‘Oh, poor thing,’ Bunny lamented.
‘Then, when Eliza was about sixteen years old, new governors were appointed at the workhouse—Mr and Mrs Honeysett,’ Morton said, flipping the page to an article that he had found online about the couple’s governorship. ‘Mrs Honeysett died not long after they took over and, from what later transpires, Mr Honeysett was not a very nice man.’
Bunny shook her head at the news and drew a finger under her left eye.
‘He took advantage of his position and three young girls in his care became pregnant by him—Lydia Bloom, Amelia Odden and Eliza Winter.’
‘Oh golly,’ Bunny exclaimed, taking a sip of her drink.
‘Mr Honeysett then tried to poison the girls in order to induce a miscarriage in each. But,’ Morton said, turning to the newspaper article that he had found about Eliza’s court case, ‘the three of them seem tough little things—this is a court action brought against Mr Honeysett. He lost the case and was sentenced to two years’ hard labour.’
‘Well, thank goodness for that,’ Bunny said, looking at the portrait and adding, ‘some justice for you, my dear.’
‘This next page shows baptism entries for the three girls’ children,’ Morton said, indicating Eliza’s highlighted entry.
‘A boy called Richard,’ Bunny read with interest. ‘So she had a son.’
‘And if I can just turn the page again, you will see the Bastardy Bond for all three girls, clearly stating Thomas Honeysett to be the father of their children.’
‘Golly—how on earth did you manage to find all this?’ she asked incredulously.
‘That’s my job,’ Morton responded, before continuing with his explanation, ‘Then, one day in 1803, Eliza disappeared from the workhouse, leaving her baby son, Richard behind.’
‘Really?’ Bunny screeched. ‘Oh dear—things must have been truly awful for her to just up and leave her child behind like that. It doesn’t even bear thinking about.’
‘No, it doesn’t,’ Morton concurred. He allowed the news to sink in, watching Bunny’s perplexed face. ‘It’s my opinion that she probably met Joseph Lovekin around this time and left with him. They married in Church in the Wood in’ – Morton turned the page to the copy of their marriage record—‘July 1803—just a few months after she had disappeared from the workhouse. Joseph and Eliza then had three girls together: Harriet, Keziah and Ann. Then, at some point over the following years, they moved to the America Ground, where they ran a successful gin palace called the Black Horse. Also on the America Ground at this time is Eliza’s old friend, Lydia Bloom—who was living under her married name of Elphick. If you remember back to my last visit, I told you that Harriet Lovekin had married a man called Christopher Elphick—he was Lydia’s son.’
‘Lovely,’ Bunny said.
‘At the library I found out Lydia’s cause of death,’ Morton said, flipping to the next page. Just like Eliza and Joseph Lovekin’s burial entries in St Clements Church, her cause of death had been added.
‘Suicide?’ Bunny read sorrowfully. ‘Those poor girls. We don’t know how fortunate we are, do we?’
‘After losing her friend, Lydia, Eliza then lost her husband, Joseph in what was, so I’ve read, one of the worst storms to ever hit the South Coast.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Now, going back to Lydia’s death—it says suicide and I’ve not found any evidence to the contrary, but I do wonder if there might have been more to it—but I’ll come back to that. Lydia Elphick died soon after trying to sell her house on the America Ground, which prompted an official inquiry.’ Morton moved to the next page, which was a copy of the inquest into the ownership of the land. ‘As we know, Eliza managed to secure a freehold lease to a parcel of land on the America Ground. But, she was the only one.’
‘Really?’ Bunny exclaimed. ‘But how? Why?’
‘Well, the lease was signed by one Alderman Thomas Honeysett,’ Morton divulged.
‘Not the same Thomas…’
‘The very same—if you look at the next page, you’ll see copies of his signatures taken from official workhouse documents and from the lease and release—it’s one and the same person. It’s my theory that Eliza blackmailed him in order to secure the freehold agreement.’
‘And what, she was then murdered and her children were unaware that they were entitled to remain there—that they owned some of the land?’ Bunny asked. ‘You said they moved the pub brick by brick to Shepherd Street.’
‘I think they knew fully well what she’d done,’ Morton answered. ‘And I think they realised that having anything to do with the America Ground was a very dangerous game—a lesson their offspring should have learnt.’
‘Eliza’s murder?’ Bunny asked, her eye widening.
‘Her apparent murder, yes,’ Morton answered enigmatically.
‘What do you mean?’
Morton turned to the next page, which contained an A4 colour copy of the photo of the three graves in Church in the Wood. Bunny examined the photo for several seconds before making any kind of a reaction.
‘I don’t understand. Amelia Odden—that was Eliza’s friend from the workhouse and Harriet and Christopher Elphick. But who’s this in the middle?’ Bunny questioned, moving in closer to read the grave inscription once more. ‘In memory of Eliza Winter 1786 to 1862.’ She looked up at Morton, confusion etched on her face. ‘Eliza Winter? Is that Eliza’s mother?’
Morton shook his head and pointed at the painting. ‘It’s Eliza.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
27th April 1827, The America Ground, outside Hastings, Sussex
It was a beautiful night. The sky was clear and lit by a million glistening stars, each mirrored flawlessly on the surface of the flat inky sea. The crisp moon, displaying a precise dissection, sat high above the America Ground, unassumingly directing the gentle motion of the tides. Despite the breeze rising up from the channel, Harriet was warm, nuzzled at Christopher’s
