‘I’ve got all the wedding bits out ready,’ Juliette said, pointing to the kitchen table, which was when Morton looked over and noticed the two envelopes from the General Register Office. Ann Lovekin’s marriage certificate and Keziah Lovekin’s death certificate. ‘All that remains is for us now to open some red and get deciding.’
‘You didn’t like my Vegas idea, then?’ Morton joked, unable to stop himself from wondering at the contents of the two envelopes.
Juliette smirked as she opened a bottle of wine and poured out two large glasses. ‘You need to be serious about this, Mr Farrier.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said, taking a glass from the table.
Juliette took a seat beside him. ‘Right. First things first. Any preference for timescale? I was thinking next year sometime.’
Morton nodded. ‘Next year sometime sounds good.’
‘Summer?’ she asked hopefully.
‘Summer sounds good.’
‘Okay. That was easy enough. Tick. Right, venue.’
‘Venue sounds good.’ He knew that he was over-compensating for the shock of his afternoon and needed to rein it in or else she might become suspicious.
Juliette pulled a scorned look and slapped his arm. ‘Be serious. Do you have any ideas for a venue?’
‘Not really, but I’m guessing by the gargantuan file in front of us, that you have,’ he said, taking a large gulp of wine. This was going to be a long night. He eyed the certificates on the table again, but knew that they would have to wait now until tomorrow.
‘Just open them,’ Juliette said with a sigh.
‘What?’
‘You know what.’
‘Nope, no more work today. Venues.’
She raised a sceptical eyebrow but dragged the folder over nonetheless. ‘So. I was thinking that, given your interests, maybe somewhere with a bit of history?’
‘That would be nice,’ he answered. He opened the first page of the folder and shot her a perplexed look. ‘Bodiam Castle?’ he questioned. ‘Are you joking?’
‘No, what’s wrong with that? I thought you liked Bodiam Castle.’
‘I do, for a quiet afternoon out,’ he answered, guzzling on his wine. ‘How many people are you thinking of inviting?’
‘Well,’ she replied, removing a sleeve from the back of the folder. ‘That’s a separate job, but I have made a provisional list. With all the usual family politics taken into account—about a hundred and fifty.’
‘Do I even know a hundred and fifty people?’ Morton asked incredulously, running a finger down the list of names. ‘Well he’s not being invited, that’s for sure and I doubt very much they’d bother…’ He abandoned the list part-way through when Juliette huffed her exasperation. ‘Okay, what other venues have you got in mind?’
‘The Powder Mills in Battle? Leeford Place Hotel?’ she ventured.
‘They’re all pretty big, aren’t they?’ he said. ‘I kind of thought it would be a small thing—you know, just close family and friends—so that it’s more about us than…’—he looked down at the prospective invite list—‘Dave and Sandra. I mean, you really want my dad’s next door neighbours seeing us getting married?’
Juliette sipped her wine and became subdued.
Morton sensed her disappointment. ‘Look, why don’t we go through the guest list first and whittle it down to the people we really want there? Forget politics. Then, when we’ve got that list finalised we can find a suitable venue.’
Juliette agreed and they spent the next two hours working on the guest list for their wedding. The final list ran to sixty-two people, which Morton found infinitely more bearable than a hundred and fifty.
‘We’ll do venues another evening,’ Juliette said, finishing the last dregs of her wine. ‘I’m on an early tomorrow, so I’m off to bed. You coming?’
‘Won’t be a moment,’ Morton answered, his eyes falling to the two certificates on the table. He cleared the glasses and empty wine bottle away and then tore open the first envelope. It was for Ann Lovekin’s marriage. She had married Walter Sellens on the 18th November 1839 in St Leonards Church—just on the outskirts of Hastings. Ann was recorded as a twenty-two-year-old spinster, whose father, Joseph Lovekin, was deceased. Her abode was listed rather vaguely as Hollington. Her husband, Walter was noted as a twenty-five-year-old farmer and also from Hollington. The witnesses to the wedding were Keziah Lovekin and Harriet Elphick.
Elphick? The name was familiar to Morton. It took a moment then it came to him: a Christopher Elphick was noted in the Sussex Weekly Advertiser as having discovered Eliza Lovekin’s dead body. Was the Harriet Elphick, who had witnessed the marriage, Ann’s sister, who had married Christopher? Morton wondered.
He placed the certificate on the table and opened the next: Keziah Lovekin’s death certificate. She had died on the 19th August 1892 at The Forester’s Arms public house, St Leonards, aged eighty, of senile decay. Morton’s previous theory was borne out when he read the name and description of the informant: Harriet Elphick, sister. Present at the death.
His shoulder ached. His cut neck throbbed. His pumping adrenalin, that he had kept hidden from Juliette, was finally abating.
As much as he wanted—needed—to continue his research, it was time for bed.
Chapter Fourteen
Morton was once again waiting for the Hastings Reference Library doors to open. He had slept terribly—a spiteful blend of the pain in his shoulder and neck and the images of being bundled off to a desolate farm playing over and over in his mind on a never-ending loop.
He finished his take-out latte and turned to place the cup in the bin, looking over at the run of shops opposite as he did so. Sure enough, the man who had followed him on foot from the car park was there, innocently propped up against the wall eating a sausage roll. He had made, and continued to make, no attempt at discretion. He couldn’t have looked more
