The Merchant's Daughter Page 14

  ‘Yes, there’s a large F there.’

  ‘It means they were born overseas. This enumerator didn’t record the birthplace, just wrote an F for “foreign” in the column. Did any of your ancestors serve overseas?’

  ‘Not that I know of. I always thought we were proud Cheshire folk.’

  ‘Interesting.’ Jayne typed in a general search for Emily Roylance. She clicked the exact button for the names and then typed in 1806 for the birth date. ‘That’s the one given on the census but we won’t specify it more exactly than that. We’ll also start with the UK and Ireland; we can always broaden it later.’ She pressed search and waited for the result. It came back in two seconds.

  ’Sixty-five hits,’ said Rachel, ‘is that good?’

  ‘It’s great. Sometimes you can get thousands of hits. Sometimes even more with a name like John Smith.’

  Jayne scrolled down the page.

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘The 1841 census. Here it is.’ She clicked on it, but instead of going straight to the image she checked the suggested links. A new page came up with more names, most of which connected to Henry Roylance.

  Jayne scanned the page. ‘Hmmm, this is interesting.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a link to a Gretna Green marriage site for the years 1794 to 1895.’

  ‘Gretna Green? The place in Scotland where people used to run away to get married?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  Jayne clicked on the link and a single result popped up on the screen; a picture of a book with copperplate writing.

  Jayne zoomed in and scanned the result.

  Charles Carruthers of the parish of St Nicholas in Liverpool, Lancashire, and Emily Roylance from the parish of St James in Liverpool, Lancashire, were married before these witnesses George McReady and Helen Shipton, this twenty-second day of October, Eight hundred and thirty.

  ‘What does it mean, Jayne?’

  ‘It’s pretty obvious. Our Emily Roylance, if we have the right person, was married to Charles Carruthers.’

  ‘But why run away to Gretna Green to do it?’

  ‘In those days, it was usually because the bride was underage, but if Emily was born in 1804 that would not be true in this case. Perhaps she was pregnant or the family disapproved of her new husband. I suppose we’ll never know.’ She stared into mid-air for a moment. ‘Hang on, I’ve an idea. It’s a long shot but you never know.’

  Jayne opened a new tab and typed ‘Roylance + Liverpool’ into Google.

  A link to a Wikipedia entry was the first result.

  Jeremiah Roylance of Liverpool, merchant.

  Mr Roylance was a merchant involved in the Russian, American and, after the disestablishment of the British East India company in 1814, the Indian trade, through his company, Roylance and Son of Liverpool. He helped establish and develop the harbours and wharves of Liverpool, owned plantations in Barbados and Trinidad, and was Chairman of the West Indian Association, representing their interests as MP for Liverpool from 1824 to 1832.

  Little is known of Mr Roylance’s origins, but he seems to have been the son of a humble carter born in 1762 in Sefton, Liverpool. In 1780, aged 18, he was appointed the overseer of the Success Estate in the Bahamas. From this post he developed the trading of sugar, molasses and rum, eventually buying out the owner of the estate and changing the name to Perseverance in 1793.

  In 1796, he embarked on a year of travelling, developing his contacts in Boston, St Petersburg and along the West African coast. He was one of the major importers of slaves into the Caribbean, building a fleet of ships, in partnership with other traders, to transport slaves across the Atlantic. After the banning of the slave trade in 1807, these ships were used to trade along the Eastern seaboard of America and later to carry cotton and other goods to Liverpool.

  In 1816, Mr Roylance was one of the major actors in the quashing of the slave rebellion in Barbados. The largely non-violent rebellion was brutally crushed by the estate owners under the militia of Colonel Codd, of which Mr Roylance was a founding member. They killed many slaves: estimates of the toll from the fighting range from 100 to 250. After the insurrection was put down, the government sentenced 45 men to death, and 27 were executed. The executed slaves’ bodies were displayed in public for months afterwards as a deterrent to others.

