The Marriage Certificate (30 page)

There was silence for a moment. They studied the photograph.
Peter could see that Joan was struggling with her emotions.

Margaret spoke. ‘He is very like our mother, darker
colouring, but the eyes and the mouth are very similar. If you look over there
on the dresser, there’s a photograph of our mother.’

Peter walked over to the dresser and studied the face of the
lady in the picture. It was obvious that she was related to Harry Williams.

He returned to his seat. ‘There’s no doubt in my mind that
your mother and Harry were related.’

‘Can you tell us anything else about Harry Williams?’ asked
Joan, who seemed to have regained her composure.

‘Not much I’m afraid, and what I do know is rather sad. I
paid a visit to the local reference library in Leyton and found a newspaper
report from July 1996 … that was when he died. It seems he became a recluse and
let his home deteriorate. He lay dead in his house for about three weeks before
his body was discovered. The paper put the blame on the social services for
neglecting him.’

‘Gosh, all this is almost unbelievable and so awfully sad,’
Margaret said, her voice wavering.

‘It is sad,’ said Peter. ‘The whole saga has been dreadfully
sad. I’ve gone from one tragedy to another with my research. Life was tough
then. People were less tolerant too and moral attitudes would have made life
hard for Rosetta, or Rose, as an unmarried mother. She probably had a very
difficult time.’

‘Do you have any other evidence to back up your theory?’
asked Joan.

‘Lots,’ he said. ‘Apart from the timings of the various
events, like the wedding and the subsequent births of the children, I also have
some postcards and a telegram which link Rose, John’s parents, and George and
Charlotte to John and Louisa. By the way, George was John’s first cousin.’

Peter passed the postcards and telegram over to the sisters
for them to examine. He continued. ‘Yesterday, I received a copy of Frank
Williams’ will, in which he left everything to his brother John. Frank wasn’t
married and had no other children. He and Rose must have had a … relationship,
at around the time of the wedding. I assume he was John’s best man and Rose was
Louisa’s bridesmaid. Perhaps that’s when they fell for each other. It still
happens today, and remember, in 1900 there were fewer opportunities to meet a
potential partner or have an affair.’

‘Did you find a report of the wedding in the local paper?’
asked Joan.

‘No. I looked but the local reference library only holds
copies of the
Leyton Chronicle
from the reign of Edward VII in 1901. I
managed to find the notice for Henry’s funeral in 1902, but not the wedding in
1900. I’ll tell you what though,’ he said. ‘I think the wedding may have been
arranged hastily.’

He pointed to the marriage certificate. ‘You see here, it
says, “Married by Licence”, which may imply that they had insufficient time to
read the Banns. I think Louisa was already pregnant and they had to get married
before John went back to sea. Henry was born one month before your mother had
Edith and Harold. The other thing is that Frank must have gone out to Cape Town
almost straight after the wedding. Judging by the date of this postcard …’

Peter picked out the postcard of the
Kidwelly Castle
,
postmarked: 11 February 1900, Cape Town. ‘This is John Williams’ ship.
Remember, he was the groom. He was a chief engineer on the ship. He left London
for Cape Town just four days after the wedding. I suspect that Frank may have
gone down to the Cape on his brother’s ship, but I’ve no proof … if not his
ship, then on another one within a day or two.’

‘And you think that Frank went off to the Boer War leaving
Rose pregnant?’ asked Margaret.

‘That’s right, but I doubt he would have known,
because he must have left soon after the wedding … assuming that’s where he and
Rosetta met.’

‘And you’ve managed to find out all of this?’ queried
Margaret.

‘Yes,’ replied Peter. ‘It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve had
some luck along the way.’

Joan said, ‘What I don’t understand is, you say that
all of this connects us to Harry Williams, who died in 1996 and left an
unclaimed estate?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘But why hasn’t someone else found this out before?’
she asked.

