The Marriage Certificate (21 page)

‘I see the house is now called
Milton
, but back in
1996 it was called
Cambria
wasn’t it?’

‘That’s right, it was. ’e named it after the steam engine we
built. Suppose being the last one, ’e wanted to remember it by something. When
they sold the ’ouse and the new owners moved in, they changed the name and
everything. Don’t blame them mind, after what ’ad gone on there … ’e’d been
dead three weeks. They reckon the smell was awful.’

‘When you say “they sold it”, who sold it?’

‘The council, I think. It was in a right old state. They
boarded it up straight after, like, but the vandals and druggies got in there.
So the council did that compulsive purchase, you know, where they take it over
and sell it, at an auction, I think. The council buried him too, because there
was no one to pay for the funeral. Anyway, Bill Ward bought it …’e’s a builder
and did it all up. Stripped it right back to bare brick and started again. When
it was finished you wouldn’t ’ave thought it was the same place and the new
family what moved in after changed the name to
Milton
.’

‘Look, that’s really helpful. I could chat all day but I
need to meet my wife,’ Peter said, as he fumbled in his jacket for his wallet.
He found it and took out a five-pound note, which he pressed into the old man’s
hand. ‘Thank you very much,’ Peter said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

‘That’s all right, was no trouble.’

Peter jumped out and went round to the passenger side to
open the door for him. The old man got out stiffly. ‘Lovely car mister,’ he
said. ‘Thanks for the drink.’

‘That’s OK, you treat yourself.’

‘Yeah, reckon I will. Cheerio.’

‘Cheerio,’ said Peter climbing back into the car. He
started the engine, turned around and headed off for his lunchtime rendezvous
and only five minutes late! Still, Felicity would understand, especially when
he gave her the details of the conversation he had just had.

Carol was desperate to open the envelope containing the
certificate of the marriage of Francis Williams to Rosetta Price when it
arrived on her desk, but her excitement was short-lived. The bride was correct,
but the Francis Williams she married was aged forty and not the son of Arthur
Williams, hotel keeper. He was the wrong Frank Williams. She was bitterly
disappointed. ‘Williams’, she knew was a very common name in South Wales. It
was just an unfortunate coincidence.

She tried to imagine where Frank might have gone after the
wedding in 1900. She couldn’t find him on the 1901 Census, or on that of 1911.
He could have been anywhere, home or abroad, she thought. She didn’t know his
occupation. Perhaps, he never married? She really had so little to go on.

She decided to change tack. She knew from the marriage
certificate of John and Louisa that Frank’s father was Arthur Williams. What if
she looked for his death and then tried to find a will? Again, it was something
of a long shot, but wills often listed family members as beneficiaries. If
Frank was listed on his father’s will, then that might give her some clues.

She searched for Arthur’s death and located it in Ventnor
during the fourth quarter of 1905. Then she checked the probate calendars and
found what she was looking for. The entry said:
Williams – Arthur. Cascade
View Hotel, Marine Parade, Ventnor IOW. Died 14th December 1905 at Memorial
Hospital, Cowes, IOW. Probate, Winchester, to Florence Williams, widow. Effects
£327.

Carol asked Tom Furniss to pick up a copy of the will on his
next visit to the Probate Office.

She turned her attention to the Crockford family. Did Louisa
have any brothers or sisters? The 1891 Census showed that she had a brother
David, aged fifteen. She looked for a marriage of David Crockford from 1896 to
1914, but drew a blank. Neither could she identify him on the 1901 nor the 1911
Census Returns. She checked to see if he had died between 1896 and 1911, but
again drew a blank. What could have happened to him? She then tried looking for
the death of his father, Thomas Crockford, thinking David might be named in his
will, but found nothing.

She started to get the feeling that this case might be
unsolvable, but she had no intention of giving up, not unless she was
instructed by Nick to drop it. So far, she felt that for every two steps
forward, she met an obstacle, which pushed her one step back. That was
obviously the reason the case had remained unsolved and listed on Bona Vacantia
for the last nine years. Still, she consoled herself with the thought that if
and when she did crack this case, the satisfaction would be all the greater.

