The Lost Ancestor

by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

  Another gasp from Melissa.

  ‘I think she was selected to work as a third housemaid at Blackfriars purely on the basis of her appearance—she bore a resemblance to Cecil Mansfield—certainly from the records I’ve uncovered, she was no good at her job.’

  ‘Then what happened?’ Melissa asked impatiently.

  ‘Whether she was allowed to leave freely, or whether she escaped, I’m not sure, but in December 1911 Mary set sail from Bristol to Canada, where she remained for most of her adult life. She worked as a teacher and—’

  ‘Hang on,’ Ray interjected. ‘I searched every inch of passenger records for that period—there was no Mary Mercer.’

  ‘She travelled under a false name—the name of a school friend, who had died of influenza in 1902. The school records are all in that file and they show that the two girls were close friends. Mary lived under the name of Martha Stone until her death.’

  ‘How sad,’ Melissa said.

  Morton nodded in agreement. ‘But, she does appear to have had a good life. She became a teacher and I’ve been in touch with a couple of people who were taught by her. They said she was one of the kindest, most gentle people they’d ever met. She also had a mischievous sense of humour—there are a couple of anecdotes in the file. They also sent me this,’ Morton said, revealing a sheet of paper with a class photo printed on it. The picture was of a group of children formally facing the camera with a sign saying ‘Velmont Juniors 1958’. Standing alongside them, with a mop of wild red hair, was their teacher, Martha Stone. ‘That’s Mary.’

  ‘I feel like I know her from somewhere,’ Ray said.

  ‘It’s the family resemblance,’ Melissa said. ‘You can see it’s definitely her.’

  ‘I’ve analysed the photo against the one you have of her as a child—you’ll see the report in there,’ he said, pointing at the folder, which was still open on George Mansfield’s birth certificate. ‘It’s definitely her. It’s Mary.’

  Melissa interrupted a few seconds of silence. ‘So, do I take it that she’s buried here, Morton?’

  ‘Yes, but don’t get your hopes up. It’s a common grave. She was buried here under her assumed name but there’s no headstone for her.’

  ‘We’ll soon change that,’ Ray mumbled.

  ‘Before I show you the grave,’ Morton said, ‘there’s one more thing. Turn the page in that folder.’

  Ray did as instructed. ‘Another birth certificate?’

  Melissa got it faster than her father. ‘Oh. My. God.’

  ‘Twins,’ Ray breathed quietly.

  ‘Five past ten a.m., 1st November 1911, Rebecca Victoria Ransom, born to Caroline Ransom and William Ransom—deceased.’

  ‘But this makes no sense!’ Ray blurted. ‘The birth’s registered in Bristol! The other was registered in Rye!’

  ‘They’re both fabricated—Caroline took one baby and the Mansfield’s took the other,’ Morton said.

  ‘So that side of the family knew all along,’ Ray muttered incredulously. ‘I knew it.’

  ‘According to Douglas's wife, Susan, he only discovered it by accident a few years ago and vowed that nobody else in the family would ever find out. I think he was ashamed of his grandmother’s actions, actually and that was what motivated him to keep it quiet. Just after his mother, Rebecca, died in 1993 he found a letter written to her from Caroline confessing everything. Well, almost everything. She didn’t mention the huge detail of Rebecca having a twin brother.’

  ‘Did Mary allow all of this to happen?’ Melissa asked, incensed.

  Morton shrugged. ‘That I can’t be sure of. My gut instinct is no. I think it’s no coincidence that Mary leaves Bristol—the home town of her elder sister—under a false name: she didn’t want to be found. And that’s the way it remained until 1925 when your grandmother went out and found her. We can only guess at what happened out there in 1925, but that was the year your grandmother divorced Joshua Leyden and the following year Mary moves away.’

  ‘This is far beyond what I was expecting, Morton,’ Ray exclaimed. ‘My goodness. The poor girl.’

  The car fell into silence, as Morton allowed his two passengers to absorb the information he had just shared. He hoped it wasn’t too much for Ray to take in, considering his frail health.

