The Lost Ancestor (23 page)

‘No,’ Edith said.  Her voice was
edged with despair.

‘What took you so long?’ Edward asked.

‘Your mum had a photo of Mary, so we went
door to door in Icklesham but nobody has seen her.  I even went back to
the farms that I had called into on the way there to show them the photo, but
nothing.  Has nobody seen her in the village or around the estate?’

‘No,’ Edward said, almost inaudibly. 
‘Nothing.  She’s vanished.’

‘I think we need to call it a day for
today,’ Edith’s mother said.  ‘I can barely see the hands in front of
me.  Come on, let’s go in and have some supper.  I’m sure we’re
worrying too much, you know.  I’m sure she’ll wander in all sheepish and
we’ll look back on this day and laugh at how we set the whole village out
looking for her.’

Edward and Edith offered their best
attempts at a smile but everyone knew that Mary’s situation didn’t look good.

The setting of the sun that day left a darkness
that the Mercer family would feel for years to come.

Wednesday
19
^th
April 1911

The
sun was beginning to burn off a thin mist which had blown up from a squally
sea. Slivers of sunlight began to slip in through the panes of the Mercer
kitchen window.  Edith was sitting with her mother.  Both of them
were silent.  It had been exactly one week now since Mary’s disappearance
and, as each day gave way into the next without word from her twin, Edith had been
growing more and more anxious.  Today was their eighteenth birthday, a
milestone that they should be sharing together, just as they had shared every
previous birthday.  In her heart, Edith knew that Mary wasn’t going to
come home today.  She had no clue at all as to her whereabouts but she
just felt her absence inside.  If Edward’s theory that she had fallen and
injured herself was correct, then by now
…
she couldn't bring herself to
think the worst.  It was just too awful to contemplate.

A clattering of the letterbox and the dull
thud of post tumbling to the floor sent Edith dashing into the hallway. 
Among a pile of birthday cards, she spotted a letter addressed to her
parents.  It was Mary’s handwriting.  She dropped the cards and
picked it up, turning it over in her hands, then took it to her mother, who was
kneading dough in the kitchen.  ‘Something for you; it’s from Mary.’

‘Oh, thank God!’ her mother cried.

Edith watched anxiously as her mother tore
open the letter.

Suddenly, her mother let out an awful
cry.  ‘She’s in Scotland and she says she’s never coming home!’

Edith snatched the letter and, with
quaking hands, carefully read it. 
Dear Mother and Father
,
It is
with great sadness and shame that I write you this letter.  I have behaved
and acted in an unforgivable manner, which, if you were to learn of the whole
matter, would bring embarrassment to the Mercer name.  Please know that in
taking on the role of housemaid at Blackfriars, I only wanted to earn your love
and respect.  In this, I have failed and ask that you respect my decision
to leave Winchelsea.  I hope to start a new life in Scotland, where I may
be disconnected from the life and pains of Mary Mercer.  I pray that I
will one day receive your forgiveness.  Your loving daughter, Mary.
 

‘What on earth’s she doing in
Scotland
?’
her mother wailed.

‘Whatever’s happened?’ Edith’s father
barked from the doorway.  He was half-dressed, standing in his underpants,
socks and a ragged shirt.  His beard and hair were shabby and matted—the
same as he looked every day, irrespective of visitors or occasions. 
Behind him stood an agitated-looking Caroline.

Edith looked up at her sister and
father.  ‘We’ve had a letter from Mary.  She’s in Scotland and she
says she’s not coming back.’

Her father walked over, grabbed the letter
and begun to read with Caroline peering over his shoulder.  ‘What’s the
problem?’ he asked his wife.  ‘Reads to me like the most sensible thing
she’s ever done.’  He tossed the letter down onto the kitchen table and
hobbled back upstairs.

‘But she didn’t do anything
this
bad,’
Edith muttered quietly.  ‘She only tried on Lady Philadelphia’s
dress.  From this letter you’d think she’d killed someone.’

‘Maybe she’s done something else that we
don’t know about,’ Caroline mused.

Edith flung her head around to face
Caroline.  She had heard enough.  ‘Maybe you should shut up and go
back to Bristol.  What are you still doing here?  Nobody wants
you!  Go away!’ Edith screamed, flinging back her chair and reaching for
Mary’s letter.  With a great deal of force she barged past Caroline,
sending her to the floor as she dashed for the door.

