to the house. He had the choice of pretty well the whole car park today; the only vehicles onsite were the monstrous trucks belonging to the television company here to filmThe Friary. A handful of casually dressed people milled aboutcarrying television-making paraphernalia to and from the house. Mortonfollowed one lad, with jeans inexplicably suspended halfway down his legs, intothe main entrance of the house.
The grand saloon appeared very differentlyto Morton’s last visit; all of the photographs, life-size cut-outs and ropebarriers had been removed and replaced by Edwardian-era furniture. Mortonmight have felt that he had stepped back in time but for the plethora ofcables, monitors, lights and cameras directed in the general direction of thefireplace, ready for the next scene. A motley bunch of men and women allpurposefully busied themselves about the set. Morton recognised theactors who played Lord and Lady Asquith; they were sitting on a chaise longuein full Edwardian garb, anachronistically tapping at their mobile phones.
‘Can I help you?’ a voice asked frombeside Morton. He turned to see Mrs Greenwood, the sullen woman who hadbeen on the entrance desk when he had last visited.
‘Hello again, you probably don’t rememberme from my previous visit, but you kindly arranged for me to meet with thearchivist.’
A flicker of recognition illuminated hereyes. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘I’ve got an appointment with him—do youknow where he might be?’
Mrs Greenwood seemed slightly takenaback. ‘They’re letting you in, are they? Aren’t you the luckyone,’ she said with a smile. ‘I’ll take you down there—follow me.’
‘Thank you,’ Morton said, following her,as she dodged her way through the organised chaos of a television set.
She led him through the large hallway to adoor with ‘Private’ written in large black letters. Beside the door was asecurity keypad, which Morton couldn’t help but stare at as she punched in thefour-digit code: 1536. Was that a nod towards the beginning ofthe Dissolution of the Monasteries? Morton wondered. The beginningof the end for the Catholic Church’s ownership of Blackfriars?
The door led to another shorter andsimpler corridor with four closed doors. Mrs Greenwood marched towardsthe one at the far end. ‘I’d love to get a look in those archives for myown family history,’ she muttered, her voice echoing around the low vaultedceiling. ‘I have managed to take a peek but not quite what I’d like,’ shesaid, pulling open the door and beginning a short descent of a stone spiralstaircase. ‘They’re a bit funny about people prying, even staff. Consider yourself very fortunate.’
Morton was sure that luck played no partin his admission but rather the Mansfields’ knowledge of a previous case whichhad gained him entry. ‘I can see why these parts aren’t open to thepublic,’ Morton said, almost banging his head on the ceiling.
‘You get used to it.’
As they neared the bottom, Morton tried toget a representation in his head of their exact location within the depths ofthe house. He reckoned that they were almost in the dead centre. The protected and concealed heart of the house. Another key-padded doorawaited them at the bottom. Mrs Greenwood, making no attempt to conceal thecode, tapped in 1540. The end of the Dissolution of the Monasteries andthe granting of Blackfriars, eighteen years later, to the Mansfieldfamily. Genius.
As Morton suspected, the door opened intoa windowless room. It was a small and simple office, just a desk,computer and a few filing cabinets. There was no way that hundreds ofyears of history had been stuffed into those few metal drawers. At least,he hoped not. To the right of the desk was yet another door, behindwhich, Morton suspected were four hundred and seventy years of Blackfriars andMansfield archives.
‘Mr Mersham,’ she called out. ‘Visitor for you.’
A man dressed in tweed trousers and jacketappeared at the door. Morton recognised the geeky round glasses andswept-over black hair from the picture in the Blackfriars guide. ‘SidneyMersham,’ he said, offering Morton his hand.
‘Morton Farrier. Thank you forseeing me.’
‘You’re quite welcome. Please, takea seat.’
‘I hear you don’t usually open up thearchives to researchers?’ Morton said, taking a seat on a cracked green leatherchair opposite Sidney.
Sidney scrunched up his face. ‘Notreally. We have in the past. It’s just not practical ormanageable. I think on this occasion Daphne took a shine to you and yourquest.’
Morton considered the brief conversationhe had had with Milton and Daphne Mansfield: it was hardly worthy of hisgaining unusual access to hundreds of years of personal papers.
Sidney must have sensed Morton’suncertainty. ‘I think it was the nature of the case that swayedher. Essentially, it’s a missing person’s enquiry for a young girl. She’s got daughters and I think she empathised. Most of the requests weget are from people just wanting to be nosey. Although, now a lot of therequests are from people interested in The Friary.’
Morton nodded and Sidney opened his handsin a gesture which said fait accompli.
‘Let’s get started, then,’ Sidneysaid. ‘You tell me what you know already and I’ll tell you what we’ve gotthat might fit with what you’re looking for.’
‘Right—’ Morton began but was interruptedby Sidney frowning and raising a finger to stop him.
Sidney’s attention had turned towards thedoor where Mrs Greenwood was still standing, quietly absorbing the exchangebetween the two men. Sidney removed his glasses and stared at her. ‘I’m sorry, Jenny, was there something else?’
Her cheeks flushed. She shook herhead, mumbled something incoherent then scuttled from the room.
‘Sorry, do carry on,’ Sidney said,remounting his glasses upon his nose.
Morton felt bad for the poor woman but,when he was about to speak in her defence, decided that the end of hisappointment time might be a more appropriate time to suggest that she beallowed to conduct some personal research. Morton pulled his notepad fromhis bag and began to recount the salient points of the Mercer case.
As
