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

by M J Lee

  'Of course, Mr Anderson.' She rubbed her hands against her skirt again. She hoped he wouldn't see. The court was hot and dark, lit only by a weak bulb and a few table lamps.

  The judge sat above her to her left. On her right, the viewing seats were packed with reporters eager to tell their readers all the juicy details. In front of her, Mr Anderson held on to his gown with his left hand as if it were about to fall off.

  'You are Miss Rose Clarke, of Curtain Road, Shoreditch?'

  'It's where I was born, but I now live with my aunt and my son at Queen's Road in Worthing.'

  'Miss Clarke, I know a lady doesn't like to give her age but you were born in 1892, is that correct?' The question drew titters from the assembled male members of the press.

  'That is correct. 23 July, 1892.'

  'Miss Clarke, your father was an immigrant to this country, was he not?'

  Why does he keep calling me Miss Clarke? Rose thought. 'I don't see what my father has to do with this case.'

  Once again, the judge peered over the top of his spectacles. 'That is for me to decide, Miss Clarke. Just answer the question.'

  'But…'

  'Just answer the question, Miss Clarke.'

  Why did they both keep calling her Miss Clarke? She was Mrs Russell. She breathed in again and asked, 'What was the question?'

  The barrister sighed, a dramatic sigh as if to say who was this idiot he was dealing with. The press lapped up the theatrics, scribbling furiously in their notepads. 'Your father, Miss Clarke, was an immigrant to this country, was he not?'

  'He was. He came here in 1886 with my mother to make a better life. He worked hard and set up his own haberdashery in 1890, just before I was born.'

  'Yes, yes…' The barrister waved his hand dismissively. 'But where did he come from?'

  'I don't see what this has to do with…'

  'Where did he come from, Miss Clarke?'

  'He came from Germany.'

  A sharp intake of breath from the journalists. The judge made a note in his case book.

  'And was his original name, Schreiber?'

  'It was. Just as the royal family's original name was Hohenzollern until they changed it to Windsor in 1917.'

  'May I remind you, Miss Clarke, the royal family is not on trial here.'

  'And may I remind you, Mr Anderson, neither am I.'

  The press scribbled furiously. The judge just stared at her. Inwardly, Rose felt better. She enjoyed knocking the wind out of the barrister's sails.

  Mr Anderson checked his notes and picked up a piece of paper. 'I believe you have been to prison, Miss Clarke.'

  Her barrister finally rose to his feet. 'I object, m'lud, Miss Clarke's prison record has no relevance to whether or not she was married to Mr Russell.'

  'My Lord, it has every relevance to her character which, I am trying to establish, is not one to be trusted by this court.'

  'I will allow this line of questioning, Mr Hampson. Your client has placed herself in the dock. She will answer Mr Anderson's questions.'

  Her barrister simply nodded his head and sat down again.

  'Miss Clarke…'

  Why did they keep calling her Miss?

  '…Is it true you were arrested twice by the police?'

  'Who else would I be arrested by?'

  The barrister looked at the judge.

  Once again he peered over his spectacles. 'Please answer Mr Anderson's questions, Miss Clarke. He asks them, not you, is that clear?'

  Rose coughed.

  The judge repeated, 'Is that clear?'

  'Yes, Your Honour. I was arrested twice. By the police,' she added.

  'And what were you charged with on the first occasion?'

  'I was charged with malicious damage, because…'

  'And on the second occasion?'

  'I was a suffragette, a member of the WSPA…'

  The judge slammed his hand down on the table. 'I will not tell you again, Miss Clarke. Answer Mr Anderson's questions and only his questions.'

  'But, My Lord…'

  'But me no buts, Miss Clarke. Answer the question.'

  A buzz travelled around the courtroom as the journalists all began speaking at once. For the first time, Rose saw David's mother smile before the mask returned to her face.

  'And the second occasion, Miss Clarke?' the barrister repeated.

  'On the second occasion I was arrested for obstruction.'

  'When was this?'

