The Stone Wife

10

Approaching on the A39, you could easily have mistaken it for a church. Chilton Priory, known locally as Stradling’s Folly, was visible from some distance as a grey tower with battlements and gargoyles, but until you got close you didn’t see the full extent of the building, mostly obscured below the steep banking at the side of the road.

They got out of the car. To Diamond’s eye, this was a perfect setting for a horror film. Extending from the tower were a gothic nave and an oratory that must have been part of the original, housing the antiques collection. More parts had been added at intervals since. Perversely the late nineteenth century two-storey wings were in the Tudor style, but still constructed from the grim, grey lias found locally. So this much-enlarged building now boasted at least four different styles of window — lancet, oriel, stone-mullioned and casement. Turrets and chimneys sprouted from the otherwise flat roofs. On the east side of the building was a twentieth century feature, an integral garage that still managed to look sinister, as though it led directly through the Tudor section into Stradling’s crypt below the tower. And the whole building was topped with battlements in an attempt to salvage some sort of unity from chaos.

‘Is it me, or is it a mess?’ Diamond said.

‘Stradling called it his repository,’ Leaman said.

‘Sums it up.’

‘You may be thinking of something else.’

‘Terrific view. I’ll give it that.’

The so-called priory — which had never housed a monk or a nun — stood on Cox’s hill, a high point of the Polden ridge. The peat moor stretched for miles below them, across the Vale of Avalon to the north where the Mendips made a dramatic blue backdrop. But in reality (difficult to grasp here) they weren’t particularly high up. The flatness of the terrain below made the impression.

‘He claimed that when he used a telescope from his tower on a clear day he could see across the Bristol Channel to his other house in South Wales,’ Leaman said.

‘My second home is the nick,’ Diamond said, ‘and I thank the Lord I can’t see it from my place. When did you say this was built?’

‘1838–9 the same year the book came out.’ Leaman as always couldn’t be faulted on his facts.

‘So he wrote the book to promote his collection.’

‘I suppose.’

‘And as he didn’t mention the Wife of Bath, we can assume he acquired her some time after?’

Leaman’s eyebrows popped up in tribute. The boss seemed to have grasped the fundamentals now.

‘But from where?’ Diamond said.

‘Some stonemason’s yard, I expect. He found a lot of his pieces lying about when buildings were being renovated. He was on a mission. Victorian restoration, so-called, stripped bits from a lot of churches and great houses and he salvaged whatever he could.’

Diamond was silent, thinking.

Leaman continued to prattle on like an audio guide. ‘The three pinnacles up there are very old and were originally part of the tower at Langport, which you can see from the other side of the road. He says in his book — he has a good way with words — that they now look down on their tawdry usurpers.’

‘What time are we meeting our local contact?’ Diamond said, weary of words and gingerbread architecture. ‘We’d better move on.’

As it turned out, they had time for a coffee in Bridgwater. Diamond ordered a Cornish pasty and a double helping of chips with his. ‘One useful tip I learned early on in my police career: never go past a food outlet or a toilet. It might be the last you see all day.’

‘I had a good breakfast,’ Leaman said.

‘So did I. That was two hours ago.’ He leaned back in the chair. ‘I’m thinking when we meet this guy we’ll straight away drop the charade of being writers or researchers, or whatever poppycock you told them. I believe in being honest with people.’

‘As you wish,’ Leaman said, piqued. ‘Sometimes they clam up when you tell them you’re police.’

‘If you witter on about pinnacles like you do, they will. They can’t get a word in. Let him do the talking, right?’

Leaman tilted his head in annoyance. ‘I thought you were interested.’

‘I was. This guy won’t be. He could be the pinnacle of pinnacle experts. Leave him to me.’

Leaman stood up suddenly.

‘What’s up now?’ Diamond said, thinking he’d taken offence.

‘Nothing. I’m taking your advice, or part of it.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘This seems as good a time as any to find the toilet.’

The local contact waiting for them at the entrance of Bridgwater’s Blake Museum appeared to be a woman until they got close enough to tell he was a slightly built man in his thirties with shoulder-length black hair and a white bandana. At home, Diamond sometimes caught a few seconds of Time Team when he was flicking through the TV channels and he’d noticed how most of the experts sported an impressive growth of hair. Once, the mark of a serious archaeologist would have been a beard. Not these days.

A friendly smile greeted them. ‘Mr. Leaman?’

‘Detective Inspector, actually,’ Diamond said, to get things on the proper footing he’d announced to Leaman, ‘and I’m Detective Superintendent Diamond.’

‘Policemen?’ The smile turned to something worthy of a dentist’s chair. ‘I was told you were writers.’

‘You were told wrong.’

‘We do a certain amount of writing,’ Leaman added to compensate for the abruptness.

Diamond glared at him, but this wasn’t the time to say the only writing they did was filling in endless forms.

