Chapter 15

Old Ground

At Sutton Box, taking his newly bought pork pie from its small paper bag, Thurstan opened the can of cheap cola, swore softly and wiped liquid off his tie with a hand.

“Right, Stephen. Have we got enough on the Hillingdon job to have a worthwhile review of where we are now?”

Gandalph nodded. “I think so, Boss. It was quite productive, meeting the history mob. How did you get on?”

Thurstan smiled. “Well, I know more than I did before, but I need to have a proper think about how to progress things further.” He took a bite of the pork pie and mumbled as he chewed, “I don’t want to go through official channels to trace someone.” He saw the inquisitive look Gandalph returned and explained his predicament ending with, “The last thing I want is people asking me questions I don’t want to answer.”

Gandalph nodded understanding. “Give me the name later, Boss and I’ll trawl through social media, see what comes up.”

They went back to the Blackthorn Street murder. Through his new history society mates, his DC had discovered the land upon which the small estate of six streets were built had belonged to the Hillingdons, as did the houses themselves. Shortly after the killing, ownership had been sold for a nominal sum to three men; two coachmen and a stable hand who were employed by the family. It was noteworthy the transfer was made the day after little Edith Henthorn had been crushed beneath the wheels of a train.

Thurstan wiped his hands on a paper towel and dusted the crumbs from his lips. “I think that’s very significant, Stephen. Don’t you? It looks suspiciously like a payoff. Three men fighting and three men who work for the Hillingdons given a free housing estate; I doubt if even a penny was exchanged. Did you find out anything else?”

Gandalph smiled, modestly. “Quite a lot, actually. I have to say the history bods really took this to heart and have been in overdrive ever since we raised the subject. A group of us spent all of one day at the library on the microfiche terminals and Wilf eventually rediscovered a book he bought at a car boot sale years ago. It was an unauthorised history of the St Helens branch of the Hillingdon family and published by a printing firm on the other side of the country. Wilf thought it significant because it looks like the author probably couldn’t get anyone local to touch it.”

“Why would he think that?” Thurstan lounged in his chair, twiddling his pen.

Gandalph’s smile broadened. “Because it’s explosive. It claims, in 1882 Sir Montague Hillingdon fathered a child with Agnes Trubshaw, a maid who worked for the family. He was in his 40s and she in her early 20s. The author says she was an unremarkable and plain girl, but very diligent. Anyway, apparently, she leaves employment, has the child, a boy, and Sir Montague pays for it to be adopted. The firm of Dorrington and Sons conducts the arrangements with the local adoption society who find a childless couple from out of town. They adopt him in 1883 and name him Albert.” He paused and unwrapped a piece of chewing gum. 

“Anyway,” Gandalph continued. “The next trace they could find of Agnes is in an 1884 business register and we reckon she’s been paid off because she has her own premises as a seamstress, living above the shop. Somewhere along the way there, Miss Trubshaw attracts the attention of a local man, Henry Riley, a railway signalman and they marry the same year. Things appear to be going OK until 1894 when the archives show Henry Riley’s had complaints lodged against him at the Magistrates Courts for debts, several of which are from local public houses. We think he’d probably acquired a drinking habit that was getting out of control. Shortly after this, the sale of Agnes’ shop is recorded.

“Reading between the lines, we decided she must have paid off the debts with what she got from the sale of the business. We couldn’t find any trace of them until he’s recorded in the following year’s voter register as living at the Blackthorn Street address. In the 1901 census, only she is shown as living there. We checked the death registers, and he died in 1899 from cirrhosis of the liver. Obviously, what pension she got from her connection to Riley wasn’t going to go a long way and she probably couldn’t make much as a seamstress living where she did so, before or after he died, she turned to prostitution. Now, the interesting thing is the rent collection was done through Dorrington and Son, Hillingdon’s solicitor. I just wonder if she ever knew they were the landlords. It’s a definite connection though. Cup of tea, Boss?”

Thurstan nodded. ‘Yes, please. Would be nice. Don’t forget the biscuits.”

As Gandalph disappeared along the corridor, the DCI called, “It would be good if we could get a much closer connection. What about the illegitimate little boy? Do you think you could trace him?”

His DC shouted back, “We made a start on that. I’ll tell you about it when I’ve done the teas. Oh, and Flitcroft? He had a good innings. Ninety-two he was when he died. I spoke to his grand-daughter. Eighty-six she is. Still looks sprightly. Anyway, she said all she recalls is he wasn’t very forthcoming about his time at St Helens, but it was obvious he detested some of the people he’d worked under there and he never had a good word to say about the Freemasons. Interestingly, she said her mother had once told her it all had something to do with a murder. She didn’t know anything else. Lovely old girl though.”

