A Habit of Dying (36 page)

A log shifting in the fire sent up a shower of sparks and broke her reverie. Stephen had resumed his reading but looked up at her, a cloud of concern across his face.

‘Are you alright?’ He leaned forward in his chair, poised to comfort her. ‘Lydia, you look upset, almost tearful.’

‘No, I’m fine. Just sorting out a few things, seeing if there is some truth in this sad story. One thing, when you said Susan was unfortunate, you used that word in a certain way, but whatever truths lie hidden under the facts, she really was unfortunate. More than that, she was positively blighted.’

‘Go on.’

‘On the one hand, she may have been completely innocent in all these deaths in her life, and that would make her really unfortunate, a string of tragedies that would have had the most depressing repetition about them. She would truly have suffered greatly and no less so for the familiarity of losing someone close. Her whole life punctuated at regular intervals with tragic loss and intense sadness. Imagine her grief at each loss, with a residue from each one gradually accumulating within her.’ Lydia caught herself short, realising how thoughtless her words might sound. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean to . . .’ she stumbled.

He understood her sudden faltering. ‘Thank you, but it’s fine, not a problem. You are thinking of Elspeth, which is kind and considerate. I stopped grieving a long time ago, only smiles left now. You were saying about a tragic life.’

Lydia gathered her thoughts again. ‘Yes, well, at the other extreme, the same events, but she somehow played a crucial, even malignant, part. And triggered by what? Some mental disorder, some traumatic childhood experience? And between the two extremes, a mix of both. A fatal accident to her brother that scars her for life, a beloved father helped out of his pain, the unexplained and awful loss of her only child, a husband who almost kills himself but instead places the responsibility upon her to make the final cut. Then at last she finds comfort with an older man only for him to be taken suddenly from her too. Whichever way you look at it she was more than unlucky.’

‘Yes,‘ Stephen nodded, ‘and so there you have at least one truth, a life beset with regular tragedy.’

‘Something we could agree on,’ Lydia said, ‘even though you still think the worst, don’t you?’

‘I could say that you want to see the best. But we see the same
things, just through different eyes. Perhaps I’ve grown too cynical, seen too many things.’

‘And I am too innocent, too willing to see the best?’

‘As for innocence, I doubt it, but willing to see the best, yes. And don’t forget that there is another huge difference.’

‘Oh?’

‘Well, you are a woman and I am not,’ he paused a moment and looked right into her. ‘I think that gives us a different eye, regardless of anything else. We start from quite different places.’

Lydia considered this for a moment, the process made a fraction more difficult by the particular shade of grey in Stephen’s eyes. ‘So you are ready to see Susan the impulsive killer, while I see Andrew the psychopath?’

‘Something like that. Don’t we naturally take the part of our own sex, all else being equal?’

The Old Rectory sat still in its garden and the garden sat still in the village. Beyond the mists in the paddock the world turned silently round them. Stephen brought in a few more logs and banked up the fire one last time for the evening. He and Lydia sat either side of the flickering light in warmth and comfort, while the tiny bubbles in their glasses traced waving trails to the surface. Lydia let herself sink into the pleasure of the moment, feeling the anxieties of other lives in other times drain away from her. At the back of the fire, behind the flames, patches of soot glowed orange in the heat, criss-crossing patterns that she could make nothing of and felt no urge to do so.

‘I had so wanted to find the truth, the absolute truth,’ she said quietly, almost to herself.

‘And now?’ Stephen gently prompted.

‘Now I see only many shades of truth, and my truth, the one I choose to be the truth, is as true as any other.’

