The Lost Ancestor (The Forensic Genealogist series Book 2)

by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

  Found Drowned

  This was the verdict of the Coroner’s jury which inquired into the circumstances of the death of Edward Mercer, a footman, 20 years of age. The deceased was a well-known inhabitant of the Icklesham parish, but having latterly worked at Blackfriars House in Winchelsea since 1908. Deceased was only missed a few hours before his body was found floating in the lake at the aforementioned property. It appeared that the deceased had been depressed lately through the continued absence of his cousin, Mary Mercer, but he had never been heard to threaten to commit suicide. Drowning (according to the police surgeon) was the cause of death.

  Morton was transfixed by the short story. Edward, feeling depressed, yet not suicidal, drowned in the Blackfriars lake. Could he be the person that Mary ran to in Scotland the day that she was unceremoniously sacked from Blackfriars? Morton pulled out his phone and took a picture of the screen, recalling his visit to the still waters of the Blackfriars lake. Was it really deep enough to kill a man? he wondered with incredulity. He supposed that any amount of water could drown a man if he couldn’t swim. To ensure that there was no further mention of Edward’s drowning, Morton searched the rest of the newspaper and the adjacent weeks, but found nothing more. He rewound the film, put it back into its yellow box and returned it to the filing cabinet. Collecting his things, Morton went to the small help desk. Unfortunately for Morton, not all the outdated relics had been left at the old repository: behind the desk sat his arch enemy, Miss Deirdre Latimer. Morton had hoped that when The Keep opened, Miss Latimer would have taken the opportunity to retire. When he had eagerly arrived for his very first visit to the new building he was dismayed to see, among the huge display boards dotted around to celebrate the opening, a picture of Miss Latimer standing chatting to the Queen. The worst part for Morton was that both the Queen and Miss Latimer were laughing in the picture, something in her that he had never witnessed in all his time visiting the archives.

  ‘Could I have a username and password for the computers, please?’ Morton said, dispensing with any attempt at pleasantries.

  Miss Latimer reciprocated their mutual dislike and didn’t even bother to open her mouth. She picked up a pre-cut strip of paper and handed it to him with a surly thrust.

  Morton mumbled his inaudible gratitude, then headed to a computer. He typed in the username and password, and then pulled up The Keep search page. In it, he typed Blackfriars, Winchelsea. Just sixteen original documents were open to the public to do with the property, owing to the large collection which remained at the house itself. Morton slowly moved the mouse down the page, reading the synopsis for each document. He passed over land tax documents, sixteenth century manorial records, aerial photographs of the abbey ruins, a collection of charcoal drawings and various land registration documents: nothing piqued his interest. On the final page, he spotted a document that made him sit up. It was for a draft contract of a seven-year lease, rent-free to Joshua David Leyden in 1911. Morton clicked the entry. Was this the same Dr Leyden who had signed Edward Mercer’s death certificate? Didn’t Edith Mercer marry a man called Leyden? It might mean nothing, but since it was the only document in the right time period, it needed checking. Morton clicked ‘Order Now’, grateful that the old systems for document retrieval had been left behind at the old building and a new, digital system had been created. Returning to the main screen, Morton ran a search for the parish registers of Winchelsea and Icklesham, hoping to find the location of Edward’s burial. He ordered two sets of burial registers for Winchelsea January 1813—October 1934 and November 1934—July 2009. He also ordered the Icklesham burial register, December 1874—December 1975.

  A few minutes later, Morton watched on-screen as the status of the documents changed from ‘In transit’ to ‘Available’. He now needed to make his way into the Reference Room, which, much to his consternation, was now being guarded by Miss Latimer. Quiet Brian was also on duty at the desk and Morton desperately hoped that it would be him he would need to deal with.

  Morton signed off the computer terminal and headed to the floor-to-ceiling glass wall which separated the Reading Room from the Reference Room. He pulled his reader’s ticket from his wallet, wafted it vaguely in the general direction of a stout silver pillar which permitted entry, and a glass door glided to one side.

