11 - Ticket to Oblivion Read online

  ‘There’d be no need to go to that extreme.’

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful to see him again?’ asked Emma. ‘It seems that Sergeant Leeming called on George and told him what had happened. George was keen to hear news of Imogen so he came here this morning.’

  ‘I’m just sorry that Mother isn’t here as well,’ said her brother. ‘I’m told that she’s gone off to Burnhope Manor.’

  ‘That’s right.’ Vaughan inspected him from top to toe. ‘You look different, George. I can’t put a finger on it but … you’ve changed somehow.’

  ‘I don’t think so, Father,’ said Emma. ‘He looks the same as ever to me.’

  ‘That’s odd,’ teased George Vaughan. ‘You look ten years older than when I last saw you – and you’re twice as fat.’

  ‘It’s not true!’ she protested.

  ‘Of course, it isn’t,’ said her father, ‘but George has to have his little joke. Could you leave us alone for a while, please, Emma?’

  ‘But I want to stay with George.’

  ‘I won’t keep him long, I promise. I just wanted a private word.’

  Emma pouted then moved towards the door. She blew her brother a kiss. He pulled a face at her and she laughed as she let herself out. When he turned to his father, he saw a grave expression on his countenance.

  ‘The news about Imogen is very distressing, Father,’ he said.

  ‘She is never out of our thoughts.’

  ‘Have there been any developments?’

  ‘There are none that I know of, George.’

  ‘If there is anything I can do, just tell me what it is.’

  ‘First of all, you can sit down.’ In response to his father’s gesture, he lowered himself into a chair. Vaughan sat opposite and fixed him with a stare. ‘Second, I’d be obliged if you could inform me what exactly is going on.’

  ‘I only know what the sergeant told me.’

  ‘I’m not talking about Imogen now. My question relates to you.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘You do look different. It’s a look I’ve seen on certain undergraduates when they mistake debauchery for education. It signals a decline in moral standards.’

  ‘I’m no longer an undergraduate here, Father,’ his son reminded him. ‘I’m old enough to follow my own destiny.’

  ‘Yet your destiny still seems to require financial help from me.’

  ‘It’s only until I get established as an artist,’ argued his son. ‘As soon as I do that, I can pay back everything you kindly gave me. Meanwhile, I’m very grateful for your help. It may not be needed for that long.’

  Vaughan leant forward. ‘I’m very worried, George.’

  ‘If I’m getting too much, reduce the size of the payments.’

  ‘I’m not worried about the amount of money. What concerns me is the use to which it’s put.’ His voice hardened. ‘Let me be candid. I wish to know what exactly I am subsidising.’

  ‘You are helping a young artist to blossom into full flower.’

  ‘Leave metaphors aside and tell me the plain truth.’

  ‘I have a deal of creative talent – you’ve admitted that yourself – and I am working hard to develop it. I already have one commission and there are two others in the wind. The fees will not be very large at this stage in my career but, in due course, I can assure you that—’

  ‘Forget your creative talent,’ interrupted Vaughan. ‘I speak of the rumours.’

  His son beamed unconcernedly. ‘To what rumours do you refer, Father?’

  ‘They are rumours too disturbing to mention to your mother. Their source appears to be Professor Triggs. He, as you know, has a son of your age – one who joined a more respectable profession.’

  ‘Respectability is the death of art.’

  ‘You were seen by the professor’s son at a party, entertaining low company.’

  ‘I’m surely permitted to choose my own friends. And if this famous son is so respectable, what was he doing at the sort of party to which I’m invited?’

  ‘His uncle is an art dealer in London.’

  ‘Ah,’ said George Vaughan, ‘that explains it. We may well have rubbed shoulders at such a gathering. As a breed, I loathe art dealers but they are a necessary evil, so I never miss a chance to cultivate them.’

  ‘It seems that another form of cultivation is taking place.’

  ‘Speak more plainly, Father. Of what am I being accused?’

  ‘Fornication is a sin.’

  ‘Then you’ve been wise to abstain from it.’

  ‘Do you dare to mock me!’ shouted Vaughan, jumping to his feet. ‘Remember where you are, sir, and who I am.’

  ‘I tender my sincerest apologies, Father. I did not mean to be flippant.’

  ‘You were crude and I’ll not tolerate such behaviour.’

  His son was contrite. ‘Then I take back what I said unreservedly.’

  ‘When I named you after Lord Byron, I hoped that you’d be inspired by his poetry and not ape some of the alleged excesses of his private life.’

  ‘What alleged excesses? Has Professor Triggs been spreading rumours about Byron as well? How does the good professor find time to write his theological tracts when he’s otherwise engaged, listening to silly gossip about artists and poets.’

  ‘Stop it at once!’ insisted Vaughan. ‘Let’s have no more sarcasm.’

  ‘Then let’s have no more rumours.’

  His father flopped down into his chair. ‘What am I to do with you, George?’

  ‘Well, you might start by opening a bottle of the college sherry.’

  George Vaughan saw the anger welling up in his father’s eyes and he steadied himself to withstand the reprimand that was trembling on the older man’s tongue. It was stillborn. Before Vaughan could speak, there was a tap on the door and it opened to reveal his son, Percy. Overcome with relief, he jumped up to embrace him. The greeting between the two brothers was less emotional. They merely exchanged nods of recognition.

