‘You mean it was forged?’ Morton asked.
‘No, it was definitely in herhandwriting. I just don’t think Granny could believe her twin would writeit.’
‘I don’t suppose you still have theletter?’
Ray shook his head. ‘No, sadlynot. I don’t know where it went, but Granny didn’t have it.’
Morton wrote the word ‘Scotland’ thenunderlined it. ‘Is there any significance in running away toScotland? I’m thinking Gretna Green, eloping with someone?’
‘Not that I was ever told, no. You’ll find among that stack a newspaper report in the Sussex Express aboutthe search for Mary. There’s no mention of a companion. Anyway,that was the last time Mary was heard of until 1962—fifty-one yearslater. Granny was buried in St Thomas’s Church, Winchelsea with herparents. Most of the day was a blur for me and by the end of it I wasentirely drained. All the mourners had gone and I just needed to be bymyself, so I returned to her grave. There I was, reading all thecondolence cards attached to the flowers, when I saw a simple single whiterose, around which was wound an identical silver locket to the one Granny had,only this one contained a photo of Granny.’
Morton was hurriedly writing everythingdown. ‘Was there anything else with it, a note maybe?’
‘Yes, a small card which read ‘I hope youare at peace’.’
Morton nodded, not wishing to express hiscuriosity over the turn of phrase used. I hope you are at peace. It could be interpreted in several different ways.
‘She came back,’ Ray said quietly, beforeturning to his desk and pulling open a drawer. He held up two silverlockets and handed them to Morton. ‘And here they are.’
Morton took the pendants from Ray. Just as he said, they were identical, made of sterling silver with a preciousstone set in the centre. Morton unclasped the first and saw a tinyphotograph of Ray’s grandmother, Edith. Inside the other locket was aphotograph which was unmistakably Mary Mercer. ‘May I take a photographof them, please?’
‘By all means, go ahead.’
Morton set the lockets down side by sideand took a digital photo of them.
‘I had the handwriting on the cardanalysed and compared with what I knew was her writing in an old book of hers Ifound. The graphologist I employed was pretty certain it was the sameperson: it was Mary Mercer, alive and well in Winchelsea in 1962. Hisreport and copies of the two pieces of handwriting are in the pile for you.’
Morton looked down at his scribblednotes. The Mercer Case just got more interesting. ‘I’ll find her,’Morton said, almost to himself, as he took a cursory glance through the rest ofthe paperwork. Ray had even included a typed list of all the negativesearches he had made; he had certainly been meticulous in his research.
‘Will you?’ Ray said. He shook hishead and exhaled. An almost imperceptible moistening of the old man’seyes told Morton that finding his great aunt had become more than a hobby tohim, more than a curious incident on a family tree; it had grown into somethingpersonal. ‘My dear granny meant so much to me, being more of a motherthan my own in the end and the thought of how upset she would get talking aboutMary will haunt me until the day she’s found. I know it sounds daft, butI just want to visit Granny’s grave and finally tell her what happened to hertwin sister.’
‘I totally understand; I’d feel the sameway,’ Morton told him with a reassuring smile. ‘Now, all these documentsare great—thank you—but what I really need from you is anything that you knowabout Mary which doesn’t come from certificates, censuses and photos. What did your granny tell you about Mary?’ Anything at all: places shevisited on holiday, relatives abroad, previous absconding, boyfriends, jobs…?’Morton probed, knowing that the tiniest snippet of information could lead to abreakthrough.
Ray paused and stared out of the window. After several seconds had passed, he turned back towards Morton. ‘There’sreally very little that I can think of. I know she worked at a largecountry mansion in Winchelsea as a housemaid, but that she wasn’t very good atthe job. Like all siblings, they fell out and made up. I don’t knowof any relatives abroad or other people she was close to. I doubt verymuch the family ever went on holiday—it just wasn’t done in those days. Granny would just repeat the same stories over and over until the day shedied. She felt that she’d let Mary down. Even in the deliriousthroes of death, she was apologising to Mary for having let her go.’
Morton looked up from his notepad, curiousby Ray’s turn of phrase. ‘Were those her exact words?’
‘Well, along those lines. ObviouslyI don’t remember precisely.’
Morton nodded. ‘What about Mary’sbelongings? Do you know what happened to them after she disappeared?’
Ray shook his head sadly. ‘Sorry,I’m really not much help, am I? By the time I came along in 1935 she’dbeen gone for twenty-four years. Her parents were dead, so I assumeeverything was disposed of. I didn’t find anything of Mary’s other than afew books among Granny’s effects after she died. Sorry.’
‘It’s fine. Could I see the books,please?’ Morton asked.
‘They’re all together here—there’s onlyfour of them,’ Ray said, reaching for a small stack of books in a nearbyshelf. He handed them to Morton. ‘You can borrow them if youlike. I’ve read them all cover-to-cover, just in case there was any kindof a secret message or hidden note. Alas not.’
‘Thank you,’ Morton replied, taking aquick look at the cover of the top book, entitled Four Sisters. ‘What about other family members? Did Mary and Edith have any othersiblings?’
‘There was an older sister,Caroline. She married a
