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

by M J Lee

  'I don't understand, what's going on?' Mark passed the envelope across to Jayne.

  She took it and examined the postmark. 'It appears to have been posted on July 11 in Le Cateau. That town wasn’t captured by the British until late in the war.' She turned over the envelope. ‘In an occupied town and with a German postage stamp. Somebody must have found the letter and sent it on.'

  'Very strange. Perhaps he didn't die on July 1 after all?'

  'Or somebody found this on his body and decided to post it for some reason.'

  'A German, obviously, but why?'

  'Why? Why? Why? It doesn't matter why.' The father lit another cigarette. Jayne noticed his hands were trembling.

  'The letters tell us a lot, Dad. Rose Clarke and David Russell were together in Gretna Green. They were expecting a child together. And he called her “my darling”.'

  'Still useless.' The old man took a long drag on his cigarette, holding it between two fingers with the cigarette facing his palm. It reminded Jayne of pictures she had seen of Elvis fans in the 1950s, a throwback to an earlier age. His quiff shivered as he expelled the smoke out through his lips.

  'But Dad, they show they were in a relationship.'

  'In a relationship, my arse. What's a relationship?' he sneered. 'All that matters is whether they were married or not. And there's no proof.'

  'But Mr Russell, Mark is right. These letters prove they were together.'

  'They prove nothing,' the old man shouted back at Jayne, stabbing the air between them with his lit cigarette. 'Look at what's left in the case and you'll see.'

  Mark checked inside the case once more. At the bottom, he found two newspaper articles. One, from the Daily Mail of 22 June 1922, bellowed in a bold black headline;

  GOLD DIGGER CLAIMS PEER'S FORTUNE.

  Proceedings began today at the Court of Chancery into claims by an unemployed shopgirl, Miss Rose Clarke, that her five-year-old son is the rightful heir to the Lappiter fortune and title.

  Sir Toby Russell, the present heir, speaking before the trial, was careful to deny the claim. 'Miss Clarke is just a gold digger who, since the war, has made repeated claims against my late brother. We are happy finally to have our day in court to deny all these spurious allegations.'

  Sir Toby inherited the title in 1916 on the death of his elder brother, Captain David Russell. He is a well-known 'man about town' having escorted famous celebrities from the world of stage and screen to a variety of night clubs.

  The trial is expected to last three days.’

  Mark finished reading abruptly.

  'She took him to court, a brave thing to do,' said Jayne.

  'Brave? It was stupid. How was she ever going to win?' The old man finished the cigarette, throwing the end in the empty fireplace.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  The Court of Chancery, London. May 11, 1923.

  Rose inhaled three times, composing herself. A clerk, wearing a white wig and gown, approached her holding a bible. She held out her hand and placed it lightly on the book, glad to have something to stop the hand from shaking.

  'Do you, Rose Clarke…’ began the clerk

  'My name is Rose Russell.'

  'That is not what is written in our records, Miss Clarke. You must swear by your given name.’ The Judge interjected.

  'But I was married to David Russell, Your Honour. As a married woman…'

  'That is precisely what we have gathered in this courtroom to ascertain, is it not, Miss Clarke?' Lord Justice Rampton looked at Rose over the top of his spectacles. 'You will swear as instructed by the clerk of the court.'

  'Yes, Your Honour.'

  The clerk began again. 'Do you, Rose Clarke, swear you will tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?'

  'I do.'

  After waiting for five years since the end of the war, the time for justice had finally arrived. Yesterday, the court had spent a painful time establishing the details of David's death. She had to live through his last moments again. An officer, Lieutenant Crawford, a former comrade, testified he had seen him in a German casualty clearing station on July 3rd, lying on a stretcher. But afterwards, David had vanished, presumed dead, buried in some mass grave somewhere.

  Another unknown soldier, known only to God.

  Rose had sat through the testimony, glancing occasionally across at David's brother and his mother, sitting behind their barrister. Toby, even more of a dandy than she remembered, had smiled at her once or twice. Not a nice smile, more like that of a hyena. The old woman never looked her way, never acknowledged her presence.

