‘It’s a nice car to drive,’ Bob commented.
Soon afterwards, they left the motorway and continued their journey on minor roads. Jane was getting more and more excited. When she caught sight of a signpost pointing to Lower Wishington, she almost shouted her surprise. ‘Look! We must be getting close.’
‘A couple of miles yet.’ Bob turned and grinned at her. Her excitement was beginning to extend to him.
It seemed no time at all before they were entering Great Wishington. Bob slowed the car down as they followed the road curving down into the village, where houses and cottages surrounded a tree-lined village green. They passed The Poachers, a large pub bedecked with ivy and hanging baskets of flowers. A sign announced ‘Dinners. Lunches and Accommodation’. Bob was the first to notice it.
‘Somewhere for lunch,’ he suggested, nodding towards the pub. He added as an afterthought, ‘Or to stay the night.’
Jane followed his gaze. ‘Absolutely,’ she murmured, and then her excitement burst through. ‘Oh, isn’t it picturesque? I think I quite like being from here already!’ she exclaimed, looking around her.
Before Bob could reply, she had a question. ‘Where shall we start?’ she asked eagerly.
Bob had already seen a spire above the trees. He pointed it out with a wave of his hand. ‘Look, that must be the church. The best thing is to have a look in the churchyard. Your parents should be buried there. It might give us a clue.’
‘That would be fantastic.’
A minute later they arrived at the church, a majestic building standing against a backdrop of trees populated by noisy crows. Bob parked alongside the stone wall surrounding the churchyard and switched off the engine. Jane was the first to jump out, her family history file under her arm. She made her way immediately to the lychgate leading to the church.
Together they walked down to the church entrance, paused for a minute to look into the porch with its various notices, and then followed the path round the church into the graveyard at the rear. Except for the crows, who kept up a constant chatter, it was quiet and peaceful there in the bright morning sunshine. They walked slowly, glancing at each gravestone as they went.
‘What we want to do is to try and locate your parents’ graves first,’ suggested Bob, continuing to scrutinise the gravestones.
‘That’s what I thought,’ agreed Jane, ‘but these ones are much too old.’
‘Good morning.’
Neither had noticed the stranger walking up the path. They turned to see a portly, rosy-cheeked gentleman dressed in black beaming at them. He wore glasses from behind which a pair of twinkling eyes observed the two visitors.
Jane and Bob returned his greeting. The man paused in his slow gait. He looked at them curiously.
‘Are you looking at anything particular, or just visiting our lovely old church?’ He was clearly interested in seeing two strangers in the churchyard.
Jane quickly explained. ‘I’m looking for my parents’ graves,’ she replied, adding for good measure, ‘I think I was born here.’
‘Ah, then I may be able to help. I’m the verger here.’ He smiled kindly at them.
The thought that she might be able to find someone who remembered her parents prompted Jane to ask a question. ‘Have you been here long?’ she enquired.
‘Thirty-two years this month,’ the verger replied proudly.
Jane’s heart gave a leap. Here was somebody who could well have known her father and her mother.
‘Perhaps you were acquainted with my parents,’ she said hopefully.
The verger beamed at her once again. ‘What name would it be?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘Carroll,’ Jane replied. ‘I’m Jane Carroll.’
The smile faded from the verger’s face. He took on a puzzled expression. ‘I think there must be some mistake,’ he said.
He studied Jane for a few seconds and then spoke again more softly.
‘Jane Carroll died as a baby and is buried in this churchyard.’
Chapter 9
There was a stunned silence between the three of them, Jane looking puzzled, Bob trying to think of something more to ask, and the verger scrutinising them both closely for a response.
It was Jane who recovered first. ‘But… but…’she stammered. ‘I’m Jane Carroll. I have my birth certificate here.’
She hurriedly extracted the document from the file she was carrying and showed it to the verger. He peered at it through his glasses, studying the contents, while Jane and Bob stood silently watching and waiting.
