The Lost Ancestor (The Forensic Genealogist series Book 2)

by Nathan Dylan Goodwin

  ‘Are you okay, Mary?’ Edward asked.

  Mary shrugged, suddenly and inexplicably unable to speak. A wave of emotion had poured over here and a tear ran down her cheek.

  ‘Hey, what’s the matter?’ Edward said, tenderly running his forefinger up her cheek to her moistening eye.

  ‘I don’t want you to go,’ Mary said in a croaking voice.

  Edward laughed. ‘I don’t want to go either, but it’s only ten days and then I’ll be back. Come on, this isn’t like the Mary Mercer I know and love. Where’s your fiery, wild side gone?’

  Mary managed a short smile. Where had her fiery, wild side gone? Had three months of hard labour as a third housemaid really been enough to bash it out of her? No, it can’t have been. She just wasn’t coping very well with Edward’s imminent departure and the uncertainty of her home life. Her feelings for him had come and grown so quickly that it had turned everything she had known upside down. She was sure that was all it was.

  The pair sat in a comfortable silence for some minutes, before each of them needed to go.

  ‘I’d better get back to my duties before I’m missed. They’ll be loading the carriages any minute,’ Edward said quietly.

  ‘And I’d better get home before Caroline comes storming down here after my money.’

  Mary stood and faced Edward. She didn’t know how to say goodbye. She could see in Edward’s sad face that he was feeling the same.

  ‘Ten days—it’s nothing at all,’ he finally said, in as cheery voice as he could muster.

  Mary could tell that he wasn’t feeling it, though she still smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s not long.’

  ‘Goodbye,’ Edward said, leaning in to kiss her.

  She allowed herself to be lost in the tenderness of his embrace, to momentarily forget that he was going.

  Edward broke away. ‘I love you, Mary Mercer.’

  ‘I love you, too, Edward Mercer.’

  She pecked him one last time on the lips, then led out of the ruins through the orchard onto the path. With a final smile, she turned in one direction, and he in the other.

  Mary continued up the hill towards her house. When she next took a glance round, Edward had gone. She mentally took a hold of herself, took in a deep breath and went home.

  It was Caroline who opened the door. But for a veiled headdress, she was still wearing full mourning garments. Mary had hoped that by now she might have returned to Bristol, but knew deep inside that Caroline would remain running the household until their mother returned.

  ‘I was wondering where you’d got to,’ Caroline said.

  Mary was unsure how, but as each week passed, Caroline appeared more haggard and her vitality more faded than the previous time she had seen her. Today was no exception. As Mary stepped through the door she noticed that Caroline’s eyes were darker and more sunken and her hair matted and lank.

  Caroline slammed the door shut, pushed past Mary and headed into the kitchen. ‘Your sister’s upstairs,’ Caroline said.

  The news that Edie was back home took Mary by surprise and made her stomach lurch. She wasn’t sure she was in the frame of mind to cope with the compounded concoction of Caroline’s evilness and Edie’s bitterness. Worse still, she heard an unwelcoming guttural cough coming from the front room: her father was up and out of bed, his melancholia evidently having passed. Could this day get any worse? Mary wondered. I’ll drop the money off and run, she thought. Heading into the kitchen, Mary found Caroline aggressively kneading dough at the kitchen table. Her hair was flailing all around her and she wore a menacing frown.

  ‘Quite how I’m supposed to make bread with so little flour, is anyone’s guess. Maybe if you’d got here sooner, I could have gone to the shop to get some more,’ Caroline said without looking up.

  ‘I’ll go now if you like,’ Mary said, quickly latching on to a reason to get out of the house.

  Caroline grunted. ‘No, thank you. I wouldn’t be able to trust you to buy the right thing. Just put the money down there.’

  Mary obeyed and emptied her wages onto the table, then turned to leave the room. She made her way down the hallway, destined for the front door. She had done what she came to do, now she could just leave. But, as she neared the front room door, she couldn’t quite resist at least saying hello to her father. She hadn’t actually seen him for weeks now. Cautiously and slowly, Mary pushed open the front room door. What she saw shocked her and made her gasp. A frail old man, shrivelled in his chair sat before her. Like Caroline, life had suddenly aged him. Mary knew little about melancholia, had no idea that it could do this to a person. The man sitting here, staring at the floor, looked old enough to be her grandfather.