  Ray exhaled loudly. ‘Come on, let’s go and see her grave.’ He turned to Melissa. ‘If I can’t get a headstone sorted out, promise me you will.’

  ‘Of course, Dad.’

  ‘It’s over the other side of the cemetery, so I’ll drive us closer,’ Morton said, starting the engine. ‘I asked the office to put a marker on it, so hopefully we can find it.’

  Morton slowly wove his way through the cemetery until he reached the right place. He pulled the car over into a parking bay. ‘Grave division E, section R, Row B, number eighty-seven. I think that’s it, over there,’ Morton said, indicating a section of grass close to the boundary wall of the cemetery. He killed the engine and hurried around to open the door for Ray.

  ‘I’ve got my cane—I’ll be fine,’ Ray muttered, as he climbed out of the car. He stood still and gazed at the great expanse of grass around them, only sporadically dotted with headstones. ‘Is this all unmarked graves around here, then?’ he asked.

  Morton nodded. ‘People too poor to be remembered.’

  Ray shook his head. ‘Was she that poor, then?’

  ‘The local authority paid for her funeral as they had no idea who she was apart from her name. All her worldly goods were left behind in Canada.’

  Ray looked at Morton with a mixture of understanding and incomprehension.

  Melissa, holding the flowers in one hand, linked her free arm with her father’s and followed Morton to a spot close to the low wall.

  ‘Here it is,’ Morton said, solemnly pointing to a wooden stick, on which had been written ‘M. Stone. B87.’

  Ray stood with his head bowed for a moment as he stared at the grave.

  Melissa handed him the bunch of roses. ‘Do you want to put these down, Dad?’ she whispered.

  Ray took the flowers and set them down in front of the grave marker. In a tearful, quivering voice, he said, ‘I’ve found you at last, Aunt Mary.’

  Morton smiled and mouthed to Melissa that he would wait in the car. He walked back and sat in the driver’s seat, watching the pitiful old man hunched over the grave, his daughter’s hand gently stroking his back. Ray said something to Melissa, then she too walked over to the car.

  ‘He wants a few moments by himself,’ she said, as she sat in the Mini beside Morton. ‘You really don’t know how much this means to him, you know,’ Melissa said. ‘All my life I’ve heard of this mysterious woman and now it’s solved, thanks to you. You’ve made a dying man very happy.’

  ‘It was a pleasure,’ he answered.

  ‘So when did Mary die, then?’

  Morton paused before opening up the folder to the last page: her death certificate. ‘Day of Edith’s funeral,’ he said quietly, knowing the reaction it would cause.

  ‘What?’ Melissa said. She looked down at the certificate. ‘Oh my God.’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  25th December 1925

  Mary Mercer—living under her pseudonym of Martha Stone—sat by the warm, open fire in the small front room of her cottage in Halifax, Nova Scotia. She was repairing the hem on her skirt, which she had snagged earlier on in the day whilst cutting some flowers from her white rose beds. As she ran the fine cotton through her dress, in an uneven running stitch, she thought of her previous life as Mary. When she had first escaped to Canada in 1911, she had put so much effort into detaching herself from her past that Mary now felt like an entirely separate being—like a long-forgotten acquaintance. She had become so disconnected from her that she seldom thought of her old life in England. Strangely, thoughts of her previous existence seemed only to surface when she performed perfunctory tasks, like sewing, that had dominated her time at Blackfriars. At first, she had disallowed her mind to
wander back and would force herself to change the direction of her thoughts. Gradually, as her life in Canada developed to include friends that knew nothing of her former life, she would occasionally allow herself the indulgence of a brief recollection of happier moments. Over time, the choking blackness that had once dominated began to fade and she found herself able to cherry-pick from a handful of happy past memories.

  Mary finished her sewing and placed it on the floor by her feet. A blast of cold air tumbled down the chimney and she pulled her cardigan tight. She stood up to draw the curtains. She tugged the first curtain across and was just about to reach across to the second when she thought she saw something unusual in the street outside. She stopped and pressed her face up to the window.

  Mary shuddered and felt her body go limp as the blood drained from her face.

  A shadowed figure stood pitifully in the blustery snow outside her door.

