Blog 1. Finding the ring

12th July 2004

"I promised Mrs. McCready you would help her move into her new house. You don't mind do you Derek?" It was typical of my mother to volunteer me without asking first.

"But I planned on going over to Sandswick this afternoon mother," I protested.

"Oh there'll be plenty of times you can go there. You've still two months left before you start work and the woman really needs someone strong to help her clear all the old stuff from poor Miss Read's old house. Finish your breakfast, I said you would be there about nine and it's past that now. You were up late this morning." There was that hint of disapproval in her voice. "I expect she'll get you something for lunch and you can get a takeaway for dinner. I'll be at the bridge club until late."

I groaned and complained but there was no getting out of it. Mother was adamant that I should help and despite all my arguments, insisted I go. It wasn't that I really objected to helping, and I didn't dislike Mrs. McCready, in fact she was quite a pleasant woman, but I did object to being put in a position where I would be obliged to help whether or not I wanted to. The last few months had been stressful in the extreme but after many nights of burning the midnight oil, I was able to complete the research needed for my thesis. It worked out and I finally obtained my doctorate. I am now fully entitled to call myself Dr. Derek Meeks. Mother even got the photo of me wearing my mortarboard and gown in the local paper. For the time being though I just wanted to relax and make the most of my free time before I took up a research post at Dunchester University where I had spent the last five years as a student. It is only ten miles away, which meant I could and did live at home for the first four years of my course and save my accommodation expenses, but during that time I was never free of mother's influences. When I successfully obtained a grant and sponsorship for my post graduate research I was able to afford a room on the campus but at the start of the new term I shall move into a house my predecessor in the post now occupies. His new job is taking him abroad for several years.

Glumly I walked the few hundred yards along the road to the fifteenth century house that had been Miss Read's home for as long as anyone could remember. The seemingly frail, bent old lady lived alone and had survived until one morning, soon after her ninety-eighth birthday, the milkman noticed the previous day's milk hadn't been taken in. He alerted the police and they called her younger sister's son, Robert, who found Miss Read lying abed. She'd died peaceably in her sleep. Her will left the house and contents to be shared between all three of her sister's children but none of them wished to live in the damp, inconvenient old house. After dividing up any furniture and belongings that were deemed worth keeping, the remainder was left and the house put up for sale.

To Jean McCready, the building was a delightful example of a framed Tudor house. She loved the way the top storey overhung the ground floor and the quaint carvings on the ends of the protruding floor beams. "It will need a lot of money spent on it to get it habitable by modern standards and of course there are restrictions on what you are allowed to do with an old building like this," the estate agent had warned her, but money wasn't a problem. She had money in her own right and the inheritance from the death of her husband made her quite wealthy.

"She can afford to pay a firm to come in a clear the whole place," I muttered as I sauntered along still cursing my mother for involving me, more so because she'd sent me to work while she went and played cards with her friends. The front door, accessed by two stone steps directly from the pavement was wide open and a hire skip stood coned off in the road with a layer of rubbish already covering the base. Climbing the steps I peered inside and called out, "Mrs. McCready!"

"Come in Derek, sorry I didn't mean to impose on you like this but your mother insisted and wouldn't take no for an answer. Please feel free to go if you have other things planned. If you haven't then I could certainly use the help. I'll pay you of course. I intended to go to the employment people to get someone but Miriam said... well you know your mother." The woman gave an impish grin.

"It's okay Mrs. McCready..."

"Jean please." The dumpy woman with the ready smile took my hand and shook it. "It makes me feel old to be called Mrs. by someone as old as you. I'm only forty-one for heavens sake!"

"Okay Jean, I'm here and I'll do what I can to help. No need to worry about paying me. I sort of figured it was to be voluntary work or mother wouldn't have suggested it." I couldn't help smiling at the woman clad incongruously in blue overalls wearing bright yellow rubber gloves and a red headscarf. There were already dirt smudges on her face. "What's to be done?" I asked as I donned my old white lab coat. By the state Jean was in, it wouldn't be white for long. Jean gave me a quick tour and at once I could see how neglected the place had been for many years. Threadbare carpets covered the floors, wallpaper hung in tatters from the walls and over all there was a dank musty smell. Jean's mind though, saw things as they would be after she had worked on the place.