  Her son, called David after his father, was staying with his auntie in Worthing. She couldn't bring him to a place like this, couldn't let him hear what they would say about her or his father.

  As the barrister rose to face her, Rose rubbed her hands against the frayed linen of her best dress. She had spent every penny she had, and borrowed the rest, to bring this case to trial. Her solicitor had advised her against it. The barrister had said the chances of winning were slim. But she had to try. For David's sake she had to try.

  'Good morning, Miss Clarke, may I call you Rose?' her barrister began. His face was florid beneath the white hair of the wig. She couldn't help noticing it was slightly askew. If Sister had seen her cap like this, she would have been on a report.

  'Good morning, Mr Hampson. Of course you may.'

  'Thank you, Rose. When did you first meet David Russell?'

  'It was on April 25th, 1913.'

  'You remember the date exactly.'

  'Of course, I do. Doesn't every woman remember the date when she met her husband?'

  The judge stared at her. 'Miss Clarke, you are here to answer questions, not to ask them. I would leave such interlocution to your advocate, if I were you.'

  The journalists tittered and scribbled the judge's words in their notepads.

  'Please continue, Mr Hampson.'

  'Thank you, My Lord. And you began a relationship with him from that time?'

  'On that date, we chatted on a tram journey back to my home.'

  The judge coughed. 'Miss Clarke, is it normal for you, an unaccompanied female, to chat with a stranger on a tram?'

  Again, the press laughed, louder this time.

  'No, it isn't My Lord, but Mr Russell had insisted on escorting me to the terminus.'

  The judge wrote in his case book and mouthed the words out loud, 'insisted on escorting me to the terminus,' before laying down his pen. 'Is it normal these days for a gentleman to escort a lady only as far as the terminus, rather than to her home? It sounds most strange to me.'

  'I refused to let him see me home.'

  'You refused to let him. How strong-willed of you, Miss Clarke.' The judge looked up, expecting the laughs which he dutifully received.

  'I didn't want him to know where I lived.'

  The judge wrote and mouthed the words in his case book, 'Didn't want him to know.'

  'But he did know, didn't he, Rose. Didn't he turn up at your father's shop the following week?' Her barrister was trying to keep the questioning on track.

  'He did, Mr Hampson. He came to my shop the following week.'

  'And he kept coming back.'

  'Yes, he did.'

  'And eventually, you both formed a relationship.'

  'We began to see each other regularly.'

  The judge held up his hand. 'Let me understand this correctly, Miss Clarke. Mr Russell came to your shop?'

  'My father's shop. We lived above it.'

  The judge smiled. 'But Miss Clarke, how did he know where it was if you didn't allow him to take you home?'

  'He must have heard me tell the taxi driver the address.'

  The judge's lips formed an upside down 'U'. 'Resourceful chaps, these soldiers when they are chasing a lady.'

  Once again, the court erupted in laughter. The judge seemed to bask in the glory of his witticism. Her barrister tried to bring the court back to his line of questioning.


  'You formed a liaison.'

  'We became good friends.'

  'But this friendship ended?’

  'I broke it off. I could see no future in it.'

  'When was this?'

  'In 1914.'

  The judge raised his pen once again. 'This line of questioning raises two questions which I would rather ask the witness now, if it is agreeable to you, Mr Hampson?'

  'As Your Lordship pleases.'

  He turned to Rose standing alone in the witness stand. 'Miss Clarke, when you broke off your…' he searched for the right word, '…relationship with Mr Russell, did you know he was the heir to Lord Lappiter? That he would, in fact, become the next Lord Lappiter on the death of his father?'

  'I did My Lord. It was one of the reasons I broke it off.'

  'There were others?'

  'Yes, My Lord. I felt we didn't have a future, we were two different people from different backgrounds.'

  The judge wrote a note in his book. 'And now for my second question; when exactly did this break in your relationship occur?'

  'On the 23rd July, 1914, Your Honour.'

  'Let me understand this correctly, Miss Clarke, you discontinued a relationship with a serving officer in His Majesty's army in the week before war was declared?'

