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

He left the museum, deep in thought. He rested his elbows on the black metal railings which separated the churchyard from the footpath which bounded it, thinking about what he should do next. Now that he knew for certain of Ann’s involvement with the group, he needed to obtain as much information as possible on the gang’s activities. A good starting point, he reasoned, would be the local newspapers for the time, which were not currently available online. He remembered then that the knowledgeable American lady in Dover Library had told him that they had copies of a contemporaneous newspaper on microfilm. He looked at the time. He still had a couple of hours before he needed to be home in order for Juliette to be able to go to work. Just enough time, he thought, marching with purpose back to his Mini.

‘You’re back!’ the American declared from behind her desk, when he arrived at the family history section of Dover Library.

Morton smiled and looked at her lanyard to remind himself of her name: Amber Henderson. ‘Yes, more research.’

‘Into the bodies?’ Amber asked with a grin.

‘Well…sort of,’ he answered, vaguely. ‘Which newspaper did you say you held here for the 1820s?’

‘That would be the Cinque Ports Herald,’ she answered, standing from her desk. ‘Any year in particular?’

‘I’d like to say 1820 to 1827, but I don’t have the time,’ he answered. ‘So, 1826, please.’

‘I’ll go get it right now. Take a seat at the reader and I’ll be right over.’

In the time that it took Morton to switch on the film reader and get out his notepad and pencil, Amber had arrived with the little white box labelled Cinque Ports Herald 1825-1827. ‘Here you go.’

‘Thank you,’ Morton said, removing the film and threading it into the machine.

As the first edition appeared in front of him, he realised how grossly he had underestimated the enormity of the task. As was the case in most newspapers from this period, it was densely packed with small print and very few headlines separating individual stories. To search every edition for the two years on the roll of film would take hours and he had one hour and forty-five minutes until he had to leave. He would have to return next week, if necessary, but for now Morton decided to prioritise with the death of Richard Morgan.

He fast-forwarded the film, pausing at several intervals to check the dates, until he reached the edition of Saturday 5th August 1826. Morton sat up, moving closer to the screen and began to draw the plate slowly down the page, before winding to the next. Three pages in, he found the story under the caption, ‘Murder of Richard Morgan.’ He zoomed into the story and began to read: ‘A sanguinary affair, which has excited a strong sensation in every circle, occurred here on Sunday morning, about one o’clock. A smuggling galley arrived off the Marine Parade, opposite the bathing machine stand; the precautionary signals being exchanged between the persons in the boat and the party on the beach who were there in readiness to work the goods, the boat bumped ashore, and was surrounded by a vast number of men, who immediately commenced carrying away the tubs. Morgan, who was a first-class quartermaster, at that moment doing his rounds, came up but he was threatened by the smugglers with instant death if he attempted to give any alarm; regardless of the threatening, he fired his pistol as a signal, and the smugglers immediately shot him—he uttered an ejaculatory “Lord, look down upon me!” but never spoke more. The report of the firing brought down the lieutenant and a party of the blockade men to the spot, who removed him to a boat-house near at hand, and procured a surgeon, but he expired about twenty minutes after receiving his death wound. The smugglers were pursued by a party, but on account of their number, and consequently being lightly loaded, they got clear off. Their number was estimated at about 200 men, and they are stated to have been remarked coming into town from the country at a late hour. An inquest was held on the body on Monday before J. Finnis, Esq. and the jury brought in a verdict of “Wilful murder, against some person or persons unknown.” Five hundred pounds reward is offered for their apprehension.’

 Without bothering to ask if the Mormons, or anyone else for that matter, held the copyright for the newspapers, Morton pulled out his mobile phone and discreetly took some shots of the screen, then pushed the film on in search of the inevitable capture of Ransley’s gang.

It had not taken long. The newspaper reported the end of the Aldington Gang in the edition of 17th October 1826: ‘THE ALDINGTON GANG—The leader of the unfortunate group of men, who were rounded up from the village of Aldington, has been revealed as George Ransley. As stated by our correspondent, Ransley and his gang were conveyed in the first instant on board the Ramillies guard ship, and yesterday morning they arrived in the Antelope tender at Deptford, where they were delivered over to the Officers of Police, in waiting for them, and immediately escorted to Bow Street. The greatest anxiety was evinced by the public to be present at their examination; but it was conducted in a strictly private manner, and the prisoners were afterwards conveyed to the prison in Cold Bath Fields; it may therefore be inferred that they are not as yet committed for trial. The apprehension of these men, will, it is to be hoped, put a stop to those sanguinary conflicts, which have taken place on the Kent and Sussex coasts for many dreadful months.’

Morton took a photograph of the story, less subtly this time.

He wound the film on, searching for mention of the trial. Several weeks’ editions passed with no further