‘So, how can we help you?’ Her voice was soft, with a Scottish Highland accent.
Sage sipped her tea. ‘As you probably know, I was called in to do an evaluation of a property in the village. Our investigation has revealed two bodies, in what we call an irregular burial. One of an adult, one a newborn baby.’
Lady George dropped her voice. ‘Down an old well. It’s like a murder mystery. Do you think it ties in somehow with the memorial in the wood? George said he found you looking at it.’
‘One irregular burial is unusual, that’s all,’ Sage said, ‘then people started talking about another one. I suppose it made me curious about the stone in the woods. The pub landlord told me about it.’
Olivia started making notes. ‘This could be good for our publicity. Are the burials from the same time as the stone?’
‘Not necessarily, but two irregular burial sites in unconsecrated ground may be related,’ said Sage. ‘They are extremely rare from this era. To have two in the same village – well, it suggests there might be a connection. Which was why I wanted to get as much local history as I could.’
The three women looked at each other. ‘You mean the gravestone in the woods is a burial too?’ Olivia said. ‘We just assumed someone moved the stone, not that someone was actually buried there.’
‘You’re probably right, but it may be a grave.’ Sage took a deep breath. ‘I’d like to apply for an exhumation order from the Home Office and find out. There were various reasons burials were done outside a churchyard.’
‘Suicide?’ Lady George’s eyes were round.
‘Or religious difference, accusations of witchcraft or—’ Sage was beginning to catch Lady George’s tendency towards the dramatic and dropped her tone ‘—possibly murder.’
‘But then why would someone put a headstone up?’ Olivia brought out a computer tablet. ‘I had a look through the records from the 1580s. We have the financial accounts from the third baron’s time. One of them has always puzzled me. It seems to be a payment to the sexton to dig a hole in the land associated with the home farm. He got paid twice as much as usual. Here we are: “To dig the hole commissioned by your lordship, though the ground be frozen, four shillings for Wm. Grove, sexton.” But I thought people didn’t put gravestones in until much later.’
‘Of course, someone may have put the memorial stone there later. They were rare in Elizabethan England.’ Sage took the tablet and enlarged the image. ‘And of course, most of them just didn’t survive that length of time. These are from the manor’s accounts?’
‘The third baron, Lord Anthonie Banstock, had a steward called Vincent Garland. He kept minute financial records in ledgers. We’ve scanned most of them in, so you’re welcome to have copies. The originals are at the County Records Office; there are about two dozen of them.’
Sage decoded the first few sentences. ‘These are amazingly detailed. This Garland guy was meticulous.’
‘He was the illegitimate son of the second baron.’ Olivia took the tablet back. ‘He has a memorial in the church with the family tombs. I can put the records on a memory stick for you. And if you find anything else, we’d love to know about it.’
‘That would be great.’ Sage looked around. ‘You’ve already done so much work. If you have some time, I’d love to ask you more questions.’
Lady George put her hands on her knees. ‘Funding the manor costs a fortune. We run at a loss some years and struggle just to keep it standing. Something like this could be really helpful to our publicity.’
‘But the well isn’t at the manor…’
Lady George leaned forward. ‘Oh, but it was. All the land around here was attached to the manor, as far as Nettlecombe.’
‘Bramble Cottage – Well House as it was – was built in the 1500s?’
Olivia consulted her records. ‘About 1550, as far as I can remember. It was built to house a woman called Jennet Garland. I suppose she was related to Vincent Garland, the steward.’
‘The latest finds in the well are maybe late 1500s,’ Sage said. ‘We do have a few bits of glass but the pottery is just ordinary sixteenth century, nothing that dates more specifically.’
‘Can you date pottery that accurately?’ Lady George asked. ‘I mean, a pot is a pot.’
