The Lost Ancestor (The Forensic Genealogist series Book 2)

by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

Caroline seemed taken aback at her temerity. ‘What do you need money for anyway? You have everything given to you on a silver plate. The best French chef in the parish cooks you the finest meats and vegetables, which are then served to you by another servant. You sleep in a warm bed with wood burning in the grate all night. You’re not a poor widow with ailing parents and two lots of bills to pay. If only you’d earned such a luxurious life.’

  Mary desperately wanted to argue back, to fight her corner, to tell Caroline just how bad life was at Blackfriars, but she knew that it was an argument that she could never win. Instead, she changed the subject. ‘Where’s Edie?’

  ‘Out looking for work. She’s gone to stay with Lucy in Eastbourne for a few days to see if there’s anything there. Poor girl’s been out each and every day, looking. She’s even resorted to doing laundry.’

  ‘Oh,’ Mary said. Lucy was an old childhood friend with whom Edie had fallen out years ago. Things must have become desperate for Edie to seek help from her.

  As she watched her elder sister placing dishes into the sink to be washed, Mary realised her uneasiness at being home: it wasn’t the temperature, her mother’s or Edie’s absence, or her father’s melancholia, it was the haunting return of Caroline. Mary could still recall, with great clarity, the day that Caroline left home to be married to William. The house immediately felt bigger and lighter for the lack of her oppression. Their father acted like he ran the Mercer household but in reality it had always been Caroline’s domineering presence that dictated the mood of the house. Mary had a sudden urge to see her ailing mother. ‘Can I go to the sanatorium and see her?’ she asked Caroline.

  ‘Absolutely not. She’s confined to her bed and needs rest. If she pulls through, you can see her back home.’

  Am I really to blame for all this? Mary asked herself. Surely she couldn’t be held responsible for her mother’s tuberculosis and her father’s melancholia? ‘I might as well leave, then,’ Mary said, genuine in her words.

  ‘Yes, you might as well,’ Caroline said, keeping her back to Mary. ‘Make sure you come back on your next half day’s leave and bring your wages.’

  Just like the previous two occasions, Mary left the Mercer household with tears rolling down her face and a horrible nauseous feeling writhing in her stomach. As she hurried down the back path to Blackfriars, the only thought which could assuage her fatigued mind was that of Edward.

  Mary read the note over and over again, the wonderful, delicious words becoming engrained on her memory. I love you, Mary Mercer! There, I said it. You’re all I think about, Mary! I just want to be with you every minute of every day. Edward x. She had found the note under her pillow when she had returned to her room. She lay on her bed, the note resting on her breasts, rising and falling with each breath. In the eerie light of a fading, solitary candle beside her bed, she wordlessly mouthed the words, I love you, Mary Mercer, just in case Clara was not yet asleep. Mary was in love and the best thing of all, he loved her in return. The love she felt for Edward thwarted the silly, childish feelings she had held for Cecil. She knew now, with absolute clarity, that her feelings towards him were nothing more than an immature crush. The note had dried the tears and subdued the pain caused by the afternoon at home. Thinking of Caroline made her teeth clench and a bilious feeling surge through her body. She wondered what had made Caroline into such a nasty, bitter person and was grateful for her closeness to Edie growing up. Although maybe now it seemed that bond was broken, too. The twins had never been separated for so long before and Mary hated it. She leant onto her side, pulled open her drawer and removed the silver locket. For a few moments, Mary held it above her and watched as it gently swayed from side to side. Finally, she undid the clasp and placed it around her neck. Now you’re close to me, Edie, she thought. Edie and Edward were both resting on her heart. Mary smiled and fell asleep without tears for the first time since she had started at Blackfriars.

  Mary was elated to hear the breakfast bell sounding. Having achieved the first chores of the day, she hurried downstairs, eager to see Edward for the first time since he had left his love note to her. She had repeated it so many times that she knew it off by heart. When she thought about those few precious words, they replayed in her mind in Edward’s beautiful voice.

