10th Feb. Mary confided in me today that Edward took her to the folly the other night and proposed! How delightful.
5th April. I’ve got a growing suspicion that Mary might be in the family way. I haven’t spoken to her about it, but she is much more guarded when changing and the last few mornings she has been ill. Do hope not, for her sake.
15th April. Returned from a great time in Scotland. Bit of a to-do at B’friars—Mary’s packed up and gone. Vanished. She didn’t go home and now Edward’s sick with worry—even organised search parties to look for her. Eliza and I joined in, a little half-heartedly I must confess, but to no avail. Guess she’s run off somewhere—maybe to have the baby in peace?
Morton printed each entry then re-read them. They added further proof that Mary and Edward were an item and gave further credence to the idea that Mary was pregnant by April 1911. Morton stuck the sheets to the wall, then clicked to open the last email—the one from Jenny Greenwood. Here they are! Had such a lovely day—please keep me posted!! Jenny x. He opened the three certificates, paying the closest attention to George’s birth certificate. He had been born 1st November 1911 to Cecil and Philadelphia Mansfield. As he went to stick it to the wall, Morton noticed the timeline that he and Juliette had created. Just then, another key piece of the jigsaw fell into place. He couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing; the Mercer Case had just taken another twist.
The photograph taken on Empire Day in 1911 caught his eye and he remembered how Mrs Cuff had distanced herself from the other servants. Morton was sure that she had learned the truth about what had taken place all those years ago and was surreptitiously sharing her feelings with history.
Morton looked at his watch: 1:46 a.m. He still didn’t feel tired but knew he needed to give up soon and at least try and get some rest. Just before he stopped for the night, Morton decided to bring the Mercer Case right up to date and so he set about printing and sticking to the wall all his recent discoveries. Up went the photo of Jack Maslow and Edward Mercer, as did the information from the vicar of Winchelsea and the Voter’s Lists showing Martha Stone. He considered again that Martha had vanished between 1960 and 1965. One key event occurred in that period: Edith’s death. He knew from Ray Mercer that she had returned for her twin’s funeral in 1962. Maybe she stayed. Morton ran a death search for Martha Stone in the British death indexes and found her. She died in the same quarter of the same year, and in the same registration district as Edith. Morton ordered her death certificate on a priority service.
As he switched off his laptop and turned out the study light to make his way back down to bed, Morton considered that it was almost time to arrange a meeting with Ray Mercer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
18th December 1925
Edith Leyden quickly finished dressing in the dim light of her bedside lamp. With a fleeting glance in the mirror, she placed her red cloche hat on her head and buttoned up her matching red coat. A burning nervousness and excitement inside her overcame the chill of the early morning. She had taken the room for one night in the tiny terraced boarding house on the outskirts of Liverpool city centre. The cab that she had ordered was due in a matter of minutes.
Having made a quick final check of the stark room, Edith picked up her small suitcase and made her way down the dark stairs. She had settled her bill last night and had no need to disturb anyone this morning therefore. She quietly closed the front door behind her and stepped down onto the cobbled pavement.
The streets were black, peppered with the muted amber hue coming from the gas-lamps dotted at regular intervals. In the distance, tall chimneys pumped grey tendrils of smoke into the night sky. Edith drew in a long, steady breath and considered what she was about to undertake. After years of searching as to the whereabouts of her twin sister, the answer had been close by all along. And now, in just seven days’ time, the twins would be reunited.
Two round white lights suddenly appeared at the end of the street, growing in size as the vehicle appeared from the gloom. A blue and black Austin Seven drew alongside Edith and, leaving the engine running, a man popped out from the driver’s door. ‘Morning, madam!’ he chirped in a thick Liverpudlian accent. ‘Off to the waterfront?’
Edith nodded. ‘Yes, yes please.’
The driver scuttled round and opened the passenger door for her, allowing her to step inside before shutting it tight behind her.
Edith’s excitement grew as the cab pulled away into the quiet street; it was her very first ride in a motor cab and somehow it made her adventure seem all the more important.