When he returned, they continued the discussion over a nice hot mug and some Oreos. “What I forgot to mention was,” Gandalph explained, “the book Wilf showed us originally isn’t the same one as he’s found now. In the original, the Hillingdons were just a chapter. This one is all about them, going back a couple of centuries and their story ends with the ship, City of Benares, being sunk by a German submarine.”

Thurstan interrupted. “When was this book published?”

“1941,”

“Well, that explains it.”

“What?”

“Why the story ends where it does. The ship went down late 1940.”

“Oh, I see what you mean,” Gandalph replied. “Shall I go on?”

Thurstan smiled, dunking an Oreo. “Fill your boots, Stephen.”

“I will,” he grinned back. “The thing is, the book also details what happened to Albert, the young boy who was adopted. The couple who took him on were called Thompson. They named him Albert William. It’s got brief details of his early life and says come 1914 when he was 32, on the outbreak of war, he joins the Army, a local regiment known as the St Helens Pals.” He turned and searched through a folder. “I’ve got the proper name here, somewhere. Ah, this is it. The 11^th Service Battalion, South Lancashire Regiment, also known as the St Helens Pioneers. Anyway, he makes it all the way to 1916 and then they have the battle of the Somme. Right from the opening day, his company were up there, laying barbed wire, digging new trenches and repairing roads. Fourteen days later, they were ordered to take part in an attack. That’s the day Albert William Thompson died. He left behind a wife and two sons. The name of the wife isn’t given but the boys are named as William and Joseph. No dates of birth, I’m afraid.”

“By the look on your face, there’s more, isn’t there?”

Gandalph gave him a smile and said, “And that’s why you’re a DCI, Boss. Yes, correct because, although Albert Thompson’s story sort of stopped short, the Hillingdons had a little bit more detail in that it turns out Sir Montague had two brothers, although all it says is, ‘the illustrious Hillingdon family line continues through Sir Montague’s brothers, Cedric and Aubrey’.”

Thurstan sat upright. “So, there’s a chance we might be able to trace this lot, and should there be any direct descendants, we might be able to talk them into giving us a little sample from which we can get a DNA analysis done. Saliva’s easiest, less invasive. Obviously, no point in getting one to use evidentially – it would be far too expensive and, anyway, we’ve no one to prosecute.”

Gandalph nodded agreement. “Assuming we get lucky, Boss, how are we going to get it all paid for?”

Thurstan promptly stood up and declared, “Right, I need to pee.”

As he walked down the corridor, Gandalph called after him, “Boss! How are we going to pay for it? Boss, I’ve got no savings! I’m only a cod’s head!”

When he came back, Thurstan pre-empted his DC’s enquiry by waving him off and saying, “We’ll play it by ear, Stephen. Now, more importantly, don’t you think it odd this author spends what must have been a considerable amount of time researching the family history, mentions Sir Montague’s indiscretion and involvement in covering it all up and then writes so little about the products of it all?”

“Yeah, Wilf said that as well. What are you thinking, Boss?”

Thurstan ran his hand across his chin as if stroking an imaginary beard. “I was just wondering if something is being hidden. I suppose it’s too much to expect the author’s surname is Thompson?”

“Nice thought, but it’s Ralph Hepplewhite,” Gandalph replied.

Thurstan sat down at his desk and picked up his empty cup. “Can you take a deeper look, Stephen?”

Gandalph nodded. “I did. The publishing firm went bust a long time ago and although I could try tracing the people who ran it to see if there are descendants who might know something useful, I just don’t see the point of it because I can’t find a trace of a Ralph Hepplewhite which would fit the profile of this bloke. He’s obviously educated, his research tells us that, and he had an income sufficient for him to have money to waste on his book project. Besides, it was probably a pseudonym. It would have made suing him for libel a bit more difficult.”

Thurstan reflected on the information. “Yeah, you’re right. It would be a distraction we don’t need at present. Can you have a go at tracing the family lines, both sides of the divide? Use your new chums. Do they still have the enthusiasm?”

Gandalph grinned. “Oh, they’re still very enthusiastic. I told them if they can get a result, you’d said you’d pay for all the ale at their Annual General Meeting next month.”

“Very generous of you, Stephen,” he replied, with a withering look. “How many of them are there? Only six, I think you said at some point?”

Gandalph took the cup from the DCI’s hand. “I did but it’s actually thirty in all.” Instantly, he saw the revelation hadn’t been received with joy. “It’s an AGM, Boss. You can’t leave people out. Another cuppa?”