  There was an unusual bubbling of conversation filtering from the servants’ hall as Mary approached. As she entered the room to take her seat, she noticed that Mrs Cuff and Mr Risler were not yet at the table. She suddenly became aware that the eyes of the other servants had fallen upon her and the level of conversation had suddenly dropped. Her cheeks flushing red, Mary sat opposite Joan, keeping her eyes firmly on the table in front of her. In time, as the noise level rose, she dared to look across to Edward. His face crimson, he tried to smile reassuringly, but something in his eyes told Mary that all was not quite right or usual.

  ‘Ah, ain’t that sweet,’ Joan said, much more loudly than she had ever spoken to Mary at the dinner table.

  Mary flushed again, sensing that the other servants had somehow found out about her and Edward. Had he told them? She looked again at Edward but his gaze was fixed firmly to the floor.

  ‘I love you, Mary Mercer!’ Joan roared, standing from the table. Mary slumped in her seat as Joan continued her dramatic performance. ‘There, I said it.’

  ‘Joan!’ Eliza called. ‘Stop it!’

  A male servant, whose voice she did not recognise, joined the agonising display. ‘You’re all I think about, Mary!’

  ‘What is the meaning of all this noise?’ Mr Risler bellowed, suddenly appearing in the room with Mrs Cuff at his heel. ‘Joan Leigh, sit down at once.’

  Joan sheepishly returned to the table.

  Mary glowered at Clara, her Judas Iscariot, her whole body tensed with anger and betrayal.

  ‘I don’t know what’s been going on in here,’ Mr Risler ranted, ‘but I could hear what can only be described as an unholy cacophony coming from this room. I sincerely hope that the household were spared hearing it. This will not happen again. Is that clear?’

  A general murmur of agreement rose from the rebuked servants.

  ‘Before we begin breakfast,’ Mr Risler bellowed, ‘I have just been informed that Lord Rothborne’s cousin, Frederick Mansfield, will soon be paying the family a visit.’

  There was a low, almost imperceptible groan from around the table at the mention of Frederick’s name. Mary looked around the room, trying to gauge the reason for the disquiet at his visit. ‘We will, therefore, need to ensure that the guest rooms are all adequately prepared,’ Mr Risler said, picking up a large tray of cold meats and beginning his usual route around the table.

  ‘Sorry about her,’ Eliza said, as she poured Mary a cup of tea. Joan scowled but remained quiet, more interested in filling her mouth with as much pork as she could cram in.

  Clara turned to Mary. ‘I’m sorry, too, Mary. I didn’t mean for Joan to overhear. I thought I was whispering it just to Eliza.’

  ‘I don't want to talk about it,’ she said quietly. Mary was hurt by what had happened; she was not yet ready for the whole staff to know about Edward and her. For one thing, the news would now surely filter through the village and get back to Edie. For another, Edward and she would be watched with hawk-eyes to ensure that nothing untoward ever happened. It felt to Mary like a giant conspiracy that nobody wanted them to be together. She didn’t care a jot about Joan, but Mary knew she would forgive Clara in time. Just not right now. On top of all that had occurred at home yesterday, Mary was in no mood for more upset.

  Chapter Eight

  It was a great struggle for Mary not to fall asleep. Her weary body pleaded with her to surrender to her tiredness but she fought it. Taking a fold of skin from the palm of her left hand in her right forefinger and thumb, Mary rammed her nails in as hard as she could stand. She winced and almost yelped with the pain, but it had done the trick; she was awake again and her muscles’ pleas for sleep subsided. The faint clanging of the grandfathe
r clock on the floor below told Mary that it was half past eleven. Just fifteen minutes to go and she would get up.

  There was just enough of a glow from the fire and from the pale moonlight pushing its way in under the curtains for Mary to see that Clara was in a deep sleep. A gentle snore came from her throat as she took in a long inhalation. Mary smiled and considered what she was about to do. After the humiliating breakfast that morning, she had returned to her work with a sagging despondency inside her. As usual, she had engineered the duties so that it was she who cleaned Edward’s bedroom. As always, she had paid scant attention to the cleaning of the room, to the fire grate nor to the bed occupied by Edward’s roommate, Jack. Instead, the majority of her time was always spent on Edward’s bed, allowing her senses to absorb the fragments of his presence. She would usually then make his bed, fastidiously ensuring that there was not a single ripple in the linen sheets, followed by placing a delicate kiss on his pillow. This morning, however, her routine had been disrupted at the discovery of a note under his pillow. Meet me at the boathouse at midnight, Edward x. Having read the note, she had quickly concealed it under her uniform.