  '1914.'

  'And where was this?'

  Rose's hands reached forward and grabbed the rail of the Witness stand. 'Outside Buckingham Palace.'

  'Our nation was about to go to war and you were demonstrating outside the home of the King?'

  The barrister was playing to the gallery, Rose could see it clearly. 'Demonstrations against unjust laws have always been allowed in Britain, even if the demonstration occurs on Buckingham Palace Road.'

  The barrister glanced across at the judge and raised his eyebrow before continuing with his questioning. 'And did you not remain in jail until you were released by the Grace of His Majesty on August 10, 1914, after the outbreak of war?'

  Rose nodded.

  'I didn't hear your answer, Miss Clarke.'

  She held her head up. 'Yes, I did.'

  'Now, let us come to your supposed relationship with Mr Russell.'

  'My husband…'

  'That is for the court, and his Lordship, to decide, Miss Clarke.' The barrister nodded in the direction of the judge who smiled in return. The secret little glances between the two annoyed Rose even more.

  'Now, you say you met Mr Russell in 1913. Where exactly did you meet him?'

  'I don't remember the exact name of the street.'

  'You don't? Why is that?'

  'We had been demonstrating against the Cat and Mouse Act.'

  'By we, I presume you mean the other members of the Women's Social and Political Union, rather than Mr Russell?' The members of the press thought this was extremely witty.

  'Yes, the women of the WSPU who were fighting for votes for women.'

  'And you were one of them.'

  'I was.'

  'And where was Mr Russell?'

  'I don't know where exactly, but I had been arrested by a policeman and pushed against a wall. David came to my rescue…'

  'Your rescue? Why would you need rescuing from the police, Miss Clarke?'

  Rose realised she was being led into a trap but she couldn't see any way out without telling the truth. 'The policeman assaulted me, David stopped him.'

  'A policeman assaulted you, did he? And how did Mr Russell stop him exactly?'

  Rose took a deep breath. 'He pushed him to the ground.'

  Mr Anderson's mouth opened wide and he was once again looking around the court theatrically. 'Are you asking us to believe the son of a peer of the realm assaulted a policeman to rescue a damsel in distress?' The gallery laughed.

  'That's what happened.'

  'And so Mr Russell has assaulted a policeman to save you, Miss Clarke. What happened next?'

  'We jumped on a tram to get away and headed to Clapham.'

  'An escape by electric tram. It does make a change from a knight in shining armour mounted on his steed.' The gallery and the journalists laughed again.

  Rose felt her face becoming redder and redder.

  'Isn't it more likely, Miss Clarke, that Mr Russell met you on a tram, engaged you in conversation and you gave him your address asking him to come around at the weekend? He was a gentleman and, coming from a lower social class, you looked forward to making his acquaintance. Or something more.'

  'That's not true, I resisted David. I didn't even want to see him again.'

  'You see, Miss Clarke, we do not deny you knew Mr Russell. We don't even deny you may have had a “relationship” with him.' Here he held his fingers up and made quotation marks. The gallery understood the sexual reference immediately. Mr Anderson carried on in a quieter voice once the laughter had died dow
n. 'We simply deny you were ever married to Mr Russell. Miss Clarke, I put it that you are nothing but a gold digger who is using her friendship with a man who died in the service of his country to profit from that death.'

  'That's not true. I loved David and he loved me. We were married in Gretna Green!’ Rose shouted from the witness box. Why didn't he believe her? Why did nobody believe her?

  Muttering ran around the court which was silenced by the banging of the judge's gavel. 'Pray continue, Mr Anderson.'

  'Certainly, My Lord. Let us concern ourselves with your so-called marriage, now, shall we?' He smiled at her, tobacco-stained teeth as large as tombstones. 'Of course, we sent someone to Gretna and the hotel where you stayed. Nobody remembers you.'

  'I was there. I was there.'

  'You were there, Miss Clarke. We saw the register. You checked in under your maiden name…'

  'I checked in first, David followed with his brother later.'