Carol took a break and went to get some coffee. She sat back
in her chair, sipping slowly from her cup and wondered what to do next. She had
an idea. As she had been unable to find a marriage or death for David
Crockford, then perhaps he’d gone abroad, either for work or to live
permanently. She decided to have a look at passenger lists for ships leaving
British ports from 1890 to 1910. This time she was in luck. She found an entry
for a David Crockford, listed as a passenger on the
SS Manitoba
, which
sailed from London, bound for New York on 15 August 1894.

If this was the same David Crockford, brother of Louisa,
then he would have been eighteen at the time
, Carol surmised. What was even
more interesting was the name of the passenger listed directly above his on the
manifest. The name was Frederick Crockford, occupation ‘Doctor’. Surely, it
couldn’t be a coincidence. There had to be a family relationship, between
Frederick and David Crockford. Her imagination went into overdrive as she
considered the implications.

Felicity was waiting at the kerb where Peter had dropped her off
earlier. She was overloaded with bags; she’d obviously had a successful time.
He pulled up and released the luggage compartment so that she could put the
shopping out of the way. He got out to help her.

‘You’re late,’ she said. ‘I was just about to ring and see
where you were.’

‘I know, I know … sorry, but wait until you hear what
happened.’

‘OK, but are we going to have something to eat?’

‘Yes, of course. I noticed a trendy restaurant on the way
into here. It looked as if it might be OK.’

‘That sounds fine and you need to eat. You’ve had nothing
since breakfast.’

Peter drove the short distance to the restaurant and he
chose a spot to park, where he could keep an eye on the car while they ate.
They were shown to a table and quickly ordered. Felicity started to tell him
about the bargains she’d found and how much she’d saved. He listened patiently
and waited until she’d finished.

‘Right, you’ll never guess what I’ve managed to confirm and
find out.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, Harry Williams did have an accident at work. Remember
he had to retire early because he lost three fingers?’

‘Yes, but who told you this?’

‘An old boy – one of the neighbours. He came out to
challenge me when I was taking some photos of the house in Stephenson Street.
He said he was in Neighbourhood Watch and that he’d written down the number
plate. Anyway, we got talking. I told him that I was researching family history
and asked him about Harry Williams. He knew him when he worked with him at the
foundry, about fifty years ago.’

‘Fifty years ago! However old was he?’

‘Well, he said he was nearly eighty-one. He remembered when
Harry retired. He confirmed that Harry was foreman patternmaker. He was
definite that Harry never married, nor had any brothers or sisters. He said
that he lived with his mother, that she was a widow, and that they looked after
each other. He reckoned that Harry bought the house when he became foreman
patternmaker, but I never thought to ask when that was. I also forgot to ask
how long he thought Harry had lived there  – damn! He told me … and this is
most interesting … after Harry retired, and having lost his mother a few months
before, he just shut himself off from everybody and became a recluse.
Apparently, the house was in a shocking state when he passed away. Before that,
he used to be quite sociable; ran bingo evenings at the works’ social club, apparently,
and raised lots of money for the Lifeboat Charity.’

Felicity started to say something, but Peter stopped her
gently. ‘There’s more too. It seems that when he died, his body wasn’t
discovered for three weeks. The house was boarded up afterwards, but vandals
got in there. So the council took it over and sold it under a compulsory
purchase order, or a “compulsive” order, as he described it!’

‘What? … and you found out all of this from talking to just
one old man?’

‘Yes, and there’s even more!’ Peter replied
excitedly. ‘He said that some chap, an heir hunter I suppose, was in the area
the other week asking questions about Harry Williams. He spoke to Mrs Higgins,
one of the other neighbours and told her that he worked for a company based in
London, called High Holborn Research or something like that. The old man wasn’t
absolutely sure of the name.’

