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

his eyes, teasing out the threads of memory of his meeting with Arthur and his nephew and niece. Snatches of conversation rolled through his mind until he thought about the gold guineas; the very thing which linked the stranger in his house to the events at the Bourne Tap. He worked to slow down the replay: Steve had been the main person to talk about the gold guinea; it had been he who had guarded it so preciously; he who had refused to allow Morton to take it away with him. But then Morton remembered something: the value of the coin had been found not by him, but by his sister’s husband.

Opening his laptop, Morton ran a search for the birth of all Stephen or Steven Fothergills. The resulting list he cross-referred—using the mother’s maiden name—to find further siblings. When he saw the name Clara Fothergill among the results, Morton recalled her name being used at the meeting and knew that he had found the correct siblings, born to Arthur’s brother. Next, he ran a search for the marriage of Clara Fothergill. Five results. Running his eyes down the spouses’ names, he settled upon the very one for which he was looking: Phillip Garrow.

Morton sat back to try to understand what he had just discovered. Recent events quickly linked together in his mind to form a satisfying picture. What he was not sure of, however, were the implications of what might yet happen. Phillip Garrow was out there somewhere with what appeared to be a keen desperation to get his hands on some phantom gold guineas.

Morton slunk out from behind his desk and left the room with a sense of mingled pleasure and anxiety at this new information.

‘Morning!’ Jack greeted, opening the spare room door. He was dressed in a navy-blue dressing gown with matching slippers.

‘Morning,’ Morton replied. ‘Sleep well?’

‘Yeah, like a baby. All set for the party?’

Morton’s thoughts lurched dramatically away from the Fothergill Case and onto the endless list of jobs which he needed to do today for the party. ‘God, no.’

Jack chuckled. ‘Well, obviously, we’re here to help.’

‘Thanks. Coffee?’ Morton offered.

‘I would love one. Big and strong, please.’

‘Me too,’ Morton grinned.

The next three hours passed for Morton in a haze of tidying, blowing up balloons, hanging banners and helping Juliette to fill the kitchen table with buffet food. The first guest to arrive, at one o’clock precisely, was Morton’s deceased adoptive father’s fiancée, Madge.

‘Hello!’ she said, hugging him tightly, as though they were best friends. In truth, he had not even been minded to invite her until Juliette had persuaded him that it would be a nice gesture. She was in her seventies and still took great care over her appearance. Her white hair had been freshly permed and she wore a cream blouse over a tartan skirt.

‘Lovely to see you again, Madge,’ Morton said. ‘How are you?’

‘Not so bad, thank you. How’s little Grace? I can’t wait to meet her!’

‘She’s in the lounge. Go on through,’ he said, feeling a wash of guilt at not having invited her over before now. He thought quickly about when he had last seen her: had it been at his father’s funeral three years ago? Surely not. No, he remembered. It had been a year after that, when she had been clearing out the last of his father’s things and had discovered the three letters from 1976. As per his insistent request, she had brought them to the house and stayed for a slightly awkward cup of tea.

His Aunty Margaret and Uncle Jim were the next to arrive. They greeted him at the door, then made their way inside. Margaret overflowed with delight upon seeing Madge and the three of them immediately struck up a conversation, which surprised Morton; he had had no idea that they had even met.

Another guest arrived, Juliette’s best friend, Lucy. Morton showed her inside, then headed to the kitchen to pick up the tray of champagne glasses, which Laura had just finished filling. ‘Thanks,’ he said to her. ‘Take one for yourself.’

‘I’m not going to argue with that,’ she said with a laugh and took one of the fizzing flutes.

‘Champagne,’ Morton declared in the lounge, carefully holding the tray whilst various hands reached in for the thin glasses. He noticed that Juliette took a glass, then passed it to Lucy, but did not take one for herself. ‘Do you not want any?’

‘Just a water would be great,’ she replied, turning back to her conversation with Lucy.

Morton nodded, as his odd dream of Juliette declaring her pregnancy returned to him. The doorbell sounded and he returned the tray to the kitchen, then answered the door to Juliette’s mum. ‘Hi, Margot.’

‘Hello.’ She kissed him on both cheeks and stepped inside.

‘Champagne?’

‘Lovely—thank you.’

‘It’s just here in the kitchen,’ Morton said, quickly scurrying in to the tray. She waited in the hallway and he returned carrying two glasses. ‘One for Juliette. She’s in the lounge with Grace.’

‘Super,’ she said, taking the flutes and wandering into the lounge.

Morton followed as far as the door, then peered through the crack and watched as Juliette welcomed Margot, who handed her the glass, which, without even taking a sip, Juliette promptly set down with a frown. She clearly was not drinking.

The next guests to arrive were Jeremy and Guy.

‘Hey, brother,’ Jeremy greeted, pulling Morton into his usual bear-hug. Morton smiled, genuinely pleased to see his adoptive brother. He stepped back to take him in fully. Several years in the army had showed on his body; his muscular frame stretched at the tight jeans and check shirt which he was wearing.

‘Hi, Guy,’ Morton said, hugging his brother’s Australian husband. ‘Nice to see you.’

‘You, too.’

Morton closed the front door behind them. ‘So, how are things with you two?’

‘Good, thanks,’ Jeremy answered.

‘And