The Somme Legacy: A Jayne Sinclair Genealogical Mystery (Jayne Sinclair Genealogical Mysteries Book 2)

by M J Lee

Time to go.

  On his way out, he knocked the paintings off the wall in the hall. A friendly greeting for Mrs Sinclair when she returned.

  Herbert Small took one last look at his handiwork, nodded in appreciation and left the house.

  He was sure Mrs Sinclair would get the message. Nobody messes with Herbert Small.

  Nobody.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Gretna Manse Hotel, Gretna Green, Scotland. March 31, 2016.

  They checked in to separate rooms at the Gretna Manse Hotel. Jayne immediately had a shower, luxuriating in the soothing heat of the water. Had she made the right choice coming here? Should she have stayed with Paul and gone to London with him? Should she work harder to rescue her marriage? After all, they had been together for nearly 12 years.

  Too many questions, too few answers. As she dried herself off, she forced her mind to work on the case. The missing page from the registry still bothered her. Who had cut it out in 1916? And why? Was that page the missing record?

  She quickly dressed in a casual top and jeans before she met Mark in the bar of the hotel for a drink. She thought about ringing him to cancel, but decided she needed to escape the four walls of her room.

  A tartan waistcoated man approached them as they sat down. 'And what will you be having, madam?'

  'A glass of wine, please; something red with a bit of a kick to it.'

  'We have an Australian Shiraz?'

  'Perfect.'

  'And you, sir?'

  'A whisky, please.'

  The barman turned to the row upon row of bottles of Scotch behind him. 'I'll need a little more help, sir.'

  Mark stared at the never-ending row of amber-coloured bottles, light shining through the glass. 'I don't know, something peaty, I think.'

  'A 12-year-old Caol Ila perhaps, from Islay.'

  'Sounds good, but I'll never be able to pronounce it.'

  'Not to worry, sir. I've been practising the Gaelic for years.'

  'Not from here, then?'

  'Noooo, not a lowlander, even though I've lived here for nigh on 20 years. A highlander, another outsider.' He poured out their drinks. 'But I married a lovely lass from these parts and here I am. Are you just married?'

  Mark and Jayne looked at each other. 'Do we look like we're married?' laughed Jayne.

  'Sorry, I just presumed. Not many people come here for the sunny weather.'

  They laughed again. 'No, we're here to research Mark's great grandmother. Always said she was married in Gretna Green.'

  'Did you find the record? I've heard they'll print out a certificate for you commemorating the marriage over the anvil. Have to pay though. Have to pay for everything these days.'

  'There's no record, unfortunately.' Jayne sipped the Shiraz. It wasn't bad, a little oaky. The Australians tended to go overboard with the oak, but it had a lovely jammy taste of fruit with a nice hint of pepper at the end.

  'What a shame, you've made a wasted journey. Seen Gretna Green though. Either a place of great happiness or sadness depending on your view of marriage,' he laughed.

  'That's true. But my great grandmother was certain she had been married here.'

  'Aye, she could have been.' The barman thought for a moment. 'You should check the register.'

  'What register?'

  'The hotel register. The family who owns the place have had it for at least four generations. Nothing gets thrown away.'

  'You mean they still have the registers for 1916? Could we look at them?'

  'Aye, they're all in the library. I can get the key from the missus if you'd like. Just give me a second.'

  As good as his word, he came back a moment later with an old brass key dangling on a red ribbon. 'The library is on the second floor. The hotel registers are kept in an armoire on the facing wall.'

  Jayne put down her drink. 'We'll be back.'

  'Aye, didn't Arnold Schwarzenegger say the same thing?'

  Jayne rushed out of the bar, turning left to climb the stairs.

  Mark followed her. 'What good will this do, Jayne? It's a hotel register not a marriage register.'

  'Bear with me, Mark, I have a hunch.'

  The library was empty of people. In its centre was a table covered in old magazines extolling the virtues of 'Bonnie Scotland'. Against the far wall, just as the barman had described, stood a tall walnut armoire with a glass front.

