The America Ground (The Forensic Genealogist Series Book 4)

by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

  It took Morton almost an hour to plough through the stack of letters. Inmates were mentioned on a regular basis, but the name Lovekin did not appear once. He was beginning to lose hope of finding them when he returned the papers.

  ‘Nothing?’ Oliver asked.

  Morton shook his head. ‘Nope. I’ll keep going, though. Think I’ve got Officers of the Board next.’

  ‘Just a second,’ Oliver muttered, turning to his computer. Squinting at the screen, he began quickly tapping at the keyboard. After a few seconds, he turned to face Morton. ‘Have you tried the pauper register for St Clements parish? It was taken in 1834—your orphans might still be there.’

  ‘No, I haven’t tried it, but it sounds hopeful—thanks,’ Morton said, dashing off to his computer to order it.

  Fifteen minutes later and the cream leather-bound volume was waiting on the desk in front of him. With a slight trepidation, he opened it and found that on each off-white page was written, in dark sepia ink, the name and age of the parish paupers, along with a simple summary of the their condition. He turned to the first entry. Thomas Evenden, 70, is totally disabled from work – has been condemned to be deranged. Next page. Lucy Ballard, 25, a blind girl. Lives in the workhouse. Next page. Edward Dungate, 60, lives in Hill Street, is employed breaking boulders. Next page. George Stidolph, 37, a cabinet maker, a very drunken man. Next page. James Campbell, 36 and Ann, 34, his wife. He is a bricklayer, now confined in Horsham for smuggling.

  And so Morton continued through the register until he turned the final page. No Lovekins. He was disappointed, but he knew that this record represented just one parish at one particular moment in time. Perhaps other registers existed.

  ‘Find anything?’ Oliver asked, when Morton returned to the desk.

  Morton frowned. ‘No, nothing. I don’t suppose this type of document exists for any other parishes or any other periods, does it?’

  Oliver shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. It’s lucky that this one has survived. Maybe the girls went to stay with family?’ he ventured. ‘Remember, the workhouse was a definite last resort.’

  Morton nodded. ‘It’s possible, but I don’t think they originated from Hastings, so I don’t think there are any family members around.’

  There was a sudden widening of Oliver’s eyes as he said, ‘Then they likely wouldn’t have gone to the local workhouse at all…’

  ‘Removal orders!’ Morton interjected. ‘Of course. How stupid of me—they would have been sent back to their parish of origin if they needed help.’

  ‘Exactly!’ Oliver said.

  Morton hurried to his laptop, calling back his gratitude as he went.

  Accessing The Keep’s online catalogue, Morton quickly found the removal orders for the Hastings parishes and requested them.

  Time seemed to drag as he waited for the file status to change from ‘In transit’ to ‘Available’.

  He looked at the clock: five past three. Although the archive did not shut until five p.m., he had just fifty-five minutes to order any further documents. He sighed and refreshed the webpage. In Transit. He looked down at his notepad—he still had the crucial issue of Eliza Lovekin’s murder to investigate. Bunny was almost certain to spin the entire story of the painting around this single sad moment in the family’s history when she put the painting up for auction in a few days’ time. What became of the children would be a simple footnote over which a wealthy collector would pull a supercilious face, then never think about again.

  The page auto-refreshed and the removal orders suddenly switched to ‘Available’. Finally. Morton sprang up and collected them from Oliver.

  ‘You’re running out of time,’ Oliver stated, glancing up at the large clock behind him.

  ‘I know,’ Morton replied, a little too brusquely, as he hurried back to his desk and pulled open the folder.

  He examined the contents and estimated there to be at least forty removal orders, with each sheet of parchment dealing with a separate person or family. Once he had established that the contents were arranged chronologically, he flicked through to the late 1820s and began to skim through, seeking out the handwritten names amongst the pre-typed sections. Then he found them.

  To the overseers of the Poor of the Parish of Westwell in the County of Kent. Take notice, that Harriet Lovekin aged eighteen, Keziah Lovekin aged fifteen and Ann Lovekin aged ten and lately residing at St Clements, Hastings have become chargeable to the said Parish and that an Order of Justices has been obtained for their removal to your Parish of Westwell as their last place of legal settlement (a copy of which order, and also a copy of the examination on which the same was made are herewith sent).