At last the verger handed the certificate back to Jane. ‘It appears to be genuine,’ he remarked, still serious. Suddenly he turned to walk away. ‘Please come with me,’ he invited.
Jane and Bob followed him in silence to a different part of the churchyard. Eventually he stopped in front of a grave close to the path. He pointed to the headstone and stood back politely for Jane and Bob so that they could read the inscription.
The engraving was quite clear. Sarah Carroll, aged 26 and her daughter Jane Eleanor Carroll, aged 6 months. Tragically died together January 3rd 1978. Also James Carroll, loving husband and father, died November 6th 1978, aged 34.
There was another silence between the three. Jane struggled to comprehend what she was reading. ‘But I don’t understand,’ she protested. ‘I have this certificate and I’ve always been Jane Carroll – all my life.’
‘I think there has been some mistake somewhere,’ the verger said kindly.
‘Perhaps there’s another family called Carroll,’ suggested Jane hopefully.
The verger shook his head. ‘There was only one family in the village named Carroll and they only had one child.’ After pausing for a second, he continued. ‘I knew the family quite well. James Carroll was an active member of the church. One of the bell-ringers, in fact.’
‘Can you tell us what happened to them?’ Bob asked softly.
The verger nodded. ‘Yes. Sarah and her daughter perished in a house fire. The neighbours and the fire brigade were unable to save them. It was a tragedy that shook the whole village.’
‘And James Carroll?’ asked Bob.
The verger hesitated, remembering, before replying. ‘James took things very badly. He committed suicide a few months later.’
‘Thank you,’ said Bob.
Jane was shattered. Her dreams and hopes for the day were fading fast. She looked first at Bob and then at the verger. ‘But I don’t understand. Why have I got this certificate, and why am I called Jane Carroll?’
‘Have you no family who might be able to help?’ the verger asked softly.
Jane shook her head. ‘I was brought up in an orphanage,’ she replied miserably.
‘Perhaps we need to ask a few questions there,’ suggested Bob.
The verger’s beaming smile returned. ‘I think that would be an excellent idea,’ he agreed.
Jane was silent. Her world had collapsed around her.
The verger glanced at his watch. ‘If I might be excused… Unfortunately, I am late for an appointment. However…’ he fumbled in his pocket and produced what looked like a small printed notice. ‘My name and telephone number are on here. Do please contact me if you feel I can be of any further assistance.’ He handed Jane the piece of paper.
‘Thank you,’ Jane replied simply, still shocked by what she had just learnt.
‘Thank you very much,’ echoed Bob.
With a cheerful ‘Goodbye’ the verger hurried on his way.
Jane and Bob stood looking at the gravestone for several minutes. At last Jane turned to Bob.
‘Oh, Bob, I wanted so much to find something out about my past today. Now it’s all a mess.’
Bob could see that the information she had just received had affected her badly. She was the picture of misery. His heart went out to her. Somehow he had to help her.
‘We’ll sort things out. I’m sure we can. There’s just been a mistake somewhere.’ He spoke softly as a way of comfort.
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Jane said nothing.
He spoke again. ‘Perhaps for the record, we’d better make a note of the details from the gravestone.’
Again Jane did not reply, but she bent down and, taking a piece of paper and a pen from her file, copied down the information. When she had finished and stood up again, she was close to tears.
‘I’m a person without any name, an impostor. I don’t even know who I am. I—’ She burst into tears.
Bob took her in his arms. She buried her face in his jacket. ‘I’m a nobody,’ she sobbed.
Bob gently massaged her back. ‘It’s all right, it’s all right,’ he said soothingly. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of things, I promise you.’
He held her close for several minutes. A woman passed them and, though she looked as if she wanted to say something, she made no comment and went on her way.
Jane eventually eased herself away from Bob. Her face was stained with tears.
‘I must look a mess ‘she said miserably.
‘Don’t worry about it now. Let’s go and have some lunch; then you can clean up and we can talk things over,’ Bob suggested soothingly. He put his arm around her and gently led her back to the car.