‘How come this busybody didn’t see the man?’

‘Ah, well, it was a Thursday morning and he always goes into
town on Thursday mornings.’ They both laughed.

‘Holborn Research? Have you heard of it?’ asked Felicity.

‘No, but I could try looking them up when we get back.’

The waitress arrived with their meals. As they tucked in,
Peter went on to tell Felicity that apparently the local paper had made a lot
of the story at the time, because Harry’s body had lain in the house for three
weeks. ‘The paper blamed the social services and the neighbours for not caring
about him. That means it should be worth trying to get hold of a copy, to see
if I can dig up any other information about him. I’ll try the local reference
library this afternoon. You’re quite happy to do some more shopping, aren’t
you?’

‘Yes, of course I am, but get on with your food before it
gets cold and don’t talk any more about festering bodies, at least not until
we’ve finished eating!’

Whenever her other work priorities allowed, Carol continued to
work on the Williams’ case. She had given up temporarily on Harry’s uncle,
Frank Williams, while she was waiting for the will of Arthur Williams. For the
moment, she had switched her efforts to Harry’s mother’s side of the family,
specifically his uncle, David Crockford.

She knew that David Crockford had left London, bound for New
York, in 1894. She was certain that he was accompanied by a relative, Doctor
Frederick Crockford, but how was he related?

Carol searched the 1861 Census to see if she could find
Frederick Crockford. She found him, living in Leyton in the same household as
Thomas Crockford. Frederick was eight at the time and his brother Thomas was
thirteen. Their father was a draper and everything fitted in nicely. Frederick
therefore had to be David Crockford’s uncle.

Unfortunately, for Carol, the fact that David Crockford had
gone to the United States in 1894 opened up a whole new catalogue of questions.
In order to answer them, she was going to need some assistance from one of
Highborn Research’s associates, based in the USA. First and foremost, she
needed to find out if David had fathered any children. He would of course be
dead by now, but any child of his would be Harry’s first cousin, and any
grandchild of David would be a first cousin, once removed. In English
inheritance law, if there were no living first cousins, then first cousins once
removed could inherit.

The following day, Tom Furniss placed an envelope on her
desk. He knew she’d been waiting very patiently for it.

‘There you are. Don’t say I never do you any favours. Just
got back from the Probate Office. I think that’s the will you wanted, for
Arthur Williams.’

‘Oh, thanks Tom. I didn’t think you’d be there until
tomorrow.’

‘Nor did I. Friday’s my normal day down there, but there’s a
flap on – one of the cases on the Treasury List this morning. So, there you
are, what service, a day early!’

Carol pulled out the three pages from the envelope. The
first page was a copy of the grant of probate to Arthur’s widow, Florence. The
other two pages were of the will itself. It was brief and straightforward.
Florence was appointed as executor. Arthur left everything to Florence apart
from three specific bequests. To his son John, he left his gold pocket watch.
To his nephew, George Morris, he left his silver cigarette case. In memory of
his deceased son, Frank, he wished that a memorial plaque be erected to show
Frank’s name and those of his comrades from the Isle of Wight who fell in the
South African War 1900–1902. The will set aside a sum of fifty pounds to cover
the cost of providing it.

No wonder I couldn’t find Frank on the 1901 or 1911
Census returns
, Carol thought.
He was killed in the Boer War
. The
will made no mention of Frank having a wife or children, but Carol needed to
find out a little more about Frank and any children he may have had before she
could eliminate him completely. She was able to check a database of British
casualties of the Boer War. She entered his name into the search box and soon
found the information she needed. Frank Williams died 5 October 1900, at
Bloemfontein. He was a soldier in the City of London Imperial Volunteers.

Carol had never heard of the City of London Imperial
Volunteers, but it was not something she needed to know. What she did need to
confirm was whether Frank Williams had made a will and named a wife or child.
She wrote down the details of the date of death and made her way over to Tom
Furniss’ desk.

