The Lost Ancestor (27 page)

‘It doesn’t prove that she was pregnant
with his child, which was then given over—willingly or otherwise—to Cecil and
Philadelphia.’

‘We’ll see,’ Jenny said with a wry smile.

As they walked towards Morton’s car, he
couldn’t help but feel a hint of admiration for Jenny and her determination to
prove her theory through her own personal endeavours.  If it all came to
nothing, it would still be a pleasant afternoon spent in the company of someone
who shared his passion for uncovering historical truth.

Mark
Drury was agitated and angry.  Last night had not gone to plan and he was
pissed off.  He was sitting in his van clenching his jaw, impatiently waiting. 
Suddenly, the GPS signal from Morton Farrier’s phone was moving.  A small
green dot representing Morton’s signal moved apace across a map on Mark Drury’s
laptop screen.  The laptop was open on the passenger seat of his
car.  Mark was little over half a mile from Morton’s present location in
Winchelsea.  Turning onto the main road, Mark began to follow the
signal.  With the technology sitting beside him, he had no need to ever
get into Morton’s view and could comfortably hang back and allow the GPS signal
to guide him to wherever he was going.  In the glove compartment was
Mark’s Sig Sauer handgun, loaded and with a silencer.  After a severe
reprimand from his boss, Mark knew that it had to end today.

Thursday
18
^th
May 1911

Two
weeks of solid sunshine had given way to violent storms.  Dense black
clouds raged outside and the windows of Blackfriars were pounded by the heavy
rain.

‘Goodness, I think we might have to light
some fires tonight, if this continues,’ Mrs Cuff said, as she walked beside
Edward along the corridor towards the housekeeper’s room.  It was half
past eight in the evening and the servants had just finished their tea.

Edward agreed with an inaudible mumble; he
knew that she was just trying to make small talk, despite obviously having
something more significant to say to him.  It had to be a personal
issue—if it were work-related then Mr Risler would have spoken to him. 
Maybe it was about Mary,
Edward hoped.  He had known all day that
something hadn’t been quite right with Mrs Cuff; her lingering, uncertain looks
implied that something was on her mind.  Now he was about to find out
what.

When Mrs Cuff entered her dimly lit room,
she rubbed her hands together and tried to put on a smile; Edward could see
that it was all in an attempt to make him feel at ease, although he felt
anything but at ease.  ‘Don’t tell Mr Risler, but I shall certainly be
lighting a small fire tonight,’ she said with a quiet laugh.

Edward smiled.  ‘What is it you
wanted to see me about, Mrs Cuff?’ he asked, willing her to get on with
whatever she had to say.

‘Take a seat.  I just wanted to see
how you were getting on…since Mary left.’

‘Not very well,’ Edward answered flatly as
he sat opposite her in the gloomy room.

‘It must be very hard for you.  And
for her sister.’

Edward nodded.  ‘It’s
unbearable.  We’ve looked everywhere for her.  At great expense, poor
Edie’s even had Mary’s picture copied and sent it to all the major shipping
ports to ask them to search their passenger records.  She’s contacted
carriage companies, charabanc companies.  The local police have all but
closed their case because of that wretched letter from Scotland.’

‘You never did believe that she was in
Scotland, did you?’

Edward shook his head vehemently. 
‘Never.  I know you did, but—’ 

Mrs Cuff interjected. ‘Well, that was why
I wanted to speak to you.’

Edward looked puzzled but remained silent.

‘I
did
believe the letter,
yes.  I
hoped
the letter was genuine—desperately, in fact.’ 
She took a pause and stared at Edward, as if unsure of whether to
proceed.  ‘It reminded me all too much of Florence McDougall.’

‘Who’s she?’

‘A young lady who worked here just before
you started.  Lovely girl, she was.’

‘What happened to her?’ Edward asked, just
as a ferocious gust of wind rattled the window, making them both jump.

‘She disappeared.’

‘Oh,’ Edward said flatly.  ‘Was she
ever found?’

Mrs Cuff nodded.  ‘Unfortunately,
yes.  She turned up a few days later.  They found her dead in the
lake here.’

‘That’s awful,’ Edward said looking
shocked.  From what Mrs Cuff had said earlier, he didn’t like the sound of
where this conversation was going.

‘It was awful.  The poor girl…’ her
voice trailed off, as if she were unable to vocalise the past.  She shuddered. 
‘The coroner ruled it as suicide and the unfortunate episode passed.  Time
moved on as it always does, taking with it any uncertainties about the
situation.’