‘You can date some very specifically.’ Sage smiled. ‘Commemorative items are very helpful. There were cups made to celebrate the defeat of the Armada, for example, and the queen’s various birthdays, but we don’t have anything like that from the well. Sometimes there’s a popular style that can help. We’re looking for a coin to help narrow it down, but during that period coins from Henry the Eighth’s reign were still in circulation. But I’m intrigued by the story of Isabeau. If she went missing…’
Olivia spoke softly, as if revealing a secret. ‘There’s a reference in the records to the younger daughter of Lord Anthonie Banstock, Viola. An Isabeau Duchamp was employed to embroider her wedding clothes.’
‘It’s an unusual name for the period. It could really be her in the woods.’
Lady George’s more vigorous voice lightened the atmosphere. ‘If you can prove some human interest angle why she was buried up there, maybe you can link it to the well. We could put on a nice display, with Viola’s picture, and what’s left of Solomon’s books.’
‘If she is actually buried up there,’ said Sage, trying to stop the flow of enthusiasm. ‘Solomon?’ That rang a bell. Professor Guichard had mentioned the name. She pulled up the email on her phone.
Lady George nodded. ‘Solomon Seabourne lived here when he was betrothed to Viola. There’s our publicity angle, you see. He wrote several books about science, although we only have the covers now.’
Olivia nodded. ‘A previous lord moved the old pages out and stuck pages of his own in. We can sell the idea of Solomon living here, his romance with Viola, even the mysterious seamstress. Viola was quite a celebrated poetess, in her time.’
Sage finished rereading Felix’s email. ‘Actually, Seabourne’s name has already come up. I’m going to talk to a social anthropologist called Felix Guichard about the carvings in the well. He mentioned Seabourne too. You said there is a picture of Viola?’
Olivia stood and walked to one of the portraits on the wall. She beckoned Sage over. ‘This is believed to have been done when she was in her twenties.’
Sage stepped towards the portrait. Despite being in need of some cleaning, the picture was vivid. A woman with white skin, long neck, and rich auburn curls clustered around her head in front of a lace ruff. A prosperous woman, shown holding a pen in one hand and a book in the other. Not beautiful, perhaps, but striking with a heart-shaped face and pointed chin.
Something about the border caught her eye, and she leaned in for a closer look. In the background were scattered delicate designs. The shapes were familiar; they were similar in style to the designs scratched into the stones lining the well. She held up her phone. ‘Do you mind if I take a photograph?’
‘Not at all,’ Lady George said. ‘And there is another connection.’
‘Connection?’ Sage turned to look at Lady George.
Olivia spoke instead. ‘Before he married Viola, Solomon rented Well House.’
14
10th August 1580
Ink pot with black ink for your lordship’s daughter Viola ten pence
Accounts of Banstock Manor, 1576–1582
Viola is in a melancholy mood, matched by soft rain spattering the windows. The spiteful Agness Waldren made it her business to spread her accusations about Isabeau throughout the manor, and when I find Viola, writing her poetry in the solar, I see her reddened eyes.
‘Viola—’ I begin, but the words crowd in my throat. ‘What ails you?’
‘I make rhymes for “queen” but none are quite right.’ She turns her paper to the grey light creeping into the long room. ‘I write for Her Majesty’s accession anniversary, of course,’ she says, looking down. ‘My sister Anne read my poem in celebration of her birth
to Her Majesty’s ladies-in-waiting, and it was well received.’
‘Child.’ I hold out a hand, but she looks away.
‘Why do people believe such things about Mistress Isabeau?’ she asks, picking up her pen.
‘Perhaps they are jealous of her.’ I think about her beautiful face. ‘Also, she is paid much more than the other women at the manor and has the freedom to go and work wherever she wishes. She has worked for ladies of the court, you know.’
‘Yet she came to embroider my sister’s bride clothes here, on the Island. And now mine.’ Viola crosses out a word, and writes another above it.
‘She has a freedom few women possess. Her artistry gives her that.’
‘I would like that freedom, sometimes.’ Viola tucks the paper into her sleeve. ‘To marry whom I choose, to travel anywhere I please.’
‘To starve anywhere you please, more like. When Mistress Isabeau is not employed she is prey to robbers and ruffians, and she is at the mercy of her sponsors.’ I cannot but laugh a little, perhaps unkindly. ‘Mistress Isabeau is in the worst of situations. If she is found to be a Catholic, she will be cast off and will find it difficult to find employment with any family.’
