Morton closed the folder down, gathered up his things and moved to one of the four digital microfilm readers. Walking the short distance to the run of metal filing cabinets, he selected Film 47: Brighton Argus 1911 and carried it back to the reader. He threaded it through the machine, then fast-forwarded to October, the month during which Linden Grove had been destroyed.
He found the story quickly under the headline, ‘Palatial Mansion House Burned to the Ground.’ Splaying his fingers on the screen, he magnified the story, then began to read with great interest: ‘The mansion of Mr Francis Wild was burned out during the early hours of this morning. The mansion was a beautiful residence, situated in the best part of the town, and was fitted out at great cost by Mr Wild, a well-known local factory owner. The Fire Brigade was called about three o’clock but the firemen were still at work six hours later, by which time the mansion was completely destroyed. The damage is estimated at many thousands of pounds. It is stated that the fire is the work of suffragettes, and the matter is being investigated. The family were away at the time and Mr Wild could not be reached for comment on the matter. No doubt this outrage will have the effect of alienating a large number of local people from sympathy with the movement. This seems to be the common result of militancy, and it is amazing that suffragists do not recognise the fact, and in consequence adopt a policy less likely to put off the day when the vote will be given to women. But whether the militant suffragists take this course or continue to pursue their mad career of crime, they will, in any case, soon be made to realise that the general public are disgusted with the present state of affairs and it will not tolerate it much longer.’
Grace had burned down Linden Grove. But why? Morton wondered, photographing the newspaper entry. What had Francis Wild done? He pushed on to the following week, to see if the story had been followed up. And it had. ‘Mr Francis Wild killed in Linden Grove arson’, shouted the headline. ‘It has been confirmed by the Fire Brigade that local businessman, Mr Francis Wild was killed in the devastating fire at his home of Linden Grove last week, which destroyed the ancient mansion. Mr Wild’s body was discovered in the wreckage of the building several days after the fire. It is believed that he had been attempting to rescue precious items from the house and became trapped inside. The incident is still being investigated as an arson attack caused by suffragettes. It is reported that two tins of explosives were detonated inside the house. A third tin of Keen’s Genuine Imperial Mustard was removed from the scene by P.S. Lenehan, Special Branch, and taken to the Bomb-Proof House, Duck Island in St James’ Park. Upon analysis, the tin was proved to contain pure nitro-glycerine. The funeral arrangements for Mr Wild will be announced shortly.’
So many thoughts were suddenly bouncing around Morton’s brain, each vying for attention. A tin of Keen’s Genuine Imperial Mustard? Wasn’t that the same tin that Margot had handed Morton containing the portcullis brooch? Francis Wild killed in the attack? It was little wonder that Grace had ceased her activism if a man had died, albeit partially his own fault for trying to save his possessions. But still the main question persisted: why target him? He hoped that the ensuing pages of the newspaper might hold the answer.
Forwarding the newspaper on to the following week, Morton began to search for any mention of the incident or Francis Wild. Two weeks after the fire, the details of his funeral were printed: a lavish affair involving half the town and several motorcars. The report recapped the details of the fire, only adding that ‘no arrests had been made’ and that Mr Wild was ‘staunchly anti-suffragist’. Was that the reason that Grace had burned down his house? Morton pondered. It seemed pretty thin, given that so many members of the public were against the cause. Could it have been something to do with his factory? Little had been mentioned of it in the newspapers.
Morton sat back and rubbed his temples. Time was slipping away. He only had two more hours left before the archives closed. He needed to understand more about Francis Wild, his home, personal life and business. But first, Morton needed to keep trawling the newspapers to find out if anybody had been arrested for the Linden Grove attack.
It took him over an hour and a quarter to find a report, in July 1912 that effectively said that the investigation into the fire at Linden Grove had been closed. It was arson, believed to have been perpetrated by suffragettes. Morton was smugly satisfied that Grace had escaped conviction and what would have certainly amounted to a lengthy prison sentence.
With just forty minutes left until closing, he decided to shift his attention to Francis Wild, first pulling up the reference to his death to ascertain his age: 45.
Switching to the GRO birth index, Morton typed in Francis Wild’s name.
His mother’s maiden name shocked him.
He quickly returned to the 1871 census, berating himself for having missed something so obvious.
Chapter Ten
18th November 1911, Wye, Kent
Grace cursed her injured leg as she descended the staircase. Using her walking cane, whilst clutching the small posy of white roses, was damned difficult. Apart from the wretchedly steep stairs, she loved the place. It was a quaint old railway-worker’s cottage, located on the outskirts of the sleepy Kent village, which she and Cecil had rented shortly after fleeing the fire at Linden Grove. Believing that the police would turn up to arrest them at any moment, they had lied to the old widow who owned the cottage, telling
