‘Could I have a username and password forthe computers, please?’ Morton said, dispensing with any attempt atpleasantries.
Miss Latimer reciprocated their mutualdislike and didn’t even bother to open her mouth. She picked up a pre-cutstrip of paper and handed it to him with a surly thrust.
Morton mumbled his inaudible gratitude,then headed to a computer. He typed in the username and password, andthen pulled up The Keep search page. In it, he typed Blackfriars, Winchelsea. Just sixteen original documents were open to the public to do with theproperty, owing to the large collection which remained at the houseitself. Morton slowly moved the mouse down the page, reading the synopsisfor each document. He passed over land tax documents, sixteenth centurymanorial records, aerial photographs of the abbey ruins, a collection ofcharcoal drawings and various land registration documents: nothing piqued hisinterest. On the final page, he spotted a document that made him situp. It was for a draft contract of a seven-year lease, rent-free toJoshua David Leyden in 1911. Morton clicked the entry. Was thisthe same Dr Leyden who had signed Edward Mercer’s death certificate? Didn’t Edith Mercer marry a man called Leyden? It might mean nothing,but since it was the only document in the right time period, it neededchecking. Morton clicked ‘Order Now’, grateful that the old systems fordocument retrieval had been left behind at the old building and a new, digitalsystem had been created. Returning to the main screen, Morton ran asearch for the parish registers of Winchelsea and Icklesham, hoping to find thelocation of Edward’s burial. He ordered two sets of burial registers forWinchelsea January 1813—October 1934 and November 1934—July 2009. He alsoordered the Icklesham burial register, December 1874—December 1975.
A few minutes later, Morton watchedon-screen as the status of the documents changed from ‘In transit’ to‘Available’. He now needed to make his way into the Reference Room,which, much to his consternation, was now being guarded by Miss Latimer. Quiet Brian was also on duty at the desk and Morton desperately hoped that itwould be him he would need to deal with.
Morton signed off the computer terminaland headed to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall which separated the Reading Roomfrom the Reference Room. He pulled his reader’s ticket from his wallet,wafted it vaguely in the general direction of a stout silver pillar whichpermitted entry, and a glass door glided to one side.
Morton glanced at the long wooden helpdeskto his left. Miss Latimer was nearest to him, standing in her usualstance with her arms folded, scowling out at the world like a cagedanimal. At the far end of the desk, talking inaudibly on the phone, wasQuiet Brian. Morton decided to avoid potential conflict and waltzed pastMiss Latimer as if he had not seen her and waited patiently in front of QuietBrian. As seconds of waiting turned into minutes, Morton could see in hisperipheral vision Miss Latimer looking at him from the corner of her eye. Just as Morton began to feel self-conscious and silly, Quiet Brian finished hisconversation and hung up. To Morton’s horror, he turned and darted throughthe opening behind the desk and out of sight. His cheeks flushing, Mortonstood in front of an empty desk, whilst Miss Latimer stood on the oppositeside, running her fingers through her hair.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Morton muttered tohimself. He moved down the desk in front of Miss Latimer, who continuedthe charade of having not seen him. ‘I’ve got some documents tocollect. It doesn’t matter which first.’ As usual, he had lost thebattle with Miss Latimer.
‘Reader’s ticket,’ she said flatly, holdingopen her hand. Morton handed over the ticket and watched as she scannedit, placed it down on the counter between them, then went out the back andretrieved the file and an A4 record of the document. Wordlessly, shehanded him a bundle of papers contained in a blue wallet, bound with a whiteribbon.
‘Thank you,’ he said, in spite ofhimself. He hated being nice to her. He headed over to a vacanttable, set down his things and began to unwrap the package. Setting asidethe protective blue wrapping, Morton carefully withdrew the contents. There were three original documents: all typed in black ink on thick, off-whitepaper. Years of diligent preservation had failed to stop a smattering ofsmall brown marks creeping into each of the papers. At the top of eachsheet was a red stamp for two shillings and sixpence.
Morton picked up the first paper andcarefully read it through. It was written in a standard legal way and setout that a house in Winchelsea, called Wisteria Cottage, be given rent-free toDoctor Joshua David Leyden. At the foot of the document was the signatureand address of Lord Rothborne of Blackfriars, dated December 1911.
Morton moved on to the rest of thebundle. The second document was identical to the first, but for thedates: it provided a further seven-year, rent-free extension to the lease ofWisteria Cottage to Dr Leyden. Morton set it aside, then studied thefinal deed. It was much shorter and provided a simple termination of thelease of Wisteria Cottage, the property reverting back to Lord Rothborne. Morton took out his camera and took digital photographs of each of the recordsand briefly pondered their content. They seemed of little value to theMercer Case, but Morton was curious to know if Dr Leyden’s tenure at WisteriaCottage coincided with his marriage to Edith Mercer. Running a marriagesearch online, Morton quickly confirmed that the pair had married in the Junequarter of 1920, so Edith would have partially benefited from the benevolenceof the Mansfield family.
Morton gently repackaged the bundle ofpapers into the protective blue wallet, then wrapped the white ribbon aroundit. He looked over to the helpdesk. The lovely Miss Latimer was theonly person on duty. Great. He momentarily considered leaving the documentsin front of her and silently walking out, but he still had research
