Jenna
had wondered if Saskia
would rise to the bait, but to her delight she accepted the invitation with
alacrity. "Why not? It only takes a couple of hours to get to
you, darling, and I haven't got anything on tomorrow that can't wait. Is it OK if I bring Jon with me?"
"Of
course it is. Lunch at Fran's, then,
after which I'll present my findings."
"That
sounds very official."
"Oh,
I'm going to set it all out properly.
After all, when I lend the casket to the V&A, I want them to have
the results of my research as well. And
if I can prove, as I think I can, who made it, that makes it even more
remarkable. How's Indy?"
"On
the mend, but still feeling sorry for herself.
She might be up to a car journey, though, if it's OK for her to come
along?"
"Of
course it is, Rosie told me to ask her."
"Good. She needs a bit of distraction. Now, darling, do spill the beans. What exactly has been going on with your
Scotsman's runaway daughter? I've been
following the saga on Twitter. Is the
mother really the worst parent since Medea?"
"No! It's all been blown up out of all
proportion. She's not a bad mother, she
genuinely thought that she was doing the right thing for Flora, but Flora
disagreed. So did Fran and I, but
because Krystal had custody, we didn't want to start a fight."
"So
the kid took matters into her own hands.
Good for her. And how did it all
get on social media?"
"That
was Rosie. When Flora disappeared she
alerted the neighbourhood via Facebook.
It was emphatically the right thing to do, we'd no idea she'd hidden in
the woods, but someone must have thought it was a juicy titbit to pass on. Now it's gone viral, Krystal has been trolled
on Twitter, and I think a big part of the reason she changed her mind was
because her agent probably told her it'd damage her career if she didn't."
"So
what's she really like?"
Jenna
thought for a moment, visualising again that small, fierce woman perched on the
edge of Fran's sofa. "Well, she's
not Medea. But she's tough, stubborn and
opinionated, and I'd guess her real priority is her career, rather than
Flora."
"Poor
kid. So how old is she?"
"Krystal? At a guess, late thirties, but it's hard to
tell."
"Oh,
by that age, darling, they've all had work done. Even if they were perfect to start with,
they've had work done. And she's
probably well aware that in another ten years she'll be reduced to character
parts and voice over, so she's maximising her potential now. I can't say I blame her - but it's hard on
Flora. At least she's seen sense at
last."
"It's
just a shame it took something so drastic to make her listen. Anyway, it's all arranged, Flora stays here
with Fran - "
"And
with you?"
"And
with me. She'll go to normal schools
here, and spend the summer holidays in California, or wherever, and perhaps
Christmas or Easter too. She's utterly
cock-a-hoop. The last few weeks, she's
been really moody and difficult, which isn't like Flora at all. Now, she's a different child. Amazing what happiness and relief can
do."
"Good. I'm glad that's all sorted. Has her mother gone back to the US yet?"
"She's
probably at Heathrow as we speak - she's catching an evening flight."
"Let's
hope she doesn't change her mind at the last minute. Now, gotta go, darling, I'm in the shop and
one of my best customers has just walked through the door. See you tomorrow!"
Tomorrow
was bright, mild, fresh with the promise of a delightful spring. Jenna had caught up with her sleep, and she
felt rested and invigorated. To judge by
Rosie's glowing face, she was the same.
They had bacon and eggs for breakfast, and then took Sammy for a walk up
to the castle, calling in at the shop on the way back. The Sunday papers were laid out on a rack,
and the shrieking headline on one of the tabloids caught Jenna's eye. 'BABE IN THE WOOD - ACTRESS'S DAUGHTER FOUND
SAFE AFTER FLIGHT INTO FOREST!'
Rosie
saw her looking, and followed her gaze.
She flushed a deeper red and turned away. Jenna picked the paper up and scanned the
piece. It skated a zig zag path between
truth, snide innuendo and the libel laws, and there was no doubt that it was
hostile to Krystal. For the first time,
she felt acute sympathy for Flora's mother.
