Janet grinned. ‘Like working through the phone book, ringing up all the Smiths?’
‘I feel really bad about this. I encouraged him.’
‘Darling, you couldn’t have done anything else. If this was the guy’s only reason for making the trip, you couldn’t tell him to abandon it before the plane touched down at Heathrow. Who knows — he might have incredible luck and actually chance on the right name.’
‘That would be incredible.’
Janet took a sip of the Californian wine Eva had brought back as duty-free. ‘Actually, there is another way.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Through parish records. He told you his grandfather was born somewhere in Dorset.’
‘Edgecombe.’
‘And the four brothers were named after the gospel writers, so it’s a good bet they were Church of England. Did all the brothers live in Edgecombe?’
‘I think so.’
‘Then it’s easy! Start with the baptisms. When was his grandfather born?’
‘1868.’
‘Right. Look up the Edgecombe baptisms for 1868. There can’t be so many John Smiths in a small Dorset village. You’ll get the father’s name in the register — he signs it, you see — and then you can start looking through other years for the brothers’ entries. That’s only the beginning. There are the marriage registers and the banns. If the Edgecombe register doesn’t have them, they could be in an adjoining parish.’
‘Hold on, Janet. You’re talking as if I’m going off to Dorset myself.’
Janet’s eyes shone. ‘Eva, you don’t need to go there. The Society of Genealogists in Kensington has copies of thousands of parish registers. Anyone can go there and pay a fee for a few hours in the library. I’ve got the address somewhere.’ She got up and went to her bookshelf.
‘Don’t bother,’ said Eva. ‘It’s John Smith who needs the information, not me, and I wouldn’t know how to find him now. He didn’t tell me where he’s staying. Even if I knew, I’d feel embarrassed getting in contact again. It was just a conversation on a plane.’
‘Eva, I despair of you. When it comes to the point, you’re so deplorably shy. I can tell you exactly where to find him: in the General Register Office in Kingsway, working through the Smiths. He’ll be there for the next three weeks if someone doesn’t help him out.’
‘Meaning me?’
‘No, I can see it’s not your scene. Let’s handle this another way. Tomorrow I’ll take a long lunch break and pop along to the Society of Genealogists to see if they have a copy of the parish registers for Edgecombe. If they haven’t, or there’s no mention of the Smith family, we’ll forget the whole thing.’
‘But if you do find something?’
‘Then we’ll consider what to do next.’ Casually, Janet added, ‘You know, I wouldn’t mind telling him myself.’
‘But you don’t know him.’
‘You could tell me what he looks like.’
‘How would you introduce yourself?’
‘Eva, you’re so stuffy! It’s easy in a place like that, where everyone is shoulder to shoulder at the indexes.’
‘You make it sound like a cocktail bar.’
‘Better.’
Eva couldn’t help smiling.
‘Besides,’ said Janet. ‘I do have something in common with him. My mother’s maiden name was Smith.’
The search rooms of the General Register Office were filled with the steady sound of index volumes being lifted from the shelves, deposited on the reading tables and then returned. There was an intense air of industry as the searchers worked up and down the columns of names, stopping only to note some discovery that usually was marked by a moment of reflection, followed by redoubled activity.
Janet had no trouble recognising John Smith. He was where she expected to find him: at the indexes of births for 1868. He was the reader with one volume open in front of him that he had not exchanged in ten minutes. Probably not all morning. His stumpy right hand, wearing three gold rings, checked the rows of Victorian copperplate at a rate appropriate to a marathon effort. But when he turned a page he shook his head and sighed.
Eva had described him accurately enough without really conveying the total impression he made on Janet. Yes, he was short and slightly overweight and his hair was cut to within a half-inch of his scalp, yet he had a teddy-bear quality that would definitely help Janet to be warm towards him. Her worry had been that he would be too pitiable.
She waited for the person next to him to return a volume, then moved to his side, put down the notebook she had brought, and asked him, ‘Would you be so kind as to keep my place while I look for a missing volume? I think someone must have put it back in the wrong place.’
He looked up, quite startled to be addressed. ‘Why, sure.’ Janet thanked him and walked round to the next row of shelves.
In a few minutes she was back. ‘I can’t find it. I must have spent twenty minutes looking for it, and my lunch-hour will be over soon.’
He kept his finger against the place of birth he had reached and said, ‘Maybe I could help. Which one are you looking for, miss?’
‘Could you? It’s P to S for the second quarter of 1868.
‘Really? I happen to have it right here.’
‘Oh, I didn’t realise...’ Janet managed to blush a little.
‘Please.’ He slid the book in front of her. ‘Go ahead; I have all day for this. Your time is more valuable than mine.’
‘Well, thank you.’ She turned a couple of pages. ‘Oh dear, this is going to be much more difficult than I imagined. Why did my mother have to be born with a name as common as Smith?’
‘Your name is Smith?’ He beamed at the discovery, then nodded. ‘I guess it’s not such a coincidence.’
‘My mother’s name, actually. I’m Janet Murdoch.’
‘John Smith.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m a stranger here myself, but if I can help in any way...’
Janet said, ‘I’m interested in tracing my ancestors, but looking at this, I think I’d better give up. My great-grandfather’s name was Matthew Smith, and there are pages and pages of them. I’m not even sure of the year he was born. It was either 1868 or 1869.’
‘Do you know the place he was born?’
‘Somewhere in Dorset. Wait, I’ve got it written here.’ She opened the notebook to the page where she had made her notes at the Society of Genealogists. ‘Edgecombe.’
‘May I see that?’ John Smith held it and his hand shook. ‘Janet, I’m going to tell you something that you’ll find hard to believe.’
He took her to lunch at Rules. It tested her nerve as he questioned her about Matthew Smith of Edgecombe, but she was well prepared. She said she knew there had been four brothers, only she was deliberately vague about their names. Two, she said, had married, and she was the solitary survivor of Matthew’s line.
John Smith ate very little lunch. Most of the time, he sat staring at Janet and grinning. He was very like a teddy bear. She found it pleasing at first, because it seemed to show he was a little light-headed at the surprise she had served him. As the meal went on, it made her feel slightly uneasy, as if he had something in mind that she had not foreseen.
‘I have an idea,’ he said, just before they got up to leave, ‘only I hope you won’t get me wrong, Janet. What I would like is to go out to Dorset at the weekend and find Edgecombe, and have you come with me. Maybe we could locate the church and see if they still have a record of our people. Would you come with me?’
It suited her perfectly. The parish records would confirm everything she had copied at the Society of Genealogists. Any doubts John Smith might have of her integrity would be removed. And if her information on the Smiths of Edgecombe was shown to be correct, no suspicion need arise that she was not related to them at all. John Smith would accept her as his sole surviving relative. He would return to California in three weeks with his quest accomplished. Sooner or later Janet would inherit two vineyards and a fortune.