  Morton glanced at the long wooden helpdesk to his left. Miss Latimer was nearest to him, standing in her usual stance with her arms folded, scowling out at the world like a caged animal. At the far end of the desk, talking inaudibly on the phone, was Quiet Brian. Morton decided to avoid potential conflict and waltzed past Miss Latimer as if he had not seen her and waited patiently in front of Quiet Brian. As seconds of waiting turned into minutes, Morton could see in his peripheral vision Miss Latimer looking at him from the corner of her eye. Just as Morton began to feel self-conscious and silly, Quiet Brian finished his conversation and hung up. To Morton’s horror, he turned and darted through the opening behind the desk and out of sight. His cheeks flushing, Morton stood in front of an empty desk, whilst Miss Latimer stood on the opposite side, running her fingers through her hair.

  ‘This is ridiculous,’ Morton muttered to himself. He moved down the desk in front of Miss Latimer, who continued the charade of having not seen him. ‘I’ve got some documents to collect. It doesn’t matter which first.’ As usual, he had lost the battle with Miss Latimer.

  ‘Reader’s ticket,’ she said flatly, holding open her hand. Morton handed over the ticket and watched as she scanned it, placed it down on the counter between them, then went out the back and retrieved the file and an A4 record of the document. Wordlessly, she handed him a bundle of papers contained in a blue wallet, bound with a white ribbon.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, in spite of himself. He hated being nice to her. He headed over to a vacant table, set down his things and began to unwrap the package. Setting aside the protective blue wrapping, Morton carefully withdrew the contents. There were three original documents: all typed in black ink on thick, off-white paper. Years of diligent preservation had failed to stop a smattering of small brown marks creeping into each of the papers. At the top of each sheet was a red stamp for two shillings and sixpence.

  Morton picked up the first paper and carefully read it through. It was written in a standard legal way and set out that a house in Winchelsea, called Wisteria Cottage, be given rent-free to Doctor Joshua David Leyden. At the foot of the document was the signature and address of Lord Rothborne of Blackfriars, dated December 1911.

  Morton moved on to the rest of the bundle. The second document was identical to the first, but for the dates: it provided a further seven-year, rent-free extension to the lease of Wisteria Cottage to Dr Leyden. Morton set it aside, then studied the final deed. It was much shorter and provided a simple termination of the lease of Wisteria Cottage, the property reverting back to Lord Rothborne. Morton took out his camera and took digital photographs of each of the records and briefly pondered their content. They seemed of little value to the Mercer Case, but Morton was curious to know if Dr Leyden’s tenure at Wisteria Cottage coincided with his marriage to Edith Mercer. Running a marriage search online, Morton quickly confirmed that the pair had married in the June quarter of 1920, so Edith would have partially benefited from the benevolence of the Mansfield family.

  Morton gently repackaged the bundle of papers into the protective blue wallet, then wrapped the white ribbon around it. He looked over to the helpdesk. The lovely Miss Latimer was the only person on duty. Great. He momentarily considered leaving the documents in front of her and silently walking out, but he still had research avenues to pursue and wasn’t going to let her get in his way. Morton approached the desk and set the package down in front of Miss Latimer.

  ‘Done?’ she asked flatly.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Morton replied.

  Miss Latimer looked down at the document, raised an eyebrow and proceeded to unravel the ribbon and re-tie it in an almost identical fashion to how Morton had bound
it. Having repackaged it to her satisfaction, Miss Latimer turned and headed out behind the help desk. Morton was left wondering how their relationship had got to this point. He had known her for more than ten years now and in all that time she had never once been nice to him. To the best of his recollection, Morton couldn’t recall anything specific which had founded her acrimony towards him; he had always put her virulence down to her infuriation when the head of the archives, Max Fairbrother, would bend the rules for him. He wished Max had been on duty today.

  Finally, Miss Latimer returned to the desk, seemingly unaware that Morton was still standing where she had left him moments before.

