The Marriage Certificate (7 page)

‘That’s a shame, but at least I can see you. Till Wednesday
then?’

‘Yes, till Wednesday,’ and they kissed gently before Rose
turned and walked the few yards along the pavement to the door of the shop’s
staff entrance.

At breakfast, on the day after the
wedding, the atmosphere in Crockford’s was still full of excitement and
discussion. Nobody seemed to have noticed that Rose had returned quite late in
the evening and she inwardly sighed with relief that she’d not had to answer
any awkward questions.

Throughout the day, it was difficult to concentrate on her
work. She kept reliving the events of the evening before and of course, she
still had Wednesday to look forward to. She was convinced that Mrs Robins was
scowling at her on one occasion, but decided later that perhaps she had
imagined it; after all, it was most unusual to see Mrs Robins with a smile,
even when the staff were working hard.

Rose thought about what Louisa had told her in confidence.
Frank hadn’t mentioned it. Surely, John must have told him, although she
couldn’t be certain. Still, if he was told in confidence too, then he was
unlikely to mention it either, and the fact that he hadn’t, meant he could be
discreet, another point in his favour and a quality to admire.

Then the big question reared its head:
What if I’m
pregnant?
Rose thought.
Hardly likely
, she decided.
Yes, but what
if I’m unlucky?
Well, in that case I am sure Frank will do the decent
thing and marry me, especially if he is like his brother.
This scenario,
and the possible outcome, occupied her mind periodically throughout the day.
When she weighed things up, Frank was a good catch. She had her own ambitions,
but if he served well in the CIV and was then favoured for advancement at the
shipping agents on his return, then that could give her the future of
prosperity and respectability she craved. It would indeed be an alternative
outcome to her life.

It was with this thought in mind that she met Frank at seven
o’clock on Wednesday evening and sat close beside him in the cab, on the way to
Apsley Street.

The
RMS Kidwelly Castle
was
making good headway. She was off the Kent coast heading east, soon to change
course to the south to go around North Foreland and into the Strait of Dover.
She would then follow a more westerly track, passing Beachy Head, making for
Southampton, where she was due to dock at eight o’ clock the next morning.

She’d undergone an overhaul during her twelve days in dock
and taken on extra stores, including a large quantity of the latest issue army
rifles, ammunition, harness, saddles, and medical bandages. She was carrying a
few important civilian passengers too, but the bulk of her accommodation was
reserved for the troops who were due to embark at Southampton.

It was a cold clear night and the sea was calm. From his
elevated position in the engine room, Chief Engineer, John Williams, monitored
the gauges, with a subconscious ear on the rhythmic pulse of the steam pistons
in the background. They were at full ahead, making seventeen knots, the
Chadburn telegraph connection from the bridge not having moved for the last
hour. He watched a couple of men lubricating the bearings and moving parts,
winding in the greasers and adding a stroke or two of oil. He observed too, the
stokers stripped to the waist. Periodically, they opened the fireboxes to feed
in coal to satisfy the voracious appetite of each boiler. The boilers had been
inspected for the first time during the twelve-day stopover. All was well, but
the gaskets and seals needed to be closely monitored until everything had
settled down and bedded in. His crew knew the routine. Daily, until they passed
Madeira, they had to tighten the bolts on the inspection plates, or risk a
serious and potentially dangerous escape of steam, if one of the gaskets
failed.

John considered the events that had occurred since he last
stood at his station. He was now a married man, with a lovely wife and a child
on the way. He knew they’d had to rush the wedding, but he’d intended to
propose before the year was out anyway. He’d worried when he was away at
Christmas, about whether Louisa was all right and whether she was pregnant. He
could tell as soon as he saw her face on his return, that she had something
urgent to tell him. It was the news he thought he might dread, but after she
blurted it out and started to cry, he realised how worried she’d been, and his
sympathy for her predicament swept away any apprehension he felt.

He loved Louisa dearly and it mattered nothing to him that
they had married with so little notice. He recalled the concern he felt about
informing her father, unsure as to his reaction, but fortunately he had taken
it well, not the pregnancy of which he was ignorant, but the suddenness of
their decision to marry. With luck, the birth could be disguised as an early
arrival. No harm would be done.

As newly-weds they had passed a very pleasant time at The
Cascade View Hotel in Ventnor, owned and run by his parents. Although it had
rained each day, they’d still managed to get out and walk along the esplanade
after breakfast and again after lunch. Louisa found the sea air bracing and
restorative. It was a shame that they could not have stayed longer and at a
warmer time of year, but choice was not an option and they’d made the best of
it. He had his job to get on with and although it meant time away at sea, his
ship normally maintained a strict timetable and they could plan with reasonable
certainty when his next leave would be.

His parents were also in the dark regarding Louisa’s
pregnancy, although his mother had declared that she thought Louisa was
blooming. As she had made this remark, she had scrutinised them for some hint
of reaction, but they felt they’d got away with it as nothing more was said.
They had agreed that there would be plenty of time to tell their respective
parents and certainly not before a reasonable time had elapsed after the
honeymoon.

Frank, of course, had been his usual self, confident and
assured. He’d carried out his duty as best man faultlessly, once he’d managed
to get going on the morning of the wedding. John thought that it was something
of a miracle, in view of the copious amount of whisky his brother had consumed
the evening before.

He hadn’t seen Frank when they returned from Ventnor late on
Thursday evening.
Goodness
, he thought,
that was only yesterday
evening
. Frank had already departed in order to report for duty. He had
left a brief note next to the marriage certificate on the dresser and dropped
his key through the letterbox. John recalled how he and Louisa had both studied
the details on the certificate and appreciated further that they were not only
bound in love, but in the eyes of the law as well. He’d put the certificate
away for safe keeping in a former biscuit tin, where he kept all of his
important documents.

