A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

Domesday Book and Bishop Augustine himself features prominently in a fourteenth-century chronicle kept at Norwich Cathedral. In fact, Augustine, one of the earliest bishops, was always supposed to have been buried at the cathedral. What was he doing, then, buried under a fairly minor parish church in King’s Lynn? But inscriptions on the coffin and dating of the wood pointed definitely to Bishop Augustine. The next step was carbon dating of the bones themselves, and somewhere along the line the decision was made to open the coffin in public – watched by the great and the good, including members of the Smith family.
    And that’s the other reason. The Smith family are still alive and well and living in Norfolk. Along the way they have been Catholic martyrs and Protestant traitors, ennobled by Elizabeth I, and involved in a doomed attempt to hold King’s Lynn for the Royalists in the Civil War. Lord Danforth Smith, the current title holder, is a racehorse trainer and unwilling local celebrity. His son, Randolph, usually to be found draped around an American actress or Russian tennis player, is more relaxed about being in the public eye and is a regular feature of the gossip columns. Previous Smiths have been rather more serious-minded and evidence of their philanthropy is everywhere in Norfolk. As well as the museum there is the Smith wing in the hospital and the Smith Art Collection at the castle. Ruth’s university even has a Smith Professor of Local History, though he hasn’t been seen in public for years and Ruth thinks he may well be dead.
    She parks her battered car in front of the museum. The car park round the side is empty. She’s early; it’s only two-fifteen but still not enough time to get home and back. She might as well go into the museum and look around. Ruth loves museums, which is just as well because, as an archaeologist, she’s done more than her share of looking in dusty glass cases. She remembers going to the Horniman Museum in Forest Hill as a child. It was a magical place, full of masks and stuffed birds. Come to think of it, the Horniman was probably the place where she first got interested in archaeology; they had a collection of flint tools, including some from Grimes Graves in Norfolk. She remembers the shock when she realised that these oddly shaped pieces of stone had actually been
held
by someone who had been alive thousands of years ago. The idea that you could actually go and dig up something that old – something that had been worked and honed by that mysterious creature known as Stone Age man – that idea still sends a shiver down her spine, and has sustained her through many a long and unsuccessful excavation. There is always the thought that under the next clod of earth there is the object – weathered and unrecognisable except to an expert – that is going to change human thought forever. Ruth has made a few lucky discoveries herself. But there is always the tantalising thought of the one big find, of the glass case with the inscription ‘discovered by Doctor Ruth Galloway’, of the articles, the book … She pushes open the door.
    The Horniman is a small museum but impressive in its way, with a clock tower at the front and glass conservatoryat the back. The Smith Museum is something else. It’s a low brick building, squashed between two office blocks. Overhanging gables, painted dull red, make it look as if it’s wearing a hat pulled down low upon its head. Steps lead up to an arched red door with a promising sign saying ‘welcome’. Ruth pushes open the door and finds herself in a small entrance lobby dominated by a stuffed bird in a case and a picture of an angry-looking man in a wig. There’s a notice board adorned with a few faded flyers and a table containing some photocopied sheets labelled, somewhat optimistically, ‘For School Parties’, but no sign that a media event is taking place. No canapés or glasses of wine (Ruth is sure there was a mention of food), no press packs, not even a poster announcing the Grand Opening of the Bishop’s Coffin. A yellowing chandelier overhead is still jangling from the opening of the door. Otherwise there is complete silence.
    Ruth pushes through the swing doors and finds herself in a long room, lined on both sides with glass cases reaching up to the ceiling. There are no windows and the only light comes from the cabinets themselves, which shimmer with an eerie phosphorescence. Ruth stops and peers into one of the