  Jayne inserted the brass key into the lock and opened the glass door. She scanned the tall, leather ledgers inside, spotting each had a year inscribed on the spine. After two minutes of fruitless searching, she eventually found 1916 between 1892 and 1912. Where else would it be?

  She pulled it out and put it down on the desk. The title page stated clearly this was the hotel register of the Gretna Manse Hotel for 1916. On each page was a list of names, addresses, dates checked in and checked out, and room numbers assigned.

  Jayne flicked through the pages until she found April 25, 1916.

  A sharp breath of surprise escaped her lips as she saw the names written there.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Gretna Manse Hotel, Scotland. April 25, 1916.

  Rose had been waiting for David for over seven hours. Why was he so late? She had travelled up on the train from Manchester, changing at Carlisle before finally arriving in Gretna. The train had been full of soldiers, and a kindly guard, seeing she was travelling alone, had moved her to an empty compartment in first class.

  She had taken a horse-drawn buggy from the station, lugging her single bag up the steps to the hotel. The elderly receptionist had looked her up and down as one would regard cattle at a market, before sniffing and turning the register towards her.

  'It'll be single room, will it?'

  'For tonight,' Rose had answered as forcefully as she could.

  'Breakfast is at eight to eight thirty. The room has to be empty before noon.' She handed over a large brass key, leaving Rose to find the room on her own.

  The furniture inside was stark in the way of country hotels; a single bed, an old wooden dresser with a basin and water jug standing on it, and a copy of Gideon's Bible sitting on the bedside table. A shared bathroom was along the corridor. The lighting was a single gas lamp above the bed; electricity had not yet penetrated this far. There was no fire made in the hearth.

  Where was David? He should have been here hours ago. She checked the watch hanging from her dress. 6.30. It was still light outside and the birds were active, harvesting the last insects before darkness descended.

  She heard the sound of horses' hooves outside, rushed to the window and peered through the lace curtain.

  He was here. But he was with someone else, someone she didn't recognise.

  Heavy footsteps on the stairs, someone was running up. A light tap on the door. She rushed over and wrenched it open.

  He stood there in his best uniform, a wry smile on his face. 'Come on, there's no time to waste.' He grabbed her hand.

  'Why, what's the rush?'

  'We're to be married, aren't we? Time to wake the blacksmith preacher.'

  ‘But… but… but, I haven't changed.'

  'No need, you look beautiful as you are.'

  They rushed down the stairs. At the bottom, the sour-faced receptionist and a tall, elegantly dressed man were waiting for them.

  'This is my brother, Toby.'

  The tall man smirked and held out his hand. 'Miss Clarke, I presume.'

  'Come on, you can do the introductions later. The cab is waiting to take us to the village.'

  'We're not to be married here?'

  'Not at all. We're going to be married like thousands of other loving couples before us, in a blacksmith's forge, by the blacksmith preacher.'

  Toby laughed. ’You never struck me as a romantic, brother.'

  David hugged Rose tightly. 'This woman brings out a side of me I didn't know existed. Are you ready, Rose?'

  She nodded.

  'Let's be on our way, then.'

  The cab took
them to the centre of the village not far away. A few children were playing football in the street. For a moment, they stopped and waved at the passing cab, shouting 'God bless the bride,' and holding their hands up to the window. David gave them each sixpence, and they carried on shouting their greetings until the cab stopped outside the forge.

  'The preacher is in his house at the back,' said the cabbie, 'and that will be three shillings, plus a shilling for the wait.'

  David gave him a ten-shilling note and was rewarded with a raise of the hat and a blessing, 'May the good Lord give a long and fruitful life to you both. I'll wait to take you back to the hotel.'

  'Thank you.'

  They hurried around the side of the forge to get the preacher. The man was already putting on his coat. 'I heard the racket coming down the road. I thought for a moment there was a stramash, but I can see from the both of ye, you're here to be married.'

  The man was old, but with a canny look to his face.

  'Now, there are two questions I have to ask you before I can perform the marriage. Do you have the money?'