She'd only done what she thought was right, after all, and been vilified
for it.
Her
own daughter, too, had only done what she thought was right. Rosie had gone out of the shop and was
bending over Sammy, who was tied up to a convenient ring outside. Jenna put the paper back and went out to join
her. She said, "Don't beat yourself
up about this. Those headlines really
aren't your fault."
"It
feels as though they are," Rosie
said sadly. "If I hadn't put that
message on Facebook - "
"You
put that message on Facebook because you thought it would be the best way to
help find Flora. And if she'd done the
sensible thing and gone to one of her friends, it would have found her. You
didn't intend or foresee that it'd go viral, and you certainly didn't mean the
news to be leaked to the national press.
So please, lovey, don't blame yourself, because it wasn't your
fault."
"OK,"
said Rosie, after a long pause.
"But I just hope that it hasn't made trouble for Krystal. Or Fran."
"It
won't. Krystal should be back in the
States by now, and Fran can cope with whatever gets thrown at him. In any case, the press can't be too
intrusive, because a child's involved and there are laws against it." She wasn't quite sure of her ground here, but
if saying this would help Rosie, she didn't care. "Shall we go back now? It's twenty past eleven and I said we'd be at
Fran's by twelve."
Half
an hour later, they drove up to the cottage in the wood, just ahead of Saskia's
Audi, which hooted as it pulled in behind them.
The door flew open and Flora ran out to meet them, while Fran followed
more slowly. There was a great deal of
hugging, exclamations and happy greetings, before they all walked inside, to be
met by a delicious aroma of roasting lamb.
The big table had been laid for seven - probably by Flora, since the arrangement
of the knives and forks was a little idiosyncratic, to say the least - and
there was a big bunch of yellow and red fringed tulips in a vase in the middle.
"Smells
good," said Saskia. She'd linked
her arm proprietorially with Jon's, and to Jenna's observant eye she looked
different, somehow softer and less edgy.
It seemed that, against all the odds, Jon was making her happy. And if he ever stopped making her happy, Jenna
felt that she'd be tempted to strangle him with her bare hands.
"Do
you like the tulips?" Flora demanded, indicating them with a
flourish. "Dad says they're parrot
tulips but I call them flamenco tulips because they look like those swirly
skirts. They had them in
Sainsburys."
The
tulips were duly admired, and while Fran checked the leg of lamb and put the
roast potatoes in, Flora distributed an assortment of nibbles. There was time to catch up with news, though
by mutual and tacit consent, the events of the previous day were ignored. The lamb was delicious, and even India managed
a generous portion. No-one had much room
for anything other than small helpings of the apple crumble which followed it,
and which Flora proudly confessed to have made.
Everyone helped to clear the table, and Rosie wiped it clean of crumbs
and gravy with especial care, while Fran made coffee. Only then did Jenna go outside to her car,
and lift the wooden box that contained her precious casket out of the boot,
while her daughter brought in the notebook and papers which contained her
research.
Everyone
clustered round as Jenna put the box on the table and pulled the cotton gloves
out of her pocket. India, of course, was
the only one who hadn't seen it before, but such was the eagerness that it was
as if this was the first time for all of them.
She lifted the lid, drew the casket out of its container, and set it
down in the centre.
For
once, Jon seemed lost for words: he just gazed at it. Flora uttered a little squeak of delight, and
Rosie grinned at her. India gasped, and Saskia
said, with no trace of her usual cynical drawl, "I'd forgotten how amazing
it is."
The
casket seemed to glow in the spring sunshine which fell across the table. It glinted on the gold and silver threads,
and cast shadows behind the raised figures - the man and woman, the lion, the
child and the dog. Most of all, it
seemed to emphasise the initials on the lid.
"MJ,"
Fran said. "So you've found
her?"
"Are
you sure?" That was Jon, ever the
sceptical academic. Saskia cast him a
reproving glance, which he pretended not to notice.
