Morton felt a surge of excitement firethrough his veins as he carefully withdrew the letter through the neat incisionmade by a sharp letter opener. As he withdrew the letter under thewatchful eyes of Douglas and Susan, Morton caught the signature. Yourloving daughter, Mary. The letter existed. Morton unfolded thetime-stained and creased letter, holding it so gently in his hands that hecould barely feel it. He began to read. Dear Mother and Father,It is with great sadness and shame that I write you this letter. Ihave behaved and acted in an unforgivable manner, which, if you were to learnof the whole matter, would bring embarrassment to the Mercer name. Pleaseknow that in taking on the role of housemaid at Blackfriars, I only wanted to earnyour love and respect. In this, I have failed and ask that you respect mydecision 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. Ipray that I will one day receive your forgiveness. Your loving daughter,Mary.
Morton finished reading and lookedup. The self-satisfied look on both Douglas and Susan’s face told Mortonthat they believed they had just laid down a winning hand.
‘Case closed,’ Douglas said arrogantly.
It was anything but case closed, Morton thought, becoming slightly riledby the conceited couple. Morton rubbed his chin and cast his eyes overthe letter again. ‘How did you come by this letter?’
Douglas shrugged. ‘I guess it passedto my grandmother, Caroline, when her parents died.’
‘And what do you suppose Mary did that wasso unforgivable?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine,’ Douglassaid, finishing the last of his latte. ‘If anyone in the family knew,they didn’t pass that information on.’
‘Do you mind if I take a digital photo ofthe letter?’ Morton ventured.
‘Go ahead,’ Douglas said.
Morton withdrew his mobile and took aseries of photographs of the envelope and the letter. He would laterundertake a detailed analysis of it to make sure that it was genuine. From his initial assessment, though, it seemed real enough. As Douglashad said, it clearly read as though Mary were starting a new life and didn’twant to maintain contact.
‘Notice there’s no contact address,’ Susansaid, almost inaudibly.
Morton had noticed and nodded hisagreement, not wanting to give away that he still found it odd that she shouldremove herself from her entire family and nobody attempted to find her. ‘You said that you thought the story of Mary returning to her twin’s funeralwasn’t true, but I’ve seen the locket that was found on the grave,’ Mortonsaid, carefully studying Douglas’s reaction.
Douglas shot a quick uncertain glance inSusan’s direction. ‘Doesn’t mean it was found at the grave, doesit? I could hand you one of Susan’s lockets and make up any kind of atale about where I got it.’
He had a fair point, although Morton feltthat Ray Mercer was speaking truthfully and from the heart. Besides,why would he lie? Morton asked himself.
Another pregnant pause lingered betweenthe three of them.
‘I said we should have had a whisky!’Douglas said, gently squeezing Susan’s knee. ‘Heavy going, allthis! It’s why my mum didn’t used to speak much about old Mary: there arejust some family secrets that need to remain just that; a secret.’
Morton scribbled more notes on his pad,then finished his latte. ‘Is there anything else that you can think ofthat would help me?’
Douglas looked taken aback. ‘Helpyou do what?’
He really did think he had laid thewinning hand, Morton thought. Case closed. ‘Help mefind what happened to Mary.’
Douglas took a lengthy breath in and hischeeks flushed crimson. ‘Look, I don’t want to fall out over this, MrFarrier, but I do urge you, in the strongest possible terms, to drop thisridiculous quest of yours. It’s going nowhere.’
‘It says so in the letter,’ Susan addedfeebly.
Douglas leant over, reached around to hisback pocket and pulled out a leather wallet. ‘Here you are,’ he said,pulling out a wodge of notes. He handed them to Morton. ‘For yourtrouble. I know you’ve got to earn your money like anyone else.’
Morton took the money and quickly ran histhumb through the bunch of fifty pound notes. There was at least fivehundred pounds in his hand. Morton placed it on the table betweenthem. ‘Thank you, but I’m being paid by my client to find out whathappened to Mary, and that’s what I intend to do.’
‘How much is he paying you? I’llmatch it,’ he said, turning to Susan. ‘Get the chequebook, love.’
Susan began to rummage in her handbagagain.
‘Please, stop,’ Morton said. ‘I’mnot interested. I’m working for my client.’
‘You might regret that,’ Douglas said,standing up and signalling that the meeting was over. With his left hand,Douglas scooped up the pile of cash and Morton noticed for the first time thathis two fingers, index and middle, were bandaged together. Morton sat andwatched as the couple hurried from the hotel out onto Mermaid Street.
Well, that went well, Morton thought. At least he haddigital copies of Mary’s letter to add to the growing jigsaw puzzle thatsurrounded Mary’s life. His uneasiness about the letter was onlycompounded by the fact that Douglas had driven nearly two hundred miles todeliver it personally, believing it would put the nail in the Mercer Casecoffin. Morton didn’t trust the letter and he certainly didn’t trustDouglas Catt.
Morton finished his latte, packed up hisbag and left The Mermaid.
Ahulk of a man blocked the entrance to Blackfriars with unnecessary drama,standing with his legs apart and hand raised defiantly towards Morton’sMini. The man, wearing a thick black bomber jacket, came over to thedriver’s window. ‘Shut,’ he said eloquently.
‘What is?’ Morton asked, unable to resista gentle goading.
The hulk flicked his head back towards thebuilding. ‘Getting ready for filming.’
Morton nodded politely. ‘I’ve got anappointment to see Sidney Mersham, the archivist.’
‘The what-avist?’ the hulk asked with asnarl.
‘Archivist,’ Morton reiterated.
The hulk didn’t move. Orblink. Morton had a flashback to childhood staring competitions andlooked belligerently into the hulk’s menacing eyes. Seconds