  ‘Hello,’ she said quietly. When there was no response, she repeated herself, only louder. ‘Hello!’

  He blinked at the sound and his head twitched slightly, but he made no attempt to look at her or reply.

  A laugh came from the kitchen. ‘You’ll be lucky, Mary!’ Caroline called.

  This house is falling apart around my ears! I can’t stand it! Mary was on the verge of screaming something aloud then dashing dramatically from the house, when she heard her twin sister’s voice.

  ‘Mary? Is that you?’ Edie called from upstairs. ‘Come up.’

  Although Mary was glad to leave the front room, she was reluctant to see Edie. She couldn’t take much more of this house. She stood by the front door and placed her hand on the latch. Something, possibly the extra special connection she had with Edie, stopped her from running from the madness which had descended here. Instead, she turned and made her way to her former bedroom. As she reached the top of the stairs, Mary wondered what the past weeks had done to Edie. Had she too aged beyond all recognition? Was she still being eaten alive with jealousy of Mary’s role at Blackfriars? For the first time in her life, Mary was nervous about seeing her own twin sister. How has it come to this? She rebuked herself and stepped in their shared bedroom.

  ‘Mary!’ Edie greeted, standing and unexpectedly throwing her arms around her. Mercifully, Edie hadn’t aged or turned into a haggard monster—she was exactly the same as when she had last seen her. Except now her face was glowing; she wore a big smile.

  Mary held her sister tightly. She was back. They were back.

  ‘Guess who’s got a job?’ Edie said, standing up and swishing her hair back theatrically.

  ‘Have you?’ Mary said, delighted. ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘It’s second housemaid at Durrant House! Can you believe it?’ Edie exclaimed.

  Mary knew that she was forgiven. Not only had Edie got a higher-status job than her now, it was in Durrant House—a much bigger and more widely known establishment than Blackfriars. That Edie had trumped her was totally fine with Mary, so long as they were no longer fighting. ‘Congratulations! Well done. What’s it like there?’

  ‘Amazing! I haven't officially started yet, but I adore the job and they all adore me. I’m so grateful not to have got the job at Blackfriars. How are you liking it there? Come and sit down and tell me.’

  The twins sat side by side, while Mary plucked snippets of truth from the last three months. She selected stories and anecdotes judiciously: she made no mention of her time with Edward and excluded stories which might lead Edie to become jealous or stories which painted a true picture of her unhappiness as a third housemaid, which might have given Edie an opportunity to gloat.

  ‘Sounds okay,’ Edie said, not convinced. ‘Are you actually enjoying being a housemaid?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Mary said feebly. Even she didn’t believe what had just come out of her mouth.

  ‘What about Edward? Has he mentioned me? Is he getting my letters okay?’ Edie asked.

  Mary shrugged. She knew the time would come when she would have to tell Edie about her engagement to Edward, but now was definitely not that time. ‘I’m not sure. It’s funny, but I don’t actually see him that much. You know what it’s like about female and male servants mixing. It just doesn’t happen.
’

  ‘True,’ Edie said. ‘They must be working him jolly hard, he hardly ever writes back to me.’

  ‘Mum will be pleased about your new job,’ Mary said, changing the subject. ‘Does she know yet?’

  Edie shook her head. ‘No, but guess what? She can come out—next Wednesday. Do you fancy coming with me on your afternoon off and fetching her home?’

  Mary’s eyes suddenly lit up. ‘Of course, that would be great.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Hopefully then Caroline will push off.’

  Edie laughed. ‘Oh God, I hope so. You’ve no idea how unbearable it’s been here. I even resorted to staying with Lucy in Eastbourne just so I could get away from here.’

  ‘So that’s settled, then, we’ll meet back here next week and go and collect Mum.’