‘Am I missing something?’ their guide asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Diamond said. ‘But we’re missing your name.’

‘Tim Carroll, of the Bridgwater Archaeology Society.’ He continued to look at them as if they were from another planet. ‘I was told you wanted to be shown some of our local sites.’

‘That’s the truth. North Petherton, for one.’

Tim Carroll recovered himself a little. He nodded. ‘That will be because of the Alfred Jewel.’

This was spoken with such confidence that Diamond enjoyed shaking his head.

Leaman was moved to say, ‘We’ve heard of it, of course.’

‘That’s the reason people come to North Petherton,’ Carroll said. ‘Nothing else of note has turned up for over three hundred years. It doesn’t deter the metal detectorists, who come in big numbers. I doubt if there’s a square foot of ground that hasn’t been checked many times over.’

‘We’re not treasure hunters,’ Diamond said. ‘We’re interested in the Chaucer connection. Didn’t the Chaucers have some sort of official role as foresters?’

‘They did, but there’s nothing to see. Sorry to disappoint you. We don’t have any Chaucer relics in the Blake.’ He stopped and raised his hand as a thought came to him. ‘Now I know why this interests the police. It’s to do with that shooting at the auction, isn’t it?’

‘Spot on.’

‘Yes, I’d put it out of my mind and I don’t know why, because there’s been a lot in the papers lately. There is a Chaucer relic, or was, and it’s the very thing they fought over.’

‘The Wife of Bath.’ Leaman was going out of his way to be helpful.

‘You know about this, obviously.’

‘We’d like to hear your take on it,’ Leaman said.

‘It was put up for auction by this museum. It had been in storage and unrecognised for God knows how long. When it came to light and the trustees grasped how valuable it might be, they decided to sell it and spend the proceeds on some refurbishing.’

All this was familiar to Diamond. After more than two hours in Leaman’s company, he wasn’t sure if he could endure another anorak. To add to the discomfort, his stomach was hurting. The pasty had been undercooked. ‘Where was it stored?’ he asked. ‘In a back room somewhere?’

‘Not in this building at all. There just isn’t the space. In a basement below the Arts Centre in Castle Street with a whole lot of other bulky items that weren’t on display because they were thought to be of little interest.’

‘Take us there, would you?’

‘The carving has gone now.’

‘I know that. I’m sharing an office with it, pro tem. I want to see where her ladyship was living before she moved in with me.’

‘Right now?’ Surprise, if not annoyance, dawned on Tim Carroll’s face. He’d not expected the awkward squad.

‘Tomorrow’s no use to us,’ Diamond said.

‘We’ll need a torch. I don’t think the lighting works.’

‘They’ll have one at the place. Lead the way.’

Castle Street wasn’t far off, so they walked.

‘I don’t see any castle,’ Leaman said, still doing his best to ease the tension.

‘There isn’t one.’

After that, there wasn’t much else to say except, ‘How come?’

Carroll seemed to be deciding whether he really needed to humour these pushy policemen. He walked some distance before saying, ‘There was a fine one built in the thirteenth century, everyone’s idea of a castle with walls fifteen feet thick and a thirty-foot moat, but it was pulled down after the Civil War. Castle Street was built over the site. Bridgwater people are rather proud of what we got in its place.’

A handsome residential street it proved to be, of eighteenth century brick buildings glowing warm orange in the late morning sun. Distinctly different in material from Bath’s honey-coloured blocks, the row of houses still had the pleasing Georgian proportions.

‘What a location for an arts centre,’ Leaman felt moved to say. ‘They’re usually on the outskirts, in buildings nobody wants to live in.’

‘Like Manvers Street nick,’ Diamond muttered. He knew for sure that the pasty had been a mistake. His belly-aching was real.

Carroll said, ‘It’s Bridgwater’s pride and joy, in use for the arts since just after the war. A theatre, art gallery, meeting rooms and bar. The council purchased it in the sixties, in more affluent times, and it’s now leased at a peppercorn rent, but the upkeep has to be paid for. I used to work here until we were all laid off when the recession bit, and now the place is run by volunteers.’

‘You lost your job?’ Diamond said.

‘That’s tough,’ Leaman said.

‘It was, but you can’t let the buggers grind you down, if you’ll pardon my French.’ Carroll was sounding more confident now he was in guide mode.

‘What do you do now, apart from showing visitors round?’ Diamond asked.

‘I get my hands dirty working for my brothers, doing house clearances. A change from arranging concerts and exhibitions, but it tides me over until I find something more to my liking.’

Leaman said, ‘We appreciate you giving up time to see us.’

‘Local history is my hobby. Shall we go in?’

They’d stopped outside a three-storey building that Carroll entered as if he owned it. Inside, he greeted a volunteer by his first name and said they needed to go down into the basement.

