“Sounds like she was really good at her job,” Sara said.
“So good that in 1950, there was a special allowance to pay for her new clothes. Twice.”
“Unusual that the house paid for them.”
“I thought so too,” Chris said.
“There could have been an accident,” Sara said. “One that the house was responsible for and they made amends.”
“True,” Chris said. He turned a page and ran his finger along a line. “December 24, 1950. A midwife was paid for delivering Mary’s child.”
“Ah. She was pregnant and the house paid for her maternity clothes.” Sara leaned forward. “As a fellow researcher, let me guess what you did next. You went to the chapel to see if there were any records of the birth.” Sara’s eyes were sparkling. Historical mysteries were her favorite kind. “What did you find out?”
He picked up his phone and showed her a photo of an entry in the Parish register. Bertram Nicholas Renlow born 24 December 1950. The parents were listed as Hume and Sybilla Renlow.
“Bertram...” Sara whispered.
He showed her another photo. It was of a couple standing by a Christmas tree at Oxley Manor. The man was fastening what looked to be a spectacular diamond necklace around the neck of the woman. She had on a 1950s dress with a portrait neckline that exposed her from the shoulders up. Her belted waist was tiny. Written on the photo was Sybilla and Hume. Christmas. 1950.
“And she gave birth to Bertram the day before? Ha!” Sara leaned back in her chair. “That had to be Mary’s child, but the Renlows claimed him. So what happened to Mary?”
“There was an expense for the burial of Mary Williams four months after she’d given birth.”
“I wonder if Bertram ever knew that his mother was actually the maid? He—” She halted. “But Bertram thought he had a sister?”
“He was their only child.”
“But what about Mary? She was a widow. Did she have any other children?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t see any mention of that. There were expenses for children, but I assumed they were the kids of people who worked at Oxley.”
“Exactly,” Sara said. “I’m trying to piece this together into a story. Mary Williams, a widow, gets a job as a maid at Oxley Manor, then she was quickly promoted to head housekeeper.”
“So she was smart and good at her job.”
“Or very, very pretty,” Sara said. “Whatever, she was soon pregnant.”
“By an unknown man.”
“I don’t think Lady Sybilla would have agreed to take the kid if his father was the local blacksmith,” Sara said. “And I don’t think that necklace was a coincidence of timing. Maybe ol’ Hume gave her the diamonds as a peace offering.’”
Chris nodded. “Sounds plausible. Especially if she was barren. Then Mary died four months later. How convenient for the Renlow family.”
“Byon’s story said Bertram got drunk and talked about the sister he never wanted. He didn’t like her. Said she was too bossy. Maybe the sister wanted a cut of the place. She wanted to share everything. And why not? They had the same mother.”
“And Bertram’s response to this proposition?”
“He told her to get the hell away from him.” For a few moments, they looked at each other in silence.
“I bet she was really, really angry,” Chris said.
“Like maybe she would do anything to get Oxley Manor. Maybe like crazy obsessed,” Sara said.
Again, they were silent.
Chris moved his chair back. “I have to see to my horse, take him out for a run. When I get back, maybe we should...”
“Take a car and go see some of the sights of England? Leave Oxley Manor forever?”