The Lost Ancestor (The Forensic Genealogist series Book 2)

by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

  Mary and Clara were preparing the female servants’ bedrooms, waiting for the breakfast bell to toll. Like so many of their mealtimes during Frederick Mansfield’s stay, it was already very late.

  ‘I’m desperate for a sit-down and a drink,’ Mary complained. ‘I don’t feel too well.’

  ‘Well, it’s all down to the whim of Mr Mansfield,’ Clara retorted. There was no attempt to conceal the anger in her voice.

  Mary stopped sweeping and rested her arm on the broom. ‘I don’t understand why Lord Rothborne puts up with it. Why would he allow his drunk cousin to just turn up here and dictate what goes on? What right does he have?’

  Clara shrugged. ‘Haven’t the foggiest. If he were my cousin, I’d have told him to shove off a long time ago. Family or no family, this is just ridiculous. Maybe Lord Rothborne feels sorry for him. Apparently, and this is only the gospel according to dear Saint Joan, he’s squandered all of his father’s money on gambling and London liaisons with amateurs.’

  ‘Well, if it came from Joan, then it must be true!’ Mary said with a laugh.

  ‘Exactly.’

  When the breakfast bell did finally sound, the domestic staff all hurried to the servants’ hall and sat down, grateful for the rest and eager to eat and drink. With everyone hushed, Mr Risler, looking flushed in the face and slightly short of breath, stood to talk.

  ‘Uh-oh,’ Joan whispered. ‘This doesn’t look good.’

  Mr Risler took in a deep breath before beginning. ‘I’m afraid that we’re going to have to postpone breakfast this morning,’ he began, being quickly cut off by the low murmur of discontent among the staff. ‘Quiet, thank you.’ He waited until he had total silence. ‘His Lordship has explicitly asked that, whilst his cousin, Mr Mansfield is otherwise engaged, we take the opportunity to finalise preparations for the family to leave on the hunting trip today. He has said that you will be granted extra break time when Mr Mansfield retires to his room later.’ Mr Risler turned to the male staff. ‘Maslow, Daniels, Mercer, Phillips, Readfern, Wiseman—you all need to come with me so we can fetch the cases from the attic and transport them to the correct rooms. Ladies, Mrs Cuff will inform you of your duties.’

  ‘That dreadful man!’ Clara said when she and Mary were out of earshot. ‘Cancelling our breakfast like that, I’ve never heard of any such thing.’

  Mary took a deep breath, feeling suddenly nauseous. ‘I need to sit down, Clara, I really do.’

  Clara turned to face Mary. ‘You have gone a bit pasty-looking. Let’s just get up the stairs and you can have a quick lie down.’

  Mary nodded her agreement but feared that she couldn’t make it all the way up to the room without being ill. With Clara’s assistance and several breaks along the way, she made it upstairs. She just managed to close the door before rushing over to her chamber pot to be sick. Clara stood behind her and stroked her hair. ‘Do you feel better now?’

  Mary shook her head; she felt like she’d been jabbed in the stomach with a blunt stick.

  ‘You probably just need some food inside you. You’ll be right as rain after you’ve eaten.’

  Mary wasn’t so sure. She slumped down onto her bed with a sigh and shut her eyes.

  Lady Rothborne was strutting up and down the length of her bedroom, clutching her black leather Bible. Just like every day of the week, she was dressed immaculately. Today, she was wearing a lavender-coloured skirt with a sweeping train, recently purchased from her favourite London boutique. Despite her advancing years, her boned bodice gave her the desired impression of a firm mono-bosom. She paced the room, struggling to shut out the dreadful rumpus coming from the gramophone downstairs.

  She would not be beaten. Not by him. She had suffered her late husband, Richard’s younger brother for too many years to count. He had made Richard’s life hell, forcing and bribing him to pay out more-than-generous annuities and endowments over the years—all of it squandered on gambling and foolhardy, reckless investments. And now, here was history repeating itself in the form of her nephew, Frederick. He was here, turned up in a dreadful automobile that desecrated countryside that had been serene and undisturbed for centuries. He was a mirror-image of his frightful father, plaguing Blackfriars with his vile habits. From indiscreet lips, Lady Rothborne had heard about his licentious ways, dragging the Mansfield name down into the sewers. No, he was worse than his father had ever been with his distinct lack of morals and indiscretions.