  After the rebellion, Mr Roylance returned to Liverpool in 1819, living there for the rest of his life but retaining his interests in the plantations on Barbados and Trinidad.

  He devoted himself until his death in 1835 to trade across the world, and to ensuring that Liverpool became one of the most successful ports and cities of the period. He had two children; Henry and Emily. Their mother was Dolores Sharpe, who is reported to have died in Barbados during a cholera epidemic in 1822.

  Jeremiah Roylance died after a short illness in his beloved city and is buried in St Luke’s Cemetery. After his death, his papers were donated by his son, Henry, to the city. They are presently kept in the International Slavery Museum on the waterfront. After the Slavery Abolition Act in 1833, the company was closed, ceasing to exist by 1838. Little is known about his family after his death. They seem to have left Liverpool and never returned.

  ‘The man was a slave merchant?’

  ‘Sounds like it. Remember, Liverpool at this time was England’s biggest port involved in the slave trade.’

  ‘But I thought we abolished slavery?’

  ‘We abolished the trade on slaves in 1807 but slavery itself continued in the colonies until 1834.’

  ‘But what has this woman got to do with my family?’

  ‘I don’t know, Rachel, but we need to find out. I think we have to go somewhere else besides Chester tomorrow.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Liverpool. And to be more precise, the International Slavery Museum.’

  Chapter ThIRTY-THREE

  Tuesday, August 20, 2019

  Wickham Hall, Cheshire

  As they drove back up the long drive to Wickham Hall, Jayne was struck once again by how beautiful the house was. The Georgian entrance was beautifully flanked on either side by two elegant wings, the proportions so precise and created to please the eye. The grounds on either side of the drive created the perspective, leading the eye to the elegant front door.

  Jayne stopped the car in front of the house. David Marlowe came out to greet them. ‘Rachel, such a surprise to see you. Father will be pleased.’

  ‘Father is here?’

  ‘He’s in the library. And hello again, Mrs Sinclair, still chasing your wild goose? I thought you would have given up by now?’

  ‘Don’t be a boor, David, and actually, we think we have found some interesting leads today at the church.’

  Despite all Jayne’s warnings, Rachel had blurted out exactly what they had been doing. Jayne stared at her; she who was now biting her lip as if she had realised her mistake.

  ‘Have you? I went through those registers three years ago. I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. What is it?’

  Jayne got out of the car before Rachel could answer. ‘We’re not certain and it may be nothing, a misreading of the source. We need to check it out further.’

  ‘I wouldn’t waste my time if I were you. Would you like to stay for tea, Mrs Sinclair?’

  ‘No thank you, I must be heading back to Manchester.’ She turned to Rachel. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow.’

  ‘Okay, looking forward to it, Jayne, even though it will be a bit of a struggle that early in the morning.’

  ‘You’re continuing with the search tomorrow?’ asked David.

  ‘Off to Chester and Liverpool this time.’

  David’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why are you going there?’

  Rachel glanced across at Jayne. ‘We’re just following up on some new information.’

  ‘I guess it’s your time and your money. Personally, I wouldn’t be wasting either.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’ Jayne
got back into the car and started the engine. As it turned over, Jayne leant forward to place a Mott the Hoople disc in the player, noticing a shadow at the upstairs window of the house as she did. It ducked down as soon as Jayne looked up.

  Was somebody watching them?

  Chapter ThIRTY-FOUR

  Tuesday, August 20, 2019

  The M56 to Manchester

  Jayne accelerated into the middle lane of the M56, past a slow-moving lorry on the inside lane.

  She was feeling pleased. ‘All The Young Dudes’ was blasting out of the car’s speakers, the road was pretty quiet and the sun was shining. They had definitely made progress today. The visit to Liverpool tomorrow should clear everything up.