  A murmur ran around the court.

  'But the war had nothing to do with it, Your Honour. Our relationship ended for other reasons, nothing to do with the war. We were two different people from different backgrounds. I couldn't see a future for us.'

  The judge wrote in his book and, without looking up said, 'You may continue, Mr Hampson.'

  'Thank you, My Lord. Rose, at the start of the war you volunteered to nurse our wounded?'

  'I became a VAD, if that's what you mean?'

  'And served in England and in France in that capacity.'

  'I did, Mr Hampson.'

  'And how did you meet Mr Russell again?'

  'It was the autumn of 1915, I was working in a hospital in Boulogne. He was one of the wounded at the Battle of Loos.'

  'And you nursed him back to health?'

  'I helped to nurse him, there were others…'

  Her barrister interrupted her. 'Your relationship was re-ignited?'

  'We became good friends again.'

  'Did you become lovers?' the judge asked bluntly.

  'No, My Lord, we did not at that time. We did not become lovers until our wedding night on April 25th, 1916.'

  'Let's get to that now, if we may, Rose. David Russell asked you to marry him and you agreed.'

  'He did. I was working in a hospital in Manchester. We decided to get married in Gretna Green as it was closer to his camp and it could be done more quickly.'

  'Tell the court what happened.'

  For a moment, tears formed in Rose's eye as she remembered that wonderful day in 1916. She saw the judge staring at her with his beaked nose and waiting pen. She wasn't going to let them see her cry. These bastards were not going to see her in tears. She breathed in and stood erect. 'We both travelled up to Gretna separately. David had gone to see his parents in Derbyshire to tell them.'

  'That's a lie,' shouted Toby Russell. Immediately, a buzz surged around the gallery. A few watchers stood up to get a better look at the man who had interrupted the witness.

  The judge hammered his gavel onto his desk. 'Mr Russell, you will please keep your interruptions to a minimum. You will be allowed to give evidence later.'

  The noise in the courtroom gradually subsided.

  'So, Rose, you arrived in Gretna Green first?'

  'David arrived later with his brother…'

  'Another lie. The woman is a patent liar…' shouted Toby from his seat. His mother instantly patted his shoulder to calm him.

  The judge banged his gavel down hard. 'If you make another interruption in my courtroom, Lord Lappiter, you will be escorted from here and charged with contempt. Do I make myself clear?'

  Toby Russell just nodded and leant into his mother.

  'Please continue, Mr Hampson.'

  'Where were you married?'

  'That evening in the blacksmith's shop.'

  'By a registered preacher?'

  'Yes, by the preacher Duncan Gillespie.'

  He twisted his body towards the judge. ’Unfortunately Mr Gillespie is dead My Lord, and can't give testimony here today.'

  'Not many dead men can, Mr Hampson.'

  'No, My Lord. Quite correct, My Lord.’ He turned back to Rose. ‘But there is no record of your wedding, either in the blacksmith's shop or the Central Registry in Edinburgh. How do you explain that?'

  'I can't, Mr Hampson. Perhaps the record was mislaid.'

  'The record was mislaid…' The judge spoke out loud as he wrote the note in his book.

  Mr Hampson carried on regardless. 'And what happened to your copy of the marriage certificate? The one given to you by the preacher?'

  'David took it. He needed the records to show the army so his salary would be given to me when he was at the front.'

  'Does the army have these records, Mr Hampson? It would save us an awful lot of time and expense if they produced them.'

  'I'm sorry, My Lord, the army has been unable to produce any records for Captain Russell's regiment. Apparently, they have been lost.'

  'More mislaid records.' The judge shook his head. 'Please continue, Mr Hampson.'

  'So, Rose, you gave birth to Mr Russell's child nine months after the wedding.'

  For the first time, the opposing council rose lazily to his feet. He looked like a cadaver who had just been woken from a long death. 'I object, My Lord. There is no evidence of marriage, and without such evidence, the child cannot be that of David Russell, the then Lord Lappiter.'