  Mr Anderson ignored the outburst, carrying on as if nothing had happened. 'Captain Russell did check in later with a woman whom he called his wife. But as we all know, these things happen during wartime.' He shrugged his shoulders as if to say boys will be boys.

  'But Toby was there, he was the witness to our marriage.'

  'May it please the court, the present Lord Lappiter will testify later he was at home in Derbyshire during the period mentioned. His presence at the family home has been confirmed under oath by his mother, the Dowager Lady Lappiter.'

  'He's lying. They are both lying. He was there!' Rose screamed at the top of her voice, collapsing across the front of the dock.

  The judge took off his glasses. 'Mr Hampson, you will please control your client. Such outbursts will not be tolerated in my court.'

  'Of course, My Lord.'

  Rose straightened her back and wiped her tears. She wouldn't let these men beat her down, not now, not today, not ever.

  'Are you ready to carry on Miss Clarke?' Mr Anderson asked in a voice dripping in fake sincerity.

  Rose just nodded in reply.

  'Finally, we come to the letters. We do not doubt Captain Russell was enamoured of you Miss Clarke, one might almost say he was infatuated…'

  'We loved each other.'

  Mr Anderson ignored her response. 'He may also have accepted your child as his baby, but in the absence of prima facie evidence of a marriage, your son can only be termed a bastard, if he were Captain Russell's son, and as such has no claim to the estate or the title.'

  'He is not a bastard. He was born after our wedding on April 25th, 1916,' Rose said.

  'Unfortunately, Miss Clarke, there is no proof. And I'm certain His Lordship will agree with me when I say, without proof your claim is unfounded. I will go on to state that it is malicious and spiteful, traducing the honour of Lord Lappiter and his mother.'

  With those final words, he sat down.

  Rose was left gripping the rail of the dock. A court official came forward and tapped her on the shoulder. 'You've finished giving evidence, Miss.'

  But Rose found her hands continued to grip the rail, she couldn't leave, she had to say something. 'I just want to say…'

  'Mr Anderson has finished with you, Miss Clarke…' the judge spoke from his chair.

  'But…'

  'And as it’s the afternoon, we will retire for the day. Tomorrow, we will begin at 9.30… if that is necessary,' he added, staring at Rose's barrister.

  He stood up and left the court.

  Rose was left gripping the rail of the dock as if she no longer existed.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Sale, Manchester. April 2, 2016.

  Mark finished reading the detailed description of the trial in the article. ’He destroyed her. That bastard destroyed my great grandmother.' He shook his head.

  'She deserved it. You can't take them on and win. She should have just got on with life, found another feller and settled down. Lots of other women did.'

  Jayne began to detest the little man with the ridiculous quiff sitting in front of her, smoking another cigarette. 'Your grandmother was a brave woman, Mr Russell. You should be proud of her.'

  'Proud? I'm ashamed. My dad spent his whole life with a mother locked away in an asylum. He was always worried that one day he would end up like her, living his life in a fantasy. He hated her with all his heart. He just wanted to be normal, have a mother who stayed at home and made him lunch and washed his clothes, just like all the other kids. The title, the money, he didn't care at all. I don't care at all.' He turned to his son. 'Please Mark, for my sake, give it all up. I don't want you to end up like her.'

  'I will, Dad, I promise. Let me ask Mrs Sinclair one more question and I promise I'll stop. No more, okay?'

  'Just give it up, Mark, there's no point. She had her day in court and she was told she was a liar. What more do you want to know?'

  'I want to know what happened to her after the trial. Mrs Sinclair, did you find out why she was put into the asylum?'

  Jayne pulled out a photocopy of the Derbyshire register for 23rd September, 1923, she had found in Bakewell library. 'This is from a local newspaper. It's dated four months after the end of the trial.'

  Mark took the paper and read the headline:

  WOMAN ARRESTED OUTSIDE PEER'S HOME.

  Chapter Sixty-Six

  Holton Hall, Derbyshire. September 21, 1923.