‘Where you off to, then, love?’ the driver asked.
‘Canada. I’m going to see my sister,’ Edith answered.
‘Ah, that’ll be lovely, that will,’ he said. ‘Has she been out there long?’
‘Fourteen years,’ Edith said. Fourteen long horrible years. Not a single day had passed when she hadn’t thought about her. She pulled out a small piece of white paper handed to her a few days ago by the private investigator, whom she had hired to search for Mary. She unfolded it and read. It simply said, ‘4 West Street, Halifax.’ She had read the address a dozen times and had no need to bring the piece of paper, but it made it all the more real for her. That was where her sister was now residing, having taken the name of her long-dead school friend, Martha Stone.
As Edith looked out of the cab window at the rows and rows of terraced housing, she thought about how she had searched high and low for Mary. She had tried every conceivable avenue, never accepting, but always expecting failure. She would have saved a fortune in money and precious time with her sister if she had known that the answer was under her nose all along. The answer was spat at her by her drunken husband when they were in the midst of an angry row. Joshua had known what had happened to Mary ever since the day that she had disappeared in 1911. A secret that he had harboured for fourteen years.
Almost four weeks ago, Joshua had arrived home at gone-midnight, having spent the evening drinking with Lord Rothborne. The abhorrent sight of her husband drunk had been one that she was growing increasingly accustomed to seeing. She despised the total shift in his personality when he was drunk: he would leave their home at Peace Cottage as the man she had fallen in love with all those years ago but he would return a foul, spiteful man with an unpredictable temperament.
When he had arrived home that night, Edith had been knitting in front of the glimmering fire in the sitting-room. She had learned from painful experience that pretending to be asleep when he arrived home often resulted in him forcing himself upon her. Much better was to defuse the situation and pack him off to bed first.
‘You waited up again,’ Joshua had said jovially as he closed the front door.
Edith had seen instantly that he was drunk to the point of being unable to stand properly. ‘Yes, I waited,’ she had said, mustering a false smile. ‘I think you need to get to bed, Joshua.’
Joshua’s smile had turned into a tiger’s snarl. ‘Why? You think I’m bloody silly, don’t you, Edie?’
Edith had set her knitting down into her lap. ‘No, Joshua, I don’t think you’re silly; I think you’re tired and need to get to bed.’
‘Come on, then, let’s go to bed,’ Joshua had challenged.
‘You go, I’ll be up in a minute,’ Edith had answered, trying to hide her nervousness about where this conversation was headed.
‘No, you come now!’ Joshua had shouted.
‘Shhh, you’ll wake Charles,’ Edith had said.
‘Oh, your poor son,’ Joshua had replied. ‘Let him live a little. You protect him like he’s a porcelain doll. You parcel him off to bed like he’s a baby. Cecil lets Georgie stay up with us.’
Edith had looked mortified. ‘Not drinking and gambling, surely? He’s only fourteen.’
Joshua had rolled his eyes scornfully. ‘He’s a grown-up lad—more of a man than your wet Charlie upstairs,’ he mocked, before mumbling, ‘which is odd.’
‘Why’s it odd?’ Edith ha
d retorted. ‘I look after my boy.’
‘They’ve got the same blood, though,’ he said.
Edith had stared at him, wondering at his last remark. Had he just said that her son, Charlie, had the same blood as George Mansfield? ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Are you really that bloody stupid and naïve?’ Joshua had whispered, moving closer to her face. ‘They’re cousins! Mary had a little lamb.’
‘You’re lying!’ Edith had snapped.
Joshua had laughed and made his way upstairs.
Edith had wanted to call after her husband, but knew there would be no point. The next morning would be like every other following his drinking; he would remember nothing of it. Edith had intended to keep it that way. She knew that if she wanted to ever see Mary again, she needed to be clever about it. It had become her secret. Her mystery to solve.
‘Here we are then, love,’ the cab driver said, bringing the car to a sudden stop. ‘The Aquitania Pier.’