"I'm
a hundred per cent sure," Jenna said.
"And in a minute, I'll tell you what I've discovered, and how I did
it. But first, I want to show you
everything about it. And while you're
admiring, bear this in mind - most if not all of these caskets were made by
girls very little older than Flora. The
one in the V&A was made by Martha Edlin when she was eleven."
"Wow,"
Flora said. "It must have taken forever!"
"There
weren't so many distractions then," Fran pointed out. "No TV, no computers, no social media,
no radio, and probably not so many books either."
"Exactly,"
said Jenna. "If your house did have
books - and the girls who made these were from wealthy families, so it probably
did - then they weren't specially written for children, there wouldn't be a lot
of pictures, and your main reading matter would certainly have been the
Bible."
Flora
made an expressive grimace. "I'm
glad I didn't live then."
Jenna
was opening the lid to reveal the garden.
Even Saskia, who'd seen it several times, leaned forward for a better
look. India said in wonder, "A
unicorn!"
"A
lady and a unicorn, by a pool. It's
tarnished now, but it would have been a brilliant silver mirror when it was
new. I think that'll be one of the
things the V&A will restore, when I loan it to them."
"So
that is what you've decided?" Saskia asked.
"Yes. I've talked about it with Rosie, who'll
inherit it after me, and we've agreed.
It's very precious, and very special, and it belongs to everyone, not
just us. Besides, it should be kept
safe and it's not safe, not really, at the back of my wardrobe."
"Especially
now you've told us all where you keep it, darling," Saskia said, and
raised a general laugh.
Jenna
demonstrated the drawers, and the secret compartment. India blew her nose and asked, "So what
sort of things would MJ have kept in her casket? Jewellery and stuff like that?"
"I
think so. It's got a lock - though the
key's missing - so it would have been rings, necklaces, anything valuable. And keepsakes, like locks of hair, or love
letters. It's a real shame that there's
nothing left." Jenna thought, with
a pang, of her hopes that a note from Nanna May, telling her the truth about
her father, might be hidden within the lining, or some secret compartment. Then she put her feelings to one side and
told them briefly about the stumpwork embroidery, when it was fashionable and
how it was done.
"I
remember you saying a while ago, that the expert who looked at it thought that
the house and the people were real, not just stock figures," Rosie pointed
out. "And if that's true, that's
almost better than having the contents."
"I
think it is true," Jenna said, and saw, looking round the table, something
of her own excitement mirrored in the eager, interested faces. "But we'll come to that in shortly. Shall I take you through my boring ancestry
first? Because that's what will clinch
the identity of MJ - tracing the inheritance of the casket back through the
generations. We can speculate all we
like about who, if anyone, is embroidered on it, but this is the proof." She opened her notebook, in which she had set
down everything she'd discovered, and showed them the first page. "This is my grandmother - Nanna May, who
left me the casket. She told me it had
always been passed down through the female line, mother to daughter."
"So
why did she leave it to you, and not to your mother?" Jon queried.
"Because
she knew that my mother would sell it straight away, and she didn't want
that. She knew I loved it and would hang
on to it, or lend it to a museum. As you
can imagine, my mother wasn't best pleased, but there wasn't a lot she could do
about it."
"Jenna
comes from a long line of very strong-minded women, darling," Saskia
informed him. "As indeed do
I."
"I'd
noticed," said Jon, with a grin.
Jenna,
amused and reassured by their banter, continued. "Nanna May was the daughter of John
Goodwin, who had a shop in Leyton, in north-east London. And from her birth certificate, I found that
her mother was called Winifred Emily Merelina, my great great grandmother, who
was born in 1890. Winifred presumably
because they liked it, Emily was her mother's name, but I had no idea where
'Merelina' came from."
"I
remember we Googled it," Rosie said.
"And according to Wiki, it was the name of some species of tiny sea
snails."
"Not
a likely source," said Fran drily.