  Contrary to how she had expected to feel, Mary had enjoyed her afternoon off. She had stayed with Edie for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, the pair of them chatting just like they had used to. Mary felt like at least one of the weights had been lifted from her shoulders. When she had returned to Blackfriars that night, she found the place eerily empty. Evidently the trip to Scotland had gone off as planned, for the only staff she found in the servants’ hall for that evening’s supper were the first footman, John Wiseman, who was temporarily in charge of the remaining domestic staff, Bastion, Charles Philips, the head gardener and the scullery maid, Joan Leigh. As soon as she set foot into the servants’ hall, Mary wished that she hadn’t bothered.

  ‘For the sake of keeping things running smoothly,’ John Wiseman had said, standing for the occasion, ‘I’m going to ask you to sit in your usual seats.’

  Mary sagged from the pettiness but knew better than to argue back. She took her seat, opposite Joan at the end of the table, a huge gulf open between them and the other three servants. There was no conversation at all, but Bastion, in his own contemptuous way, made it clear through his grunts, groans and French outbursts that he was livid at having been left behind, the Mansfields preferring to employ a local Scottish chef for their time at Boughton House.

  With the silent supper finally over, Mary headed up to her bedroom with Joan irritatingly close behind her.

  ‘Here, do you think Lady Philadelphia’s pregnant? That’s what Sarah reckons.’

  ‘I don’t care for gossip, Joan,’ Mary said airily. She did care for gossip but, having been on the receiving end of Joan’s tittle-tattle, she decided to take the moral high ground.

  ‘Shall I come in your room while everyone’s away?’ Joan asked.

  ‘No, thank you,’ Mary said. To have that snooping little creature in her room would be simply awful. As much as spending nine nights by herself scared her, she would rather spend a sleepless night alone than have Joan in the room.

  ‘Please?’ Joan persisted. They had reached the top of the ninety-six stairs. ‘I don’t fancy being by myself.’

  ‘Tough. Goodnight,’ Mary said, entering her bedroom and shutting the door behind her. With the house so empty, she closed the latch on the door and slid the bolt across. It was the first time in her life that Mary had ever slept totally alone; it was one of the best nights’ sleep she had ever had.

  Chapter Twelve

  Wednesday 12th April 1911

  ‘Miss Herriot, fetch me the oriental cocoon coat, would you, there’s a dear,’ Mary said to the looking glass in an exaggerated fashion, gesticulating with her hands. She couldn’t quite believe her luck. She really was in with the Mansfields—they really did see her as more than a domestic servant. Dare she actually say that she was a friend of the family? None of the other servants or even her own family would possibly believe it, but this morning Lady Rothborne herself had invited her, Mary Mercer, for a walk in the rose garden.

  ‘Do you like roses, Mary?’ Lady Rothborne had asked her, as they strolled side by side through the formal, rectangular beds.

  ‘Oh yes, I love them,’ Mary had answered. ‘Especially white ones.’

  Lady Rothborne had humoured her. ‘Yes, but do you really like them? Roses are a species like no other. The sheer number of varieties is truly staggering; each unique…almost with their own personalities.’

  They had continued on, taking stock of the passing roses. Mary had watched and mimicked the way that Lady Rothborne seemed to absorb and devour each of the different species.

  ‘I come here when I need to be reminded of the past. Nothing awakens prior associations more than odour in my opinion. There have been rose gardens on this very spot since Tudor times. Imagine, four hundred years of such beautiful specimens. My great grandfather planted many of these,’ she said, indicating a bed just beginning to awaken from its winter slumber. ‘The old-time perfume of the Centifolia, the dusky sweetness of the Damask that inspired the wallpaper and furnishing of the grand saloon, the refreshing sweetness of the China roses—all planted by him. All absolutely exquisite. And if Mr Phillips and his team do their job properly, those roses shall outlive most of us.’

  ‘But I thought Blackfriars belonged to your husband’s family,’ Mary had said.

  ‘His and mine. We share a bloodline; we were second cousins,’ Lady Rothborne had told her.

  ‘Oh,’ Mary had replied. She was taken aback by this piece of news, although she didn’t quite know why.

  ‘Rather like you and your cousin, Edward, isn’t it?’

  Mary’s cheeks had turned crimson. ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how has your courtship developed? Is it love, I wonder?’ Lady Rothborne had questioned.