Edith lurched back to reality. The driver opened the door and she stepped out into another world. Despite the subdued dawn light, Edith could see a hive of industry taking place with everything revolving around the magnificent ship which loomed large in the background. She suddenly became aware of her immediate surroundings. More cars and horse-drawn carriages than she had ever seen in one place were lined up at the edge of the road, spilling people and luggage onto the slipway beside them. People, seemingly of all nationalities, bustled around chatting and carrying cases towards the big ship. Edith was mesmerised. She quickly settled up with the cab driver and stood clutching her case, staring at the liner. RMS Celtic II. Her home for the next seven days.
‘Come on, Miss, move along!’ an American-sounding voice called from behind her. ‘She’ll sail without you!’
Edith turned to see a slender lady, elegantly dressed, with a cigarette holder pressed tightly between her lips. She puffed out a long thread of smoke. ‘Sorry,’ Edith apologised.
‘I was just kidding,’ the lady said with a wink. ‘She’s quite something, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Truly amazing,’ Edith replied, quite taken with the enigmatic woman.
‘Seven hundred feet long,’ the American said. ‘Twenty-thousand tons. You can see why it’s one of the White Star Line’s ‘Big Four’.’
‘Yes,’ Edith answered. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Back home to New York,’ the woman replied. ‘And you?’
‘Halifax,’ Edith replied, her gaze shifting from the boat to the American. She was savouring the few moments that she had with this enchanting woman, for she knew that as soon as they boarded, their differently classed tickets would ensure that they never got to meet again on the voyage. ‘I’m going to see my twin sister who lives there.’
The American drew in a long drag of air through the cigarette, then raised her head and expelled it slowly. ‘How delightful to have a twin. Well, it was lovely to meet you. Bon voyage!’ she said, and marched passed Edith. Seconds later, she was absorbed into the growing crowds beginning to cross the narrow gangplank onto the ship.
It was time to go.
Edith picked up her suitcase, found the correct boarding gate for her class and joined the noisy procession of passengers about to enter the magnificent boat. Without her husband’s knowledge, Edith had withdrawn a substantial amount from their joint savings account to purchase a single-berth room in second class for herself.
‘Tickets!’ a friendly steward cried from the mouth of the gate. ‘Have your tickets ready, please, ladies and gentlemen!’
Edith removed her ticket from her handbag and held it aloft for the steward’s inspection.
‘Lovely, thank you, madam. Enjoy your trip.’
Edith smiled and followed a family of four up the gangplank, listening to their excited chatter, then, with some apprehension, stepped onto the boat. It was really going to happen.
Edith knew her room number off by heart—202—but she double-checked her ticket just to be sure. She could easily have asked for directions to her room, but she preferred the idea of exploring the boat independently.
She crossed through a warren of corridors and interconnecting doors, feeling certain that in seven days she would never get to explore all the hidden nooks and crannies that a ship of this size must hold. Despite the extravagant amount that she had spent on the voyage, Edith’s ticket did not afford her the luxury of a window; her cabin was buried far below deck, somewhere near the centre of the ship. But Edith was happy with it. The room was very comfortable, comprising a single bed, a settee and, between the two, a washstand and make-up mirror.
Fifty-five minutes later, the deep thundering moan of the ship’s horn resounded in Edith’s cabin, announcing imminent departure. Edith decided to wait until the ship was sailing before she braved the decks, which right now would be heaving with a sea of faces watching as their loved ones slowly disappeared from view. Inexplicably, Edith couldn’t bring herself to join them. It made her think of Mary taking a similar voyage, with nobody there to wave her off. Nobody to care about her.
Edith waited until the ship had been sailing for an hour until she left her cabin for the first time. The thronging decks had thinned out and she found a quiet spot on the port side where she could be alone. Looking out to sea, there was nothing but a gently rolling ocean. No land behind her. No land in front of her. Her thoughts turned to Joshua. She had left him with no uncertainty that their marriage was over. She had been betrayed and, despite his begging and pleading, nothing that he could ever do would repair the damage. Edith stared at the ring on her left hand. After raising a son as a single mother and having been rejected by her family for it, she had hoped that her marriage to Joshua Leyden would be forever. With a heavy heart, Edith removed her ring and held it between her thumb and forefinger. Everything it symbolised was gone. Drawing back her hand, Edith launched the ring into the sea; its insignificance not even creating a visible splash on the ocean surface.
