The Marriage Certificate (24 page)

Love from Rose

X

Peter studied the message. It was to John and Louisa from
somebody called Rose. Who was she? Could it be a postcard from Rosetta, the
witness named on the marriage certificate? Perhaps, she used the shorter form
of her Christian name when writing to her friends? It was a possibility.

He felt a charge of excitement and searched through the
remaining Isle of Wight cards. About twenty cards later, he came across another
one sent to John and Louisa.

It was postmarked: Ventnor I.O.W. 26 June 1902.

The scene showed the front façade of the Cascade View Hotel
and the message on the reverse read:

Dearest John and
Louisa,

How do you like our
new postcards? Just had them printed and you are the first recipients. Saw Rose
and children yesterday at Charlotte’s. Edith is the image of Frank. C and G
adore them. Shame they can’t have their own. We’ve vacancies early next month,
if young Henry’s up to it. Hope you can get some leave. Send a p/c if you’re
coming.

Love from

Mother and Father

This is incredible
, Peter thought. He could hardly
believe his luck. He turned to the man who was still there. ‘Excuse me, but do
you know much about old postcards? Are you a collector?’

‘Yes I am.’

‘Do you know when postcards first started?’

‘Well, postcards as we know them started in about 1902. By
that, I mean cards with a divided back, in other words with two panels, one for
the message, and one for the address. Before that, the back of the card was
reserved exclusively for the address. If someone wanted to add a message, then
they simply wrote it somewhere on the front, either on the picture or perhaps
in some blank space at the side, if there was any room.’

‘Really? So this one, for example, from the Isle of Wight in
1902 is an early one then?’ Peter showed the man the postcard from Ventnor,
with the bathing machines drawn up on the beach below the cliff.

‘Yes it is, certainly for one with a divided back and you
can see that the original picture was black and white. It was then hand tinted
to give it some colour.’

‘Do you specialise in any particular type of postcard or
subject?’ Peter asked, with genuine interest.

‘I mainly collect postcards with a naval or merchant marine
theme.’ He showed Peter the ones he intended to buy. They were postcards of
ships, several transatlantic liners, and a smaller passenger vessel.

‘So, how come these ships were popular subjects for
postcards?’ asked Peter.

‘Ah, well some were complimentary, but most were sold on
board to passengers as a souvenir. They liked to send a card home from their
ports of call. For some, it was to let family at home know where they were. For
others, it was to show off by sending a picture of the ship they were sailing
on and boasting of how far they’d travelled.’

As the collector was talking to him, Peter glanced over the
man’s shoulder and saw on the wall just behind him, a small glass cabinet with
several postcards propped up on the shelves. They were obviously the rarer and
valuable ones, as the door to the cabinet had a prominent lock. They were all
postcards of ships.

‘Oh, have you seen those in that cabinet? They’re all cards
of ships.’ Peter pointed behind the man in the direction of cabinet, trying to
be helpful.

‘Yes I have,’ he said, ‘but thanks anyway.’

Peter, still looking over the man’s shoulder at the
postcards in the locked cabinet, noticed two things: first, the ship on one of
the cards, the one directly in his line of sight was clearly named and was none
other than the
RMS Kidwelly Castle
, John Williams’ ship. Second, the
same card had a brief message written on the front of it. It was in the white
space provided by the impressive bow wave of the vessel. He could just make out
the slanting signature at the lower right hand corner, one word:
Frank
.

At that moment, the postcard collector’s phone rang. He
fumbled in his pocket for it, before putting it to his ear. ‘Yes dear, I know …
meet you at the car in five minutes.’ He turned to Peter, ‘Sorry, have to go,’
he said, ‘my wife’s waiting for me.’

‘Mustn’t let that happen!’ Peter replied. ‘Thank you for
your help.’

As the man left, Peter stepped up to the cabinet. His nose
was no more than six inches from the card. It showed the
RMS Kidwelly Castle
on the high seas, smoke and steam billowing from her twin funnels. He was able
to read the message clearly:

10th February, 1900. Dear John
and Louisa. Setting off for Orange River tomorrow. All in good cheer. Love to
you both. Frank.

The postcard had a price label with £15 marked on it, but to
Peter the price was irrelevant. His only concern at that moment was to get to
the front desk as quickly as possible, so that he could buy the card before
somebody else did.

When he got there, he had to wait of course, while the same
elderly lady who’d served him a few weeks before, now served the man to whom
he’d been chatting. The several minutes she took to carefully wrap and seal his
postcards in a familiar brown paper bag, and accept the payment before handing
him his change, seemed like an eternity.

Finally, she turned to Peter. He asked as quickly and
politely as he could manage in his state of excitement. ‘Could somebody bring
the key to the locked glass cabinet in Unit 14?’

‘Yes, of course. I’ll get someone to unlock it for you. Hold
on please, while I put out a call.’

Peter groaned inwardly. She went over to a microphone behind
her. ‘Ahem … could Tracy come to the front desk please? Tracy to the front
desk, please.’

She turned to Peter. ‘Tracy should be here in a few
minutes.’

‘Thank you … I’ll be waiting for her at the unit.’

He made his way back to the display cabinet, glad to see
that no one else was there. He took a deep breath.

Now think
, Peter said to himself.
So far
,
you’ve
found three postcards
,
which have connections to John and Louisa
.
Is
there anything else here?
You must make sure that you haven’t missed
anything. For all you know, several other cards or certificates with something
to do with the Williams family might have already been sold. You’ve no idea how
long they’ve been on display. It might have been two weeks or two years,
he
thought
. Now look carefully for anything that you may have missed.