  ‘I really think so,’ Mary had said. Lady Rothborne had, since the first moments of her time at Blackfriars, taken a keen interest in Edward and her. Just days ago, Mary had been summoned to the library where Lady Rothborne had intimated that having relations with Edward was a normal and natural part of courtship. Mary had seen little reason to hold back from telling her everything. ‘He’s even proposed to me.’

  Lady Rothborne had stopped and turned to Mary. ‘Proposed indeed! How delightful. A Blackfriars wedding. We must ensure that you have something delicious to wear for the big day. Perhaps something with a white rose on it. Come.’

  Lady Rothborne had led Mary to Lady Philadelphia’s wardrobe and thrown open the doors. ‘What takes your fancy?’

  ‘All of it!’ Mary had said with a laugh.

  ‘Then you are going to have to try some of it on,’ Lady Rothborne had said with a smile.

  Mary was shocked. ‘Are you pulling my leg?’

  ‘Absolutely not. I’m sure Philadelphia wouldn’t mind and besides which, she is currently in Scotland watching my son harassing some poor old beast around the Highlands. What about this one?’ Lady Rothborne had said, carefully pulling out a beautiful lilac gown and handing it to Mary. ‘Go on, try it.’

  Mary had seemed reticent, but did as she was being asked. She untied her pinafore and placed it neatly on the floor then unbuttoned her black dress and let it fall to her ankles. Her face flushed as she stood before Lady Rothborne with so little clothing.

  ‘Well,’ Lady Rothborne had said, running her eyes up her body.

  Mary had turned her back to Lady Rothborne, uncomfortable to be semi-naked in her presence. She quickly reached for the lilac gown and pulled it up over her waist and onto her shoulders. It was a little tight, even though she and Lady Philadelphia were of similar build.

  ‘A good corset will do the trick,’ Lady Rothborne had said. ‘I don’t quite think lilac is your colour, though. Try on some others.’

  Mary had looked uncertainly at Lady Rothborne. Despite her hope and growing belief that she was becoming more to the Mansfields than the third housemaid, she still held an uncertainty about trying on someone else’s finest clothes without their knowledge. Even she, with her humble wardrobe, would not have appreciated somebody else putting them on without her knowing.

  ‘Go on,’ Lady Rothborne had said. ‘I have one or two things to attend to, so I shall leave you in peace. I realise you probably do not wish to be
seen unclothed by a person elderly enough to be your grandmother. Take your time.’

  Mary had nodded hesitantly and watched as Lady Rothborne silently left the room. She had stood uncertainly for a few moments, unsure of what to do. Then she had turned and faced the wardrobe and saw it. A stunning red dress made of silk, with tiny white flowers embroidered on it. She wasn’t sure if they were roses or not, but it didn’t matter. It was truly beautiful. Dare I? Really? Mary’s unease had not abated; she couldn’t try it on—it didn’t feel right. I could take it out and touch it, though, Mary had reasoned. Carefully, she had picked the hanger from the rail and held it in front of her. She had to try it on. There was nothing to feel guilty about, she had been told to try it on. If she considered it an instruction from her employer, then no harm could be done. Laying the dress gently on the bed, she had unbuttoned the back, slipped it from the hanger and stepped into it. She had stared into the full-length looking glass, staggered at how a simple item of clothing had transformed her into one of the dazzling beauties on the postcards beside Edie’s bed. If only Edie could see me now, Mary had thought.

  Mary took a deep breath and stared at herself in the looking glass, absorbing her reflection. She would certainly need a corset, but apart from that it was perfect. She had found the dress that she would wear when she married Edward. They had not discussed the finer details of the marriage, but she would like it to be soon, and in Winchelsea church. A smile crept over her face as she imagined the day. It would be a warm summer’s day—but not too hot. The church would be crowded with family and friends. The Blackfriars servants alone would take up a good few pews. Then there would be the Mansfield family. Maybe not all of them, but certainly Lady Rothborne would be there, possibly even Lady Philadelphia herself. She would dearly love to have the church filled with fresh roses cut from the ancient Blackfriars beds. Mary closed her eyes and allowed her imagination to take over. She was there, on her wedding day to Edward and it was perfect. Truly the best day of her life.