Dad,
I found the shoebox. I've been going through the house for three weeks and I found it this afternoon on the second shelf of the spare room bookcase, behind the Ordnance Survey maps. Nike box, size 10. I don't know whose shoes those were.
I looked through everything. The medals. The photographs. The diary with the Latin I can't read and the drawings I can. And the conveyance — I know you knew what it was because you wrote Property: keep on the Post-it note on the back.
At the bottom of the conveyance, there's a note in a different hand from the 1640s. You knew it was there. Did you know what it said? Did you know about Halecroft?
I've been sitting with the shoebox for two hours. I decided to wait. I don't quite want to know yet in the middle of your house when you're not here to hear it.
The job at the Bodleian is still open. I've been not-applying for it for three months because Oxford seems like a statement and I'm not sure I'm ready to make it. But I think I'm going to apply.
I think you would have liked me to apply.
I think the shoebox wants me to apply.
I miss you. The house smells like your books and your tea and I keep expecting to hear you coming downstairs.
Eleanor
MSS. Marsh-Hale 3, item 7. Matilda's letter. Single document, mounted between glass plates. Physical condition: fragile.
The text is in late Middle English, consistent with a date of c.1390. Central section damaged by water and not currently legible.
Significance: considerable. The document is the only surviving text in Matilda of Halecroft's hand. It appears to have been placed deliberately in the deed-box and found and replaced on at least two subsequent occasions without its contents being fully known.
Recommendation: multispectral imaging of the central section is strongly advised when resources permit.
— James Marsh-Hale, March 2001.
Final two sentences · February 2024 · three weeks after the imaging results