‘What kind of uncertainties?’

‘Nothing specific.  It was only when
Mary disappeared that it set me wondering.  You see, Mary looked a lot
like Florence, which I thought was just a coincidence, but then it got me
thinking back to Mary’s interview: she didn’t have one.  Edith was
interviewed and found suitable for the job, then Lady Rothborne stepped in and
offered it to Mary instead.  I mean no offence to Mary, but she didn’t
really have the right experience to be a housemaid, unlike Edith.  Then,
when she disappeared I remembered Florence…so, I was relieved when Mary had
written a letter to say she was well and in Scotland.’

‘You sound as though you’ve had a change
of heart,’ Edward said.

‘I have.  I didn’t know if I should
tell you or not…but, after Florence…’

‘Please, Mrs Cuff—you have to tell me.’

Mrs Cuff sighed, accepting that she was
about to start a chain of events over which she would have little
control.  She lowered her voice to the point that Edward had to lean
forward to hear what she was saying.  ‘I overheard something yesterday
that made me sick to my stomach.  I couldn’t quite believe it and spent
all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shake it from my mind. 
It’s too unbelievable.’

‘What did you hear?’ Edward
implored. 

Mrs Cuff took a moment and he could see
that her hands were trembling slightly.  ‘I heard Mr Risler saying that
the plan had worked.  He said that he had posted Mary’s letter from
Scotland to her parents to make it look as though she was there.’

Edward gasped.  ‘So she was never in
Scotland?’

Mrs Cuff shook her head solemnly.

Countless questions and thoughts sped
through Edward’s mind.  His firm belief that Mary would never have run
away to Scotland without him was right.  Risler had posted the
letter. 
But why?  Who was he working with? 
‘Who was Mr
Risler talking to?’

‘Lady Rothborne.’

‘What?  I don’t understand,’ Edward
said loudly.  ‘Why would Lady Rothborne and Mr Risler want to lock Mary
away?’

‘Edward, be quiet,’ Mrs Cuff urged.

‘Sorry.  I don’t understand.’

Mrs Cuff leaned closer.  ‘Did you
know that Mary was pregnant?’

‘Pregnant?  Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.  I’ve seen her with my
own two eyes.’

‘But… that’s not a reason to lock someone
up!  I’m going to marry her.  She’s not the first unwed girl for that
to happen to…’

‘I don’t think that what’s happened is
through moral condemnation.’

‘Pardon?’ Edward was truly lost.

‘I think that she’s being used as a
surrogate.  Her baby will then be given to Lord and Lady Rothborne.’

‘But that’s not right,’ Edward
protested.  ‘Mary would never agree to that!’

‘That’s why I’ve told you.  I fear
that poor Florence was being used in the same way and that didn’t end well for
the poor girl.’

Edward failed to comprehend all that he
had just heard.  He wanted to scream and cry and shout, but most of all,
he wanted to find Mary.  ‘Do you know where they’re keeping her?’

Mrs Cuff shook her head.  ‘Somewhere
on the estate.  There can’t be too many places.’

Edward leapt up, jettisoning his chair
backwards.

‘Wait, Edward,’ Mrs Cuff called, just as
he reached the door.  ‘Listen to me, when you find her you both need to
go—you need to leave Blackfriars forever.  Maybe even leave Winchelsea for
a while; I don’t think either of you are safe here.’

Edward nodded.  It suited him to get
away anyway.  He would find Mary, go back to her house to pack, then
onwards to his house.  The vicar of Winchelsea might still have the
marriage licence that he had asked for upon his return from Scotland. 
They could marry quickly, then head off somewhere together as man and
wife.  As he went to leave the room, Edward turned back to Mrs Cuff. 
‘Thank you.’

She smiled and watched as he darted along
the corridor.  Her smile faded as a deep dread and foreboding washed over
her.  She listened to his heavy footsteps travelling down the corridor to
the Butler’s Room, where she knew Edward would find Mr Risler.  Mrs Cuff
stood up, closed the door and slumped backwards with her hands over her ears.

Edward
Mercer had always approached the Butler’s Room with the deferential decorum
that had been drummed into him from the moment he had arrived at Blackfriars in
1908.  He would knock lightly, stand back a step with his head slightly
bowed and his hands behind his back.  But not now—primal instinct instead
of a sense of duty made him kick the door back as hard as he could, sending it
flying inwards.

