‘It was absolutely fascinating,’ said Sam, as we careered along the A12. ‘Diversion ahead. Oh hang on, not for us.’
He had asked me about my afternoon and I’d given him a very very slimmed-down account. Not that he noticed. He was too full of excitement about his own findings.
‘It seems there were several more discs made of other visions and given to close associates whom Dee respected and considered to be loyal.’ Sam’s face had lit up wonderfully. ‘It was difficult to trace who received them. However, I started a list of close associates and then cross-referenced them to people with Essex connections.’
‘Many female close associates?’ I asked, wondering if one of them had strayed down here to become immortalised as Black Anne.
‘Dee’s first wife, Catherine, died in 1574,’ he reeled off. ‘That would have been before the Prague disc was made. His second wife whose name we don’t know died two years later. Jane Fremond married him in 1578. They had three daughters, Catherine, Mary and Medinia, but it is probable that they all died with their mother of the bubonic plague epidemic in Manchester, 1604.’
‘And no connections with Essex?’
‘Not with them, but there are articles I need to comb and sections of John Dee’s diary that I must read. I did note that in 1591 a William Aspland and Thomas Collinge of Essex visited Dee. Now, the interesting thing about that is that an Edmund Hunt had previously consulted with Thomas Collinge, who was strangely both the local constable and a cunning man.’
‘A male witch?’
‘More respected.’
‘Of course.’ Bloody sexist ancient Britain. Got on my nerves it did.
‘Unusual though eh – policeman and witch?’
I was going to say something about Monty being an agent interested in our witch business, but he was off again before I could open my mouth.
‘Guess what Hunt wanted?’
‘Just tell me?’
‘He had been approached by a good friend of his whose mind had been troubled by dreams which, he believed, were leading him to treasure.’
That caught my attention. ‘Really?’
‘Uh huh,’ said Sam. ‘And guess what his name was?’
‘Go on, go on.’
Sam took a breath. ‘Samuel Howlet.’ He registered my gasp then went on. ‘The second Lord of the Manor.’
‘Well,’ I said and tapped the steering wheel. ‘I’ll be blown over sideways by a coincidental gale.’
‘Personally,’ said Sam, ‘I’m of the opinion that one of John Dee’s associates may have been tasked with the mission. I’m not sure Dee would have done it himself even if he had been interested. This was only a few years after the St Osyth witch hunt and we both know what became of Ursula Cadence and Elizabeth Bennett. No, it would have been too risky. He had already been tainted by a prosecution against him for “conjuring”.
It was illegal to find money or treasure through sorcery or witchcraft. After one brush with the law he surely would have preferred not to be seen to be publicly involved with treasure hunting and cunning men again.’
‘But someone was,’ I said. ‘And more to the point – why did they give their equipment to Black Anne?’
‘It’s a fantastic puzzle.’
One of our phones started to vibrate. It was on silent. Probably not mine then. Sam reached into his bag and announced, ‘Bronson’.
I told him to plug it into the speaker and he put it on.
‘Samuel.’ Bronson’s deep throaty boom entered the car.
‘And Rosie’s here too,’ I said.
‘Right, well good. See, the thing is we’ve been over-run down here, me and Vanessa. There’s all sorts coming into the village. Reckon it’s the treasure what’s got them so excitable, but we’ve had other types here, all come to see about the witch. You know, Black Anne.’
‘That’s great!’ Sam said. ‘What are the takings like?’
‘Well, you see. The thing is they ain’t been too happy we got nothing here about her.’ I heard him swallow noisily. Someone in the background, a woman, said, ‘Tell them they’ll need something up by tomorrow.’
‘Vanessa,’ Bronson went on, ‘says we oughta have something in place by the end of the week. Or as soon as we can.’ More mumbling away from the phone then, ‘They bin complaining, see. “A witch museum,” they says, “without the local witch in it.”’
In the background Vanessa made a farty sound with her lips, I hoped it was her lips, then said something loud but inaudible which Bronson interpreted for us. ‘One of them were a proper little madam and wanted a refund. Looked around the whole place first, mind.’
Sam was nodding silently. ‘Yes. We see. We’ll get onto it as soon as we can. On our way back now. Have you closed yet?’
I glanced at my watch. 5.30 p.m.
‘Few buggers are dragging their heels in the Cadence wing, but once they’ve gone we’ll shut up shop.’
‘Good work Bronson,’ I said. ‘To both you and Vanessa. And don’t worry too much, love – people complain about everything.’
I imagined him nodding. ‘Vanessa is saying there’s negative feedback on Facebook or something. Nasty stuff written about us.’
Sam sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll get on it when we get back.’
‘I can deal with it, if you like,’ I offered but he shook his head.
‘Might be obnoxious. Has been recently.’
‘No need to protect me. Serious. You want to try doing social media for Benefit Fraud.’ I managed it for about three days before Twitter broke under the weight of bile. Then the main Comms team took over. Thank God. Michael, the current social media survivor in post, told me he could announce the second coming of Christ and he’d get swamped with demands for refunds on council tax.
‘We’ll see,’ said Sam. ‘But Bronson, re Black Anne, I’m planning to go to the archives tomorrow to see what I can find.’
‘Oh right, well there’s another thing too,’ Bronson crackled. ‘Nearly forgot.’
‘What?’ I said.
‘There’s trouble over at Bridgewaters’.’
I snorted. ‘Isn’t that a song by Simon and Garfunkel?’
Bronson and Sam ignored me.
‘Young Terry Bridgewater,’ the caretaker went on, ‘has come in again. Says his dad has started getting his funny turns back. Can you go over and take a look Friday lunchtime? Vanessa says she can cover the till.’
‘Funny turns?’ I peeped at Sam, then switched my eyes back to the road.
‘Oh yes,’ he replied. ‘He was having them a while back. Seeing things. I wondered if it might not be Charles Bonnet Syndrome.’
‘Really?’ I was surprised. We had come across this condition before. In fact it had reared its oddly wired head at La Fleur where I’d just dined with Monty. ‘Go on.’
‘But then it stopped so we all assumed it had resolved itself, and before I got to talk to them about Charles Bonnet, the old man had recovered. But obviously he was only in remission. We must go and see the Bridgewaters. You should come too. You know more about that condition than I do.’
I’d only had a fifteen-minute consultation with an ophthalmic consultant but I was flattered to be asked so agreed.
‘Yes, Bronson,’ Sam relayed. ‘Tell them we’ll come over and see them Friday morning.’ He broke the connection and swivelled in his seat. ‘I have to say this whole Blackly Be incident is becoming superlatively interesting.’ Then as if apologising, ‘As soon as we get back to the museum I’m going to go into deep research mode.’
‘It’s okay,’ I said, feeling the burn of the folder. ‘I intend to do some of my own.’