  Dated this First day of May One Thousand Eight Hundred and Twenty-Seven.

  James Crispe, Churchwardern

  Samuel Harman, Churchwarden

  Slowly and purposefully, Morton drew his index finger under the first line of the parchment. The Lovekin sisters had been removed to Westwell. That must have been the wording missing on Eliza’s grave, he thought. Formerly of the parish of Westwell, Kent. What had brought them to Hastings? he wondered. Probably the enticement of free land and new prospects.

  He photographed the document and, as he did so, noticed the date upon which the order had been signed: 1st May 1827. The very day of their mother’s burial, the girls had been carted miles away to a parish of which they likely had little recollection. The next page was the record that had sealed the girls’ fate.

  The examination of Harriet Lovekin, now residing in the parish of St Clements in the Town and Port of Hastings in the County of Sussex, taken upon Oath before Us, Two of Her Majesty’s Justices of the Peace acting in and for the Town and Port of Hastings in the County of Sussex the 1st May 1827.

  Who, saith that, she was born as she believes, in the parish of Westwell in the said County of Kent, her father and mother Joseph Lovekin and Eliza Smith having once lived and married there. That she, with her two sisters and afore-mentioned mother and father afterwards moved in or abouts the year 1822 to the Town and Port of Hastings. She and her two sisters are now living in the Town and Port of Hastings, where they are to be maintained by and at the expense of the Parish of St Clements following the deaths of both parents.

  Signed Harriet Lovekin.

  Having photographed the parchment, Morton scribbled the new information onto his notepad. He smiled, knowing that this propitious information would likely lead him directly to Joseph and Eliza’s marriage and their children’s baptisms in the parish of Westwell.

  On the following page was a copy of the instruction given to remove the girls.

  Benjamin Barker, common carrier.

  We whose names are hereunder written being churchwardens and overseers of the poor of the Parish of St Clements, Hastings, having the management of the poor there do employ the above named Benj. Barker to remove and convey Harriet, Keziah and Ann Lovekin, the paupers named in the removal order from and out of the said parish of St Clements, Hastings to the parish of Westwell in the county of Kent and deliver them to the churchwardens and overseers of the poor there and do hereby also authorise the said Benj. Barker to receive from the churchwardens and overseers of the poor the sum of three pounds and fifteen shillings incurred by the illegal settlement of the said Harriet, Keziah and Ann Lovekin.

  1st May 1827.

  James Crispe, Churchwardern

  Samuel Harman, Churchwarden

  He had seen such terse language used in historical documents on countless occasions, but each time Morton was struck afresh by the brutal treatment shown to society’s most vulnerable.

  He looked up at the clock and was dismayed to see that he had just thirty-two minutes left to order up any original documents. He was satisfied with his progress on the Lovekin sisters and so now needed to switch his attention to trying to find out more about Eliza’s murder.

  He closed the register, stood up and was about to head towards the help desk when he stopped in his tracks; Oliver was at
the other end of the desk with a telephone to his ear and Morton’s arch-enemy, Deidre Latimer was at the service end of the counter with her usual scowl on her face. Brilliant. Thirty-two—no, thirty-one minutes to go and she suddenly appears, he thought. If he had more time, he would have feigned interest in one of the books that lined the shelves around the room until Oliver became free again, but time was running out, so he took a deep breath and marched confidently over to her.

  ‘I’d like to return this, please,’ Morton said.

  Miss Latimer wordlessly took the proffered file, placed her glasses on her nose then set about scanning it back into the system.

  ‘I was also interested in coroners’ records or inquests that you…’ Morton stopped short when Miss Latimer ignored him and disappeared out the back. ‘Charming,’ he mumbled.

  A few long seconds later, Miss Latimer returned with a smile on her face that made Morton wonder if she was in pain. ‘Yes?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m searching for information on a murder in Hastings in 1827—do you hold coroners’ records or inquests?’ he ventured.