  Tonight, when she got back home, she would go online and see if she could find out more about the Roylances. If they were a prominent family, as it seemed they were, then there should be some information. At least she could check the 1841 and 1851 censuses.

  The only cloud at the moment was the impending divorce action with Paul. She had been so busy over the last few days she had done nothing since their phone call. And, as the whole day would be spent in Liverpool tomorrow, she would have to find time to call the solicitors Wendy had recommended to her. She added this to her mental to-do list.

  The one saving grace of the Marlowe case was it had made her so busy she didn’t have much time to think about Paul and the divorce. She thought at one time that they would grow old together, become one of those wrinkled couples who hold hands as they walk down the street. They were happy once, but that seemed such a long time ago now, as if it had happened to another person entirely.

  No point in blaming anybody. They had simply grown apart rather than grown together. Luckily, there were no children, so the pain of the divorce was solely on them. As long as they both acted like adults, there should be no problem.

  The only issue was the house. She really didn’t want to move. It was her home, her office her refuge from the world, and she didn’t want to lose it now. Hopefully, Paul would be nice about it and they could come to some sort of an agreement.

  A light in her rearview mirror caught her eye. Some idiot was flashing his headlights at her. ‘Just overtake me in the outside lane,’ she said out loud.

  The Range Rover accelerated towards her, still flashing its headlights.

  ‘Okay, okay, I get the message.’ She checked in her mirror and signalled left to go back into the inside lane.

  The Range Rover pulled alongside her and matched her speed.

  What was he doing?

  She tried to look across at the driver but the windows were blacked out.

  Up ahead, a slow-moving container truck was in front of her. She began to slow down. The Range Rover slowed too.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she shouted across at the car towering over the BMW.

  As if he had heard her, the driver began to move closer to Jayne, his car gradually moving into her lane.

  Jayne banged her horn twice.

  The Range Rover kept moving over.

  Up ahead, the container truck was getting closer and closer; she could see the large ‘D’ on the back of the truck and its foreign numberplate.

  Still the Range Rover crept closer and closer, its dark grey wing almost touching her BMW.

  ‘So that’s how you want to bloody play it?’ she snarled.

  Jayne checked in her rearview mirror, then slammed on the brakes, swinging the BMW into the middle lane so it was now directly behind the Range Rover.

  She memorised the registration number. ST14 VUW.

  The Range Rover picked up speed, accelerating past the container truck. Jayne followed it, feeling the power in her BMW as she stepped on the accelerator.

  Suddenly, the Range Rover’s rear lights flashed on. Jayne jammed on her brakes, hearing them squeal against the hard tarmac of the road.

  The red lights were getting closer and closer. She pulled the steering wheel to the left only to hear a loud blast from the horn of the container truck.

  She pulled the wheel back to the right, staying in the middle lane. She glanced quickly in her right hand mirror but a car was speeding down the outside lane, accelerating towards her.

  She was boxed in. The Range Rover was still stationary in the middle lane, its red brake lights bright in the late evening light.

  She was going to hit it. She braced for the impact.

  The container truck raced up on the inside, the driver in his cab staring down on the two cars in the middle lane.

  Time slowed for Jayne.

  The Range Rover was still stationary, the red lights bright. Her tyres were squealing against the road, screaming out for more grip.

  She was getting closer, closer. She was sure to hit the car in front.

  Then her tyres finally gripped the road. She stopped inches behind the Range Rover.

  Its lights flashed off and it accelerated away.

  She put the BMW in gear and chased after it. Nobody was going to play these games with her.

  She stamped her foot on the accelerator and the car responded. The Range Rover was going fast, but she was going faster. She was gaining on him.

  She moved into the outside lane. Getting closer now, she wanted to see who the driver was and why he had driven so stupidly.

  Suddenly, without warning, the Range Rover swung right across the front of the container truck, across yellow lines and up on to an exit road.

  Jayne was still in the outside lane and moving fast.

  The driver looked across and waved. She’d never seen him before. Who was he?

