The Wicked Trade (The Forensic Genealogist Book 7) by Nathan Goodwin (types of ebook readers TXT) 📕

‘She took the gold guineas, didn’t she? To buy the pub,’ Arthur interjected, receiving a nod of agreement from Clara. Morton guessed that it had been a much-debated topic of conversation between them.

‘Well, I’ll come to those…contentious guineas in a moment,’ Morton replied. ‘Fast-forward to 1963 when a dividing wall in the fireplace in the Bell Inn was demolished and two bodies were discovered.’

‘Oh,’ Clara said, frowning at Arthur. ‘Ann didn’t kill them, did she?’ she added with a laugh.

‘Well…’ Morton began. ‘In that file is a great deal of evidence—circumstantial evidence—that suggests that yes, she might have killed them.’

‘What?’ Clara said. ‘I was joking.’

‘How can you know that?’ Arthur stammered, glancing from Morton to Clara.

‘The bodies were certainly put there after 1822. Someone I interviewed, who was there at the time of their discovery, Clive Baintree, said that the bodies were remarkably intact and showed no visible signs of violence. Now, that could mean any number of possibilities, one being that the two men met their end in a non-violent manner, and yet they were clearly murdered…’

‘Poison,’ Clara intuited.

‘Exactly,’ Morton said. ‘In 1963 it was never established who the two men actually were, but in October 1826, just days after two officers from Bow Street had arrested the main culprits from the Aldington Gang, those same two men—Jonas Blackwood and Thomas Nightingale—were called out to investigate a case in Ramsgate. The person employing them was apparently a man named Isaac Bull. The two officers arrived in Ramsgate, never to be heard of or seen again.’

Arthur curled his lower lip, half-accepting Morton’s theory. Clara scowled, clearly not convinced.

‘Ramsgate was where Ann Fothergill grew up,’ Morton explained. ‘Her mother married a man by the name of Isaac Bull.’

This additional information caused both Arthur and Clara to raise their eyebrows.

‘So, Ann’s mother’s husband killed the men, then, surely?’ Clara said, sounding as though she was not quite following the story.

‘Isaac Bull had died already in 1817,’ Morton clarified.

‘Oh,’ Clara said.

‘It’s my belief that Ann poisoned the two men in the hope that it would put a stop to the trial and save her friends from possible death, or, as happened, transportation for life.’

‘But, you said that these two policemen arrived in October 1826 and that Ann had left the gang in 1825… Why did she go to such extreme lengths?’ Clara asked.

‘The evidence points to her having a desire to save one man in particular, Samuel Banister, the group’s second-in-command. Ann lived in Braemar Cottage with them…’

‘Wasn’t that where they found those wretched barrels that Phil was after?’ Arthur asked.

Morton nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘And yet you still say that Ann didn’t take the guineas herself?’ Clara pushed.

Morton flipped some pages in the folder and spun it around to face Arthur and his niece. ‘Take a read of that.’

‘Oh, I can’t get a word of it,’ Arthur said, squinting hard at the page, then giving up and sitting back.

‘4th October 1821,’ Clara read slowly. ‘Location: Aldington. Nature of investigation: Smuggling. By whom directed: Mrs. Hester Banister…’ Clara stopped reading and looked up. ‘The wife of Samuel Banister?’

‘Yes. Just a few months after the gang’s first leader, Cephas Quested, had died, George Ransley picked up the reins with Samuel Banister as his deputy. It seems, though, that Hester had other ideas and wanted to put an end to the smuggling business once and for all.’

‘That seems a bit overly harsh,’ Clara said.

‘Yes,’ Morton agreed, ‘I thought the same thing. After I discovered that particular document, I spent a bit of time looking into Hester Banister. Two of her brothers, William and James, were hanged in 1800 for smuggling and…well, her maiden name was Ransley. She was George Ransley’s cousin. I guess she wanted to stop the same from happening to her husband.’

‘She took the gold!’ Arthur declared.

‘I believe so, yes,’ Morton said. He turned several more pages in the folder. ‘Look here, this is essentially a Poor Law record, where the parish have to help those most in need.’ His finger settled on the upside-down entry.

‘2nd March 1821,’ Clara read, ‘Paid for coal and—candles, is that?—candles for Braemar Cottage, requested by Ann Fothergill, lodging there. 8 shillings and 4 pence.’

‘They were poor, below the breadline,’ Morton relayed, turning more pages, ‘and yet…somewhere…here, just seven months later, Hester manages to settle a thirty-five-pound bill.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s unfathomable that the money came from anywhere else. I’ve checked close family to see if perhaps anyone had died and left them money, but nothing. It’s my belief, in the way that Samuel continued smuggling, that he was none the wiser about the guineas. I think, essentially, Hester spent them all behind his back.’

Clara found this last assertion amusing and laughed out loud. ‘My goodness!’

‘What I can’t account for in official documentation,’ Morton said, ‘is why Hester terminated the case. My best guess, though, would be that her husband found out, or that he was so embroiled in the gang that to bring them down would mean sending her own husband to the gallows.’

‘Well…’ Arthur said. ‘Where the blazes did Ann get the money to buy the pub, then?’

‘I think she simply saved for it or took out a mortgage: she was clearly an astute woman. Look at what she had in her name when she died. She educated herself, ran successful businesses and raised a son by herself. Frankly, given her upbringing, she’s to be applauded.’

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, seeming not to like this modest explanation.

‘Overlooking the minor issue of her being a murderess, of course,’ Clara reminded him with a wry smile.

‘Yes…’ Morton grinned. ‘In that respect, Ann failed slightly in this inspiring rags-to-riches story. The trial happened, the men were transported and Samuel Banister essentially went into a self-imposed exile.’

‘Do we know where he went?’