‘What in God’s name!’ Mr Risler exclaimed,
leaping up from his chair.  He had been quietly reading a newspaper, which
he dropped to the floor.  ‘
Mercer!’

Edward saw no need for a polite
conversation or explanation.  Mary was out there somewhere, waiting for
him.  He attacked Risler with the proficiency of a top-class boxer, almost
dancing on his heels as he rushed towards him.  The speed of the first
punch lifted Risler clear off his feet, sending him crashing backwards into his
wooden table.  Risler yelped and tried to speak, but his mouth met with
another powerful right hook.  He tumbled to the ground, curled into a
foetal position and covered his face with the squeal of a helpless animal as he
braced himself for the next impact.

Every muscle in Edward’s body was focussed
on this moment, channelled by his one-track thought of finding Mary.  He
bent down, dragged Risler up by the collar and held his bloodied face just
inches from his own.  Edward could see fear and panic in Risler’s dark
eyes.  He could feel his beer-laced breath on his face.  ‘Where is
she?’ Edward demanded.

‘Who?’ Risler whimpered.  ‘
Who
?’

Edward let his right hand go, allowing his
left hand to hold Risler’s dead weight, drew his right arm back and smashed it
into Risler’s face.  Edward’s bloody knuckles met his nose with a horrible
crunch.  ‘Where is she?’  He could see that Risler’s panic was
growing and his resolve was shrinking.  Edward drew back his hand again,
ready for the next punch.

‘Stop, please,’ he begged.  ‘It
wasn’t my idea.’

Edward let Risler go and watched as he
fell to his feet, like some pathetic beggar.  ‘Please.’

‘Where is she?’

‘The folly,’ Risler spat.

With a jerking movement, Edward pushed
Risler backwards, sending him crashing to the floor.  His heart racing
wildly, Edward ran at full pelt through the corridor and into the
kitchen.  From behind him he heard Risler calling, swearing and shouting.

‘Hey!’ Bastion screeched as Edward
ploughed straight into Joan Leigh, sending an armful of crockery smashing to
the stone floor.  ‘
Eh! Mais, toi, qu’est-ce que tu as?  Sorte de
ma cuisine—espèce d’imbécile!’

‘Edward!’ Joan yelled, stooping down to
pick up the fallen crockery, but she was talking to an open door.

Edward was oblivious to the torrent of
rain which saturated him to the skin seconds after leaving the house.  In
the diffused light from the illuminated windows on the east side of the house,
Edward was just about able to make out the contours of the path.  The most
direct route to Mary would be to head to the edge of the lake then swim across
it to the island.  But Edward couldn’t swim so he needed to take the
boat.  When he reached the lake, he was surrounded by a blanket of
darkness.  If there had been any kind of moonlight, then it was being
shielded by the rolling black clouds above him.  He was dismayed to have
to slow his pace in order to negotiate the narrow path.  One wrong foot
and he would be in the lake.  He was sure that by now Risler had raised
the alarm. 
Maybe I should have knocked him out cold,
Edward
thought as he ran beside the water.  The only sound came from the rain
thrashing down on the surface of the lake.

A low noise came from the direction of the
house.  Edward turned to see a shadowed figure standing in the light of
the kitchen.  Time was running out.  He pushed his legs harder—he was
almost at the boathouse.  As he turned back, he noticed too late that the
path had taken a minor turn and his left foot fell off the path and onto a
slope of wet mud.

‘Damn!’ Edward yelled, as he tried to
counteract an inevitable slide into the lake.  He twisted his body and
lurched to the right, reaching out to a thick clump of irises protruding from
the bank.  Clawing out with both hands, Edward managed to stabilise
himself.  He pulled himself back upright and winced at the pain shooting
up his leg from his foot. 
The boathouse is so close! 
Edward
slammed himself, as he hurried as best he could, trying to put minimum weight
on his injured left foot.

Finally, he reached the door to the
boathouse.  Mercifully, it was open.  When he hurried from the house
and briefly considered his rash plan, he thought he would have to kick the door
in, but with the pain searing in his foot, that would have been
impossible.  Edward shoved the door open and carefully lowered himself
into the rowing boat.  Taking the pair of oars in his hands, he used one
to push off from the side.  The boat slowly glided out from the confines
of the boathouse into the thick sheets of rain; finally, it emerged fully onto
the lake and Edward was able to extend the oars into the water.

‘I’m coming, Mary,’ Edward muttered. 
Just a few more minutes and they would be reunited.  That idea spurred him
on, made him pull harder and harder on the oars.