  She checked up ahead; the next exit was eight miles away. Even if she left the motorway then, the driver would be long gone before she should drive back and find him.

  Jayne slowed down. Still, she had his numberplate. She would ask one of her old friends in the police to put on a trace at the Driver Licensing Authority in Swansea.

  She would pay this man a visit and give him a piece of her mind. Just because you owned a big Chelsea tractor didn’t mean you also owned the road. Driving like that could kill people.

  Jayne stared down at her hands. They were gripping the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white with tension.

  Calm down. Take three breaths.

  Jayne obeyed her instructions to herself, breathing deeply and concentrating on her stomach.

  And then it occurred to her. Why had this happened today?

  Chapter ThIRTY-FIVE

  Tuesday, August 20, 2019

  Didsbury, Manchester

  By the time Jayne arrived home, her breathing was back to normal and her face was no longer reddened with anger. She had calmed down, helped by some soothing classical music from Elgar. After the incident with the Range Rover, Mott the Hoople had somehow felt all wrong.

  On the drive back, more questions had flooded her mind. Why had the Range Rover targeted her? She had done nothing wrong that day and her driving had been exemplary. The was no excuse for road rage. Had he chosen her deliberately, trying to attack her on a part of the M56 he knew would be quiet?

  Or was it linked to the Marlowe case? David Marlowe had heard they had made some new discoveries and were going to the archives tomorrow. Had he tried to frighten her off?

  If he knew Jayne’s character, he would have realised that was exactly the wrong thing to do; it only made her more determined to get to the bottom of this mystery. Who exactly were the Roylances? And how were they linked to the Marlowe family and Rachel’s heritage?

  As soon as Jayne walked through the door, Mr Smith greeted her as usual, rubbing his body against hers. She picked him up and nuzzled her face into his fur. He miaowed and managed to wriggle out of her arms, racing to his bowl.

  It could only mean one thing; he was hungry. She fed him quickly and opened a bottle of good rioja. She definitely needed a glass of wine after what had happened.

  After a few sips of wine, and with the cat eating his food happily, she sat down in front of her computer.


  She reopened the Wikipedia entry on Jeremiah Roylance and read it through once more. It was interesting that he had a son called Henry too. Was it a coincidence? It was a very common name back then, particularly among the middle classes.

  She checked both the 1841 and 1851 censuses for the Roylances of Liverpool.

  Nothing.

  No entries that even vaguely mentioned a Jeremiah, a Henry or an Emily Roylance. It was exactly as the Wikipedia article said.

  Little is known about his family after his death. They seem to have left Liverpool and never returned.

  Were the Roylance and Marlowe families linked?

  But there was nothing in the Marlowe family to suggest any relationship or marriage with somebody called Roylance. However, they had been involved in the slave trade. Was this the connection to Rachel’s past? Had one of her ancestors owned estates in Barbados and Trinidad?

  It was all very strange.

  Jayne began to think that the incident with the Range Rover that afternoon was no coincidence. Hadn’t it happened just after Rachel had revealed they were on to new leads? Was David Marlowe trying to scare her off to protect the family’s name and heritage?

  Jayne searched online and found the number for the International Slavery Museum in Liverpool. She would reserve a seat to look into the archives of the Roylance family for tomorrow afternoon.

  It was shaping up to be a busy day. Chester in the morning and Liverpool in the afternoon. Luckily, both places were not that far apart.

  Perhaps the answer lay, at it usually did, somewhere in the archives.

  Chapter ThIRTY-SIX

  Wednesday, August 21, 2019

  Wickham Hall, Cheshire

  The following day, Jayne was up early to feed Mr Smith and drive to Wickham Hall. Of course, when she arrived just before nine she found that Rachel was not yet ready.

  David Marlowe greeted her at the entrance. ‘My sister is not generally a morning person, Mrs Sinclair. Would you care for some breakfast while you wait for her?’