Morton smiled. ‘Okay. I thinkyou’re implying that a gunshot wound to the groin would preclude him fromhaving children and since his son, George, was born in 1911, I think you’resuggesting that he cannot biologically be his. If that were the case,then the Mansfield fortunes should have, according to inheritance laws, passedto your grandmother or mother in 1959.’ Morton suddenly felt on aroll. ‘I think you’re working at Blackfriars in the hope of finding proofof this amongst their archives.’
Jenny smiled. ‘Pretty well spot on,yes.’
Morton was still confused. ‘Right,so…?’ He let his question hang in the air, allowing Jenny to continue herstory.
‘I’ve done some fairly extensive researchat the National Archives, ferreting around various private papers, unit diariesand what have you and, although Cecil is never mentioned by name, oneparticular battalion commander comes pretty close to a graphic description ofinjuries which fit with Cecil. The injuries he describes would have leftthe man in question unable to father a child.’
‘So who do you think is George Mansfield’sfather, then?’
‘That’s one question, but not the one youneed to be asking. The question you need to ask is, who is George’s mother?’
Morton was taken aback. Surelyshe isn’t suggesting… ‘Really?’ he said, a little too incredulously.
Jenny shuffled uncomfortably in her seatand took another glance over her shoulder. ‘Really. You might findit an outlandish theory, but I don’t believe that either Cecil or Philadelphiawere George’s parents.’
‘But he looks so much like them—the hair…’Morton stopped himself when he realised what he had just said. MaryMercer’s physical description, with her red hair, dark complexion and hazel eyesmatched Cecil’s appearance almost exactly; she would have been perfect to havebeen chosen to bear a child with Mansfield features. But what aboutthe father? His genes could surely have overridden hers? Herecalled the photo of Edward Mercer that he had just looked at. A flashof feeling, like swallowing a cup of freezing ice-water, fired through Morton’sinsides. It couldn’t be…
‘You’re getting it, aren’t you?’ Jennysaid, sipping her tea, but still maintaining eye contact.
‘Jenny, this is one hell of a huge leapfrom Cecil possibly being unable to have children to Mary Mercer beingGeorge’s biological mother. Huge. Why was Philadelphia atleast not the mother?’
Jenny shrugged, as if this were anunimportant point to raise. ‘I think you know the answer to that becauseyou suspect who the father might have been.’
‘I think, but have absolutely no evidenceof this, that Mary Mercer was romantically linked with her cousin, EdwardMercer,’ Morton revealed.
‘Did he look like her?’
Morton withdrew his mobile phone, openedup the email from Bartholomew Maslow and showed Jenny the hand-tinted photo ofJack and Edward. ‘Guess which one’s Edward,’ he said sarcastically.
Jenny grinned. ‘There you have it,then. You’ve answered it for yourself. Philadelphia wouldn’t havedegraded herself with another man when two people under her own roof and with apassing resemblance could give them the child they needed to continue theMansfield line—keeping it firmly away from my philandering grandfather.’
Something bothered Morton. ‘How didyou suspect, though, that Mary Mercer was the mother of George?’ Morton asked.
‘I didn’t, until your letter arrived lastweek,’ Jenny said, taking another sip of tea. She rummaged again in herNext bag, like it was a bag of magic tricks that she could only access ifMorton asked the right questions. She removed some more sheets of paperbut held on to them while she spoke. ‘Whilst conducting my own research,I happened upon this article from 1908—three years after Cecil and Philadelphiamarried.’
Morton took the piece of paper. Itwas a photocopy of an extract from the Sussex Express and, ratheralarmingly, read strikingly similarly to a mixture of the reports of Edward’sdrowning and Mary’s disappearance.
Suicideby Drowning
MissFlorence McDougall, seventeen years of age, was found drowned in the lake ofthe Blackfriars estate on Tuesday of last week. Miss McDougall had beenan employee there for two years but had, according to her employers, beensuffering from depression. In the days prior, Miss McDougall hadprivately threatened to take her own life. Her lifeless body was spottedby the head gardener, Mr Charles Phillips, who noticed her distinct red hair onthe water surface. The Coroner’s jury found that the deceased hadcommitted suicide whilst of unsound mind.
‘That image—of the poor girl’s red hairsplayed out on the lake at Blackfriars haunted me,’ Jenny said. ‘WheneverI see the lake now, I see her hair.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Idon’t know why, but something about Florence captivated me. The more Ithought about how Cecil and Philadelphia couldn’t have had a child, the moreobvious it seemed that they would have found someone close by with somephysical characteristics that would throw off suspicion that the child mightnot have been theirs. Anyway, I couldn’t persuade Sidney Mersham to letme look in the archives, so it was on the back-burner when I received yourletter.’
Morton nodded. ‘Do you think thatFlorence and Mary were willing participants?’ he asked, already fearingthe answer.
Jenny screwed up her face. ‘Itdoesn’t seem like it to me.’
‘But if Mary had unwillingly had her childtaken from her and survived—why didn’t she return for him or just not give himup?’
‘The answer to that might forever beconsigned to the vaults of history, Morton.’
Time passed with neither of them speaking,both absorbed in their own thoughts.
Morton thought about the Scotlandconnection. Maybe she went there in order to give birth. Butthen where did she go? Evidently not the same way of Florence McDougalland Edward Mercer, since she turned up in Winchelsea in 1962. Heconsidered the letter that Mary had written from Scotland about having donesomething which caused sadness, shame and embarrassment. Could this beit? It was certainly more substantial than trying on an employer’sclothes. Then he considered that he had waltzed into the Mansfieldarchives with very few questions. ‘But why, then, did the currentMansfields allow me unprecedented access to their archives, when they wouldn’teven allow their own employee?’ he said.
Jenny smiled. ‘Have you never heardof the saying ‘keep your friends close but keep your enemies closer’?’
She had a point. Then Mortonremembered that Sidney had not willingly let him see the Day Book forthe time of Mary’s disappearance—he had only learnt of what had happened thatday through deception.
‘But…’ Morton had too many questions toknow