  As Lady Rothborne reached the windows, a flicker of colour in the rose garden caught her eye. She ceased pacing and surveyed the estate. It was Philadelphia, her delightful daughter-in-law, ambling through the ancient beds. The sight of her, the future of Blackfriars, instantly abated the rage that she was feeling. She watched as Philadelphia elegantly stooped to smell an early-flowering rose. Such a sweet, beautiful girl, she thought. I will not allow this despicable man to jeopardise what we have. She held Philadelphia in high regard, knowing that in her and her precious son, Cecil, the future of the Mansfield family at Blackfriars was assured. This branch of the Mansfield family. Frederick Mansfield would not fritter overnight what centuries of prudence, labour and wisdom had created. She had previously failed with poor Florence but she would not fail again. She would not. Thinking of Florence again after all these years made her shudder; she needed to change her train of thought back to the present problem of Frederick.

  Her coffee would be as cold as the inside of the ice-house by now, having been neglected in the library for more than half an hour. But that was the source of the music: where Frederick was. Her lady’s maid had informed her that he was in there, dancing alone and shamelessly drinking from a wine bottle. Despite his father’s selfish and foolish ways, Frederick had enjoyed a respectable upbringing where such degrading behaviour, as was currently being demonstrated in the library, was not tolerated. He flaunted his dishonourable, coarse behaviour and his vile opinions as to the future of Blackfriars, hoping to provoke a reaction. Eventually, he would up and leave, returning to the shadows like a rapacious vulture, waiting for Cecil and Philadelphia to fail to produce an heir. Lady Rothborne had sagely advised Cecil and Philadelphia to do what her dear Richard had always done: do not give him the reaction he craves and he will go away. Sometimes it took days for Frederick to get bored and leave, other times it took much longer.

  The music finally stopped. Lady Rothborne closed her eyes and enjoyed the sudden stillness. Standing in the warmth of the sunlight, she held the Bible tightly in her both hands and uttered a short prayer. She thanked God for her family, then repeated her request not to impart to this man what he so badly craved.

  Lady Rothborne took deep, long breaths, wilfully absorbing the house’s stillness before setting down her Bible and making her way out of her bedroom.

  ‘Miss Herriot, kindly ascertain if the library has been vacated. If so, have a fresh pot of coffee taken in,’ Lady Rothborne called to her lady’s maid.

  ‘Certainly, my lady.’

  Mary was woken by a hand gently stroking the back of her hair.

  ‘Mary!’ Clara whispered. ‘It’s time for breakfast. The music’s finished and Mr Mansfield’s finally gone to bed.’

  Mary opened her eyes. It took a moment to remember where she was. She felt a little groggy, but the nausea had thankfully abated.

  ‘I’ve made a bit of a hash of it, but I’ve managed to do all the girls’ rooms by myself.’

  Mary slowly sat up and swung her feet to the floor. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How are you feeling now?’

  ‘Better,’ Mary answered slowly. ‘I think.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll feel right as rain with some breakfast inside you. You need to be well, it’s your afternoon off.’

  Mary smiled and stood up. Maybe Clara was right, a bit of food and she’d be back to normal for her afternoon off. The thought of going home brought on a sudden surge of nausea. Maybe it’s the thought of going home that’s making me ill, Mary thought. She was dreading it but knew she h
ad to go. Caroline would be expecting her wages. Mary hoped that she could manage to find a few precious minutes with Edward today, but it was doubtful. Ever since that magical night in the old folly when he had asked her to be his wife, Mary had seen very little of him other than at the dinner table in the servants’ hall. Frederick Mansfield was mainly to blame for their lack of time together. All household routines, including time off, were erratic and unpredictable. She desperately missed Edward. Only a handful of the other servants knew the secret of their engagement. She had told Clara and Eliza last week during an afternoon of needlework, having first sworn them to secrecy.

  ‘Come on, let’s get downstairs,’ Clara said, linking her arm through Mary’s. ‘Your fiancé will be worried!’

  ‘Sshh! I don’t want people to hear,’ Mary murmured. ‘I still haven’t told my family yet. You’d better not have written anything in that diary of yours!’

  ‘Course not! When are you going to do it?’

  Mary shrugged. ‘Maybe after the wedding!’

  The girls giggled as they walked down the corridor to the stairs. Clara failed to spot that one of the bedroom doors, which she had left closed, was now slightly ajar. Through the small gap, listening intently, was the scullery maid, Joan Leigh.

