Page 89 of A Scottish Highland Surprise

He moved back towards us, proffering the open folder. It was a copy of Jonathan Gray’s death certificate, stating that he died on Boxing Day 1910, in Stirling Prison, aged just thirty-two, from pneumonia.

I snapped my head up. “Prison?”

Carson remained standing and thrust his panhandle hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I located a few paragraphs about his court case in the local paper. It seems he was up to his old tricks.”

“Stealing?” asked Ophelia, her dark eyes bouncing between the open page and Carson.

“He broke into a nearby church and stole some gold ornaments and the collection.” Carson shook his head in dismay. “He got caught by one of the church elders out walking his gun dogs.” He moved towards his sitting-room window, with its display of lilies and cream roses springing out of a long, thin vase. “So, you see, I don’t have much of an impressive ancestry to boast about.”

Ophelia and I set the open folder down on the coffee table in front of us. I offered him a sympathetic smile. “Well, the way I see it, you’ve rescued the reputation of a desperate young woman and her child. “

Ophelia agreed beside me. “If that isn’t something to boast about, I don’t know what is.”

Carson’s slanted cheeks creased with appreciation. “Thank you.

We smiled, filled with delight and relief at having been finally able to uncover the truth.

Then Carson winked. “I run a genealogy training course at night school. Are either of you two ladies interested at all?”

Chapter Forty-Five

I suspected Ophelia felt every bit as giddy as I did, with all these startling revelations to comprehend.

So, Jonathan had been not so much protecting his monster of a father, but his own financial interests. That didn’t come as any great surprise from what we had come to learn about him. Someone who could deliberately attempt to frame a young and pregnant woman, attacked by his own monster of a father, was capable of just about anything.

“Do you know what happened to this?” I asked, pointing to the tea set. “Did Briar and Ernest keep it?”

Carson replied that they sold it. “Well, they auctioned it, to be more precise.” He picked up the innocuous folder again from the table and riffled through a few more pages.

There was a local newspaper article dated 13th September1902.

Carson showed his copy of the piece to us. The headline was TEA SET RAISES CHARITY FUNDS.

He read aloud from the piece:

“A stunning tea set crafted by the renowned local artist Ernest Telfer has been sold at auction.

“The tea set reached a staggering one hundred pounds when it was sold by Briar and Ernest Telfer at a specially arranged event organised by Mrs Telfer and held at Briar Glen’s Glen Valley Church yesterday morning.

“It has been announced that half of the money raised will be donated to the local Salvation Army Society for Widows and Orphans and the other is to be held in trust for Mr and Mrs Telfer’s son George until he reaches the age of twenty-one.

“Both Mr and Mrs Telfer were delighted by the enthusiasm which greeted the auction and by the generous bids made by members of the local community and beyond.

“It is understood that the successful bidder of the tea set resides in London and wishes to remain anonymous.”

A lump of emotion sat in my throat and wouldn’t move. “What a lovely thing to do.”

Carson agreed. “It was. They might not have had the education and the privileges of the Gray family, but they could have taught them a thing or two about humility and class.”

Ophelia pushed a chunk of silvery hair back behind her ear. “I wonder who the person in London was, who purchased the tea set for that amount of money? That was a considerable sum in those days.”

Carson trained his glittery gaze on Ophelia. “Well, I took the liberty of searching out old auction records after I read that article. I was keen to try and find out too.”

“Any luck?” asked Ophelia, intrigued.

Carson’s attention drifted to me and back again. “The buyer wished to remain anonymous, as mentioned in the newspaper article, but I did discover in the archives a set of initials.”

He folded his arms and reclined back against his sofa. “The initials of the anonymous buyer were I. G.”