As Jane sank into the passenger seat, another thought struck her. ‘I don’t even own this car. The person who owns it is dead,’ she remarked miserably. ‘And my apartment,’ she added glumly.
Bob clicked his seatbelt on. He placed his hand gently on Jane’s arm. ‘It’s most likely a simple mix-up on paperwork. You’ll see,’ he replied confidently.
‘I hope you’re right,’ murmured Jane.
They retreated to The Poachers, where they ordered two ploughman’s lunches at the bar before Jane sped away to the ladies’ room to clean up. The pub was not very busy and Bob selected a quiet table in a corner. When Jane returned she was looking a bit brighter.
‘I must look a bit better now,’ she remarked with a forced little smile.
‘You look beautiful any time,’ Bob replied with a grin.
His comment caught Jane by surprise. He was not prone to amorous remarks.
‘As a kid I was an ugly duckling,’ she remarked.
‘The ugly duckling grew up to be a swan,’ he responded.
The lighter tone of their conversation did not last long. Jane took a sip of her apple juice and looked at Bob intently.
‘Bob, what do you think we can do now?’ she asked, her face a mass of worry and concern.
Bob considered for a few moments. ‘It seems to me that we have to go backwards to when you were born,’ he replied thoughtfully.
‘But how?’ Jane asked glumly.
‘Your neighbour – Gerald, is it? – sounds very knowledgeable. He might have some ideas.’
For the first time a glimmer of hope appeared to Jane. ‘Of course! Gerald is a mine of information on family history research. I’m sure he could help.’
Ever since they had left the churchyard, Bob had been thinking things over. He could see how what they had learnt that morning had upset Jane. It was bad enough being an orphan, but to suddenly discover that you were not who you thought you were must be a big load to carry. He voiced the thought that was now uppermost in his mind.
‘I’ve been thinking. Do you want to cancel our idea to stop over tonight?’ He studied Jane’s face for her reaction. It was what he had expected. She looked at him for a second. He could see that she was still quite miserable.
‘Can we go home?’ she asked sadly.
Bob nodded. ‘We’ll go straight back to your place and talk things over.’
Bob’s acceptance of how she felt made Jane feel even more despondent. Secretly she had been looking forward to her ‘night of sin’, perhaps because it was a bit out of character for her. She had even purchased a pretty nightdress for the occasion. Now everything had blown apart. She looked at Bob again and voiced her dejection. ‘I’m spoiling things for both of us, aren’t I?’
Bob smiled at her. He placed his hand on hers. ‘No, you’re not. There’s always another time.’
The drive back to London was a very low-key affair. Bob drove some of the way, and then, after a stop for a break at a motorway service station, Jane took over, explaining that she wanted to concentrate on something to take her mind off family history.
She had rung Gerald from her mobile phone while Bob was driving. When she had finished she had turned to Bob. ‘Aren’t they sweet? Anna and Gerald want us to go round for a cup of tea as soon as we get back.’
Bob was enthusiastic. ‘A good idea. I’ll look forward to a cuppa.’ Then he asked, ‘How did Gerald respond to your news?’
‘He wants us to take all the paperwork we have round so that he can have another look for any clues.’
*
It was late afternoon when Jane pulled into the parking space she had left with such high hopes early that morning. Now she was returning in a completely different frame of mind. They got out of the car, removed their weekend luggage from the boot and walked in silence to Jane’s apartment. Jane once again carried her family history file under her arm.
Thirty minutes later they were seated in Anna and Gerald’s lounge; Anna was plying them with tea and cake, and Gerald was casting his eye over Jane’s documents once more.
‘What do you think?’ It was Jane who spoke.
Gerald looked up. ‘This is most interesting,’ he observed.
‘But what do you think I should do now?’ Jane insisted. Her concern made her add, ‘At present I haven’t even got a name.’
