‘I ain’t got no effects, now get lost.’
The door slammed in Morton’s face. Well, that went well, he thought, heading back to the pavement and removing his notepad from his bag. He placed a pencil cross beside the name of Norman Strickland. Next up was his brother, Lawrence, who also by the look of his address resided in a flat.
It took Morton half an hour to walk to 5b Priory Road, a house which sat in the centre of a run of a dozen tall white Victorian properties overlooking the grassy slopes of the West Hill and the vast English Channel beyond. At least he’s got a decent view, Morton thought, as he strolled up to the front door, fearing a repeat of Cornwallis Gardens. The name ‘Strickland & Chivers’ was typed on a small strip of paper below the bell for flat 5b. He depressed the bell and waited.
‘Hello?’ a female voice rattled through the intercom.
‘Oh, good morning. My name’s Morton Farrier and I’m researching a-’
‘Morton Farrier the family tree man?’ she cut in.
‘Yes, that’s the one,’ Morton replied, uncertain if her prior knowledge of him was a good thing or not.
‘Come in, come in!’ the lady chirped. ‘First floor.’
The door buzzed and Morton entered the wide hallway and bound up the green-carpeted stairs, where he was met by a lady in an open doorway with a large smile on her face. She had a neat brown bob and a warm familiar face with a subtle touch of make-up.
‘Morton Farrier!’ she declared. ‘I’ve read about you in the papers—how delightful to have you gracing my doorstep. You simply must come in!’
‘Well, that’s certainly a welcome,’ Morton replied, following her into the flat. He guessed that she was Lawrence’s wife.
She led him into the lounge, which was at the front of the house overlooking the West Hill. It was a typically large Victorian room decorated simply but elegantly. It definitely had a woman’s touch. In the corner by the window, Morton spotted a man with a passing resemblance to Norman. Thankfully, though, he wore clean clothes and bore a friendlier face.
‘This is Morton Farrier,’ the lady announced.
‘Lawrence Strickland,’ he said, offering his hand to shake.
‘Oh, how rude, I’m Angela,’ the lady said, ‘Lawrence’s sister.’
‘Oh right, lovely to meet you. I must say, I’m very pleased to find you both under the same roof—it might save me some work!’ Morton said.
‘Sounds intriguing, do take a seat,’ Angela said, rubbing her hands together with glee. ‘Can I get you a drink or anything?’
‘No, I’m fine, thank you.’ He did want a drink, but more than that, he just wanted to get on. ‘Right, the reason I’m here is because I’m researching a case back in the early 1800s and I’ve traced the family down to living relatives in the hope of finding a document which might have passed down through the generations.’
‘How exciting!’ Angela enthused.
‘You’re that family,’ Morton added.
‘Oh, golly!’
‘And what is that you think we might have?’ Lawrence asked, not quite as excited as his sister.
‘Well, to cut a very long story short, your grandfather, Horace Strickland, was in possession of a pair of indentures—essentially the deeds to a parcel of land on the America Ground in Hastings.’
Angela looked baffled. ‘Laurie? Do you know anything about that?’
Lawrence shook his head and looked confounded. ‘Never heard of it.’
Morton nodded then quickly summarised all that he had learnt about the America Ground.
‘Why would our grandad have the deeds to land on the America Ground?’ Lawrence asked.
‘Because, somehow his great-great-great-grandmother, a lady by the name of Eliza Lovekin had lived there and managed to get a freehold entitlement. Sadly, she was murdered just a week later.’
Angela gasped. ‘How terribly awful.’
‘And you say our grandad had them?’ Lawrence asked.
‘Yes, so I believe. May I ask what happened to his effects after he passed away in 1988?’ Morton asked.
Angela and Lawrence both looked at each other and answered simultaneously. ‘Tina.’
‘Our sister. She was the favourite,’ Angela said pointedly. ‘She got practically everything when Grandad died—Dad just got the house and us two and our brothers got nothing at all.’
‘Okay,’ Morton said, making a note on his pad. ‘No chance of it having gone to your brother, John? I notice he also lives in the town, too.’ He looked down at his notepad. ‘At Humington House—if I have his address correct?’
Angela shook her head vehemently. ‘Humington House is a care home. John has severe learning difficulties and needs to be looked after twenty-four-seven. So, no—nothing went to him.’
‘Should have done,’ Lawrence chipped in. ‘He needed the money more than any of us.’
‘Sorry to hear that,’ Morton said.
Angela shrugged. ‘It’s one of those things. He’s happy in his own way and has never known anything different.’
There was a gap in the conversation, with Morton not really sure what to say next.
‘So, yes, these things you’re looking for will either be with Tina or are lost, I’m afraid. I’ve never heard of them,’ Angela said.
‘Do you happen to have her address at all? I struggled to find it.’
Lawrence snorted. ‘Which one?’
Angela nodded and grimaced. ‘She’s got several properties. Her main house is just down the road from here—21 Croft Road, though I’m not sure how helpful she’ll be.’
‘It caused a big family feud,’ Lawrence mused, gazing out of the large windows. ‘We don’t have much to do with the rest of the family, to be honest. After Angela’s husband died she moved in here with me and we get by okay, but Tina… she’s loaded.’ He faced Morton.