"Hardly. I asked my mother, and she had no idea what
the significance of it might be - if there was any significance, of
course. Anyway, I looked next for
Winifred's mother, and her name was plain Emily Taylor. And as you can imagine, there were rather a
lot of them in the 19th century."
"So
how did you track down the right one?"
That was Saskia.
"It
was fairly easy in the end. I found when
and where Winifred's parents were married, and ordered the certificate. And Emily Taylor's father was - " she
checked her notes - "Joseph Ezekiel Taylor."
"There
can't be too many of those about," Jon said.
"Quite
right, there weren't - in fact, he was unique. He was born in 1839, just after the
centralisation of birth, marriage and death records. And, even better, guess what his wife's name
was?"
"Merelina?"
Flora suggested. She was sitting next to
Fran, her chin propped on her hands.
"Nearly
right. She rejoiced in the name of Emily
Maria Merielina Tydeman, so I knew two things from that - firstly, that I was
on the right track, and secondly, that Merelina, or Merielina, had nothing to
do with sea snails and must be a family name."
"I
come from a long line of women who were called Sybil," Saskia said, with
feeling. "Fortunately, my mother -
Julia Sybil - decided to break with tradition, or I'd have had the initials
S.S. Merelina is a bit of a mouthful,
isn't it, darling? No wonder your great
grandmother was the last one."
"She
won't be," Rosie said unexpectedly.
"If I ever have a daughter, one of her names will be
Merelina."
"Poor
kid," said Indy, grinning at her.
"Well,
you once told me that if you ever had a daughter, you'd call her
Hermione."
"That
was when I was twelve and into Harry Potter."
"Children,
children," said Saskia reprovingly.
"Let Jenna get a word in."
"You
started it," Jenna told her.
"Now, where was I? Emily
Maria Merielina Tydeman. I got her birth
certificate - she was born in 1840, and her parents were Maria Merielina Rogers
and William Tydeman. He was a doctor in
Bury St. Edmunds, and they married at St. Ethelbert's church in Hesset in 1836."
"Hesset?"
Jon asked.
"It's
a village not far from Bury. Maria
Merielina was the parson's daughter.
She's my ... four greats grandmother.
Anyway, a couple of months ago I thought I'd go to Bury to do some
research in the archives there, and when I saw a sign pointing to Hessett, I
thought it was worth a look in case there was anything of interest in the
church. And I'm really glad I did,
because it saved me from at least one wild goose chase."
"How
so?" enquired Saskia.
"Well,
I found Maria Merielina's parents, on her mother's memorial tablet - she died
when she was only 25, in 1816, and her maiden name was Merielina Agnes
Leheup."
"Leheup? That's a weird name," said India.
"Mum
says that if there hadn't been so many weird names, she'd never have found
MJ," Rosie told her.
"I
think it's a Huguenot name," said Jenna, and then added, when India looked
blank, "The Huguenots were Protestants in Catholic France in the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, but Louis IV booted them out and a lot of them came
to England and did very well."
"OK,"
said India, still looking confused.
"I did history for GCSE and I've never heard of them, but then we
only really studied the rise of Nazi Germany and World War Two."
"Really,
I don't know what they teach in schools these days," Jon said,
grinning.
Jenna
continued. "The Leheups obviously
lived in Hessett, because there were loads of memorials to them going back
several generations. Merielina Agnes was
the daughter of Michael Leheup and his wife Mary, and that's where the stroke
of luck came in, because his parents'
memorial had the names of his father Michael, and his mother - who was called Merelina." She paused expectantly.
Fran
was the first to get it. "So it
wasn't passed down entirely through the female line. Presumably the first Merelina Leheup had no
daughters."
"It
seems not. I like to think she might
have left it to her grandaughter - she and her husband died within a week of
each other, when Merielina Agnes was a small child. Anyway, that was where I got stuck for a
while - sometimes real life has a habit of getting in the way. But a couple of days ago, Rosie persuaded me
to go for it, and I Googled Merelina Leheup - the one who died in 1792, and who
was my seven greats grandmother."
