As she walked back to where he was waiting, she studied the building that had been The Bluecoat School. Now she came to look at it closely, it stuck out like a sore thumb. It was clearly ancient. A tiny, ancient building with ochre plastered walls and a steeply pitched roof, its shape echoed by the porch over the main door. The stone mullion windows were boarded up, the glass blank; a door in the side wall was barely five feet high, and there were several vacant niches around the walls.
‘But – this must be a chapel, surely?’ Leah asked, as she came to stand next to Mark.
‘Correct. A very old one – almost certainly the oldest building in Thatcham, possibly one of the oldest in Berkshire. Originally the chapel of St Thomas, it was used as an auxiliary school building for years, and then as an antiques shop. Now the council own it, have fixed it up and are wondering what to do with it,’ he said. Leah glanced at him and smiled.
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘That headmaster pointed me to the website,’ Mark admitted.
‘And he thought this was where she would have taught?’
‘He said it was the most likely candidate. It was used as a kind of overflow classroom for the local charitable school, which would have been the most likely to need volunteers like the vicar’s wife to fill in teaching gaps.’
‘But… what about the main school buildings? Couldn’t she just as easily have taught there?’
‘Yes. But this place has one crucial advantage.’
‘Which is?’
‘It’s still standing. The rest of the old school buildings were pulled down to make way for new housing between the wars.’
‘Bugger.’
‘Quite. But at least there’s a chance that this is the place she was talking about – where she hid whatever incriminating evidence it was she’d found.’ He shrugged.
‘I suppose so. Can we go inside?’
‘It’s locked,’ Mark said, with a shake of his head. ‘The caretaker should be here any minute – he’s agreed to show us around. I told him we’re researching a book on ancient chapels, so make sure you act like a scholar.’
‘What did you tell him that for? You could have just told the truth.’
‘I thought this would sound better. And I didn’t want to say we might want to pull up the floorboards and look underneath them. Besides… it’s more fun this way,’ Mark grinned.
‘You really have been living quietly lately, haven’t you?’ Leah said, wryly. Mark shrugged amiably. ‘Pulling up the floor might be a tricky one. We’ll have to think of a way to see if there are any loose boards… perhaps I could ask for a tour of the outside and leave you inside to check it out, or something?’ she suggested.
‘Excellent! It’s like we’re going undercover,’ Mark said.
‘I think you might be getting a bit carried away.’
‘Possibly. This is probably him now – the caretaker. Don’t forget, you’re a scholar and an expert on ancient chapels.’
‘Got it.’
As she spoke, a thin man in a dark blue cagoule appeared, walking briskly around the corner, slumped into a kind of apologetic cringe. He came towards them with his hand extended in front of him like a white flag on a pole. The caretaker’s name was Kevin Knoll; younger than Leah had expected, and blinking like a mole in the spring sunshine. His light brown eyes watered behind thick pebble glasses. His mouth was small, his nose pointed. His whole face and body appeared gripped by some terrible anxiety, but he smiled readily enough as they introduced themselves.
‘Well, I’m sure you’re itching to get inside. It’s such a joy to meet people who still care about these places,’ he said, glancing rapidly to and fro between them. ‘Chapels like this are so quint-essentially English, to me. They represent so much of our history.’
‘Oh, I… couldn’t agree more,’ Leah said, as she followed Kevin to the front door of the building and waited impatiently as he fumbled with the keys. ‘So, I imagine you know a great deal about the history of this building? Its uses over the years?’ she asked. The key clunked in the lock, and the door swung open.
‘In we go. Yes, I suppose I know as much as anybody. Not that I’m an architectural historian like yourselves, of course,’ he said, in modest qualification. Leah shot Mark a quick look, and he winked.
‘Our, uh, research tells us that the building was used as part of a school, about a hundred years ago – is that right?’
‘Yes, that’s right. The local charity school for the children of the poor. Once that closed another local school used it – for their home economics classes, I think it was.’
‘I don’t suppose you have any information about what was taught here? And by whom, back in the days of the charity school?’
‘No, I’m afraid not,’ Kevin said, and did look a little afraid not to have the answer. ‘I’m awfully sorry. I don’t know where you’d even look to find that out. I doubt that records survive, if there ever were records… I admit, I rather thought you’d be more interested in the fabric of the building itself?’
‘Oh, we are. It’s just always nice to get a bit of colour into the history,’ Mark said, clearing his throat. ‘It makes a book so much more accessible to readers.’
They walked into the centre of the single room inside the chapel. Pale daylight was streaming through a Gothic arched window in the east-facing wall, reflecting brightly from the whitewashed walls. The incandescence was surprising. Leah had been expecting darkness and gloom, age-old shadows. The windows facing the road were blocked off, as was the tiny side door, but still it felt open, alive. The breeze had followed them in and circled the floor, sending a few bundles of dust to scud around their feet.
‘I’ve always liked to imagine that window in its prime, full of beautiful stained glass…’ said Kevin, looking at them expectantly.
‘Oh, yes – it almost certainly would have had… a truly magnificent piece of artwork in place; before the Reformation,’ Mark agreed hastily. There were empty stone niches here and there inside, but little else to see. No plaques, no tombs. ‘And… er… I understand the building is being used as community space now? And there are plans to extend it?’ he floundered on. But Leah wasn’t listening. She was staring at the floor in abject disappointment. She walked to the far end of the room and turned to face the empty space, bathing herself in white light. Was this where Hester Canning had stood? I know what lies beneath my feet… Leah looked down again. So there it stays, beneath the floor. But this was not the floor Hester Canning had walked. Not the floor she could possibly have hidden anything beneath. Leah took a deep breath, filling with frustration. The floor was made of fresh oak boards. Entirely even, flat and secure; entirely modern.
‘When was the floor replaced?’ she asked, interrupting Kevin as he told Mark about the plans for the building.
‘Oh… fairly recently. Just last year. It was one of the first things we had to do in order to make the space usable, you see; grade one listing or not. The old boards were quite lovely, but entirely eaten away by wet rot and woodworm. They were loose and uneven. They just crumbled around the nails as they were lifted, I understand. We couldn’t even reuse them for anything. They were ruined,’ Kevin told her. Mark was looking down now, following the line of one board with his toe, and frowning.
‘Did they find anything underneath them?’ Leah asked. Kevin gave her a puzzled look. ‘It’s just, you know – with buildings this old you can often make… archaeological discoveries, just by doing something as simple as lifting the floor. Sometimes the original craftsmen have left something behind, something that can give an insight into the time of construction… that kind of thing…’