‘I wouldn’t if I were you,’ the man said. ‘It’s become a glory hole since you left. Everything gets shoved down there.’

‘These gentlemen came especially from Bath to see it,’ Carroll said.

‘Watch your step, then. I don’t think we’re insured for anyone breaking a leg down there.’

They borrowed a flashlight and picked their way down a set of steep steps. The door at the bottom creaked when Carroll pushed it open. He passed the light beam over the interior, whistled, and said, ‘See what he meant? Do you really want to go on with this? The museum stuff is on the far side, not easy to reach.’

Immediately ahead of them was a drum kit and beyond that a stack of tall wood-and-canvas scenery flats. Other large hazards, less easy to identify, appeared to bar all progress.

‘I’m blowed if I’m giving up now,’ Diamond said. He was going to see where the Wife of Bath had lived before coming to him, come what may.

‘It doesn’t smell too fragrant,’ Carroll said.

‘You’re telling me,’ Leaman said.

Diamond could have admitted he was having an attack of flatulence, but there were more elevating matters to pursue.

They persevered by pushing the drums to one side and forcing some of the scenery far enough to the left to make a space that even a man of Diamond’s girth could pass through. Stacks of plastic chairs were easier to move aside. Beyond them were three massive papier mâché animal heads, a lion, a rhino and an elephant.

‘The carnival is a very big deal here,’ Carroll said.

Now the flashlight picked up some bulky forms covered in drapes. ‘That’s what we’re looking for,’ Carroll said. ‘But if you’re hoping to find another of the Chaucer pilgrims, you’re in for a disappointment. It’s only junk that’s left.’

‘There’s the source of the smell,’ Leaman said.

On the stone floor behind the animal heads were a sleeping bag and some blankets that clearly hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine for many a year. There were also empty cider bottles and pizza boxes.

‘Someone’s little secret,’ Diamond said, encouraged that his own little secret hadn’t been detected.

‘It wasn’t here when I was on the payroll,’ Carroll said.

‘That’s the problem, I expect. The volunteers don’t come down here.’ He sidestepped the bedding, and lifted one of the drapes. ‘What are these?’

‘Chimney pots. Early Victorian. You wouldn’t put them on display, but you wouldn’t want to dispose of them either,’ Carroll said.

Leaman dragged the covering from a longer object the shape of a coffin. ‘Someone found a use for this.’

The inside of the horse trough was filled with yet more empties.

Diamond turned his attention to another draped item, interesting because it was approximately the shape and size of the stone carving. ‘What’s this, I wonder?’

He unveiled a small stack of weather-beaten gravestones. ‘I’ve heard of identity theft, but this is a step too far.’

‘Seen enough, gentlemen?’ Carroll said.

‘Where was the Wife of Bath among this lot?’

‘Against the wall there.’ Carroll picked out a space with the torch. ‘It was facing inwards, so you couldn’t tell what it was.’

‘I couldn’t tell when it was in my office and pointed out to me,’ Diamond said. ‘You saw it here yourself, then?’

‘Actually, I’m the guy who first dusted it off and took the trouble to find out what the inscription said.’

‘Really?’ Diamond said in surprise. ‘And they still sacked you?’

Carroll shrugged. ‘There was nothing personal about it. First the Arts Council withdrew the funding and the county council followed and we all lost our jobs.’

‘They could still make good money out of your discovery.’

He laughed. ‘Not enough to pay my salary even if they gave it all to me.’ If this young man was entitled to be bitter about his treatment, it didn’t show. ‘Shall we get some fresh air?’

They used Leaman’s car to drive the couple of miles through farming country to North Petherton. Diamond could feel more gas collecting in his stomach. He hoped he could hold on until they got out of the car. This pilgrimage had a subtext that Chaucer himself would have found amusing.

‘It’s hard to visualise,’ Tim Carroll said from the rear seat, ‘but in Chaucer’s time all this was forest — royal forest. The king would come here to hunt. Well, it’s known for certain King John did in the century before. He would stay at Bridgwater Castle, so it’s quite possible Edward III and Richard II came as well.’

‘And Chaucer was deputy forester?’

‘Towards the end of his life, yes. A reward for good services rendered.’

‘If he was the deputy, who was his boss?’

‘I couldn’t tell you without checking the records.’

‘Doesn’t matter. Hardly a tree in sight these days. It’s all farming round here, is it?’

‘Used to be. When they built the motorway the village of North Petherton was turned into a commuter settlement.’

The M5 ran in parallel, east of the A38 they were travelling along. ‘Bit of a shake-up for the locals.’

‘And how. It went straight through Petherton Park, where we’re going.’

‘Did they make any interesting finds when they put the road through?’

‘None that I’ve heard about.’

‘You must hate it.’