  Miss Latimer laughed an exaggerated, mocking laugh and removed her glasses. ‘Not unless you think they’ve miraculously appeared?’

  Morton turned briefly to one side and confirmed that most of the archive was now looking at him. He flushed crimson. ‘I… I don’t understand.’

  ‘You asked me the very same question just a few months ago and the answer is still the same: we hold coroner’s records for Lewes and Brighton but none survive for Hastings,’ she said in a voice that was as loud as it was patronising. She folded her arms and stared at him like a disapproving Victorian headmistress.

  ‘Oh, right,’ Morton mumbled, feeling stupid at being foiled by the old battle-axe once again.

  ‘Sorry,’ Oliver said, making his way towards them. ‘I didn’t catch the whole conversation and I expect my colleague here has already advised this,’ he said, with a deferential nod towards Miss Latimer, ‘but have you tried the Sussex Weekly Advertiser? It might just be mentioned in there. Other than that, there isn’t much, I’m afraid.’

  Morton went to answer and to thank Oliver for his time when his mobile’s shrill ringtone began shredding the silence of the room like a tornado. As if he needed any further attention drawing to him. Morton mumbled his apologies as he grappled in his pocket for the phone, fully aware of the admonishing stares that he was receiving from all around the room. He finally released his phone and muted the awful sound. The caller’s ID continued to flash onscreen: Jenny Greenwood. He deliberated momentarily over whether or not to answer the call and he decided that it was worth the inevitable telling off.

  ‘Hello?’ he said quietly.

  ‘Hi, Morton! It’s Jenny Greenwood here—so lovely to hear from you. How are things with you?’

  ‘Okay, although I can’t talk at the moment; I’m at The Keep and you’re getting me into trouble with Deidre,’ he said with a pointed laugh at Miss Latimer. He knew that she hated it when he used her Christian name.

  Miss Latimer scowled and shook her head. ‘You’re not allowed mobiles in here,’ she called loudly. ‘Switch it off.’

  ‘Oh, put the silly old devil on to me,’ Jenny said with a giggle.

  Morton took the phone away from his ear and offered it to Miss Latimer. ‘Jenny Greenwood. She wants to speak to you.’

  He had definitely just scored a goal against Miss Latimer; he watched as she pressed the phone tightly to her ear and tucked her head down like a timid mouse. ‘No, not any trouble,’ were the only words Morton managed to catch before she turned away and lowered her voice to such inaudibility that he could only catch scraps of the conversation.

  Moments later, Miss Latimer thrust his phone back then stormed off behind the counter.

  ‘Hello?’ Morton said, checking that Jenny was still there.

  ‘Hi, Morton. I’ve told Deidre to be nice to you—is she being?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Morton answered. The nicest thing that Deidre Latimer could be was out of his presence.

  ‘Jolly good. Now, you’ve got something you’d like to show Jon, have you?’ Jenny asked.

  ‘Yes, if that’s okay,’ Morton replied tentatively.

  ‘Absolutely, he’d be delighted. What say you drop in on your way home this afternoon? We’re just at home pottering.’

  ‘If you’re sure, then that would be great.’

  ‘Lovely—see you in a while.’

  When Morton ended the call there was thankfully still no sign of Miss Latimer. He returned to his seat and packed up his things.

  ‘Thank you for all your help today,’ Morton said to Oliver, as he prepared to leave the Reference Room.

  ‘You’re welcome—hope to see you again here sometime,’ Oliver responded with a smile, as he pressed the release button for Morton to exit.

  From his position in the back corner of the Reference Room, Kevin Addison had watched with a smirk as an altercation had taken place between Morton Farrier and the woman behind the desk. When Morton had turned to leave, Kevin raised the book that he had randomly selected from the nearby shelves and hid his face. He had already confirmed that Morton was carrying the indentures with him that he had been sent to procure. Liz Seymour had been unequivocal in her instruction that the documents be seized at all costs. It was rare that she issued him instructions these days and even rarer for her to use the words at all costs. He knew, though, from past dealings that those words were his carte blanche to do anything in order to achieve his aim.