‘Ah, well, there are several reasons, because I’m sure
others have tried. I know for example that one of the big London heir-hunting
firms has been looking into it recently. The neighbour told me when I went to
Stephenson Street. Partly, it’s the surname “Williams” that may have defeated,
or deterred, previous attempts. As far as family research goes, it’s an awful
name. Apparently, it’s the fourth most common surname in Britain; about 400,000
people share it. Also, the case was first advertised nine years ago. I reckon
that the longer a case remains unsolved, the stronger the deterrent for someone
to take a fresh look at it, although I am slightly perplexed as to what has
attracted the current interest and competition. The local paper seemed
convinced that the Williams family came from South Wales, which was a red
herring. I started from 1900 and had an immediate advantage. I already had the
marriage certificate of his adoptive parents, not that I knew that at the time.
Those starting from 1996 had to get over that hurdle first of all.’

Peter took a sip of tea. All the explaining and excitement
had given him a dry throat. ‘Then, I had the luck to find the postcards and the
telegram at the antiques centre, because they gave me the true surname of Rose.
From the marriage certificate, I thought her name was “Price” not “Ince”,’ he
said, pointing to Rosetta’s name.

‘Umm … I see what you mean,’ agreed Joan.

‘Yes it does look more like “Price” than “Ince”. I would
have assumed it said “Price”,’ Margaret added.

Peter took another sip of tea and carried on. ‘Confusingly,
on the 1901 Census, there is a Rosetta Price who was a draper’s assistant. She
was born in South Wales and she was about four years older than your
grandmother was, but I only discovered she was the wrong Rosetta from the
telegram, when it proved that our Rosetta’s surname was “Ince”. Then everything
started to fall into place. Now, I think it unlikely that someone else could
have made that connection.’

‘But could anyone else have found out that Harry wasn’t
Henry, their real son? You said Henry died,’ Joan stated. She was really
getting into detective mode now, looking for any weaknesses in Peter’s
argument.

‘Unlikely, I’d say,’ replied Peter. ‘First of all,
they would have had to find Henry’s birth; not an easy task in itself. Let me
explain. From Harry’s death certificate, his date of birth is 8 October 1900.
That is interesting, because that is the correct birth date of Harold Ince.
Presumably John and Louisa allowed him to celebrate his birthday on the correct
day, rather than that of their son Henry, who was born a month before.
Incidentally, the 8 October was also the anniversary of Henry’s death, but
there we are, we can only imagine how they coped with everything. Anyway,
sorry, I’m digressing. The General Register Office divides the year into four
quarters. October is in “Q4”. Now, Henry was born on 8 September 1900, which is
in “Q3”. Anyone searching for the birth using the information on the death
certificate would look in “Q4”, and of course, wouldn’t find it. They’d be
looking for a Harry or Harold too. They’d have to widen the search and increase
the cost to stand any chance of finding it, and as Harry didn’t marry, they
wouldn’t have had his parents’ names from a marriage certificate.’

The sisters listened intently as Peter carried on with his
explanation.

‘Even if the parents were identified by an heir hunter, Henry
didn’t die in Leyton, where his parents lived and married. That was unusual.
His death was registered in Holborn, because he died at Great Ormond Street
Hospital. His surname is very common and his death would be less easy to spot.
Also, the 1911 Census shows a son of the right age in the household and as we
know, boys named Henry are often called Harry. He appears to be alive in 1911
so why look for his death? For these reasons, tracking down Henry would have
been difficult enough, but to then realise that he had died and that Harry is
not Henry is stretching it a bit. That’s why it hasn’t been claimed. At least
that’s what I believe. Maybe there are other reasons, but I’ve been checking
regularly, last night in fact, and the estate is still listed as unclaimed.’

‘Can we check now, just to make sure?’ asked Margaret.

‘Of course you can,’ replied Peter.

Joan made room on the table for Margaret’s laptop.

Peter was impressed with the speed with which she found the
website. ‘Click on the tab there, for the complete list,’ he said. There was a
pause while the page loaded. ‘Now scroll down towards the end to the names
beginning with “W”.’

‘There we are! There we are!’ exclaimed Joan who was peering
over her sister’s shoulder. ‘That’s it, Williams Harry, died Leyton, 1996!’

‘How much is the estate worth?’ asked Margaret. It was the
first time this aspect had been touched upon, which was surprising given the
reason for the meeting.