‘The motorway? Not really. We can’t stand in the way of progress. The canals and the railways opened up the rural areas in their day. This is the modern equivalent. Take the next left and I’ll show you Parker’s Field, where the Chaucer family lived.’

‘Is that a known fact, about Chaucer actually living here?’

‘A known fact? Maybe not. It’s believed in these parts, I can tell you. We’re proud of our connection with him.’

‘You don’t think the forester thing was just a sinecure and he stayed in London?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Carroll said as if he was speaking of his own career. ‘Being forester was a proper job. The forest brought in revenue for the royal purse. It was all enclosed and the locals had to pay to graze their cattle and pigs and there were tolls for using the forest tracks. Acorns and beech mast were particularly prized for pig feed. Managing all this was a big responsibility. You couldn’t possibly do it from London.’

‘And you even know the house?’

‘We know where it was sited. Tradition has it that the Chaucers lived in the Park House, or Parker’s Field House, and there’s usually some truth in tradition. The house was recorded as early as 1336. The family would have moved in later, of course, towards the end of the century.’

The rows of modern housing they were driving past made it impossible to visualise how the view must have appeared to Chaucer. Tim Carroll gave directions from the back and they worked their way through a dull estate towards a more open area. ‘You can stop here.’

‘We’ll need to,’ Leaman said. ‘The road ends.’

‘That’s a mercy,’ Diamond muttered.

‘What was that?’

‘Touch of cramp. I’ll be glad of a stretch.’

‘The developers never give up,’ Carroll said. ‘I don’t give this much of a future as open country.’

They got out and stood at the edge of a recently ploughed field. Diamond eased his stomach more audibly than he intended. ‘Noisy,’ he said at once. ‘If I was deputy forester I wouldn’t buy a house here.’

‘That’s the motorway you can hear.’

‘Thought so.’

‘Do we need to go any further?’ Leaman asked. ‘We’ll be up to our knees in mud.’

‘It’s living history,’ Diamond said. ‘We didn’t come all this way to sit in the car.’

‘I can show you the general area of the house, but there’s nothing to mark the spot,’ Carroll said.

‘We’ll be right behind you,’ Diamond said. What he wanted most was a few more minutes in the open air.

After trudging some distance through the freshly tilled soil, Carroll stopped and looked right and left, trying to get his bearings. ‘To the best of my knowledge, this is where Park House was. There was a dig here a dozen years ago. Reading University.’

‘Led by John Gildersleeve,’ Diamond said. ‘They traced the foundations, but found damn all else.’

‘That isn’t surprising,’ Carroll said. ‘Park House didn’t last beyond the Tudor era. In those days the builders reused materials. It would have been cannibalised. It’s likely most of the fabric was used for Broad Lodge, a house in Petherton Park erected in the seventeenth century.’

‘Still standing?’

Carroll shook his head. ‘And there’s another reason why the Reading dig was unsuccessful. A local archivist has recently discovered a Bridgwater Mercury report of an earlier excavation in 1843. A vicar from Taunton brought a team here and they were digging for about six months.’

Diamond chuckled at that. ‘And Gildersleeve hadn’t heard? That’s rich. I bet the Victorians dug up everything that was worth having.’

‘There’s no record of what they found. My society made an intensive search of all the local press and documents held at the records office and came up with nothing more than that five-line report tucked away in the newspaper.’

The laughter was working like a dose of Rennies. The discomfort eased.

‘How about this for a theory?’ Diamond said with more enthusiasm than he’d shown all day. ‘The Taunton vicar unearthed the Wife of Bath. She’d been sculpted especially to decorate Chaucer’s house and lay buried right here where we’re standing for all those centuries. Along comes the local magpie, William Stradling, and makes the vicar an offer he can’t refuse. It would explain how it got into Stradling’s collection.’

‘I rather like it,’ Carroll said after a moment’s thought. ‘One thing we do know about Stradling is that he was alert to anything of interest turning up. And the date is about right. By that time he’d built his museum at Chilton Priory just a few miles north of here and by 1843 he’d be looking to add to his collection.’

‘We were there this morning,’ Leaman said. ‘It’s all coming together rather neatly.’

And so it was that out here in a Somerset ploughed field, with nothing to look at except mud, Diamond was moved to feel elated. The mystery of the Wife of Bath’s past was reasonably explained to everyone’s satisfaction. They would never know the precise details, but this was a pretty good guess. The local expert approved. Even the hypercritical John Leaman had given his nod.

And the indigestion had all but gone.

A curious moment followed. They were returning to the car when Diamond had something like a vision from the remote past. The back view of Tim Carroll in his padded tunic, flannel shirt and black trousers, with his long hair swaying gently on his shoulders, made him appear remarkably like a flashback to the fourteenth century when it was fashionable to look like that. It was as if Geoffrey Chaucer himself had materialised to add his blessing.