‘No worries at all—I’m just lookingforward to finally finding out what happened to this elusive Mary; I’llsit on the roof if I have to!’ Melissa climbed in, carrying a small bunchof roses.
Morton handed the file to Ray and angledhimself so he could face both Ray and Melissa. ‘Well, it’s all inthere—all evidenced for you to look at in your own time. But basically, thenitty-gritty of it all is this,’ Morton said to his eager audience. ‘Atthe time of her disappearance, your Aunt Mary was, in modern terminology, in arelationship with her cousin, Edward Mercer.’
‘Really?’ Melissa said.
‘Yes, and they intended to marry, butnever did because, in May 1911, Edward drowned in the lake at Blackfriars—theplace where they both worked.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ Melissa commented. ‘How awful.’
‘But, Mary was pregnant at the time—verylikely by Edward,’ Morton said, taking a moment to ensure Ray was following.
Ray nodded. ‘What happened to thebaby?’
‘Well, there are no babies registered toMary Mercer in the timeframe when she would have given birth,’ Morton said.
‘Then what happened?’ Ray asked with acurious frown.
Morton leant across and opened the file tothe birth certificate of George Mansfield and allowed Ray and Melissa to readit for themselves.
‘Nine forty-eight a.m, 1stNovember 1911, George Richard Mansfield, son of Cecil Mansfield, Earl ofRothborne and Philadelphia his wife,’ Ray highlighted.
Melissa gasped. ‘She gave it away toanother family! So this lord is our cousin!’ she said excitedly. ‘Can you believe it, Dad?’
‘Are you sure this baby is Mary’s? It says here that the parents are Lord Cecil and Lady PhiladelphiaMansfield. There’s no mention of Mary.’
‘I’m very sure. Cecil was certainlyunable to have children…’
‘So Mary gave up her baby?’ Melissainterjected.
Morton paused for a moment. ‘Well,from what later transpired, I’m inclined to believe that she had no choice,that she was held against her will somewhere on the Blackfriars estate inWinchelsea.’
Another gasp from Melissa.
‘I think she was selected to work as athird housemaid at Blackfriars purely on the basis of her appearance—she bore aresemblance to Cecil Mansfield—certainly from the records I’ve uncovered, shewas no good at her job.’
‘Then what happened?’ Melissa askedimpatiently.
‘Whether she was allowed to leave freely,or whether she escaped, I’m not sure, but in December 1911 Mary set sail fromBristol to Canada, where she remained for most of her adult life. Sheworked as a teacher and—’
‘Hang on,’ Ray interjected. ‘Isearched every inch of passenger records for that period—there was no MaryMercer.’
‘She travelled under a false name—the nameof a school friend, who had died of influenza in 1902. The school recordsare all in that file and they show that the two girls were close friends. Mary lived under the name of Martha Stone until her death.’
‘How sad,’ Melissa said.
Morton nodded in agreement. ‘But,she does appear to have had a good life. She became a teacher and I’vebeen in touch with a couple of people who were taught by her. They saidshe was one of the kindest, most gentle people they’d ever met. She alsohad a mischievous sense of humour—there are a couple of anecdotes in thefile. They also sent me this,’ Morton said, revealing a sheet of paperwith a class photo printed on it. The picture was of a group of childrenformally facing the camera with a sign saying ‘Velmont Juniors 1958’. Standing alongside them, with a mop of wild red hair, was their teacher, MarthaStone. ‘That’s Mary.’
‘I feel like I know her from somewhere,’Ray said.
‘It’s the family resemblance,’ Melissasaid. ‘You can see it’s definitely her.’
‘I’ve analysed the photo against the oneyou have of her as a child—you’ll see the report in there,’ he said, pointingat the folder, which was still open on George Mansfield’s birthcertificate. ‘It’s definitely her. It’s Mary.’
Melissa interrupted a few seconds ofsilence. ‘So, do I take it that she’s buried here, Morton?’
‘Yes, but don’t get your hopes up. It’s a common grave. She was buried here under her assumed name butthere’s no headstone for her.’
‘We’ll soon change that,’ Ray mumbled.
‘Before I show you the grave,’ Mortonsaid, ‘there’s one more thing. Turn the page in that folder.’
Ray did as instructed. ‘Anotherbirth certificate?’
Melissa got it faster than herfather. ‘Oh. My. God.’
‘Twins,’ Ray breathed quietly.
‘Five past ten a.m., 1stNovember 1911, Rebecca Victoria Ransom, born to Caroline Ransom and WilliamRansom—deceased.’
‘But this makes no sense!’ Rayblurted. ‘The birth’s registered in Bristol! The other wasregistered in Rye!’
‘They’re both fabricated—Caroline took onebaby and the Mansfield’s took the other,’ Morton said.
‘So that side of the family knew allalong,’ Ray muttered incredulously. ‘I knew it.’
‘According to Douglas's wife, Susan, heonly discovered it by accident a few years ago and vowed that nobody else inthe family would ever find out. I think he was ashamed of hisgrandmother’s actions, actually and that was what motivated him to keep itquiet. Just after his mother, Rebecca, died in 1993 he found a letterwritten to her from Caroline confessing everything. Well, almosteverything. She didn’t mention the huge detail of Rebecca having a twinbrother.’
‘Did Mary allow all of this to happen?’Melissa asked, incensed.
Morton shrugged. ‘That I can’t besure of. My gut instinct is no. I think it’s no coincidence thatMary leaves Bristol—the home town of her elder sister—under a false name: shedidn’t want to be found. And that’s the way it remained until 1925 whenyour grandmother went out and found her. We can only guess at whathappened out there in 1925, but that was the year your grandmother divorcedJoshua Leyden and the following year Mary moves away.’
‘This is far beyond what I was expecting,Morton,’ Ray exclaimed. ‘My goodness. The poor girl.’
The car fell into silence, as Mortonallowed his two passengers to absorb the information he had just shared. He hoped it wasn’t too much for Ray to take in, considering his frail health.
Ray exhaled loudly. ‘Come on, let’sgo and see her grave.’ He turned to Melissa. ‘If I can’t get aheadstone sorted out, promise me you will.’
‘Of course, Dad.’
‘It’s over the other side of the cemetery,so I’ll drive us closer,’ Morton said, starting the engine. ‘I asked theoffice to put a marker on it, so hopefully we can find it.’
Morton slowly wove his way through thecemetery until he reached the right