John was distracted from his thoughts by a call from the
bridge. It was the First Officer checking that everything was running smoothly.
John confirmed that he was happy so far and not anticipating any problems. He’d
been with the company for five years and was well respected as a man with sound
mechanical knowledge and experience. He’d seen some changes, no less so than
that of the status of the ship, because now she not only delivered the Royal
Mail, but also was under contract to the War Office. He could appreciate why
the War Office had been enthusiastic to retain her. The
RMS Kidwelly Castle
was eighteen months old, the first ship in the Company to have twin screws and
at over 9,000 tons she was also one of the Company’s largest. His position as a
chief engineer, on a ship with the latest developments in propulsion, was
something of which he was justifiably proud. He called down to the senior
crewman and informed him that he was going to retire to his cabin, but to wake
him if need be. With that, he left the engine room to get some sleep.

At five thirty in the morning, he was back up on deck,
looking toward land on the starboard side. It was still cold with a black sky,
but the lights of Chichester were discernible to the north and he estimated
that they would be docking on schedule. Each time he entered Southampton Water,
it reminded him of his youth and the number of times he had made the crossing
from Cowes to the mainland at Southampton’s Royal Pier. He’d started as an
apprentice working for Red Funnel Ferries. Southampton Water was always busy.
Paddle steamers ferried passengers from several small harbours on the Isle of
Wight, crossing the waterway to Portsmouth, Southampton, and Southsea. The
presence of these little ships combined with large ocean-going vessels entering
and leaving the port, meant that captains had to exercise extreme caution, in
order to avoid collision or running aground.

John fondly recalled his early apprenticeship. The little
paddle steamer, on which he worked, sometimes made the return crossing five
times daily during The Royal Yacht Squadron’s Annual Regatta at Cowes. The
event attracted a great many visitors and was the highlight of the
international yacht-racing year. Its success and popularity was immense,
especially as it was conveniently timed on the social calendar, being towards
the end of the London season, just before the wealthy went to Europe for the
autumn. Vessels came from all over the globe to take on the best. The Regatta
attracted British and European royalty, as well as American millionaires, and
it was a matter of national pride to win the Queen’s Cup.

The Isle of Wight had become a very fashionable place to
take a holiday. Queen Victoria had a royal residence at Osborne House. With
good rail connections between the Solent and the capital, and a regular ferry
service by paddle steamer, the journey to the island was part of the holiday
and only served to enhance its reputation. As an island with royal patronage,
it had become a destination for those with money and time to spare. 

John’s mind drifted on to thoughts of Cowes itself. Outside
of the hectic Regatta week, it was a quiet, pretty little town, with narrow
streets, quaint cottages and shops. John pictured the substantial Georgian
building occupied by the shipbrokers where Frank had started his career as a
clerk. John could not help but worry about his brother. First, he had given up
a good job in Cowes and moved to London. Now, he’d given up his London job too,
in order to follow a whim to find excitement and glory in South Africa. John
felt that his brother was making a mistake.

Shortly before six o’clock, after a brief breakfast, John
returned to the noise and warmth of the engine room. The night watch reported
no problems and this was confirmed as he scanned the array of gauges in front
of his station. The telegraph bell rang as the instructions from the bridge
were relayed to the engine room: ‘HALF AHEAD’, then some twenty minutes later,
‘SLOW AHEAD’, followed by, ‘STANDBY’.

John could picture the scene outside. By now, the tugs would
have the ship under control, gently guiding her to the dockside. The stevedores
and crane handlers would be preparing to load further stores and of course,
somewhere out there, he expected Frank to be one of the volunteers nervously
waiting to embark upon what for some, would be a one-way trip.

Peter managed to spare some time to
further research the marriage certificate. He
quickly reviewed his
progress to date. So far, he’d found where each of the marriage partners was in
1891, but he needed to move forward ten years, to the 1901 Census Return, taken
on the 31 March, fourteen months after the wedding.

He first searched for John Williams’ address at the time of
the marriage. Two names were listed.

Louisa was there so they’d obviously moved in after the
wedding, but where was John? Most likely at sea and away from home on the night
of the census, he thought. There was now a son, Henry, who was six months old.
Peter did a quick mental calculation. For Henry to be six months old, he would
have to have been born before 30 September 1900. Unless he was born early, it
was highly likely that Louisa was already pregnant when she married. That might
be another reason, Peter reasoned, why the marriage was arranged by special
licence at short notice.

He chuckled to himself. For all the morals of Victorian
society, women still became pregnant out of wedlock. He leaned back in his
chair and thought for a moment on how much attitudes had changed. Nowadays,
there was nothing unusual about having children outside of marriage, but in
1900 and even as recently as forty years ago, it was looked upon as shameful.
Couples in that position were put under great pressure to do the ‘decent thing’
and get married.

Returning to his task, Peter looked back six months earlier
on the birth indexes. He soon found the entry for the birth of young Henry
Williams, during the third quarter of 1900 in West Ham. He ordered a copy of
his birth certificate. Once he had that, he would be able to calculate from his
date of birth, whether Louisa definitely was ‘in the family way’ when she
married.

Peter also wanted to know what the two witnesses to the
marriage were doing in 1901. The census revealed that Rosetta Price was still
living at the same address in Islington, as a draper’s assistant. That rather
disproved his theory that Rosetta Price may have been working for Thomas Crockford
at the time of the wedding.

Of Frank Williams, he could find
no trace. There was no matching individual of the right age, born on the Isle
of Wight. Generally, each census tended to miss out about four per cent of the
population, particularly if a person was away from their normal residence when
the census took place. Peter knew that it was likely that Frank would turn up
on the subsequent census return.