"I want to do as much as I can myself," Jean told me, "There'll be lots I can't do but the place will feel more mine if I do what I can and in any case, who knows, clearing a place like this might yield some treasures. Perhaps there will be some things I can take to the Antiques Roadshow and have one of the experts tell me it is worth a fortune." I laughed with her at the thought of her appearing on the TV show with some little trinket that was held in awe by a bespectacled presenter. By then we were on the upstairs landing. "The first job will be to get the roof repaired and for that the workmen need to get into the attic. Rain comes through in several places and that's made the house quite damp. All I can see by peering over the ledge are a few boxes. I've bought a stepladder but it needs someone with a bit more height and more spring in their bum to get through the trap door to see what's in there."

"Someone like me?" I questioned. She laughed.

An hour later I had an extension lead in the attic with a vacuum cleaner and a quartz halogen light plugged in. "There's a good wood floor with lots of boxes, some wood, some cardboard. Rain's made some places damp. Where it's dry the place is covered with dust." I called down. "I'll Hoover the boxes a bit and pass them down to you so you can sort through them."

By lunchtime we had a pile of boxes in what was the lounge. While Jean went to the nearby baker's for sandwiches, I made tea and started looking through the boxes. Many were discarded clothes, papers and oddments of china. Some, where the roof had leaked, the water had got into the material and the clothes were covered with mould, others were surprising dry and in good condition. We laughed and joked over our finds while we drank our tea. I declined the offer of a box of old rag dolls. "You might want them in a few years time," Jean suggested.

"Not much hope of that at the moment," I replied.

"No one special at the university then?"

"Nope. I don't really seem to get on with girls. Seem to say the wrong things at the wrong time. In any case for the last few months I've been well and truly worked off my feet to finish my thesis."

Jean wanted to keep the paperwork, mainly old letters and bills, in case there was something interesting historically concerning the house but much of the stuff went straight into the skip. Nearly at the end of our break, I forced open a wooden chest containing various items of jewellery. The lid was locked but the joints at one corner had given way so I pulled the end off and tipped the contents on to the floor. Delightedly Jean and I picked them over. Amongst the items I picked out a small cardboard box little bigger than a pack of playing cards. Inside nestled a signet ring and a small leather book. From the start I sensed something strange about the ring. The metal still gleamed silver whereas all the other silver jewellery in the box was tarnished to blackness but at first I just put that down to it having been inside the little box. The band was about 6 mm wide and inscribed with writing that I thought was possibly Persian but which was unintelligible to me. Affixed to the band was a square block only about 8 mm on each side in the centre of which sat a small, slightly iridescent, greenish-yellow stone. There was nothing ostentatious about it and in fact most people hardly notice that I am wearing it. It looks like an ordinary ring that could be bought cheaply in any market. I slipped it on my index finger and held out my hand to show Jean.

<<"... these beads are beautiful. I guess from the colour they must be amber because they wouldn't have plastic to fake them from if they are as old as they look. They're really nice.">>

I was astounded. I heard Jean talking in my head but her lips weren't moving and she was engrossed in sorting through the jewellery.

<<"That's a nice looking broach. Bet the mount is silver and will set off the blue stone when it is cleaned up.">> Jean looked up and saw the ring on my finger and perhaps the look of bewilderment on my face. <<"Goodness he looks a little pale. Hope we haven't overdone it today. I guess he's not used to manual work.">> To my eyes the stone seemed to gently twinkle like the green neon on my computer when it is working but certainly not as brightly as that. "You okay?" she asked in a normal voice and then she saw the ring and took my hand to see it more closely. "That looks nice on you. Keep it Derek. I don't think it would suit me." We put the remainder of the jewellery in another box ready for Jean to take home and stood to stretch our legs. We'd been sitting on the floor during our lunch break. "I suppose we ought to get a little more done. I can clean these things later," she suggested, "You feel like carrying on?"

"Yes, fine. Who knows what else we might find up there? Maybe some more dolls!"

We climbed the stairs again but all the while I kept hearing Jean's voice in my head commenting on the jewellery and what she might do with it and what it might be worth. Twice I turned around to see if she was actually speaking but she only looked at me in surprise. Could I really be hearing what she was thinking? Could it be the ring? No, that would be too much like magic and magic didn't exist. My scientific training tried unsuccessfully to find another explanation. I could test if it was the ring by removing it. By now I had ascended the stepladder and had my hands either side of the opening ready to spring into the attic.