NOTICE OF CLOSURE.
The undersigned wishes to advise all customers to Porringer’s Chemist and Druggist (purveyor of perfumes, essences, soaps, spices, and all medicinal provisions since 1860), that she is under the necessity of closing the premises since the sad demise of Mr Thaddeus Porringer.
Inquiries as to reopening of the establishment can be made with Messrs Hollinsdale & Sons, Solicitors. Inquiries as to fiscal and credit matters should be addressed to Chubbs Bank.
‘So they closed down,’ said Nell. ‘Was that because Maria couldn’t – or wasn’t allowed to – run it on her own, I wonder?’
‘Or because she couldn’t keep it afloat. Let’s go to the pub and consider,’ said Michael.
They sought out Mr Trussell, explained that they had made some very useful notes, and would be in touch if any more information was needed.
‘By all means,’ he said. ‘This shop has been a pharmacy for more than a hundred and fifty years, you know. It was owned by a family called Porringer for three, if not more, generations. Father to son, usually. They nearly lost it once – in the mid-1800s, I believe – but then a cousin or something turned up and the name continued. The family died out during the Second World War, though.’
Nell said it was sad when family businesses did not continue within a family, and they walked across the square to the pub.
‘Do you think,’ she said, as their food was served, ‘that we’re any further on?’
‘Not really. And I still don’t know whether the professor’s right about Deadlight Hall being haunted,’ said Michael. ‘There’s no way of telling.’ He glanced at her. ‘Short of spending the night in the house.’
Nell had been eating moussaka with enjoyment, but she looked at him in disbelief. ‘You aren’t serious, are you?’ she said.
‘No. For one thing I can’t think how I’d get into the place,’ said Michael. ‘And yet, I can’t help wondering what would happen if I was there. “Once upon a midnight dreary” and all that.’
‘You’re starting to enjoy this,’ she said, half accusingly.
‘I’m not. But I’d like to know a bit more about Maria and the rest.’
‘So would I. And,’ said Nell, ‘I’d like to know what the professor’s not telling us about that house, because, sure as taxes, there’s something. Are you ready to go? I ought to get back to the shop. And if you’ve got time to come in, I’ve had an email from Ashby’s that you might want to see.’
The email was from Nell’s contact in the sale rooms.
Hi Nell,
As you know, we’ve placed a preliminary ad for the upcoming sale, with the silver golem as lead item. (You should have had the page proofs, so you know how terrific the photos look!) This morning a letter came in from a Polish buyer, expressing what sounds like definite interest. See attached – although I have, of course, had to delete the address for client confidentiality. I’ve left the sender’s name though (bit of a breach of the rules, but as it’s you … ) Also, it seems to link up with the archive stuff I sent you recently – the gentleman who wrote to us back in the 1940s. So I thought on all counts you’d like to see it.
Looking forward to seeing you soon. If you deliver the silver figure to us yourself, let me know beforehand, and we could have lunch.
The letter, scanned and sent as an attachment, had a slightly more formal note.
Dear Sirs
I see with interest that you are advertising a forthcoming Auction Sale of a silver golem, believed to date to the 18th century, and thought to have been brought to England in the early 1940s.
My great-uncle, Maurice Bensimon, spent many months trying to find a silver golem that I believe could be the one you are selling. The story of his search for it has long been a part of my family’s folklore.