  He held out his hand and David placed two pound notes in it.

  'That's gud, excellent. My wife can act as the other witness but her fee is another pound.'

  David opened his wallet and added a pound to the man's hand.

  'Gud. Finally, have you lived in Scotland for 21 days or more?' He leant in conspiratorially and whispered, 'Always answer yes is my advice.'

  David smiled. 'There's no need, I've been in Paisley for the last three months training the men.’ He winked outrageously at the preacher.

  'That's gud, very gud. We can begin.'

  He ushered them through to the old forge. The walls were whitewashed and tools hung from hooks driven into the bricks. A desk stood on the corner and a large iron anvil occupied the centre of the room. A sign on the wall proclaimed this was the original blacksmith's forge.

  'Thousands of couples like yourselves have been married in this room over the years. I have the normal declaration for both parties to say, if that is suitable for both of you.'

  Rose coughed. ’Actually, we both agreed a different oath. We would like you to say these words.' She reached into her bag and handed a folded piece of paper to the preacher.

  He read the words written on it. 'Well, they are unusual, missing out the commitment to obey the husband in all things, but they are not proscribed by law. Do you both agree to this form of the oath?'

  David and Rose looked at each other, turning back to the preacher in unison to say, 'We do.'

  The preacher nodded and began speaking. 'Please place your hands together over the anvil. Repeat after me, I…'

  He nodded here at David.

  'I, David Russell, join my life with yours. Wherever you go, I will go; whatever you face, I will face. For good or ill, in happiness or sadness, come riches or poverty. With deepest joy I receive you into my life that together we may be one. I promise you my love, my fullest devotion, my most tender care. I pledge to you my life as a loving and faithful husband.'

  'You certainly know the oath, Captain Russell. And now it's your turn, Miss Clarke.'

  Rose began without waiting for the preacher. 'I, Rose Clarke, join my life with yours. Wherever you go, I will go; whatever you face, I will face. For good or ill, in happiness or sadness, come riches or poverty. With deepest joy I receive you into my life that together we may be one. I promise you my love, my fullest devotion, my most tender care. I pledge to you my life as a loving and faithful wife.'

  'It seems you no longer need me as you are both man and wife. You may kiss the bride.' David took Rose in his arms and kissed her lightly on her lips, conscious the old woman and his brother were watching him. Then, he looked into her eyes, saw the light of happiness in them, and kissed her again, deeply now, pouring his heart and soul into the kiss.

  The preacher coughed. 'When you've finished, you'll need to sign the register on the table.' The old woman brought two chairs from the wall and placed them next to the table. Their names had already been written in the register by her.

  Rose picked up the pen and her hand shook as she signed a wavering signature. Rose A. Clarke.

  David was more composed, signing his name with a flourish. Capt. David Russell. MC.

  The blacksmith preacher shook both of them by the hand. 'I'll send the certificate up to the Manse later, and I'll send a copy to the registrar in Edinburgh.'

  'That's it?' asked Rose.

  'That's it, you are now man and wife. Mr and Mrs David Russell.'

  Toby came over to shake their hands. 'Congratulations, Brother, and Mrs Russell. Or perhaps I should call you sister now?'

  'Just call me Rose, everyone else does.'

  'Your carriage is waiting, dear.' David bowed in an exaggerated way.

  Rose lengthened her posture and strode out with her arm linked in his. As they climbed into the cab, the driver lifted his hat and said, 'Congratulations, madam and sir.'

  Rose leant over and whispered to David, 'I'm a Madam now, am I?'

  'For now, and for the rest of time.'

  Toby was behind them, patting his pockets. 'Damn, I've left my cigarette case inside, won't be a sec.' He ran back into the blacksmith's forge.

  The horse snorted, eager to be on its way.

  'I've booked the honeymoon suite for us.'

  Rose let out a sigh of relief. 'Wonderful, I don't think I could have borne the first night of our wedding in that lonely room.'

  'Sorry I was late - missed the train.'

  Rose put her hand on top of his. 'Was the meeting with your parents difficult?'

