The Stone Wife

‘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.