  Mary was still feeling unwell, despite having picked at a piece of ham and sipped at a cup of tea. Yet something else was now troubling her. Joan was being unusually quiet, sitting opposite her with some kind of a knowing look on her face. With one eyebrow raised, Joan flicked her head between Mary and Edward.

  ‘Is something the matter with your neck, Joan?’ Mary hissed across the table. It was quiet enough for only her to hear.

  ‘Me?’ she asked with mock incredulity. ‘Me?’ Joan held out her left hand and studied her fingers. ‘No, I’ve got nothing to say.’ Her eyes glanced up to meet Mary’s critical gaze. ‘You got anything you want to share with everyone, Mary?’ She spoke loudly enough for several servants on the lower half of the table to turn and stare.

  Mary’s mouth and throat dried up and the nausea returned. She couldn’t know…could she? Mary glared at Clara, then Eliza, who had turned their attention to the altercation taking place. One of them must have told her. Why did I ever trust them again? Mary chastised herself.

  ‘Anything the matter down there?’ Mrs Cuff called from the top of the table.

  ‘No, Mrs Cuff,’ Eliza replied.

  Clara raised her eyebrows at Mary.

  ‘Grow up, Joan,’ Mary retorted quietly.

  Mr Risler stood from the table. ‘Lord Rothborne has been gracious enough to extend your breakfast time this morning and offers his sincere apologies for the delay. As soon as Mr Mansfield has woken, preparations for the hunting trip will resume.’ Mr Risler returned to his seat and tolerated the inevitable low level of chatter to rise from his statement.’

  ‘Flippin’ right we get a longer breakfast,’ Joan remarked to nobody in particular. ‘Gracious—I ask you.’

  Mary deliberately turned her head, pretending not to have heard her. Mary’s eyes met with Edward’s and he smiled. Part of her couldn’t wait for the household to go to Scotland just for some peace and quiet to descend on Blackfriars. The downside, and it was a major downside for Mary, was that Edward had been chosen to accompany the family there. She saw him so seldom now, despite working in the same place, but now she faced almost ten days without even a glimpse of him across the breakfast table.

  After the extended breakfast was over, Mrs Cuff led the majority of the female staff to the bedroom suites. She divided the girls into small groups, instructing them on what they were to pack. Mary was paired with Eliza and, under the guidance of Miss Herriot, given the exciting task of packing Lady Philadelphia’s outdoor wear.

  ‘The winter coats!’ Mary said, excitedly grabbing Eliza’s arm as they headed towards Lady Philadelphia’s bedroom.

  ‘All those furs!’ Eliza responded with a grin. ‘Come on, let’s get to it.’

  As the girls reached the doorway to Philadelphia’s bedroom, they stopped still as if held back by an invisible barrier. Lady Philadelphia was in her room, bending down with her back to them. She turned and smiled. ‘Come in, girls.’

  The girls stepped into the room and stood awkwardly by the bed. Neither of them had expected her to actually be there.

  ‘Right, the trunk is down here. We’re a little short on space, so I must be prudent in what I take. At least, that’s what my dear husband tells me,’ she said with a pleasant smile. She was midway through neatly folding a pair of elbow-length silk gloves.

  Mary reciprocated with a smile of her own and, for the first time since she had started at Blackfriars, fully took her in. Her experiences of Lady Philadelphia were always fleeting or from a distance. The two of them had, mainly by virtue of their opposing standings in the house, never actually spoken to one another. To her surprise, Mary found herself quite in awe of Lady Philadelphia’s magnanimous beauty.

  ‘Between the three of us, however, I’ve had one of the footmen fetch me another case, which my dear husband will be none the wiser about,’ Lady Philadelphia said. ‘I think it might be best if I hunt through my wardrobes and see what I think I’ll need, then give it to you girls to pack for me. How does that sound?’

  Mary and Eliza mumbled their agreement and stood waiting with anticipation for the first garment.

  Lady Philadelphia returned carrying a bundle of attractive clothing. ‘I think most of these will have had their last after Scotland,’ she said, passing an ermine fur-lined cloak to Mary.

  ‘What’s wrong with them, my lady?’ Mary asked quietly, running her fingers through the fine black and white fur. She was quite sure that she had never seen nor touched anything so perfect.