"And? Don't leave us in suspense, darling!"
"It
turned out that her maiden name was another weird one - Discipline. And after that it was easy. She was born in 1734, and her parents were
Thomas Discipline, who lived in Bury, and Merelina Spring. Merelina Spring was quite posh, her family
lived in Pakenham, another village near Bury, and her father was a baronet, Sir
Thomas Spring, who'd died young when she was a child. Her mother was even posher, her father was a
lord, and her name was Merelina too. She
was born in 1673, and I'm 95 per cent sure that she was MJ and made the
casket."
"So
come on, who was she? Merelina
what?"
"She
was Merelina Jermyn, and her family lived at Rushbrooke Hall, just east of
Bury."
"Do
you think that's the house on the casket?" Jon asked.
"I
don't know, but it certainly could be.
Rushbrooke was demolished in the 1960s, I looked it up - absolutely
criminal, it was a glorious Elizabethan mansion. Apparently all that's left of it is the
moat. It had those corner towers, just like
the house on the casket."
"What
a shame," Rosie said.
"So
what about her family?" Jon asked.
"You said you thought she'd embroidered them too."
"She
was the youngest of five sisters - they were called Mary, Henrietta Maria,
Delariviere - I don't know where that name came from - and Penelope, and then
there was a younger brother Thomas, who was the only surviving son. He was tragically killed when he was a
teenager, and that was the end of the Jermyns at Rushbrooke. There's a book about them which is in the
Google library, I looked it up online.
The eldest daughter Mary married a man called Davers and inherited the
house, and the other sisters made good marriages. Anyway, if you look on the casket, you can
see a man, perhaps her father, Lord Jermyn, and five women who could be her
mother and sisters, and a little boy with a dog. And I think that's her brother."
"Wow,"
said India, looking at the small, lovingly detailed figures. "But we'll never know if it's really
true."
"No, we won't, but I'd like
to think it is. And two things I do know
for sure - Merelina Jermyn is my nine greats grandmother, and there are no
other candidates for the maker of the casket."
"So where did the name
Merelina come from?" Fran asked.
"Her mother's maiden name
was Merry, so maybe the name was invented specially for her." Jenna looked through the loose sheets of
paper tucked into her notebook, and drew out two photographs. "I found these online. This is Rushbrooke."
The
house was large, built of brick with two projecting wings, and a stone porch
forming the middle bar of the conventional Elizabethan 'E' shape. At each
of the four corners stood a slender turret, exactly like those on the house on
the casket.
"And this is Merelina
Jermyn."
At first sight, it was a
conventional early 18th century portrait of a middle-aged woman in a loose
informal gown, her dark hair drawn back from her face and a ringlet curled over
her shoulder. But there was warmth and
humour in the sideways glance she bestowed on the viewer, giving a real sense
of the personality of the sitter, and when she'd first seen it, Jenna had felt
an instant connection. I would have liked her, she'd thought,
gazing at her ancestor. We would have chatted over a dish of tea, and
talked about the casket and how she'd made it, exchanged family news, and had a
laugh over something absurd.
While the two pictures were
being passed round and examined and discussed, she sat back, suddenly bereft. Now that the hunt for MJ was over, she felt an
acute sense of loss. It wouldn't take
long to fill the gap, of course, with Fran and Flora, with her new family in
Australia, with planning her trip there.
But she couldn't help a little sadness, just as she'd known she would. It was one reason why she had put off the
final research for so long.
Much later, when Jon and Saskia
and India had left, and Rosie and Flora had gone out into the April dusk to see
if there were any bats, she snuggled up to Fran on the sofa.
"That was brilliant,"
he said, kissing her. "I'm really
glad you've found her. She was a
wonderfully talented needlewoman."
"Yes, and she had an
original and creative mind. That's
obvious from the casket, how different it is from most similar ones - the woman
at the auction house pointed that out.
