‘Key to the desk?’
Roger reached out to take the box from Linda. He set it down on the kitchen table. She was thrilled at the discovery. She took his right arm in her hands and pulled herself tight up against him. He found it hard to concentrate, but he tried.
‘This looks seriously old. Hundreds and hundreds of years, I would think. Even the keys look ancient.’
‘So who was Mr T T, do you think?’ Duggie lifted the ring and weighed it in his hand. ‘He liked a bit of bling, that’s for sure.’
Roger pulled himself together, basking in the feel of Linda’s body crushed up against him. The destruction of a priceless antique seemed a small price to pay for the pleasure of feeling her soft warmth alongside him.
‘I’m not sure. The deeds show this estate as being of medieval origin. As far as I know, Uncle Eustace bought the place some time between the wars. From whom, I really don’t know. Maybe the documents in here will help us.’ He looked down at the papers and parchment. He felt Linda tighten her grip even more in anticipation. Her contact stiffened his resolve. He reached down and pulled the papers and parchment out.
‘What do they say?’ Duggie was equally fascinated.
Roger’s professional instincts were aroused as he felt the unmistakable sensation of parchment in his hands. He held it up to the light and nodded contentedly.
‘Dog skin.’
Jasper looked up from Paddy’s broken broomstick, which he had already reduced to a further four or five pieces. The others also looked on expectantly.
‘Good-quality stuff. In fact, in the Middle Ages, the very best parchment you could get hold of was dog skin. There are no holes in dog skin for pores, you see. So dogs can’t sweat. That’s why they spend so much time with their tongues out, panting loudly.’
Bang on cue, Jasper spat out the broom handle and gave a reasonable impression of a steam train.
‘As a result, this parchment is as smooth as you can get, but pricey. Whoever wrote this was no ordinary commoner. No laundry list this, for sure.’ He squinted at it. The ink had faded with the passage of the centuries, but by holding it to the light, he managed to make out the words. ‘Latin. Not pure imperial Latin, but more likely something more recent. Now, let me think.’
This was exactly the kind of academic challenge he revelled in. Both of them could clearly see his enthusiasm grow.
‘When the Roman Empire disintegrated, Britain was invaded by the Saxons. They would all have spoken Anglo-Saxon and over the next centuries that would have extended to official documents. Latin was only reintroduced as the language of government after the Norman conquest in 1066. So I am guessing that this is going to date to the eleventh or twelfth centuries. If only I could read the date.’ He squinted across the surface of the parchment.
‘Official document? How official?’ Linda showed no sign of relinquishing her grip on him, but was clearly interested in their find.
‘Very official, by the look of it.’ He blew dust off the surface and held it closer to the window, where the mid-morning sun shone in like a spotlight. ‘Unless I am mistaken, the seal at the bottom is royal. This is a letter from the king.’
‘The King of England?’ Linda was impressed. He hardly heard her. He found that by tilting the paper, so that the sun’s rays shone obliquely across the page, he could read the words quite easily.
‘How fascinating. It seems that it is dated 13th July 1131. And I was right in my assumption. The king did indeed sign it. Here, do you see his name?’ Duggie and Linda could see nothing but a blur, so they took his word for it. ‘King Henry of the House of Normandy. That would be Henri Beauclerc, one of the sons of William the Conqueror, if my memory serves me right.’
He concentrated on the Latin. He muttered to himself as he followed the lines across and down the page, until he reached the end. Then he blinked, re-read the last lines and then roared with laughter. The others, dog included, looked at him curiously.
‘It says…’ He stopped to blow his nose and wipe his eyes, while his outburst of laugher subsided into a subdued chuckle. ‘It says, in recognition of the magnificent hospitality afforded to his royal highness by Arthur of Toplingham and his retinue, it is hereby decreed that this manor shall henceforth and in perpetuity be licensed to carry on…’ He paused and looked across at the others in disbelief. ‘He uses the words ad praeclarum quaestum meretricium faciendum, which translates as something like, for the admirable purpose of making meretricious gain.’
Seeing the lack of comprehension on their faces, he explained. ‘Meretricious is the adjective that goes with the noun “prostitution”. I do believe this decree means that Toplingham Manor is a fully licensed house of ill repute. Licensed by royal decree, no less.’ The other two stared at him open-mouthed.
‘A knocking shop?’ Duggie couldn’t believe his ears.
‘A brothel. Just imagine that.’ Linda was equally shocked.
‘How amazing. I must write to the British Journal of Medieval Studies about this at once. How fascinating.’ He paused, deep in thought. ‘I wonder if it really was active in plying its trade in those days, and how long it went on for. I wonder whether, when Oliver Cromwell was going round closing down all those sorts of places in the seventeenth century, he might have missed this one. A royal decree in perpetuity is a pretty solid document. Who knows if it would really hold water today. It’s almost worth running by the legal bods at the university.’
As his voice tailed off, Linda gave him a disapproving look. She raised an eyebrow.
‘Were you thinking of going into business? Surrounding yourself with painted harlots, perhaps?’
For one unforgettable moment, a graphic vision of Linda burst into Roger’s head. She was dressed in high heels, stockings and suspenders, a come-hither expression on her face. She was leaning provocatively in an open doorway, her lace-gloved arm stretching up above her head, her mouth…
‘Roger, are you all right?’ The concern in her voice cut into his reverie. He came up for air like a drowning man.
‘What? Me? Yes, I’m fine thanks.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I was just thinking about something.’ Mercifully she did not ask what.
‘You were mentioning the possible legality of the parchment.’
He had no doubt whatsoever that the wisest course of action now was for him to consign that particular conundrum to the waste bin, or at least the files. Any more of those titillating visions could seriously damage his health, he had no doubt. He decided to leave well alone.
‘Who knows? I think it best to leave well alone. We’ll get the parchment framed and hang it on the wall.’
‘What about the other papers?’ Duggie lifted one of the sheets. He was confronted with a tight mass of text in longhand, no punctuation or paragraph divisions visible. He passed it over to Roger who, on the other hand, had little trouble in deciphering it.
‘Ah…the answer to one mystery. This is actually written in English, old English. It’s a royal licence granting full grazing, hunting and fishing rights, as well as those other rights as specified by royal decree.’ He looked up with a grin. ‘I think we now know what they are. It is in favour of Thomas of Toplingham in, wait a minute, 1576. I think we may have a candidate for the owner of the ring.’
He beamed at them, the thrill of history coming to life in his hands, almost equal to that of Linda hanging onto him. Alas, just as the thought came to him, she detached herself. Distractedly, she bent down and started to pick up the bits of broom handle, spread around the kitchen.
Roger had to settle for the thrill of history.
‘So that means that the manor was still operating as a house