  Rose stood outside the wrought iron gates of Holton Hall. The rain continued to drift down in a soft drizzle, soaking her head. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. David was holding her hand tightly. She could feel a slight trembling in the tiny fingers.

  'It's wet, Mummy. What are we doing here?'

  After thinking about it for the last week, Rose had finally taken the train to Manchester and another to Bakewell. They had walked the two miles from the station in the rain. David hadn't cried once, hadn't said a thing until they had arrived outside the gate.

  'It's a beautiful house, Mummy. Are we going to live here?'

  'You are going to live here, David. It's where your father grew up.'

  It was the right decision. After the court case, Rose had nothing. No reputation. No money. No future. David needed more than she could give him. He needed a home and warmth and a roof over his head. She had none of those, not any more. A row with her aunt had seen to that.

  'You should never have gone to court,' her aunt had shouted at her one evening.

  'It was my only chance to prove them wrong.'

  'Your solicitor and your barrister told you not to go. How stupid, how stubborn can you be? Didn't you think of the boy?'

  She always thought of the boy. He looked exactly like his father. The same open smile. The same gentle temper. The same love of activity, pouring his heart into everything he did. She loved the way his tongue peeped out between his lips when he concentrated, just like his father.

  He was his father's son.

  Light shone from every room in the house and the sounds of jazz drifted across the lawns and down the driveway. There seemed to be some sort of party going on. She took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  'Can I ring next time, Mother?' David asked.

  Nobody answered the ring. Nobody came down the driveway. 'Why don't you ring it now?'

  David reached up on tip toes and pressed the button. Again, they heard no sound.

  On the long journey, Rose had thought about what she was going to say. They had to accept him, he was Toby’s brother's son. She would explain she wanted nothing, just to see him looked after and well educated. If they accepted him, she would vanish forever, never seeing or troubling them again.

  But what if they said no? Of course, she had considered the possibility. The weight in her bag was the answer if it happened. She wasn't leaving here until they accepted him as one of them, as David's son.

  There was still nobody coming out from the house.

  'Maybe it's not working,' said David, as if reading her thoughts.

  'Ring it agai
n.'

  David reached up and pressed the button. As he did so, a voice from the door of the house shouted, 'Coming, coming, hold your horses.'

  Rose could hear the sound of feet on gravel coming down the drive, accompanied by muttering. 'People coming here on a night like this.'

  A man appeared wearing a black morning coat and carrying an even blacker umbrella. 'What do you want? The tradesman's entrance is round the back.'

  Rose took a deep breath. 'I want to see Lord Lappiter.'

  'His Lordship is indisposed at the moment.'

  The sounds of laughter and music came from the house.

  'I want to see Toby.'

  The man sighed. 'As I told you, His Lordship is indispose…' He stopped halfway through his sentence, and leant forward. 'You're that woman, aren't you?'

  The rain teemed down now. Rose pushed a wet curl away from her eyes. 'My name is Rose Russell. I am here to see Lord Lappiter.'

  The man in the morning coat stared at David closely. 'He certainly looks like the young master.'

  Rose put her arm across David's shoulder. 'I want to see Lord Lappiter,' she repeated.

  Another loud guffaw erupted from the house. The butler hesitated, looked over his shoulder and looked back at David. 'I will fetch him. Please stay here.'

  The man hurried away, his steps beating a retreat on the sodden gravel.

  'Is my uncle coming?'

  Rose smiled down at her son. 'He's coming, don't worry.'

  They stood outside the gates, listening to the sounds of the party in the house. The rain still swept across the open road, covering the wrought iron with a sheen of water. The gates looked almost silver in the light of the lantern.

  After ten minutes, she heard the sound of footsteps on the wet gravel. Two pairs of footsteps. Silhouetted against the light from the house, the tall figure of Toby advanced towards her, and next to him, the shorter figure of the butler holding an umbrella over his head.

  'I do think you have some cheek coming here on a night like this. Don't you know I have guests?'