Richard Barttelot, by Stephen Carroll
I first set eyes on Richard Barttelot nearly forty years ago when I moved into Stopham House, a rambling country house formerly the seat of the Barttelot family who claimed they had come over with the Conqueror. His cousin, the local baronet, had sold a leasehold interest to developers and the house had been converted into eleven flats. There were two entrances: the main entrance where the grand apartments were, and the servant's entrance (named by estate agents as 'the North Entrance') where the humbler flats were situated. Mine was round the back on the top floor and had once been the nursery. There was a fire escape leading from the bedroom which looked out on several acres of parkland and gardens and on summer evenings I liked to open the door and sit out on this when I got home from work. I noticed that regularly at dusk, a slight, nervous-looking man in late middle-age in a white shirt, cloth cap and gloves would hurry over the grass and make his way to some out