‘You horrible little urchin!’ Caroline
yelled.  ‘You want horse-whipping!’

‘Bloody cow!’ Edith yelled, as she slammed
the front door shut behind her.

Edith's
eyes were wet with tears as she crossed into the Blackfriars estate, clutching
the letter from Mary.  She still couldn’t believe it.  Mary was in
Scotland.  Something about Mary’s tone told her that all was not
well.  It just didn’t
sound
like her.  She dreadfully wanted
the letter to be real because then at least it meant that she was okay.

Edith reached the kitchen door to
Blackfriars house and recalled when she had last stood here on a cold day in
January, ready for her job interview.  Her life had been about to
begin.  Since then her world had seemed to collapse: Mary had taken her
job; her brother-in-law, William had died, leaving her horrid sister, Caroline
living with her; her mother had caught tuberculosis; her father had suffered
with a severe bout of melancholia; Mary had taken the man with whom Edith had
thought that she was destined to be and now this. 
What have I done to
deserve such an awful time?
Edith wondered.

She knocked on the door.

‘Oh, hello,’ Mrs Cuff said warmly. 
She was smartly dressed in her full housekeeper’s black uniform.  ‘Any
news on your sister yet?’

Edith nodded and Mrs Cuff noticed that she
was upset.

‘You’d better come in, then.  Come to
my room for some privacy.’

Mrs Cuff stood to one side and allowed
Edith into the busy kitchen.  It was strange, the room sounded and smelt
exactly the same as three months ago.  Servants were coming and going
according to the orders being barked at them by the rotund French chef, as a
variety of interesting-smelling foods boiled on the hot stove behind him. 
One of the maids, Joan Leigh, cast a curious eye in her direction, but the rest
were too absorbed in their own work to notice her.  Mrs Cuff closed the
door and led Edith through the kitchen, down the corridor to her room. 
Taking out her large bunch of keys, Mrs Cuff unlocked the door and indicated
for Edith to enter.

‘We’ve had a letter from Mary.  It
says she’s in Scotland,’ Edith began.  ‘But…I don’t know.  It doesn’t
feel right to me.’

‘What’s she doing in Scotland?’

Edith thought it would be much simpler if
Mrs Cuff actually read the letter, so she handed it over.  ‘Have a read.’

‘Are you sure?  It’s private.’

‘Go ahead.’

A short silence hung in the room as Mrs
Cuff read the letter.  She looked up.  Edith could see that she felt
the letter to be justified, given what Mary had done.  ‘I know it must be
impossible for you to accept that your sister—your twin sister—is so very far
away and has expressed her feelings like this, but at least you know that she’s
safe and well.’

‘It doesn’t feel right,’ Edith said,
although she was unable to express exactly
why
it felt that way.

‘Do you not think she wrote it, then?’

‘Yes, it’s definitely her handwriting,’
Edith began.  Finally, she felt able to articulate something of her uncertainty. 
‘It’s just not her words or her turn of phrase.  Not to mention that she
wouldn’t just run away like that after being caught wearing someone else’s
clothes.  It doesn’t add up.’

Mrs Cuff seemed a little taken aback at
Edith’s nonchalance towards Mary’s misdemeanour.  ‘I think Lady Rothborne
felt her transgression to be quite a serious matter.  Then there was the
dishonesty about it.’

‘What do you mean?’

Mrs Cuff shifted uncomfortably in her
seat.  ‘Having been caught, your sister refused to admit that her actions
were of her own doing.’

Edith’s inquisitive face implored Mrs Cuff
to continue.

‘She insisted that Lady Rothborne had
encouraged her to try on outfits that she could wear at her wedding to Edward.’

Edith could tell from her face that Mrs
Cuff found even the retelling of the story to be so fanciful as to not justify
the breath taken to say it.  ‘But…’

‘I know, it’s absurd.  From reading
this,’ she said, holding up the letter, ‘I would say it was the guilt over her
insincerity that prompted her shame.’

Edith was dumbstruck.  Ever since she
could remember, Mary had always been prone to impulsive, often fanciful
outbursts.  Trying on Lady Rothborne’s clothes was
entirely
the
kind of silly thing Mary would do on a whim.  But to lie about it afterwards
with such a bizarre tale struck Edith as very out of character.  ‘Did
anyone check with Lady Rothborne?’ Edith ventured, knowing full well that she
was risking stepping into dangerous territory.