  Minutes passed where Mary’s mind wandered through a future life with Edward. She saw them both standing in the summery garden of a small cottage, full of bright flowers, watching their children playing together. Happily married: that was her future. Her stomach leapt with exhilaration for what she knew what was about to happen tonight.

  The clock finally struck eleven forty-five. Carefully and slowly, Mary swung her legs from the bed and placed her bare feet on the cold boards. At bedtime, she had rushed up to the room and climbed into bed, pulling the sheets and blankets tightly up to her neck so that Clara did not notice that she was fully dressed.

  With the merest of movements, Mary stepped away from the bed, picked up her shoes and silently crept towards the door. Before she opened it, Mary stood still and listened. Clara’s breath rose softly into the still air. Mary unlatched the door and gently pulled it open. Again, she stopped still and listened for the rhythmic sound of Clara’s breathing. When she was sure that she had not disturbed her, Mary moved into the hallway and pulled the door shut. Clutching her shoes in one hand, she snuck down the ninety-six steps into the basement. The downstairs corridors were eerily quiet and almost pitch-black but for a solitary wall-mounted candle close to the kitchen door, guiding Mary in the right direction. Enough adrenalin pumped around her veins to fight off the muted feelings of fear and trepidation at being in the depths of the house in the dead of night. A sudden thought of bumping into Bastion made her shudder, a cold sensation tingling down her spine. Who knows what a wretch like that would do to me down here, with nobody within earshot? Mary thought. Her fear abated when she remembered that Edward was somewhere nearby, also making his descent from the upper floors. But he would not likely go out through the kitchens, but rather through the meat larder, which had an exterior door and was much closer to the male servants’ staircase.

  Mary was relieved to find that the kitchens were mercifully empty; the only sign of life came from the flickering flames from the open fire, creating strange, unnatural shadows from the array of pots and culinary implements suspended from the ceiling. She hurried to the door and retracted the large metal bolts which held it closed: she had made it outside. As she closed the door behind her, she gasped at the freezing February night. She thought that she had wrapped up well, but she hadn’t prepared herself for this level of coldness, already seeping through her layers of clothing like an insufferable, invasive creature. Why does my courtship with Edward always have to involve being frozen to the bone? she wondered, as she made her way across the courtyard towards the path which ran around the outside of the lake. The moon was like a squashed orange, still days away from its full voluptuousness, yet the skies were sufficiently clear to guide Mary around the lake’s periphery. On the island the great folly stood, its majestic beauty incongruent with its apparent uselessness as a building.

  As Mary approached the boathouse, she slowed her pace, wishing that her eyes would adjust to the light, demanding of them more clarity from the shadows. Her steady pace came to a halt just yards from the boathouse. The door was open and she was sure that she could see someone inside. A nervous tension rose inside her as she considered that it might not have been Edward who had left her the note. Why wasn’t he turning around or speaking? Mary took a step back, a low panic rising inside, as she tried to bring to mind the note that she had found under Edward’s pillow. Had it definitely been his handwriting? She was sure that it had been, but the image in her mind was blurred and confused. The black form inside the boathouse shifted slightly. It was definitely a person. Maybe he hasn’t seen me, she thought. Mary took a deep breath in and bolstered herself mentally. She would say his name once and if he didn’t answer straight away, she would run. ‘Edward?’ she said, unable to conceal the quiver in her voice. She knew that there was no way the person in the boathouse could have heard her pathetic mumbling. ‘Edward!’ She spoke more clearly and more confidently.

  The figure in the boathouse had heard and moved towards the door. Mary struggled to see any facial features but she thought it looked like Edward’s body shape.

  ‘You made it!’ It was Edward’s voice.

  Mary emitted a much bigger sigh of relief than she had intended, rushing up and throwing her arms around Edward. ‘Oh, thank God it’s you!’ In his tight embrace, Mary suddenly felt safe and warm, her silly fears instantly dissipating.

  ‘Who did you think it was?’ Edward asked. She could tell from his voice that he was smiling.