She probably had a wonderful childhood, with all those sisters, they
seem to have been a close and loving family, but there were tragedies in her
later life."
"Her brother?"
"Yes, that was awful, but then
she lost her husband when he was still young - only thirty two. Her first three children all died as babies,
and - this is weird - after that, she had the same family as her parents. Five daughters called Mary, Merelina,
Henrietta, Delariviere and Penelope, and a single son. Penelope died when she was six or seven, but
the rest all lived to grow up. Some
years after her husband died, Merelina married again, a much older man, Sir
William Gage - he's the person that greengages are named after, he was a keen
amateur gardener. He lived at Hengrave
Hall, near Bury, it's a lovely house, I've seen photos of it. Apparently her daughters were very pretty,
and people wrote poems to them, they were the talk of the neighbourhood, but
only the eldest two, Mary and Merelina, ever married. Her husband died of a fall from his horse
when he was in his seventies, and she died too, not long after. And presumably she left the casket to her
daughter Merelina."
"And she to her daughter,
and her daughter to hers, all the way down the generations to you. I wonder whether she ever imagined that it
would survive and be cherished by her descendants, for nearly three hundred
years."
"Perhaps she did. I like to think so. By the way, tell you what I'd like to do next
weekend."
"What's that, hen?"
"I'd like to go to
Pakenham, where she's buried, and put some flowers on her grave. I think she deserves them, don't you?"
"Indeed she does. She must have been quite a remarkable
woman."
"And like so many women of
strength and character, she's invisible.
We only know about her because I went looking for her. And I'm sure all the other women in my line
were just as remarkable and talented and yet almost all the details of their
lives have vanished. Mostly we just know
the bare bones, birth, marriage, children, death. Merelina and her sisters and daughters are
rare because just occasionally we get a glimpse of them. Like her daughter Molly who broke so many
hearts when she got married in pink satin and silver tissue and drove away from
the church in a carriage and four, or Merelina and her sisters riding to a
friend's house and playing whist till eleven o'clock at night, even though they
were going hunting in the morning."
Jenna realised she was wriggling with excitement like a child. "And it's all been such fun, I've loved
every minute, and I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now I've
finished."
"Oh, I've got a few
ideas," Fran said, and kissed her again.
*
Dear Mrs Johnson,
Thank you for booking your flights with
us. We can confirm that Mrs. Jennifer
Johnson, Miss Rosie Johnson, Mr. Francis McNeil and Miss Flora McNeil will be
flying from London Heathrow to Sydney, Australia, on 28th August, and from
Sydney, Australia to London Heathrow on 7th September. We hope you enjoy your holiday.
*
From
the family announcement page of the Hertfordshire Herald, 15th July:
The wedding took place quietly on 8th July, between Mrs. Patricia
Clarke and Mr. Stuart Blanchard. The
bride wore a grey silk suit with matching hat, and was attended by her friend,
Mrs. Lorna Beckwith. The couple, who
have both been married before, met on a Caribbean cruise, and will honeymoon on
a cruise around the western Mediterranean, taking in Mallorca, Sardinia, Sicily
and Naples, before returning to live at the groom's residence in Tring.
*
Press
Release, Victoria and Albert Museum, 24th July
The Curator of Textiles is delighted to announce
the acquisition, on indefinite loan, of an exceptional example of a Stuart
stump-work casket. Research by its
present owner shows that it was made by Merelina Jermyn, of Rushbrooke Hall in
Suffolk, probably in the 1680s when she was a young girl. The casket is very finely worked and it is
thought that many of the people embroidered on it represent the maker's own
family. An additional feature is the
exquisite garden inside the lid, with figures of a lady and a unicorn beside a
pond, amidst a wealth of embroidered flowers and plants. The casket, which has been passed down from
mother to daughter through nine generations, is in generally excellent
condition, probably thanks to the fact that it has always been kept in its
wooden carrying box. After conservation,
it will be put on display to the public in the 17th Century gallery.