Mrs Cuff took a moment to navigate the
potential storm diplomatically.  ‘A full investigation was undertaken and
everybody concerned given a fair hearing.  As part of that, yes, Lady
Rothborne was consulted.’

There was nothing more for Edith to say on
the matter.  She now needed to inform Edward about the letter.  ‘May
I speak with my cousin, Edward, please?’

Mrs Cuff nodded.  ‘If you would like
to wait here, I shall fetch him to you,’ she said, making her way out of the
room.  As she reached the door, she turned back towards Edith.  ‘I am
sorry, Miss Mercer.  I was quite fond of your sister.’

Edith smiled politely and watched as Mrs
Cuff disappeared from the room.  As she sat in the stillness of the
housekeeper’s room, she replayed what she had just been told about Mary’s
actions.  Coupled with the letter, Edith’s discomfort grew.  Then an
idea came into her mind that she was unable to shake. 
What if a clue
to Mary’s disappearance was in this very room? 
She was sure that the
Day Book, signed off religiously each and every Sunday by the housekeeper and
butler, would be stored in this room. 
Don’t be so silly, Edith! 
But
the idea persisted and her heart began to race.  As if being controlled by
somebody else, Edith stood up and walked over to the door.  Gently, she
pulled it open and stuck her head into the corridor.  Silent and
empty.  The sound of footsteps on the stone floor would give her plenty of
notice of anyone approaching.  It was now or never.  Edith took a
breath and rushed over to a large bureau and opened the doors.  It was
filled with paperwork, ledgers and files.  Exactly the right kind of
place.  Her fingers clumsily began picking through the shelving.  She
knew the Day Book would be quite a large official-looking document, so she
ignored individual loose papers or published books.

‘Here it is!’ Edith whispered, her hands
resting on a soft velvet ledger.  She quickly flicked to the last
completed week and read the entry for Wednesday.
  Lady Philadelphia and
some of the female staff returned prematurely from the hunting trip to
Scotland.  Lady Philadelphia suffering from morning sickness. 
Discovered one of the housemaids, Mary Mercer, in Lady Philadelphia’s bedroom,
wearing her finest ball gown and some of the most precious Mansfield
jewellery.  Servant immediately dismissed.  Replacement currently
being sought.  Lady Philadelphia much improved upon return to
Blackfriars.  Mrs Cuff.

So that was the official Blackfriars
admission which would consign Mary’s misconduct to history.  With a heavy
heart, Edith set the book back in place, closed the bureau and pushed shut the
room door.  Returning to her seat, Edith began to worry about how Edward
would react to the news.  She simply decided to show him the letter and
see his response.  Would he too feel as she had, that something wasn’t quite
right about the situation?

Moments later, the door opened and Edward
apprehensively walked in.  He was dressed in his neat livery, his hair was
tidy but his face was worn and wearied.  Mary’s disappearance had hit him
hard.

‘Mrs Cuff said you’d heard from her?’ he
said, even before Mrs Cuff had shut the door behind him. 

‘A letter came this morning,’ Edith said,
passing it to him.

Edward took a while to read the
letter.  Edith watched as his eyes darted around the page, his mind
seeming to re-read and question its content.

‘What do you think?’ Edith asked, trying
to keep her tone as neutral as possible.

Edward met her eyes, his own filled with
tears.  ‘It’s not from Mary,’ he said.

‘It’s her handwriting,’ Edith insisted.

‘But it’s not
from
her.  Do
you believe it’s her?’ he asked, his eyes searching her face to understand her
thinking.  He didn’t wait for a response but continued with his
case.  ‘I’m telling you, Edie, there’s no way she—’

‘I know,’ Edith interposed.  ‘There’s
no way she would write a letter like that.  There’s no way she would have
taken off like that.  And there’s no way she wouldn’t have told
one
of us at least.’

Edward seemed to calm a little upon
hearing that he and Edith were allied in their thinking.  ‘Now what do we
do?’

Edith shrugged.  She had no idea what
to do next.

Lady
Rothborne watched from the east window as a black coach drew up at the back
entrance to the house.  From the carriage, Mr Risler, the butler stepped
out with his case.  Lady Rothborne took a moment to savour the fact that
he had returned from Scotland alone: her despicable nephew, Frederick, had
thankfully not returned.

A quiet knock came from her bedroom
door.  She recognised the light tapping as belonging to her lady’s maid,
Miss Herriot.  ‘Enter,’ she bellowed.