‘It was first advertised in March 2002, with a value
£67,000,’ replied Peter. ‘Unfortunately, the Treasury Solicitor only reveals
the value to a claimant, when the claim is accepted or admitted as it’s termed.
It’s possible that much of the administration of the estate has been completed
by now, which might have reduced it a little. I understand there’s a fee of
£180 plus costs and disbursements … and any accrued interest would have been
deducted.’

‘Is there a time limit for making a claim?’ asked Joan with
a hint of concern in her voice.

‘Yes, twelve years after administration, but I think we
should be within that.’ Peter said reassuringly. ‘Also there’s a discretionary
policy, whereby the Treasury Solicitor can admit claims up thirty years from
the date of death.’

‘A windfall like that would be marvellous for us,’ Margaret
said excitedly. ‘I’m confined to a wheelchair through polio. I caught it as a
teenager. Joan is so good to look after me, but we could use some extra cash,
couldn’t we?’ she said, looking at Joan.

‘Yes, it would be useful. We’ve always wanted to adapt the
bathroom for Margaret. She could do with an electric wheelchair too and we
would love to change the car for something more suitable, ideally one of those
with a ramp or lift. That would be such luxury, but we mustn’t complain, must
we dear?’

‘No, we mustn’t … but oh, if we could afford a carer for a
spell, Joan could have a break, take a holiday or something, which would be
marvellous,’ added Margaret.

‘Now don’t you go worrying that I need a holiday,’ Joan
replied almost scolding her sister. ‘We’re fine; it’s you who could do with a
change of scene. I’m not cooped up in here most of the time like you.’

Peter decided to intervene. He was satisfied that they could
do with a windfall and had no intention of asking them to pay him a commission.
No, the sisters were lovely and it would be pleasure enough just to get
anything for them.

‘Listen, I would very much like to see this through to the
end, after having done so much research. Would you be willing to give me
permission to submit the claim on your behalf and deal with the Treasury
Solicitor in the first instance as your representative? If your claim is
accepted then you can take over dealing with it yourselves.’

This is the moment
, Peter thought … he didn’t have
long to wait. Joan and Margaret looked at one another for a second, before
nodding in agreement.
Splendid
, he thought,
I really will be able to
see this through to its conclusion
.

Peter read out the text of the Letter of Representation he
had prepared. It gave him authority to submit the claim on their behalf and to
deal with any queries, but not of course to receive any of the proceeds, should
the claim be admitted. The sisters listened carefully and then each of them
signed in the appropriate place.

It was Joan who spoke. ‘Mr Sefton, you’ve done so much work
on this and I know Margaret will agree too, that you should get some reward.
How much do you want to charge?’

‘Nothing,’ Peter replied. ‘If we’re successful and you get a
reasonable amount, then perhaps you would consider a donation to a charity of
my choosing, but only if you receive enough for the things you’ve just told me
about.’

‘Do you have a specific charity in mind?’ asked Margaret.

‘It seems that Harry Williams, or should I say Harold Ince,
used to run bingo evenings at his works’ social club and raised a lot money for
the Lifeboat Charity. That might be appropriate but we’ll see, eh?’

‘Oh, Mr Sefton, do you really think we may have a chance?’
Joan asked, the hope evident in her voice.

‘I can’t say, but it has to be worth a try. The thing is,
Harry Williams was not the son of John and Louisa. Their son, Henry, died. So
where did he come from? I think there’s enough circumstantial evidence to show
beyond reasonable doubt that he was the son of Rosetta Ince. He and his twin
sister were orphaned. Harry was taken on by John and Louisa, but not adopted.
According to inheritance law … at least as I understand it, his estate should
go to his blood relatives. If the Treasury Solicitor accepts that he was born
“Harold Ince”, then his sister is a full blood relative and her descendants are
entitled kin.’

Peter paused before asking, ‘I don’t suppose you have a
photograph of your mother when she was about sixty, the same age as Harry was
when his photo was taken?’

Joan got up and left the room. She returned a few moments
later with a portrait photograph of their mother. ‘I think this will do.’

Peter could see that Joan was correct. The likeness of Edith
to the photograph of Harry Williams was remarkable. Her hair was lighter, but
the expression was very similar.