  ‘Could I have my next document, please?’ Morton asked.

  ‘Reader’s ticket,’ she repeated.

  Morton again handed over the ticket and waited patiently for Miss Latimer to return. She handed over the burial register for Winchelsea, which Morton duly took and set about devouring. It would have been very easy for him to dive straight into 1911, but that would have gone against his training. He was a forensic genealogist and needed to be exacting and precise in his searches. Starting at the beginning, in January 1813, Morton studied every aspect of every page, noting down anything and everything of interest. Each time the name Mercer or Blackfriars cropped up, he wrote the information down and took a digital photograph of it. He also had open his three lists of people around Mary Mercer at the time of her disappearance and noted down the burial of some of the domestic servants. When he reached the page detailing all of the burials in 1911, Morton took extra care to ensure that nothing was missed; he even photographed the relevant pages for future reference, but there was definitely no sign of Edward Mercer. Morton continued until October 1934, then exchanged the register for the next one. In it, he found the burial notifications of several Blackfriars employees and members of the Mansfield family, which he diligently scribbled down against the list in his notepad. He found the burials of Lady Rothborne in 1928, Philadelphia Mansfield in 1953 and Cecil Mansfield in 1959. The register ended in July 2009 and Morton then switched his attention to the Icklesham burial register. Having logged the burial of several members of the Mercer family, Morton located Edward.

  Date: 28th May 1911

  Name: Edward Mercer

  Residence: Winchelsea

  Age: 20 years

  As he had predicted, the register had added nothing to the Mercer Case, other than confirming Edward’s date and place of burial. On past occasions, Morton had been delighted to find a descriptive vicar annotating burial registers with his own unique take on the world. He recalled finding the burial of one George Barton who was buried in 1844 in East Peckham. The vicar had added to the usual perfunctory information something along the lines of: the last of 3 brothers all of whom were too fond of drink to live long, see 1840 and 1836.

  Morton photographed the record and continued searching in the register, noting down people of interest. All the while, Edward’s death, so close to Mary’s disappearance, played on his mind. Were there really no other records that showed what had happened to him? He allowed his mind to mull over the question, considering then dismissing possible research avenues. When he had finally ended the register in 1975, Morton returned the ledger to Miss Latimer.

  ‘Deidre, I’ve got a research question that I wonder if you could help with,’ Morton said, relishing the way that she winced when he addressed her by her first name.

  ‘It’s Miss Latimer, as you have been told before. What is it that you need help with now?’ She didn’t even try to hide her annoyance with him.

  Morton glanced at his notepad. ‘I’m looking for a record of an inquest that took place in Winchelsea in 1911—do you know if it still exists?’

  Miss Latimer frowned. ‘I doubt it,’ she said. Perching a pair of glasses on the end of her nose, she turned to the computer and began tapping at the keyboard. After a while she removed her glasses, looked up at Morton and shook her head. ‘Nothing at all for that period. We’ve got bits and pieces for the Brighton district and Lewes district, but nothing for the Rye district. Those are the only two districts for this county.’

  Morton saw the tiny hint of a satisfied smile on Miss Latimer’s face. She really was an obnoxious woman who should have a restraining order on being within fifty miles of the general public. ‘Okay. How about police surgeon reports?’

  Miss Latimer sighed, remounted her glasses and began tapping at the computer keyboard. ‘Again, nothing. I assume you’ve tried the Sussex Express?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘That’s probably all you’re going to find, then,’ she said, ending their conversation by picking up a booklet and reading.

  Morton returned to his desk. There was little other research he could conduct here at this point in the Mercer Case. It was time to go home and investigate other potential avenues.

  Having collected all of his belongings, Morton headed out of the Reference Room. ‘Could you open the door please?’ Morton asked as he passed the helpdesk, avoiding an inevitable stand-off.

  Without looking up, Miss Latimer pressed the release and the glass door rolled open.