Edith fumbled at the collar of her coat and withdrew the silver locket that was hanging around her neck. She held it tightly and stared into the horizon.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Morton had just left a brief, yet informative meeting with Susan Catt: the final piece of the jigsaw was complete. He was now sitting in his Mini in the car park of Hastings Cemetery. There were four other cars but no sign of their occupants. His window was down and he was savouring the peace and quiet. Beside him, on the passenger chair was a bulging file containing everything pertaining to the Mercer Case, all filed in chronological order and prefaced with a typed, four-page summary explanation of his findings. He had duplicated everything and posted it this morning to Jenny Greenwood. In his rear-view mirror, he spotted a green Vauxhall Corsa pulling in. It was bang on the scheduled meeting time. Morton stepped from his car and waved at the woman behind the wheel. She acknowledged him and parked her car beside his.
‘Hi,’ Morton said, greeting the woman. ‘Morton Farrier.’
‘Melissa—Ray’s daughter,’ she said with a broad smile. ‘He’s very excited about all this.’ She moved around the car and opened the passenger door. She was tall with shoulder-length brown hair and wore smart clothes and heels.
‘Hello, Morton,’ Ray Mercer said.
‘Hi, Ray,’ Morton replied, approaching the old man. His face had become more drawn and thin since their last meeting, evidently the cancer was strengthening its grip on him. Morton was thankful to have been able to bring the case to a close so that Ray could know what became of his great aunt. Morton offered his hand and received Ray’s thin bony hand in his.
‘Would you like to sit in my car for a moment and I’ll talk you through what I’ve found?’ Morton said, pulling open the passenger door for Ray. He turned to Melissa. ‘Sorry, will you be okay in the back?’
‘No worries at all—I’m just looking forward to finally finding out what happened to this elusive Mary; I’ll sit on the roof if I have to!’ Melissa climbed in, car
rying a small bunch of roses.
Morton handed the file to Ray and angled himself so he could face both Ray and Melissa. ‘Well, it’s all in there—all evidenced for you to look at in your own time. But basically, the nitty-gritty of it all is this,’ Morton said to his eager audience. ‘At the time of her disappearance, your Aunt Mary was, in modern terminology, in a relationship with her cousin, Edward Mercer.’
‘Really?’ Melissa said.
‘Yes, and they intended to marry, but never did because, in May 1911, Edward drowned in the lake at Blackfriars—the place where they both worked.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ Melissa commented. ‘How awful.’
‘But, Mary was pregnant at the time—very likely by Edward,’ Morton said, taking a moment to ensure Ray was following.
Ray nodded. ‘What happened to the baby?’
‘Well, there are no babies registered to Mary Mercer in the timeframe when she would have given birth,’ Morton said.
‘Then what happened?’ Ray asked with a curious frown.
Morton leant across and opened the file to the birth certificate of George Mansfield and allowed Ray and Melissa to read it for themselves.
‘Nine forty-eight a.m, 1st November 1911, George Richard Mansfield, son of Cecil Mansfield, Earl of Rothborne and Philadelphia his wife,’ Ray highlighted.
Melissa gasped. ‘She gave it away to another family! So this lord is our cousin!’ she said excitedly. ‘Can you believe it, Dad?’
‘Are you sure this baby is Mary’s? It says here that the parents are Lord Cecil and Lady Philadelphia Mansfield. There’s no mention of Mary.’
‘I’m very sure. Cecil was certainly unable to have children…’
‘So Mary gave up her baby?’ Melissa interjected.
Morton paused for a moment. ‘Well, from what later transpired, I’m inclined to believe that she had no choice, that she was held against her will somewhere on the Blackfriars estate in Winchelsea.’
The Lost Ancestor Page 29