The traffic on the Botley Road had only just started to build towards its Saturday peak as Lydia navigated the blue Nissan
through the teeming rain into the city by St Giles and then up the Banbury Road towards Bodicote. Running against what traffic there was, it would take her no more than twenty-five minutes. She had timed it the previous evening when she’d been to look at something that had caught her eye in the catalogue. There had been hardly anyone there, the cold and the wet keeping all but the most avid bargain hunter safely at home on a Friday night. The car-booters and the dealers would be wary of picking up stock when few customers would be tempted out to buy it on a dank Sunday morning in January. All of which suited her extremely well, as it would reduce the competition for all but the pricier lots. Her own targets were hopefully not in that category. The first was a box of coins and tokens, all worn and quite unexceptional, nothing a collector would find any interest in. What had attracted her was the catalogue description, which stated ‘assorted coins and medals’. When she had rummaged through it she had unearthed two medals, both without their ribbons, both scratched and tarnished, but crucially both were inscribed with the recipient’s name. One was a WWI medal, the 1914 Star, the other given in recognition of some civic service in Birmingham in 1870. The second item that had brought her out on such a foul morning, she’d come across quite by accident. Paintings would not usually interest her, but something about the face of the young girl portrayed rather amateurishly on a little unframed watercolour, caught her attention. It was signed by an illegible hand but on the back was the faded pencil inscription ‘Miss Sophia Smithers August 1842’. Both lots were in the catalogue with estimates of ten pounds against them and Lydia had high hopes of acquiring at least one.

Ly
dia’s Report for Dorot
hy

For Dorothy Joslin.

This is the information regarding your family history. These things can be quite difficult to follow if you are not familiar with the terminology that is often used and it is easy to get lost in the different generations, so I have set this out in what I hope are easy to follow sections which correspond to a particular family. The first one covers ‘Papa’ and ‘Mama’s’ family, which are your great grandparents and their children, including your grandfather Joseph.

All the birth, marriage and death certificates are in a section at the back, plus copies of a few other records like the census sheets. The census information has been included in the report where it concerns your own ancestors but I have not completed all the details for everyone else. The census details are noted with the year and the word ‘cen’ after it, so where you see ‘1881cen’ that means the 1881 census and so on. Also at the back is a diagram showing all the family that have been found. It is too big to fit on a single sheet so I have taped them together so that you can fold it out to have a view of them all.

You will see that there are a few other notes included about some of the people mentioned, and these are where I have drawn on some other sources, or where there are still some questions unanswered. You will be able to work out who most of the people are in the albums, but just as a marker for you I have noted a few of the photographs against the people in the report, especially the one which started the whole process, the 1911 Longlands family. I thought it was the best one to go on the front of this so I hope you like it.

Albert Joslin (your great grandfather) and his family

This is ‘Papa’ in the 1911 Longlands photo, your great grandfather. The old house still stands, but has been much changed and added to. It is currently a care home for the elderly.

1871cen Chelmsford, age 20, where he lives with his uncle Joseph. 1881cen Bocking end age 30 with his wife Pitternelle(23) and son Albert (2). 1891cen Bocking End, age 38, a wine dealer, with wife Pitternel (33) born London, son Albert(12) born Coggeshall, daughter Isabella(9), son Joseph(7) both born Bocking. Also resident Albert’s mother Loveday Joslin (64) and Adelle Speen, domestic servant.

1901cen Bocking End, age 48, a wine and spirit merchant, with wife Pitternel(43), son Joseph(17) and daughters Isabella(19), Alice(8) and Aletha(8). Also resident Alice Speen 16 yo domestic servant. Note that son Albert has left home.

This is ‘Mama’ in the 1911 Longlands Photo, your great grandmother. In various records she is shown as Pitternel, Pitternell and Pitternelle.

1 Albert Joslin

1901cen Lodging in Colchester, unmarried age 22, an agricultural dealer. (Note - recorded as Jocelyn).

This is the Albert, your great uncle, sitting next to ‘Mama’ in the Longlands 1911 photo.

Beatrice is seated on the left of the middle row of figures in the Longlands 1911 photograph.

2 Isabella Joslin

Isabella, your great aunt, is seated next to her father in the Longlands 1911 photograph.

3 Joseph Joslin

Your grandfather Joseph died without having ever seen his daughter Fanny (your mother), possibly without even knowing that he was a father. In the 1911 Longlands photograph he is seated and on the far right of the row.

4 Alice Joslin

Recorded as killed when the hospital ship Rohilla was wrecked 1914. She was serving as a nurse. In the 1911 Longlands photograph she is standing next to her sister Alethia, third from the left in the back row.