The Wicked Trade (The Forensic Genealogist Book 7), Nathan Goodwin [little red riding hood ebook TXT] 📗

account of the quantity of land in the occupation of each person whose names are hereafter inserted where the plough and scythe goes, including woodland and orchard, taken in the respective months of March, April and May in the year of our Lord One Thousand Eight Hundred and Twenty-Four by me, William Styles.

The first section of the document was arranged according to the land and building holdings of each owner. Morton wound his way through the property owners of the village, thankful that Aldington was a relatively small parish. Mr Thomas Carpenter. Mr Edward Epps. Mr Foord. Mr Mills. Mr Rogers. Mr Edward Marshall. Mr Bridger. Mr Thomas Pilcher. Widow Sealy. Mr Robert Scott. The valuations spanned several pages, but there was no mention of either Ann Fothergill or anyone by the name of Sam. Although Morton was not surprised that Ann—a street vagrant just three years prior—was not among the land-owning villagers, she had already confounded his expectations by owning the Bell Inn just a year later, in 1825, so he was keeping an open mind as he searched.

Morton wound through a long trail of black film, which was sandwiched between the ending of one record set and the commencement of the next. A stirring of optimism rose inside him when he saw what appeared on-screen before him: a complete break-down of each owner’s holdings and a valuation for each. Crucially, house names were stated, as were the names of the main occupier. If Ann hadn’t owned a property in Aldington, perhaps she had been listed in one as a tenant.

His methodical search took him just over half an hour. Ann had not been listed, but Morton did find mention of one Samuel Banister on a record of ‘Cottages belonging to Court Lodge Farm’. He was stated to be the tenant of Braemar Cottage and garden, valued at £1 and 10 shillings.

Morton studied the printout. At this stage, there was no evidence that Samuel Banister had anything to do with Ann, other than the fact that he shared the same Christian name as a man to whom she had written in 1827.

Wary of the fact that time was slipping from him, Morton fast-forwarded the roll of film through several records, which pertained to a much later period of time, stopping at Overseers Accounts – Assessments & Disbursements, which spanned much of the nineteenth century. Not knowing when Ann had arrived in the village, Morton began searching the accounts from 1820. Among the initial records were two which gave an indication of why and when the Aldington Gang had been created.

15 April 1820

Two bushels of barley for Cephas Quested. 9 shillings

Paid Mrs Fagg for attendance on Cephas Quested’s wife. 5 shillings 6 pence

 

Then, later that month:

Paid Cephas Quested in need. 5 shillings

 

It was clear to Morton that Cephas Quested had started the smuggling gang owing to his apparent poverty. Tellingly, there were no further mentions of the Quested family in the file. He hit the print button, then continued his trawl.

Just a few minutes later, he found something.

28th February 1821

Paid doctor’s attendance to Hester Banister. 6 shillings

2nd March 1821

Paid for coal and candles for Braemar Cottage, requested by Ann Fothergill, lodging there. 8 shillings 4 pence

 

Morton now had documentary evidence that Ann had been residing with the Banister family at Braemar Cottage from at least the end of February 1821, implying that the ‘Sam’, to whom she had written in 1827, was indeed Samuel Banister.

‘Here’s your other film,’ the single-finger typist said, placing another black box beside the microfilm reader.

‘Thank you,’ Morton said, briefly taking his eyes from the screen. He printed the entry, not quite satisfied to move on, and yet unable to give himself a reason as to why. He zoomed in to isolate the entry and read it several times more. Hester had obviously been sick enough to require a doctor and for Ann to have been the person to make an appeal for coal and candles. Why had Sam not been the one to have made the claim? Or to be providing for Hester, whom Morton presumed to be his sick wife? Knowing the parsimonious reputation shared by Parish Overseers throughout the land, they would not have paid out a single penny had Sam been sitting idle; he would have to have been either absent from his home or himself incapacitated.

With just over one hour until he had to leave, Morton persisted with the Overseers’ records until he reached the end of the roll of film. There were no further mentions of Ann, Hester or Samuel.

Morton rewound the film and then loaded the next one, which began with parish registers for the village. Knowing that they were already online, Morton buzzed past them, intent on finding more about Hester and Samuel Banister when he would have time at home. He slowed the film down, pausing at intervals to check which records were currently on screen. Following a band of black film, P4/12/3, a ledger recording work and wages of unemployed labourers on the parish farm appeared. At the top of the page was written Ruffians Hill Farm. Running down the left in a long column was a list of men’s names, beside which were the number of days worked in the week, followed by pay received. The volume commenced in 1820 and Morton began to scan down the list of names. The year ended without mention of a single Banister. In the first quarter of 1821, however, Morton discovered a baffling entry.

Week commencing Monday 5th March

Saml Banister ½ day £0.0s.0d

 

His was the only name which had zero financial reward. Morton hurriedly printed the page then carried on through the ledger, deliberately checking both names and pay. The register ended in December 1825. In that period there were no further mentions of Samuel Banister, nor did anyone else