  It couldn’t be…

  The silhouette looked familiar. Like it belonged to Edie.

  But that couldn’t be…

  She stared hard, trying to discern the facial features.

  It was her…without any doubt, it was her…

  She had been found. The day that she had feared and yet knew was inevitable, had arrived.

  She stared at the motionless figure, snow settling on her body as if she were a statue.

  Mary began to shake as the past came thundering back into her head, like an unstoppable locomotive.

  Trembling all over, Mary went to the front door and pulled it open. She saw with certainty that it was indeed her twin sister standing before her.

  The past—with all the darkness that encompassed it—had come to the present.

  ‘Edith,’ Mary said simply.

  Edith suddenly lunged from the shadows and threw her arms around her sister, as tears flowed from her eyes. ‘Oh, Mary! It is you! It’s been so long. I’ve missed you so much.’

  Mary. It was the first time that anybody had called her that in a long time. She tried to smile, she tried to reciprocate the embrace, but the deliberate fence that she had spent fourteen years building, refused to yield to the past.

  Edith released her grip and Mary looked her up and down. The time that had elapsed since their last meeting had changed her appearance little. The subtle make-up that she wore gave her a beauty that Mary hadn’t previously noticed.

  Similar thoughts must have passed through Edith’s mind. ‘Look at you, you’ve not changed much. Still got that wild red hair!’

  ‘How did you find me here?’ Mary asked quietly.

  Edith smiled. ‘It’s a very long story. I’ve got so much to tell you and talk about!’

  Mary nodded. ‘Come and sit down,’ she said, leading Edith into the front room.

  ‘This is nice,’ Edith said, casting her eye around the room, which comprised two patterned armchairs, a coffee table, grandfather clock and a writing bureau. The only picture on the wall was a painting of the Rye workhouse—a reminder of the life waiting for her if ever she returned home. A simply decorated Christmas tree close to the window completed the room.

  ‘Thank you,’ Mary said, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Tea would be lovely. They served some dreadful version of tea on the ship.’

  Mary tried to smile. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

  Edith smiled and sat in one of the armchairs, fretting over her sister’s reaction to her arrival. Mary was hardly excited to see her. It’s understandable, she told herself. I arrived here with no warning—of course she’s going to be surprised and a little taken aback. Edith knew that she needed to back off a little and give Mary time.

  Mary returned carrying a tray with a pot of tea, two cups and saucers and a plate of sandwiches. ‘They’re turkey with cranberries from Maine—not sure if you’re hungry.’

  Edith smiled and picked up a sandwich. ‘Only a bit peckish. They put on a full Christmas dinner on the ship. Magnificent thing—the RMS Celtic II, it was called. You wouldn’t believe the size of it, Mary.’

  Mary sat down in the armchair beside Edith, perching on the edge of her seat as she poured the tea. Edith watched her sister’s shaky hands and wondered at her nervousness. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked.

  Mary tried to smile again. ‘Yes,’ she answered feebly.

  An awkward silence sat like a heavy cloud between the sisters. Mary knew that she was standing at a deep chasm with her past thundering towards her like a pack of unstoppable wild beasts. If she was going to have a future, she needed to turn and face the past. Only then could she make the leap to her future. ‘So, how did you find me?’

  Edith took a sip of tea, then exhaled slowly before beginning. ‘After a lot of searching. Years of private detectives found nothing. Then the answer came suddenly from Joshua. He—’

  ‘Joshua?’ Mary interjected.

  ‘Sorry—my husband—Joshua Leyden, the doctor—’

  ‘You married him?’ Mary blurted. ‘But he…’ She couldn’t finish her sentence as hot tears welled in her eyes and her throat closed to the words she needed to say. That man…

  ‘I know what he did now, Mary,’ Edith said, placing a hand on her sister’s leg. ‘But I didn’t know it when we married. I thought he was a decent man when we got together; I loved him and I thought he loved me. We had several years of happiness but his drinking just got worse and worse and then one night he just announced that Cecil and Philadelphia Mansfield were raising a child that you had given birth to. I couldn’t believe it, Mary—I really couldn’t. He wouldn’t tell me any more that night and I knew he’d only reveal things if he was drunk.’ Edith stopped and took a sip of tea. ‘So, the next night I plied him with a bottle of whisky and then he opened up with the vile truth about what had happened—that you’d given birth to twins. Is it really true, Mary? That Caroline took the other one? Is Rebecca really not hers?’

