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

up as far as it would go. It was not much—a couple of inches—but it was enough. He reached for the mobile and held it carefully at the edge of the chasm, illuminating the space below.

‘Wow,’ Phil said. The void was, he guessed, ten feet deep with brick walls and a brick floor. Against one wall was an ancient wooden ladder with several rungs missing. Directly below him were two large wooden barrels, lids on the floor beside them, revealing their contents.

A noise outside made Phil drop the board back into place, thrust his mobile into his pocket and creep to the door.

He listened carefully.

Footsteps.

Heading towards him.

Somehow, it was Friday morning. The eight-day visit, which he had feared and desired equally, was almost over. Jack, Laura and George were in their respective rooms finalising their packing. Morton was in the kitchen, drinking coffee, watching Grace lift herself up by the table leg and take a few tentative steps, before she would fall backwards with a giggle onto the plump cushioning of her nappy, then repeat.

He leant on the worktop, half-watching Grace and half-thinking about their imminent departure. No further visits or holidays had been arranged, or even spoken about for the future, and Morton could not help wondering if George was at the root of it. It saddened him that, having discovered a half-brother, they could not be more estranged. The ironic thing was that he had received a text message early this morning from Jeremy to say that he and Guy had found a place on Rye High Street, which might fit the bill for their scone shop. Morton was getting closer to his adoptive brother, who was actually his cousin, whilst his actual half-brother was becoming more distanced.

‘Morning,’ Juliette said in a scratchy voice, appearing at the door. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt and pink tracksuit bottoms. ‘Morning, pickle,’ she said, bending down and kissing Grace. ‘Have I got time to shower and put make-up on before they go?’

Morton shook his head. ‘They won’t be long.’

Juliette groaned and poured herself a coffee. Her shift had ended at 2am, and she had then arrived home and woken Morton to tell him what had occurred at Braemar Cottage, leaving her just five hours’ sleep. She yawned, as if to prove the point.

Morton could hear low whispers at the top of the stairs and went into the hallway to see Jack and Laura with their suitcases, wondering how to get them downstairs quietly. ‘It’s okay, everyone’s up,’ Morton said. ‘Let me give you a hand.’

Morton and Jack lugged the two suitcases down to the front door, joined moments later by George and his case.

‘Well,’ Jack began, ‘it’s time we headed to the airport. I just want to say thank you both so much for your hospitality. We had such an amazing time with you. All the trips out, food and, well, just spending time together… and we’re so grateful to have been here for little Grace’s first birthday, of course. Really, it’s been the best vacation…getting to know our English family…’ His words seemed to falter with emotion.

‘It’s a true blessing,’ Laura finished. ‘We couldn’t have asked for better family to discover.’

‘Yeah, thanks,’ George said, offering a vague smile. He offered his hand first to Morton, and then to Juliette.

‘Lovely to meet you,’ Juliette said—a lie, Morton presumed.

‘You, too,’ he replied, which Morton also took to be a lie.

‘Goodbye, Son,’ Jack said, pulling Morton into him. ‘Thank you so much.’ He broke away, adding, ‘So, it’s your turn to come out and stay with us. I want dates from you soon, okay?’

‘They don’t need a turn,’ Laura criticised, ‘they can come as often as they like.’

‘Thanks. You, too,’ Morton agreed, hugging Laura, whilst Jack embraced Juliette and thanked her again.

‘And goodbye to the star of the show!’ Jack said, bending down to Grace. ‘See you soon.’ He kissed her on the top of her head, wiped a tear from his eye, then opened the front door.

Morton helped Jack to load the suitcases into the boot, then hugged him again. ‘Take care. Thank you so much for coming,’ Morton said.

‘I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ Jack said. ‘I’ll let you know we’ve landed. Then I want the dates of your visit!’

Morton smiled, watching on as Jack buckled up and started the engine. After a flurry of waving, the car crept down Mermaid Street and, in a moment, was gone.

Heading back inside the house, he closed the door to a strange quietness. Not silence, or even stillness, but something manifestly different about the fabric of the house, created by their absence.

‘Feels weird to have the house back to ourselves,’ Juliette said, having noticed it also.

‘Yeah…’ he agreed, uncertain whether he liked the feeling or not. He was certainly going to miss having Jack around and regretted what the huge geographical distance imposed upon their relationship. Having spent so many years unknown to one another, now the best for which they could hope were regular video calls and sporadic reciprocal visits. But that was not enough.

‘So, when are you off to London?’ Juliette asked. ‘Can I shower first?’

‘Oh God,’ Morton said, having forgotten that he was supposed to be heading to the London Metropolitan Archives today. He could easily have postponed the trip, but he had a feeling that, with just a little more work, the Fothergill Case could be brought to a welcome close. ‘You’ve got time to shower. I’ll leave when you’re ready.’

Morton arrived at lunchtime at the London Metropolitan Archives. The building was relatively nondescript and always appeared to him, on the outside, like a 1950s factory. He entered a large open room on the ground floor and headed to a shiny red desk in the shape of a letter ‘C’, upon which was written in white letters