  He turned and smiled at her. 'No more difficult than normal. They will come to love you as much as I do, Rose, I'm sure they will.'

  The horse snorted again.

  'Where's Toby, he's taking his time…'

  Just as David was about to jump down from the cab, Toby came running out of the blacksmith's forge, stuffing something into his pocket. 'Found it, finally.'

  He jumped in the cab next to them and the driver clicked the horse forward.

  After a glass of champagne to celebrate their marriage, Toby made his excuses and retired upstairs.

  After waiting for ten minutes, looking at his watch three times, taking umpteen sips of champagne, David finally turned to Rose. 'I suppose we should go up then?'

  Rose smiled. 'I suppose we should.'

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Gretna Manse Hotel, Scotland. March 31, 2016.

  Jayne touched the yellowing paper with her finger. Halfway down the page, written in a crabbed script, was an entry.

  Rose Clarke. Wibbersley Hospital, Manchester. April 25, 1916. Room 27.

  The entry had been ruled through neatly with red ink, twice. Beneath it was another entry.

  Captain and Mrs Russell. Holton Hall, Derbyshire. April 25, 1916 - April 27, 1916. H.S.

  Jayne took out her phone and snapped the cover of the hotel register, the April 25 page and the ones before and after it for her records.

  'What does it mean, Jayne?'

  'I'm not certain, Mark. At least we know a woman with the same name was staying in the hotel the day she was supposed to be married. And David Russell was staying here with his wife that evening.'

  'But what do the two red lines mean?'

  'And what's ‘H.S’? Let's ask our friendly barman.'

  They went downstairs and showed him the picture.

  'Well, I don't know for sure why there are two red lines through the name, but I would guess the guest either moved room or checked out.'

  'And the “H.S”?'

  'That's easy. It's the honeymoon suite. It's still the same room if you would like to see it?'

  Jayne and Mark looked at each other and both shook their heads.

  'Can I be getting you another round?'

  'Please do. Just one more question. What are the ticks for next to the room number?'

  'Oh, it means the guest has paid. If there was an X
, it would mean bill later.'

  'But there's nothing next to my great grandmother's name?'

  The barman scratched his head. 'Sorry, I can't help you, but I can get another drink.' He went back to the bar.

  'This must be my great grandmother, mustn't it?' Mark had a pleading note in his voice.

  'I'm pretty sure it is. We know she was a VAD in France, perhaps she also served in Manchester. From what I know, they were moved around from hospital to hospital. The name and date are too much of a coincidence for it not to be her.'

  'Perhaps she checked in first and they moved to the honeymoon suite when Captain Russell arrived,' said Mark, 'getting married in the blacksmith's shop.'

  'That could be one solution. But we have no record of a marriage there.' She held up the picture on the phone. 'This hotel register doesn't prove they were married, only that they stayed in the same hotel on the evening your great grandmother said they were married. It's not proof in a court of law.'

  'It must be her.'

  'Unfortunately, we have no name for Mrs Russell. It could be your great grandmother or it might be another woman.'

  'It must be my great grandmother, it's the only answer.'

  'There is one other possibility…'

  'What's that?'

  'Your great grandmother followed Captain Russell and his new wife here.'

  Mark's face fell. 'Like a stalker, you mean?'

  Jayne nodded. 'But it doesn't fit with her character from what I know of her.'

  Mark shook his head. 'I can't believe it. I don't believe it.'

  'Neither do I. But it means we must find a record of the marriage.' She drained the last of the wine from her glass. 'I think we should make an early start for Edinburgh tomorrow. We need to find the certificate.'

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Gretna Manse Hotel, Scotland. April 27, 1916.

  Rose had never been so happy in her life. Forgotten were the dark days of her mother's death and nursing her father through his depression. Forgotten were the nights in Holloway, waiting for the turn of the key in the lock, the entry of the warders. Forgotten were the horrors of the ward; the men with no limbs, the stench of disinfectant and carbolic acid, the screams in the night from men who were about to die.