  ‘Thanks, Deidre,’ Morton called, striding through the opening, through the Reading Room and back into the main lobby. He collected the remainder of his bits from his locker and left The Keep with a smug smile on his face at having had the last word with Miss Latimer.

  His smile dropped when he saw his Mini. The front passenger-side tyre was flat. Brilliant. Just what he needed, to waste time changing a tyre in The Keep car park. As Morton approached the boot of the car, he noticed that the back passenger tyre was also flat. ‘Damn it!’ he said, circling the car and discovering that every tyre was flat, each with an inch-long incision just above the metal alloys. Morton flicked his head around the car park: he couldn’t see anybody suspicious loitering in the shadows. He marched back inside the archive. ‘Do you have CCTV here?’ he asked the kindly receptionist.

  She smiled. ‘Absolutely. Why’s that?’

  ‘Excellent, I’ve just had all four of my car tyres slashed,’ Morton said.

  The lady’s smile faded. ‘Oh. We have CCTV inside The Keep, not outside. Sorry. Do you think it was deliberate, then?’

  Morton nodded, trying to contain his consternation at the stupidity of the question. That would really have to be some bizarre pot-hole. Morton thanked her, although he wasn’t sure what for and returned to his car. The image of Juliette in the fish and chip shop flashed in his mind. Instinctively, he dialled her mobile.

  ‘Hi,’ she answered. ‘You were lucky to catch me—I’m just about to go back in from lunch. You okay?’

  He was relieved to hear her voice. Should I tell her about the tyres? Should I tell her about the contents of the envelope sent yesterday? Morton knew he needed to tell her, but not now. Not on the phone.

  ‘Hello? Are you there, Morton?’

  ‘Sorry, yes, I’m here. Just wanted to say hi and see how you were getting on today. Not too boring is it?’

  ‘We’re doing more role-play and mock arresting. It’s quite fun, really. I’ve been arrested for aggravated assault and possession of a Class A drug so far today. How are you getting on? Did you say you were at The Keep?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s going okay. Going to go home shortly.’

  ‘Okay, I’d better get back in. See you tonight.’

  ‘Try not to get arrested for anything else. Bye.’

  Juliette was fine. But what if…? Someone out there clearly meant for him to stop working on the Mercer Case. But why? What secrets was he threatening to resurrect in investigating Mary Mercer’s disappearance? When this had happened to Morton in the past, his tenacious personality had forced him to persist with the case, to use every research method, including illegal ones, to finish the case. But I lost so much, Morton reminded himself, almost including my life. No case, however interesting, was worth such a risk. And yet… Morton’s obstinate nature resurfaced. It came down to a simple matter: he had prom
ised a dying man that he would find what had happened to his aunt, Mary. And that’s just what he was going to do. The fact that someone out there wanted to stop him only made him more resolved to find her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wednesday 5th April 1911

  After two months of Frederick Mansfield’s presence at Blackfriars, Mary Mercer knew why the domestic staff had groaned when told of his impending visit. When sober, he was a delightful, intelligent man who treated the staff with respect and kindness; these moments, however, were seldom witnessed by Mary. For the most part, he was an unpredictable drunk who ate, drank and slept when his erratic mood dedicated and, at those times, he expected the domestic staff to implicitly intuit his desires and react to them accordingly. Ever since Mary’s dawn encounter with him, she had feared that, when in one of his drunken stupors, he would let on about her secret, but he had said nothing. After seeing him on several occasions, both inebriated and sober, Mary decided that he was probably so intoxicated that morning that he actually didn’t have any recollection of it at all. Still, she would be mightily relieved when he left for Scotland today with the rest of the family on their annual deer-hunting trip. According to the gossip among the other servants, Frederick had been told that he was to stay on with Mr Risler at Boughton House, the family’s Scottish home, until he had sorted himself out. As far as Mary was concerned, getting rid of Mr Mansfield and Mr Risler was no bad thing. She felt mean to think it, but she hoped that it would take a long time to get him back on the straight and narrow.