  'I agree, Mr Anderson. This court will decide if a marriage took place. You will call the boy by his mother's name until we have made our judgement.'

  Rose’s interrupted the interchange. ’But My Lord, the child has been registered as David Russell not David Clarke.’

  'I have made my judgement, Mr Hampson, please proceed.'

  'As Your Lordship pleases.' He turned back to his client. 'Rose, just a few more questions. You have brought this prosecution with no expectation of monetary gain?'

  'None at all. I want to see my marriage to David recognised and my son accepted as his rightful heir. Nothing else. It's for David's memory I do this, no other reason. It's what he would have wanted.'

  'Thank you, Rose. That is the end of the questions I have for this witness, My Lord.'

  'Good, well timed, Mr Hampson. We will now retire for luncheon. The court will resume at two o'clock in the afternoon.'

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  Sale, Manchester. April 2, 2016.

  Mark stopped reading. 'That's the end of this newspaper report.'

  'Must have had a deadline. Nothing else in there?' asked Jayne.

  Mark searched through the case. 'Nothing. Just some old suffragette pamphlets.'

  The old man snorted. ’Stupid woman, taking them on. What did she hope to gain? The toffs will always stick together, always.’

  Jayne felt her fists clenching and unclenching. 'Your grandmother was not a 'stupid woman', Mr Russell. She was principled and brave and honest.'

  'And she was mad. Ended up spending the rest of her life in an asylum, she did. My dad never got over the shame. Used to tell people she was dead. Well, she was to him.'

  Jayne felt like squeezing his scrawny neck until it could croak no more. Instead, she spoke through gritted teeth. 'I don't say this often to clients, or even ex-clients. But you are a stupid, stupid man who doesn't deserve such a grandmother.'

  The old man shrank back, shocked by the vehemence of her attack.

  Mark spoke quickly. 'What happened in the trial?'

  Jayne stopped clenching and unclenching her fists. Men like him were not worth the trouble of a skinned knuckle.

  'Is there anything online?’

  Jayne stopped staring at the old man. What a
sad, bitter life he had led. ‘If you have a laptop, I’ll check,' she eventually said.

  Mark went into the back room and returned with an old IBM ThinkPad. It would have to do. Jayne googled the year and Rose's name. 'Well, no trial transcript is available. We'll probably have to go to the National Archives in Kew and search there, but, hello, there's something in the British Newspaper Archive. An article from the Daily Sketch.'

  'Let's hope it's better than the Daily Mail.'

  'Nothing could be worse than the Daily Mail.'

  Mark's father looked at her out of the corner of his eye. He was about to say something, but instead kept silent.

  A newspaper page popped up on the screen with one long article in five densely packed columns. Jayne began reading the headline.

  CLAIM AGAINST LORD LAPPITER.

  WOMAN'S ACCUSATIONS.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  The Court of Chancery, London. May 11, 1923.

  'All rise.' The clerk called in a clear voice as the judge strolled in after his luncheon. He sat down behind his large imposing desk, elevated above the court. Rose remained standing in the dock as everybody else sat down.

  Over a cup of tea during the break, her barrister told her it had gone well that morning, she had come across as a believable witness. All she had to do was answer the questions this afternoon as directly as she could, without arguing with the judge.

  She looked across at the judge with his beaked nose and eyebrows like an overgrown hedge. He had obviously dined well; a red flush suffused his jowls.

  'Let us begin, Mr Anderson. I would like to complete the testimony of this witness before the end of the day.'

  The barrister for the Russell family was tall and ascetic, the white hair of the wig ageing him prematurely. The cheeks were hollow, with the yellow skin stretched tightly across the skull. The overall impression was that a living corpse had risen to speak. 'It should be no problem, My Lord,' he enunciated slowly.

  'Good, I knew I could rely on you, Mr Anderson. Please proceed.'

  'As you please, My Lord.' The barrister scrutinised a sheet of paper in front of him, then turned his body to face Rose. 'Good afternoon, Miss Clarke. Just a few details for the court, Miss Clarke, if you please.'