‘She is no more papist than you or I. I have seen her at her devotions in the chapel.’ Viola places her cleaned pens and ink bottles in her writing box. Her voice has a snap in it that reminds me of her mother or even, perhaps, myself.
I follow her through the hall, along the corridor to the women’s quarters, and immediately hear the scolding of one of Lady Banstock’s women. All voices fall silent as Viola pushes open the door to the room where the Frenchwoman works. She ignores the two waiting women.
‘I have heard sad news, Mistress Isabeau.’ She speaks with a softness I had not expected. ‘That you are the subject of tittle-tattle. Nay, slanders.’
The Frenchwoman speaks in her own language, so fast Viola frowns. ‘Please, in English.’ She reaches out a hand to the woman but does not touch her. ‘You need only assert that you are Protestant, and none will challenge you again.’
The woman bows her head, then raises it again. ‘I worship God as you do, in your own chapel. Who invents such stories?’
I intervene. ‘’Tis Mistress Agness Waldren,’ I say, ‘who is something of a zealot.’
‘Master Vincent,’ Isabeau says, calmly. ‘That rumour stains not just me, but Lord Banstock and his family. They do not harbour a papist.’ She says the words, yet the slightest flicker of the eyes leaves me undecided. She bows her head.
I wonder what secrets she holds.
‘Then,’ I say, ‘the matter is easily resolved. If you are willing to be examined by the rector in your faith, then we can put this rumour to rest.’ I glance at the other women. ‘After all, you were brought to England and grew up in a Protestant age, like many others.’
She bows her head in acquiescence. ‘I am happy to be questioned by Reverend Waldren.’
I only wish she had not retained so much of her mother’s accents, or perhaps her beauty. Jealousy breeds such vile mischief.
Vincent Garland, Steward to Lord Banstock, His Memoir
15
Monday 1st April
Hope you find time to see Mrs Bassett. Thanks for all your help. Sage smiled as she read the text from Nick Haydon, then tucked her phone into the glove compartment. She appreciated the comfort of maternity trousers, but they didn’t have pockets. Elliott held the van door open for her.
‘Good morning,’ he said, smiling.
‘You’re in a good mood,’ she said, turning to pull out the first container of specimen boxes and bags.
‘I’ve been working on the glass fragments over the weekend. I think it’s Tudor scientific glassware, what they called an alembic.’ He hefted the heavier tools out of the back of the van and shouldered them, then the two of them walked around the side of Bramble Cottage to the garden. ‘I can’t be sure, it could be some sort of drinking vessel, but it is so fine I doubt it.’ His enthusiasm made Sage smile. ‘It’s very delicate but I think we should get most of it. Some of it’s stained with this black stuff. Do you think we could analyse what was inside it?’
Sage nodded. ‘I suppose we could. Analysing the glass itself might tell us where it was made. An alembic is a kind of still, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Elliott replied. ‘I think there are possibly metal oxides lining the thickest part of the bowl, which must have been the base. They look fused into the glass.’ He laid out the sieves and spades on the tarpaulin workspace they had created. ‘This could tell us more about sixteenth-century beliefs around magic and alchemy.’
‘Which would be fascinating. But we may not be able to safely get it all. The contractor the engineer recommended is coming this morning, so we might be able to get the bigger pieces.’
‘No way!’ Elliott’s voice shot up an octave when he was agitated. She watched as he mastered his reaction. ‘I mean, we can’t just send someone with a shovel down there. We need to excavate carefully, over time. I don’t mind going down.’
‘Well, the university minds about your safety and we don’t have enough time anyway. I’m sorry, Ell, but we’ll make the guy take as much care as possible.’
‘Can I at least have a look for any big bits that are exposed now?’ he pleaded. ‘This is so important.’
Sage hesitated, but they had all been down over the past week and it seemed daft that they now had to wait for an ‘expert’.
