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who
disappeared without trace in 1911.  At this very early stage in my
investigations, I am considering that one avenue of possibility is that Mary
may have visited her sister Caroline at some point in or after 1911 and would
really welcome your thoughts on this.  I look forward to hearing from
you.  Kind regards, Morton Farrier .’
    Morton clicked the ‘Submit’ button and the
message vanished.  He now just needed to wait patiently and hope that they
would respond.  Morton returned to the three lists of people close to Mary
in 1911.  By far, the longest list was the staff of Blackfriars.  Did
the household and staff accounts books still survive? Morton
wondered.  A brief Google search told him that the property was in the
hands of the Mansfield family, the same family as in 1911 when Mary had
disappeared.  He had driven past the imposing property countless times,
Winchelsea being on the unavoidable route between his house in Rye and his
father’s in Hastings, yet, despite it having been open to the public since
1960, he had never actually set foot in it.  It was high time for a visit.
     
    Morton
had trained to be a forensic genealogist in the time before family history had
exploded onto the internet.  He loved the immediacy and speed of such a
huge plethora of records being online, but for him, the biggest enjoyment came
from an immersion in history: holding ancient documents between his fingers,
analysing faded photographs and uncovering lichen-covered tombstones in the
search of an elusive ancestor.  He needed little convincing to step out of
his study for some hands-on research.
    He had decided to park on Friar’s Road in
the summer shadows of the town church.  Grabbing his bag, he stepped out
into the early-afternoon sun, taking in the stillness of the small town. 
Winchelsea, being just three miles from his home, had always fascinated
him.  The casual visitor or holidaymaker often came here to see a quaint,
well-preserved English village; those unguided tourists left without the
knowledge that it was in fact a town, once envisaged by its founder, Edward I,
as one of the leading seaports in England.  Further confusion often came
by the unique design of the town using a grid pattern, something which often
confused visitors used to associating it with modern American cities.
    Morton began to assimilate his
surroundings, picturing himself here more than one hundred years ago,
consciously removing all traces of modern life.
    It was very easy to imagine Friar’s Road
in 1911; but for the addition of a scattering of cars and a couple of
television aerials and satellite dishes, the village was delightfully devoid of
the usual modern street furniture; it even lacked street lighting.  He
turned his attention to the run of attractive stone and brick cottages. 
Number three Friar’s Cottage was the penultimate house in a run of charming
rose-covered properties.  Having only one small window downstairs and one
upstairs, it was among the smallest houses on the street, which Morton knew meant
that the girls would very likely have shared a room prior to Mary’s departure
for service at Blackfriars.  It was little wonder then that Edith was
devastated at her sister’s disappearance.
    Morton removed his Nikon camera from his
bag and took several shots of the house, all the while hoping that the owner
wouldn’t spot him and burst out to ask him what he was doing.  It had not
yet happened in his career, but he never really had a clear answer ready as to
what he would say.  He always thought the truth sounded too convoluted or
complicated.  He tucked his camera back into his bag and strolled down the
quiet road.  Traffic visitors to Blackfriars were directed along the main
A259 road to the front entrance, but Morton knew that just past the village primary
school was an unpublicised footpath into the estate.  He was sure that
this was the way which Mary Mercer would have walked to and from work on her
days