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Authors: Robert Goddard
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acquainted with the lady who came last month?"
"I don't think so. Who was she?"
"I can't recall her name. A pleasant woman. Tall. Dark-haired. In her forties, I imagine. There was something .. . professional .. . about her."
"And she was asking about the Esguards of Gaunt's Chase?" "Yes. But I couldn't help her any more than I can help you. I don't know the family or the house. As for the grave at Tollard Rising, well, as you've seen, it's more than a hundred and fifty years old. You'll understand that I devote most of my time to those of my parishioners who are still alive." He grinned. "Or, at any rate, rather more recently deceased."
"Aren't there .. . records?"
"Of course. Those for Tollard Rising are held at the County Record Office in Dorchester. As I explained to the lady. That would include any certificate of marriage contracted in the parish by the late Mr. Esguard, a possibility she seemed particularly interested in."
"Marriage? Did she say why?"
"Not really. She described it as a question of historical research.
Which is why I referred her to Mr. Appleyard, our eminent local historian. Since she didn't come back to me, I can only assume he was able to satisfy her curiosity on the point."
Derek Appleyard, retired schoolteacher and dedicated chronicler of the last thousand years of Cranborne Chase lived in a surprisingly modern bungalow at the corner of a wood halfway between Tollard Royal and Sixpenny Handley. His wife was preparing lunch when I arrived, but I only had to hint at an interest in his speciality for him to usher me into his study. His wife announced she'd eat without him and I had the impression she meant it.
The study was his research centre, crammed with books, papers, folders, box files and computer disks, plus a framed map of Dorset circa 1600 on one wall, and a huge aerial photograph of what I assumed was his corner of the county on another. He was a spry, stooping old chap, who combined scholarly eccentricity with a cigarette habit that meant every surface in the room was finely covered with ash. One day, I imagined, the whole lot would go up in smoke, very possibly him with it.
"I confess myself puzzled, Mr. Jarrett. First one Esguard researcher, then two. Odd, distinctly odd. What, pray, is it all about?"
"It's too complicated to explain."
"Do you know that's exactly what Miss Sanger said. Are you sure you're not acquainted with her?"
"I'm not absolutely sure about much, Mr. Appleyard, to be honest. But I don't think I am. Did she leave you with any way to contact her?"
"Yes. A telephone number. That's even odder, actually. She asked me to let her know if anyone else came by enquiring about the Esguards. But she led me to expect a woman, not a man."
"Sorry to disappoint you. But I can save you the effort of contacting Miss Sanger. If you give me the number, I'll do it myself."
"Good idea. She gave me a card. It'll be in here somewhere." He began rooting through a desk drawer. "Charming lady, I must say."
"What did you tell her?"
"The little I know. There was a large house up on the downs near Tollard Rising called Gaunt's Chase. It dated from the late seventeenth century. Rather a pleasing William and Mary construction, to judge by surviving prints, though the exposed location can't have made it very comfortable. I can point out the exact site on the OS map. The Esguard family owned it, along with a substantial surrounding estate, including most of Tollard Rising. There's a gate from the churchyard that once led onto a carriage drive from the house."
"I saw no drive."
"No. And you wouldn't see the house, either, if you followed the route of it. The estate was broken up in the eighteen thirties, presumably to pay off creditors. The house itself burned down in 1838. I believe Joslyn Esguard died in the fire. The site was then cleared. I've looked for traces of it and, though there must be some, I've failed to discover them. Mind you, I can't claim to have mounted an exhaustive
"I don't think so. Who was she?"
"I can't recall her name. A pleasant woman. Tall. Dark-haired. In her forties, I imagine. There was something .. . professional .. . about her."
"And she was asking about the Esguards of Gaunt's Chase?" "Yes. But I couldn't help her any more than I can help you. I don't know the family or the house. As for the grave at Tollard Rising, well, as you've seen, it's more than a hundred and fifty years old. You'll understand that I devote most of my time to those of my parishioners who are still alive." He grinned. "Or, at any rate, rather more recently deceased."
"Aren't there .. . records?"
"Of course. Those for Tollard Rising are held at the County Record Office in Dorchester. As I explained to the lady. That would include any certificate of marriage contracted in the parish by the late Mr. Esguard, a possibility she seemed particularly interested in."
"Marriage? Did she say why?"
"Not really. She described it as a question of historical research.
Which is why I referred her to Mr. Appleyard, our eminent local historian. Since she didn't come back to me, I can only assume he was able to satisfy her curiosity on the point."
Derek Appleyard, retired schoolteacher and dedicated chronicler of the last thousand years of Cranborne Chase lived in a surprisingly modern bungalow at the corner of a wood halfway between Tollard Royal and Sixpenny Handley. His wife was preparing lunch when I arrived, but I only had to hint at an interest in his speciality for him to usher me into his study. His wife announced she'd eat without him and I had the impression she meant it.
The study was his research centre, crammed with books, papers, folders, box files and computer disks, plus a framed map of Dorset circa 1600 on one wall, and a huge aerial photograph of what I assumed was his corner of the county on another. He was a spry, stooping old chap, who combined scholarly eccentricity with a cigarette habit that meant every surface in the room was finely covered with ash. One day, I imagined, the whole lot would go up in smoke, very possibly him with it.
"I confess myself puzzled, Mr. Jarrett. First one Esguard researcher, then two. Odd, distinctly odd. What, pray, is it all about?"
"It's too complicated to explain."
"Do you know that's exactly what Miss Sanger said. Are you sure you're not acquainted with her?"
"I'm not absolutely sure about much, Mr. Appleyard, to be honest. But I don't think I am. Did she leave you with any way to contact her?"
"Yes. A telephone number. That's even odder, actually. She asked me to let her know if anyone else came by enquiring about the Esguards. But she led me to expect a woman, not a man."
"Sorry to disappoint you. But I can save you the effort of contacting Miss Sanger. If you give me the number, I'll do it myself."
"Good idea. She gave me a card. It'll be in here somewhere." He began rooting through a desk drawer. "Charming lady, I must say."
"What did you tell her?"
"The little I know. There was a large house up on the downs near Tollard Rising called Gaunt's Chase. It dated from the late seventeenth century. Rather a pleasing William and Mary construction, to judge by surviving prints, though the exposed location can't have made it very comfortable. I can point out the exact site on the OS map. The Esguard family owned it, along with a substantial surrounding estate, including most of Tollard Rising. There's a gate from the churchyard that once led onto a carriage drive from the house."
"I saw no drive."
"No. And you wouldn't see the house, either, if you followed the route of it. The estate was broken up in the eighteen thirties, presumably to pay off creditors. The house itself burned down in 1838. I believe Joslyn Esguard died in the fire. The site was then cleared. I've looked for traces of it and, though there must be some, I've failed to discover them. Mind you, I can't claim to have mounted an exhaustive
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