‘Look, stay on the ladder, pick up what you can but no digging, OK? Remember what the engineer said, it’s just a garden wall held up by the infill we’re removing. It could collapse.’
Steph walked into the garden, pushing her bike. ‘Hi, guys.’ She smiled at Elliott. ‘Sage, Mrs Bassett just asked if you could pop in for a chat?’
The two students set up the table and Steph started filling the plastic boxes they used to wash specimens from a garden tap.
‘Keep an eye on Elliott,’ Sage said. ‘He’s got to stay on the ladder, OK?’
‘OK,’ Steph answered with a glance at Elliott. It didn’t look like it would be a huge chore for her.
Sage walked around to the door and knocked. Judith answered and stared at Sage without blinking for a long moment. Her skin was pale, and her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. ‘James is home. My husband.’ Her voice was flat, and she didn’t return Sage’s smile.
‘Oh. Good.’
‘He wants to talk to you.’ Judith made no effort to move out of the doorway.
‘Well, if it’s convenient for you.’ Sage raised an eyebrow and waited.
Slowly, Judith took a step back, and lifted a hand a few inches. ‘He’s in the living room.’
‘Thank you.’
The room was warmer than before, the woodburner glowing and flickering. The sofa was occupied by a thin man with blue eyes, who stared at Sage as she entered. A huge bunch of daffodils sat in a vase on the coffee table, vivid in the plain room.
‘She said you were a stunner.’ He held out a hand. ‘I’m James Bassett. I understand you’ve been trashing my garden?’
Sage shook his hand, feeling the strong bones in her palm. He retained a vibrancy that made his wife look even more insubstantial.
‘I’m so sorry we’ve made such a mess of the grass.’
James Bassett smiled, his long features twisting unevenly. ‘It’s more of a pain for Judith, I think. Chloe’s very excited. She’s hoping you’ll find a secret tunnel or a sleeping princess.’
‘Did your wife explain about the human remains?’
‘You found the bones of at least two people down the well, put there in the distant past.’ He waved to a chair. ‘I’m guessing this is really unusual?’
Sage sat down, noticing Judith flit past the kitchen door. ‘Very. We have to respect the burial, while finding out as much as we can.’
‘Nick, the local vicar, said he’ll do a proper funeral when you’ve finished.’
She nodded. ‘He
mentioned that.’ A shadow across the kitchen doorway suggested a figure standing, listening. ‘We’ll do a reasonable amount of research to put a name to the bodies first. I have been given a few ideas by Lady Banstock.’
‘Oh, good.’ James rested his head against the cushions of the chair. ‘Sorry, weak as a ninety-year-old at the moment.’
‘I’m sorry. If there’s anything we can do to make this easier—’
‘Actually, it’s fascinating to me. I used to go metal detecting with a friend at university. Famous battlefields, that sort of thing; we used to go looking for musket balls and military buttons. Ju said this house is older than we thought?’
‘The Banstocks think it was built around the mid-1500s, as part of their estate. It used to be called Well House.’ She watched as the shadow flinched.
‘So Judith said. She and Chloe have been looking up the census returns for the house.’
‘We have a picture of the house from about 1900. I’ve brought a copy for Chloe.’ Sage rummaged in her bag for a folder, and passed over the page. ‘The 1901 return probably records their names.’
‘Thank you. Chloe will love this. Keep us informed, we’ll be interested.’
Sage stood. ‘I would be happy to go over the information with you, and maybe include the vicar? It would be helpful since he will be involved too, with the reburial.’
James looked at her, and a twitch of his features suggested a smile not quite realised. ‘My wife isn’t very keen on God at the moment.’
‘Oh, I understand. I just thought – Nick’s a community figure with access to church records, the history of the parish, that sort of thing.’
James glanced past Sage to the kitchen door. ‘I would really like that. Set it up, will you? You do a bit more digging, and if I’m still here, call a conference.’ He winced a smile. ‘Would the house itself be of any interest to your investigation? You’re welcome to have a look around.’
‘Actually, I did wonder about the original timbers and stonework in the house.’
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