Next, Morton added the Mercer’s immediateneighbours to the ‘Friends’ list. Of course, he didn’t know if theyactually were friends or not, but they needed to be considered. Running the same types of searches, Morton found living descendants from theadjacent properties and occupants of the two houses opposite to the Mercers in1911.
Morton’s second latte had been finishedfor some time when the waitress returned to clear his table. A fewcustomers had come and gone since his installation by the window, but thecoffee shop was not busy.
‘Another latte?’ the waitress asked with apleasant smile.
There was a question. Hiscoffee-addicted brain desperately wanted him to say yes, but, from the darkrecesses of his mind, he could hear Juliette reprimanding him for his caffeineintake. She was like some wartime minister, handing out rations ofcoffee. ‘Decaf, please. Thank you,’ he said, satisfying himselfwith the compromise.
Whilst he waited for his drink, Morton focussedhis attention on the Mansfield family. Of the main family line, much hadalready been documented in various sources. Morton cross-referred thevarious burial dates for the Mansfield family that he had procured from theWinchelsea parish registers with what was available online. LadyRothborne, her son Cecil and his wife Philadelphia had all been interred in thefamily vaults of St Thomas’s Church, along with their only son, George, who wasthe last member of the family to appear in the burial register when he wasburied in July 2008. The only other family member present at the time ofthe 1911 census had been Cecil’s cousin, Frederick Mansfield. Mortonracked his brain to think if he had read anything about him in the guidebook toBlackfriars, but nothing came to mind.
He picked up his laptop case and rummagedamong the collection of Mercer Case documents that he had brought withhim. He found the guidebook to Blackfriars, flicked to the index andfound just one mention of Frederick Mansfield. He turned to the relevantpage and found a family portrait taken on Empire Day, 1911. The grainy,sepia image showed Cecil, Philadelphia, Lady Rothborne and Frederick Mansfieldstanding haughtily outside the front entrance to the main house. Below itwas a photograph of the domestic staff taken on the same day, but this one wastaken outside the servants’ kitchen door. Just underneath the photo was alist of some of those present, although the addition of several question marksindicated that not all of the servants had been identified. Morton kickedhimself for having missed that the photographs had been taken in such a keyyear. A quick Google search revealed that Empire Day in 1911 was onWednesday 24th May. It was an annual event from 1902, celebratingthe British Empire, which tactfully transformed into Commonwealth Day insubsequent years. These pictures had been taken the month followingMary’s disappearance and just six days after Edward Mercer had drowned in theBlackfriars lake—just a few yards from where the picture had been taken. Morton held the picture up close. It had not reproduced very well in theguidebook, leaving the faces of the servants small and indistinguishable.
Morton pulled out his mobile and dialledSidney Mersham’s extension at Blackfriars. He was in luck—Sidney wassitting at his desk in the basement archives and picked up straight away. After initial pleasantries had been exchanged, Morton asked Sidney if a largercopy of the Empire Day photographs could be emailed to him. Sidney agreedto do it right away. Morton thanked him and ended the call. Hewould check his emails as soon as his current research thread had ended.
Thephone tap had worked. The man listening to the conversation that had justtaken place between Morton Farrier and Sidney Mersham smiled. It was mucheasier to intercept a phone conversation than he had ever realised. Whengiven the task, he had asked some of his more nefarious friends about how toobtain the necessary equipment. However, he easily found what he neededon a legitimate website for a hundred and forty-nine pounds. Getting thenecessary software onto Morton’s phone had been the hardest part and requiredhim to enter Morton’s house at night to place the software onto his phone. It wasn’t the first time in his life that he had made a trip to an ironmongersfor the requisite breaking and entering equipment and he doubted that it wouldbe the last, despite a deliberate attempt to try and legitimise himself oflate. With the software in place, he had access through an online consoleto all of Morton’s key information: SMS activity, voice calls, emails, GPSlocation, internet browser history, call recording and the ability to listenand record background noise around the mobile phone. He was going tomonitor Morton Farrier’s every move.
Theyoung waitress tottered over to Morton’s window-seat table and placed a mugdown in front of him. ‘Decaf latte,’ she said. ‘Will there beanything else?’
‘Not for now, thank you,’ he answered. He would likely end up having lunch here, but it was all down to how much heachieved on his list of research areas.
Morton returned his attention back toFrederick Mansfield. His only mention in the guidebook was in the EmpireDay photograph and on the genealogical pull-out chart at the centre of thebook. Morton double-checked the burial register entries for Winchelseaand confirmed that he had not been buried in the family vault.
Running a marriage and death search forFrederick revealed that he had died young, shortly after marrying in1922. A further, generalised search brought Frederick up in the AndrewsNewspaper Index Cards 1790-1976. Morton clicked to view the originalimage, which was for a newspaper clipping, stating that Frederick Mansfield hadbeen killed in an automobile accident. Little more of the incident wasmentioned, so Morton switched to the Findmypast website and searched theirBritish newspaper collection 1710-1953. He quickly found that TheTimes had a more detailed report on the accident. It stated in nouncertain terms that Frederick, excessively intoxicated with liquor, had drivenhis Rolls Royce Silver Ghost over the cliff-top at Beachy Head in Eastbourne,following a late-night gambling and soliciting foray in Soho. He left hiswife, Emmeline and young daughter, Vivien Mansfield. The Mansfield familyhad declined to make a statement to the newspaper, but Morton guessed that theywere mortified by such scandalous revelations.
Morton saved