  ‘They’re very outdated,’ Lady Philadelphia said. ‘I’m sure they’ll do for those wretched days out watching the men hunting for deer on the Scottish glens, but they’ll not do anywhere of note.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It’s more like something Lady Rothborne would wear.’

  Mary smiled, delighting in the sense of their shared camaraderie. Maybe she hadn’t been silly and immature to believe that she, Mary Mercer could enjoy some of the trappings of high social standing after all.

  ‘These are much more the fashion,’ Lady Philadelphia said, handing Eliza a full-length coat. ‘It’s an oriental cocoon. Beautifully made—so elegant, don’t you think?’

  The girls nodded their agreement and Eliza carefully began to fold it into the trunk.

  ‘Do you think if you stroke it long enough the poor stoat might come back to life?’ Lady Philadelphia asked Mary with a laugh.

  Mary flushed. She was mid-way through one of her daydreams where she and Lady Philadelphia were attending a grand ball together in London. ‘Sorry, my lady. I’m in my own world again. I’m always getting into trouble because of it. It was the same at school.’ Mary set the garment down on the bed and gently folded it, just the way she had been shown by Clara.

  ‘What a magnificent thing,’ a booming voice called from the doorway. It was Lady Rothborne. She stepped inside the room and picked up the ermine cloak from the bed. ‘Simply resplendent.’

  Mary and Eliza backed away deferentially, allowing Lady Rothborne to sweep into the room.

  ‘What do you think, Mary?’ Lady Rothborne asked.

  Mary was taken aback to be included in the conversation and to be called by her Christian name. ‘I…I…think it’s one of the nicest cloaks I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Quite.’

  Lady Philadelphia smiled. ‘I hear you won’t be joining us at Boughton House?’

  Lady Rothborne shook her head. ‘Not this time. I’m a little over-excited, shall we say, by the recent comings and goings of our charming visitor; a few days alone is just what I need. I’ve seen a good forty seasons of deer-hunting—plenty for someone of my age.’

  Lady Philadelphia smiled. ‘I’ve got plenty more to do yet, then.’

  ‘Indeed. I shan’t keep you,’ La
dy Rothborne said before gliding from the room.

  The girls continued to pack Lady Philadelphia’s outdoor clothes until the designated trunks were filled to capacity. Mary wanted to quip that if she went away for ten days to Scotland she would have precisely one winter coat to pack, but wasn’t yet sure of her standing, despite the overt friendliness being shown to her. Then the lunchtime bell sounded and Mary and Eliza were thanked for their help and allowed to go on their way.

  ‘Home time for you, then, Mary,’ Eliza said.

  ‘Oh yes, in all the fun of packing I’d forgotten.’

  Mary closed the kitchen door to Blackfriars and began to walk up the back path towards home. It was a warm day with a gentle breeze and Mary enjoyed having her hair flowing freely across her shoulders, rather than pinned awkwardly under her hat. She crossed the courtyard to the back path and began the short walk home. She took slow, deliberate steps, not wishing to arrive home too soon. As she passed the orchard, her mind was fretting over what or whom she would find when she got there and she failed to see the movement among the blossoming apple trees.

  ‘Mary!’ called the voice.

  She recognised it instantly and turned to see Edward grinning at her from the abbey ruins. She smiled and rushed towards him. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you!’ She ran into his open arms and squeezed him tightly.

  ‘I could tell from the grumpy look on your face! You didn’t even check I was here,’ Edward said, with a hint of dejection.

  ‘Sorry. I was worrying about things—home, not seeing you for ten days—stuff like that,’ Mary said, releasing herself from him before kissing him on the lips. ‘But you’re here!’

  ‘Of course. I couldn’t not see my fiancée before I go on my annual hunting holiday!’

  Mary rolled her eyes. ‘It’s alright for the chosen ones. I’m going to be stuck here catching up on all the unwanted, rubbish jobs that get stored up across the year.’

  Edward hugged her again. ‘At least it’ll be quiet and Mr Mansfield will be gone. Come on, let’s go and sit down for a minute.’ Edward took Mary by the hand and led her to the piece of sandstone which had become their usual seat. On their last visit here, Mary had finished carving into it their initials. EM and MM. She sat and stared at the shallow engraving, already missing Edward in her mind. She had already made up her mind to come here next Wednesday on her half-day off and just sit quietly, pretending he was with her.