  Entering the Reading Room, Morton headed directly to one of the digital microfilm readers and set down his belongings. Knowing that most of the microfilmed newspapers for East Sussex were located in the metal cabinets behind him, he wasted no time looking through the indexes and instead began to quickly check the drawer labels. The last one held the early editions of the Sussex Weekly Advertiser and Morton pulled it open and located the relevant box. Hurrying back to his desk, he loaded the film onto the reader and began scooting through to the edition for 4th May and began to carefully scrutinise it. On page three, a headline in capital letters drew his attention and he knew that he had found the story:

  HORRID MURDER OUTSIDE HASTINGS

  Hastings—On land just outside of Hastings, Sussex, has recently been the scene of a horrible murder. On Friday last, about 4 o’clock, a publican’s widow of the name of Eliza Lovekin, forty-one years of age was found to have been gruesomely murdered. The deceased, who had continued to run a gin palace called the Black Horse following her husband’s death, had been repeatedly stabbed in the back whilst she slept. Deceased was found by Christopher Elphick, who raised the alarm and went to fetch William Selby Lowndes, Esq., a Magistrate. Information was also sent to the parish constables, W. Lorraine Blythe Esq. and Major Mansel, who with great promptitude arrived at the scene. They proceeded to Eliza Lovekin’s house, where Elphick had found the body and saw the corpse of a woman lying on a bed on its side. Intelligence of the shocking circumstance was sent to the Coroner. The parish constables have yet to find the perpetrator of this bloody crime.

  Kevin stood with the book open in front of him and took a cursory glance through the glass wall into the Reading Room. Morton was sitting at some kind of a machine, staring inanely at a screen in front of him. Kevin shoved the book back onto the shelf and cautiously approached the exit.

  ‘Are you going back out?’ the man from behind the counter called.

  Kevin nodded and the glass door shifted to one side.

  He walked into the Reading Room, directly behind Morton. The indentures were right there, unguarded beside him. He could just snatch them and run, but that would be stupid, he’d already seen that the place was riddled with security cameras. No, he would wait and bide his time.

  He was within two feet of the indentures when he made a sharp right turn and waltzed out of the archives.

  He would wait.

  Morton didn’t expect to find the details of Eliza’s murder pl
easant, but to read the appalling details of what had actually occurred to her shocked him. What possible reason could anyone have to inflict such horror on her? he pondered. Nothing that he had discovered in her life so far gave any forewarning of her tragic demise.

  His mind drifted from the murder to the three Lovekin girls who, just after their mother was killed under such horrific circumstances, were sent off in Benjamin Barker’s carriage to a village miles away in a different county.

  His eyes returned to the news story on the screen in front of him, focusing in on the final line that said the parish constables were still searching for the perpetrator. Was the murderer ever caught? Morton wondered. There was only one way to find out and that was to continue reading the subsequent editions of the Sussex Weekly Advertiser. But time was against him: the archive was closing in fifty minutes.

  Morton wound through the film, carefully reading every story on every page of every edition. He reached the final publication of May 1829 when Oliver announced that the archive was about to close. Nothing. The case had not been mentioned again, which Morton took to mean that nobody was ever brought to justice for Eliza’s murder.

  Reluctantly, he re-wound the film and returned it in its box to the cabinet, then gathered up his things and headed out to the lockers. He sighed as he bagged up his belongings and strolled out into the late afternoon sunshine. It had been a good day’s research and the Lovekin Case had progressed well.

  Kevin Addison watched from behind the darkened windows of his black Range Rover, as Morton Farrier climbed into his Mini then reversed out of his parking space. Kevin started the Range Rover’s engine but made no attempt to move until Morton was well out of sight. He wound down the window and fiddled with the radio before switching on his mobile and selecting the tracker app. Whilst Morton had been busy inside the archive, Kevin had been fitting a GPS tracker device to his car. Now everywhere Morton went, he could follow. Simple. The app opened and Morton’s car, represented by a red circle, appeared onscreen. Behind it, a map was beginning to load; Kevin slowly pulled out of his parking space and began his pursuit.