  Mary couldn’t take it any longer and she burst into tears. Years of holding in the horrible truth came flooding out, as if an emotional dam had just ruptured inside her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mary—this must be so painful,’ she said, leaning over and placing her arm around her sister. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  Mary started to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. She needed to ask all the questions that had tried to bubble to the surface over the years, but that she had quickly stifled. She took a deep breath. Now that Edie was here, she had to do this. ‘Yes it's true. My children were taken from me...’

  ‘Oh, Mary. Why ever didn't you tell me?’

  ‘I just couldn't. Does she know you’re here? Caroline, I mean.’

  Edith shook her head. ‘Nobody does. I left Charles with Mum and Dad and told them I was going on holiday.’

  Mary wiped her eyes. ‘Who’s Charles?’

  Edith smiled. ‘He’s my son—your nephew. That’s how I know you can come back to your old life, Mary. You don’t need to hide away as Martha any longer – eventually nobody minded about me having Charles.’

  Mary was confused. ‘But why would they—you’re married—to a doctor at that.’

  ‘I wasn’t at the time,’ Edith said. ‘And he’s not Joshua’s boy, either.’

  Mary met her sister’s gaze, her eyes imploring her to continue.

  Edith’s head slumped down. ‘He was the result of one mistaken evening. It was a desperate time. You’d been missing for several months. I’d been out looking for you and came back to Winchelsea upset at yet another failed search. That was when I bumped into Walter and he took me for a drink. One thing led to another…’

  Mary withdrew her hand from Edith’s in shock, praying that she had misheard. ‘Walter?’

  Edith nodded. ‘Walter Risler.’

  Another rush of emotion surged out of Mary in a painful wail. ‘No, Edie, no!’

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ Edie said, trying to calm her sister.

  ‘He…he…he was the one who kept me in the folly,’ she cried.
>
  Edith pulled Mary in tightly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I didn’t know. He was so nice to me…’

  The pain of discovering her twin’s inadvertent complicity in the dark days of her pregnancy clouded and fogged her thoughts. Another sister tangled in the complications of 1911.

  ‘Why did you up and leave, Mary? If you’d just told me we could have kept the twins,’ Edith said quietly. ‘I would have helped you.’

  ‘No, Edie—I couldn’t have kept them—I would have ended up in the workhouse, just like Gran. That’s no place to raise two babies. Caroline said that the boy would have the best life imaginable with them and that I could help her raise Rebecca in Bristol, so that was what I opted for. She said she had discussed it with Mum and Dad.’

  Edie shook her head in anger. ‘That woman! I can assure you they have absolutely no idea that Rebecca isn’t hers. Honestly, I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve seen her and Rebecca since you left…I understand why you would want to run away from her.’

  ‘But that’s just it, Edie, I had no choice. When we got to Bristol Caroline said it would be less scandalous if she said that the baby was hers. It was just about feasible with William’s death in January. I agreed just so I would at least get to see my daughter every day, but then she made life so unbearable for me and pretty well stopped me from seeing Rebecca.’

  ‘Why didn’t you just take Rebecca and run? Back home…or somewhere to make a fresh start?’ Edie asked, softly stroking Mary’s back.

  ‘I thought about—I really did…and I wish now that I had but I was scared stiff, Edie—terrified of ending up in the workhouse. Caroline was an awful person, but she was a good mother to Rebecca. In the end, I thought that Caroline could offer her a better life than me, so I decided to run away.’

  Edie’s eyes met Mary’s. ‘Rebecca looks the spitting image of you. So does George—your son.’

  Mary shuddered inside. Her children were suddenly coming to life and becoming real people. The boy had a name. George. She hadn’t allowed herself to dwell on them as children turning into young adults. And now she knew that they looked like her. ‘Are they well and happy?’