  Mary shrugged. ‘I just got worried, that’s all. I think I got a bit scared by the darkness.’

  Edward pulled her in more tightly. ‘My little Mary,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You do realise we’ll be given our marching orders if we are caught out here together?’ Mary asked. ‘Never mind that you’ve got the boathouse open.’

  ‘You’re worth the risk. Come on,’ Edward said, taking her chilly hand and guiding her inside the boathouse.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Mary asked.

  ‘Not far!’ Edward released her hand and fumbled in his pockets. A moment later he struck a match and an amber hue lit up the small enclosure. Holding the match in one hand, he carefully stepped inside the Mansfield family rowing boat. Taking a moment to get his balance, Edward offered his hand to Mary and she climbed in. ‘Where to, me lady?’ Edward asked as he sat in the centre of the boat and pulled up the oars.

  Mary grinned. ‘I think somewhere in the Mediterranean would be rather lovely,’ she said. She’d once read a book about the coastal towns and islands in that stretch of water. She had a fanciful idea of one day exploring the romantic harbours of Spain, France, Italy and Greece on one side and the exotic ports of Algeria, Morocco and Egypt on the other.

  ‘The Mediterranean it is, then, madam.’

  Mary sat back and let her mind relax. As exciting as a trip to the shores of Europe and North Africa would undoubtedly be, she actually didn’t want to be anywhere other than sitting on a cold rowing boat on the Blackfriars lake with Edward. Deep down, Mary knew where they were headed and what was about to happen but she stopped herself from thinking too deeply, wanting to savour each second as it unfolded before her. She gently swayed from side to side, making the boat rock in response.

  ‘Stop it!’ Edward whispered.

  ‘Ah, poor Edward,’ Mary teased, rocking the boat even more. ‘Are you getting seasick?’

  ‘Mary! I’m serious, I can’t swim!’

  Mary giggled but stopped rocking. ‘Peace has returned.’

  Edward continued rowing the short distance.

  ‘Here we are, Your Ladyship,’ he said as they reached the wooden landing stage on the island. ‘We’ve reached one of the Greek islands. Hope you enjoy your stay.’ Edward stood, tied a loop of rope around the jetty, then stepped out. With one hand he steadied the boat, the other he offered to Mary to assist her
out.

  As she had expected, Edward led her through the tall dewy grass towards the old folly, his hand tightly gripping hers. She could feel the damp from the passing undergrowth rising through the hem of her dress. She could tell that he was nervous from his clammy hands and lack of conversation. She knew from his fixed expression that he was conceiving of tonight being a special, magical night that she would never forget: a night which would mark the start of their future together. They reached the oak door set at the base of the folly and Edward tugged it open.

  ‘Madam,’ he said, holding the door open.

  Mary stepped into the gloom of the folly, squeezing Edward’s hand for comfort. The faint glimmer of moonlight faded into black as Edward pulled the door closed behind them. Mary shuddered and waited for her eyes to adjust.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’m here,’ Edward said softly, sensing her reticence. ‘This way.’ He took her to the side of the room where she had just managed to glimpse the spiral staircase before the light had diminished and placed her hand on a metal rail. ‘Carefully does it. You go first.’

  Mary slowly climbed the staircase with Edward just behind her, their footfall on the metal steps echoing unnervingly around the cylindrical wall. Mary took the final step on the staircase and found herself in a small unfurnished room. A wicker chest stood close to the centre of the room. Opposite them was another door.

  ‘Open it,’ Edward encouraged, leading Mary across the oak floor.

  Mary gently lifted the latch and pushed open the door. She inhaled sharply at the sight before her: she was standing at the edge of an exterior stone terrace giving views onto the Blackfriars estate. At the base of the stone battlements, which enclosed the terrace, were dozens of chunky candles, burning brightly into the night sky. Scattered at her feet was a dusting of white rose petals. ‘Edward!’ was all that she could bring herself to say.

  Edward led her to the edge of the battlements and placed his arm in the small of her back as she took in the breathtaking view of the moonlit lake and rose gardens. She was overwhelmed with joy and excitement; she knew that the moment was coming. The start of their future. Her heart raced and she began to quiver.