Finally, laying the work books aside, he picked up the first of the two black volumes, the historical records, and began to read. Most of the introductory text dealt as much with county historical events and influences of the time as it did with Wickersham itself. Interspersed, were a number of stylized architectural drawings and photographic plates of passing interest. Collectively, they showed how very little the house had changed over the centuries. Sections on the chronology of the Ryder family were particularly absorbing. Jamie, who seemed to be developing a curious fondness for the family, would enjoy reading those pages.
Kingston read on, skipping parts that appeared of little interest. Finished for the time being with the first book, he picked up the second. Opening it at the contents page, he noted that, in chronological order, this was actually book one, since it commenced the history of Wickersham at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Not more than four pages into the first chapter, chronicling the Reformation period, his eyes scanned a long paragraph. He stopped, then read it again.
Between 1536 and 1539 the monasteries were dissolved and their lands and buildings either confiscated or destroyed. Throughout the violent upheaval, Thomas Cromwell combined governing genius with Machiavellian ruthlessness. The years to 1540 saw his enforcers travel the country assessing and plundering the church’s vast wealth. It was possibly the greatest act of vandalism in English history. Wickersham Priory was destroyed in 1540. Like other monasteries at the time Wickersham scrambled to protect and hide its tithe monies and priceless ecclesiastical treasures. To this day, no evidence has ever surfaced to prove that the monks of Wickersham were successful in their attempt.
Over recent years there has been much speculation on the actual site of the monastery. Archaeologists and historians are generally agreed that it was located in the vicinity of the present house which was constructed in 1758.
Kingston’s mind was in overdrive. He needed to talk to Roger Ferguson again. But he didn’t have his home phone number and, even if he did, wouldn’t disturb him at the weekend. He would call him first thing Monday morning. He went back to reading.
Two hours later, eyes strained, he took a break. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was past two. No wonder he felt so damned hungry.
Rummaging around the kitchen—it was bigger than the entire ground floor of his flat—he found some weepy Stilton and what he took for Edam in the cheese safe and a reasonably fresh cottage loaf in the bread bin. He was in luck: in the refrigerator there was a solitary bottle of Pinot Gris and on the lower shelf, of all things, a jar of Branston pickle. Dot must have bought that. Assembling an impromptu ploughman’s lunch on a china plate, he poured himself a glass of wine and took it all back to the living room.
Settling into the wingback, he opened The Times, folding it to the Jumbo crossword puzzle, and began his lunch. He got 1 across right away: Horse given unsuitable diet on board ship (10). Answer, Lipizzaner. By the time his wineglass was empty, he’d solved at least a dozen clues. Not too bad, he told himself.
He woke with a start, a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking it. He looked up and saw Jamie standing next to him.
‘Thought you might like something to eat,’ she said. ‘It’s almost six. You’ve been out since I got back at five. I didn’t want to disturb you.’
Kingston got up and rubbed his eyes. The room was dimly lit. ‘How are David and Bella?’ he asked.
‘Fine. Bella lasted longer than I thought. David took me aside when I arrived and told me that she was on her third gin and tonic of the morning.’ Jamie shrugged and smiled. ‘She conked out right after lunch. I’m amazed how tolerant David is with her. I can’t believe she’s like that all the time.’ She picked up one of the books from the coffee table. ‘What are these?’
Before she could read the title, Kingston reached over and calmly took it from her. She looked surprised.
Holding the book up as if it were prima facie evidence in a court trial, he waved it once for effect. ‘This, Jamie, is a gardener’s work book. Dated 1905 to 1908. It’s from Wickersham and there are four of them.’
‘Where—where did you get them?’
He held up a hand. ‘In a moment. There’s more.’ He put the book on the table and pick up the two black-bound volumes. ‘These chronicle the history of the house and the original priory, including the Ryder family.’
‘Really? Let me see.’ She reached out and took one of the books and started to leaf through the pages. After a few seconds she looked up. ‘These are extraordinary, Lawrence. What luck.’