‘T-o-o-o-o-m,’ she said in a husky, laboured voice. Playing
on her sexuality a little always turned Tom into a sucker for the helpless
female. ‘Will you be going to the Probate Office again tomorrow?’

‘Should be, that’s the plan.’

‘Well, could you see if you can find another will for me?’
she asked in a sort of pleading,
I’ll-make-it-worth-your-while
voice.

Tom didn’t take much persuading and it was always flattering
to have a pretty girl like Carol asking for a favour. ‘Oh, go on then,’ he
said, ‘give me the details.’

Carol passed a piece of paper to him with everything he
needed to know. As she returned to her desk, she pondered the possible outcomes
any will might reveal. She’d established that Frank Williams, Harry’s uncle,
was killed in 1900. She calculated that Frank’s death must have occurred about
nine months after Louisa and John’s wedding, where he was probably best man.
Carol thought it sad. If Frank did leave a will and mentioned neither wife nor
children, then Carol could assume that he was a bachelor. Should that be the
case, Carol would be able to cross off Frank as providing a blood relative to
Harry Williams. His line would be a ‘dead stem’. That would clear the way for
her to concentrate on David Crockford’s line, as potential heirs to the Harry
Williams’ estate.

Tom Furniss approached her desk after lunch the following day.
From his expression, she could see that he hadn’t found what she wanted.

‘No luck then?’ she queried, despondently.

‘No, sorry.’ He watched her face fall and then with a
flourish, pulled an envelope from his inside pocket.

‘What? … That’s it? You found it after all!’

He grinned and winked as he passed it to her.

‘You bugger!’ Carol exclaimed. She stood up and gave Tom a
peck on the cheek, grabbing the envelope at the same time. ‘Thanks, Tom.’

After he’d gone, she opened it and read the details
of the will it contained. It was another very short and simple last will and
testament. A London solicitor had drawn it up in November 1899. Carol decided
that Frank must have lived in London, and that explained why he was in the City
of London Imperial Volunteers.

Reading the will, Frank left everything to his
brother, John Williams of 46 Apsley Street. It mentioned some shares and some
money deposited at a bank, but nothing more. The will had been proved and
probate granted to John in January 1901. No wife or child was mentioned, so it
was reasonable to assume that Frank was a bachelor. She’d now obtained what she
needed to confirm that fact.

Her attention again turned to David Crockford. She checked
incoming and outgoing passenger lists to see if he had returned from America
after 1911, but found no match. She then double-checked the English and Welsh
marriages and again drew a blank. She was pretty sure that David had settled in
the United States.

One name she did notice when she searched the passenger
lists was that of a Thomas Crockford going out to New York in 1917. She was
certain it was David’s father, as his age matched. She felt even more certain
that David had stayed in the United States and had been joined there later by
his father.

She brought up the 1930 United States Census on her computer
and searched for David Crockford. She found him living in New York, married to
Doris. They had a son, Michael, aged ten. She’d expected to find that David had
got married in the States and the U.S. Census confirmed it.

She needed to bring Nick up to date, so she buzzed
him in his office.

‘Come straight up,’ he said.

Carol quickly explained where she’d got to.

‘Well done. I’m impressed. Now, we’ll need to get on to our
stateside associates Purdie-Gressl. Get a copy of the file prepared. I’ll give
John Gressl a ring, before we email the stuff over.’

‘Is there no way I can continue from here?’

‘Sorry, Carol, but they’re best placed now for this one.
That’s heir hunting for you. Sometimes it takes us across international
boundaries.’

When Carol had gone, Nick leaned back in his chair. It was a
little disappointing that the trail had gone abroad. It meant sharing some of
Highborn’s commission with Purdie-Gressl, but the two companies regularly
worked for each other. Purdie-Gressl would trace any heirs of David Crockford
in the United States, or Canada, and sign them up on Highborn’s contract,
before returning the paperwork to Highborn for onward submission to the
Treasury Solicitor.