Peter stared at the items fixed to the display walls of the
unit. He recognised the ration book and the gold embossed luncheon invitation.
They were both here last time, he recalled, but there were some new items as
well. He tried to search methodically, starting high and working down in
imaginary columns. Halfway down the centre column, he saw again the Post Office
Telegram, with the message about someone passing away. He wasn’t surprised to
see it was still there. Who would want to buy something like that? His eyes
couldn’t help but read what it said, just as he had the previous time. The
telegram was postmarked: Leyton 9 Oct 02.

TO: Miss Rosetta
Ince. ‘Brindle Lodge’, Beaufort Street, Ventnor, Isle of Wight.

Henry passed away
yesterday. Please return Leyton urgently if possible. Louisa.

Peter’s heart skipped a beat. What if Rose or Rosetta
was
the same person and her surname was not ‘Price’ but ‘Ince’? What if he had
misread her name on the marriage certificate? What if – and this was a huge
‘what if’ – what if
Henry
was a reference to John and Louisa’s son,
Henry?

Peter’s mind started to run away with more ideas and
implications, but he was interrupted.

‘Are you the gentleman who wanted to look inside the glass
cabinet?’

‘Yes – yes, that’s me,’ Peter almost stuttered, returning to
the present. ‘That card there please, on the middle shelf. I’d like to look at
that one, please.’

The assistant held up a string of about twenty keys, before
making a choice. ‘I think it’s this key.’ She tried it without success. ‘It
must be this one then.’

Fortunately for Peter, who was finding the delay somewhat
agonising, it was. She opened the door and handed the postcard to him. He
turned it over. The address took up whole of the reverse. It was addressed to:
Mr
and Mrs J. Williams, 46 Apsley Street, Leyton, Essex.

Suddenly things were slotting rather magnificently into
place.
Eat your heart out Highborn
, Peter chuckled to himself.

The twenty-minute drive from Marlborough to home seemed like
an eternity for Peter Sefton. His mind was whirling and he found he needed to
make a real effort to concentrate on driving. Was Rose actually Rosetta? Was
her surname Ince and not Price? What was Frank doing in South Africa? What was
that about setting off for Orange River, ‘all in good cheer’? Then of course,
the big one … the telegram to Rosetta with news of Henry’s death!

He roared into the driveway and parked near to the house –
no time today to put the car away in the garage. Felicity had just arrived home
from school. She started to say something to him as he came in the front door,
but he shot upstairs to switch on his computer, racing back down again to kiss
her and say hello.

‘What’s going on?’ Felicity asked. ‘What’s the excitement?
Have you got some shares you need to trade?’

‘No, nothing like that. I’ve just come back from
Marlborough. I’ve got some postcards and a telegram, would you believe, from
that postcard unit. They’re all connected with Harry Williams. It’s amazing,
incredible! I haven’t got time to put the kettle on for you today. Can you do
it? This is really urgent. I need to look up some things,’ he shouted, already
on his way back upstairs.

‘Ooh, I suppose so. Service isn’t very good around here!’

Peter sat in front of his computer and looked up the 1901
Census. He searched on the name of Rosetta Ince. He clicked on the result associated
with an address on the Isle of Wight.

Was this really the same Rosetta who was a witness at the
wedding? Peter wondered. She had to be, especially if the ‘Henry’ mentioned in
the telegram was Louisa’s son. The census return showed Rosetta to be a ‘Lodger’,
but additionally it revealed some startling information. Rosetta Ince was
single and the mother of 5-month-old twins!

There were so many questions in Peter’s head. Who were
George and Charlotte Morris? Why were Rosetta and her children lodging in their
house? Peter picked up the postcard sent to Leyton at the end of July 1902 and
studied the message again.

‘Rose’ is a familiar form of ‘Rosetta’, he thought. The card
is undoubtedly from Rosetta Ince, especially as it mentions Charlotte and
refers to the children Edith and Harry. Peter looked again at the earlier
postcard sent in June 1902 from the Cascade View Hotel.

Peter assumed that ‘C and G’ must be an abbreviation for
Charlotte and George. The sender, presumably Florence Williams, John’s mother,
also referred to C and G’s inability to have children. Florence must be related
to them and obviously, Louisa was aware of their problem. It was hardly
something one discussed with a casual acquaintance, outside of the family.

Suddenly, Peter was brought back from his thoughts by a
physical sensation and he wondered why he had not noticed it before. It was a
familiar odour, the smell of mothballs. He lifted the cards and the telegram to
his nose. The smell was the same as the marriage certificate. There was no
doubting that they had all come from the same place.

Peter considered what he knew. The 1901 Census confirmed
that John Williams’ parents, Arthur and Florence, ran the Cascade View Hotel.
He guessed that the postcard had been written by Florence. He couldn’t imagine
a man writing a message of that sort. Florence referred to ‘seeing Rose at
Charlotte’s’. Peter also knew that Rose and the children were staying at the
Morris’ house on the night of the 1901 Census. Florence referred to young Henry
with ‘if he’s up to it’. That sounded like he had been unwell. She must be
asking after Louisa’s son Henry. He must be the Henry who, according to the
message in the telegram, had died.

When was the card sent by Florence? It was postmarked: 26
June 1902, which was about three months before the telegram concerning Henry’s
death. Rose must have been staying at Brindle Lodge for quite some time. She
was certainly there in March 1901, when the census was taken. She was there
with the children in June 1902 when Florence visited and still there when the
telegram was sent to her in October 1902. That covered a period of more than
eighteen months. Were George and Charlotte Morris connected to Rose or to
Louisa? And what of poor little Henry? What had happened to him? All of these
questions needed answers. Peter turned back to his computer and settled down to
find some.