Gerald put the document he was reading down and reached for his cup. ‘I have never come across a situation like this before,’ he replied. He sipped his tea before continuing. ‘What we have to do is work from the material we have at present. Where did you get this?’ He indicated the certificate that was lying on the settee beside him.
‘It was given to me by the couple I lived with after I left the orphanage,’ Jane explained.
‘They were most likely given it by the orphanage,’ he replied.
‘I suppose so,’ Jane responded glumly. Memories of her time at the orphanage were not happy ones.
‘What about the couple you lived with after you left the orphanage? Would they know anything?’ It was Anna who asked the question, looking at Jane.
Jane shook her head. ‘Derek died suddenly while I was at university, and Mabel died about five years ago,’ she replied.
It was Bob who spoke next. ‘It seems to me that the big question is, where did the orphanage get the birth certificate from?’
Gerald nodded. ‘Precisely,’ he agreed. He turned to Jane. ‘I think you will need to visit the orphanage and find what information they have.’
Jane nodded, but she did not reply immediately. Suddenly another more serious thought struck her. ‘But at the moment I don’t have a name. Everything about me is false. I’m using the name of a dead person. That must be a crime.’ She looked anxiously around at her audience.
Gerald chuckled. ‘Put that way it most likely is,’ he replied. He looked at Jane and smiled. ‘But as you have used that name ever since you can remember, I should think another few weeks will make no difference.’
‘Just think, you might come from a famous family,’ chipped in Anna.
‘I just want to know who I am,’ Jane responded, taking a sip of her tea.
‘I think we need to get in touch with the orphanage. They must have records of who placed you there,’ said Bob.
Jane looked at him. The thought of returning to her childhood home was not a pleasant one, but she was heartened to hear Bob indicate that he included himself in the undertaking. ‘I have the address and telephone number,’ she remarked, almost to herself.
‘I think you should contact them and see what you can find out,’ said Gerald, helping himself to another slice of cake.
Jane pondered the suggestion for a second.
It was Bob who broke the silence. ‘Can you remember anything about your lif
e before the orphanage?’ he asked her.
She shook her head. ‘Very little. I was so young.’ She thought for a few seconds, playing with the spoon in her saucer. ‘I remember being taken there by this lady and being left there. I remember I cried a good deal.’
‘You don’t know who the lady was?’ Bob persisted.
Jane shook her head. ‘No,’ she replied.
‘We’ll contact the orphanage and see what they have on you,’ Bob replied cheerfully, adding for good measure, ‘I’m sure you’ll find it’s all just a simple mistake.’
His words cheered Jane up. Her three companions were so positive that it seemed stupid of her to be so downcast. After all, Gerald was helping her and Bob was being very supportive. Anna was doing her best to make everything appear light-hearted. The most sensible thing for her to do would be to phone the orphanage. She would do that next week.
A sudden thought interrupted her planning. She turned to Bob with an agitated expression. ‘We forgot to ask the verger about the witnesses on the wedding certificate,’ she exclaimed.
‘I guess it was in the shock of everything,’ replied Bob.
‘That could be an important clue,’ observed Gerald.
Jane became concerned again. She thought for a moment. ‘I’d better ring the verger next week as well,’ she remarked with a sigh.
‘Do it now. Use our telephone.’ Gerald had already jumped up. ‘I’m anxious to know the answer,’ he added, smiling broadly at Jane.
Jane was a bit reluctant to telephone the verger there and then, but she picked up the certificate and followed Gerald into his study. When he returned to the lounge, Jane sat at his desk and produced the printed church notice the verger had given her. With it in front of her she picked up the phone and dialled the number.
A male voice answered. ‘Hello.’
Jane glanced at her information. ‘Hello. Is that Bernard Thornton?’
‘It is indeed. How can I help?’
Encouraged by the friendly response, she responded quickly. ‘I’m Jane Carroll. We met in the churchyard this morning.’
‘We did indeed.’
Jane hesitated for a second, searching for the right words. ‘I was wondering if you might be able to help me.’
The Golden Anklet Page 8