  ‘We have terrible news to impart about your cousin,’ said Vaughan.

  ‘I’ve already heard it,’ explained his elder son. ‘In fact, I may know more than either of you. I took a train from Moreton-in-Marsh and called first at Burnhope Manor. Mother fell upon me. It seems that Imogen is still alive but is being held somewhere against her will. Three detectives came to the house. One of them was Inspector Colbeck.’

  Driving a horse and cart was a mode of travel that really suited Victor Leeming. At least, it would have done so had he not been sitting beside a distraught young woman with the corpse of her father lying behind them under some sacking. Robert Colbeck rode alongside them on the bay mare, which was now supremely obedient. Leeming’s only interest was in his own horse, a shaggy creature with a dappled coat, moving at a benign trot and answering every twitch of the reins without protest. As the cart trundled on over uneven ground, the sergeant was able to indulge in his fantasy of being a cab driver, an occupation that had always had a great appeal to him. It would keep him in London, rescue him from the dangers concomitant with police work and relieve him of the dread of having to jump on a train, a ship or an unruly bay mare at a moment’s notice. When he came out of his reverie, he saw a tiny thatched cottage ahead of him. A middle-aged woman came bustling out to greet them, her face pitted by hard work and disease.

  Colbeck reached her first and introduced himself. Though he broke the news as gently as he could, she almost fainted. Mary leapt off the cart and ran to her. They clutched each other in sheer desperation. When she finally adjusted to the shock, the mother walked slowly to the rear of the cart and lifted the sacking, producing a fresh waterfall of tears when she saw the wound. Colbeck and Leeming offered words of condolence that went unheard. Both were saddened by what they saw. Mother and daughter were survivors of a poor family, scratching a living off an inadequate piece of land. With their breadwinner dead, they’d be turned out of their tied cottage without compunction. Their future was daunting.

>   When the women had calmed down sufficiently, the detectives carried the body into the house and laid it on the table in the scullery. The wife gazed down at the corpse but Mary scampered off upstairs. Colbeck felt it was the moment to offer what he hoped would be a form of balm.

  ‘There’ll be compensation for this,’ he said, taking out the money. ‘It will never atone for what happened, I’m afraid, but it may make things easier for a while.’ When he offered the banknotes, she drew back in surprise. ‘Please take them. They come with sympathy.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing to deserve all that, sir,’ she said, querulously.

  ‘You deserve that and more,’ said Leeming.

  ‘But there’s … so much.’

  Out of compassion, both detectives had made their own contribution. What Colbeck handed over to her was more than her husband could earn in two years. She was pathetically grateful.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Inspector,’ she said, biting back tears.

  ‘I only wish it were more.’

  ‘It were my husband’s own fault, really. I told him not to take the money but it was too big a temptation. Then there was Mary, of course. It would have broken her heart if she hadn’t been allowed to wear that lovely dress. Anyway, they didn’t listen to me – and this is the result!’

  ‘Why did you tell your husband to refuse the money?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘I didn’t like the look of him as offered it.’

  ‘Mary said that he was tall, well dressed and had a nice voice.’

  ‘It was too nice a voice,’ she said, gruffly, ‘and that’s what troubled me. He had a smooth tongue on him and no mistake. Also …’ She shut the door at the bottom of the staircase so that Mary couldn’t hear her. ‘Also,’ she continued, ‘I didn’t like the way that he looked at my daughter. Mary didn’t notice – God bless her – but I did.’

  ‘What exactly do you mean?’ wondered Leeming.

  ‘He was ogling her, sir.’

  ‘Didn’t your husband object?’

  ‘He was too busy counting the money.’

  Colbeck questioned her further but there was nothing she could tell them about the stranger that her daughter hadn’t already divulged. There was a creaking of the floorboards above their heads then feet came down the rickety staircase. Mary entered in a smock. Over her arm was the dress belonging to Imogen Burnhope.

  ‘Do I have to give it back?’ she asked, wistfully.

  During the drive to Worcester, Edward Tallis became increasingly uncomfortable. His companions exerted joint pressure on him, urging him to forget the whole incident and to drop all charges. While not wishing to offend them, the superintendent kept repeating that a crime had been committed and that punishment was therefore due. Tunnadine’s reasoning quickly turned to vituperation and he had to be calmed down by Sir Marcus. The older man tried a different approach.

  ‘Your writ does not run here, Superintendent,’ he warned.

  ‘We shall see about that, Sir Marcus.’

  ‘The Detective Department is part of the Metropolitan Police. It is supreme in London but far less so in the provinces.’

  ‘Then why were you so anxious to engage our services?’ asked Tallis, pointedly. ‘If you believe that power should reside with local constabularies, why didn’t you turn to one of them? I’m sure that Worcester has its share of willing Dogberries.’

  ‘I wanted the best detective,’ said Sir Marcus, crisply.

  ‘You got him.’

  ‘I’m beginning to doubt that.’

  ‘So am I,’ said Tunnadine, acidly.

  ‘Had he been left alone to do his work,’ said Tallis, ‘I’m certain that Inspector Colbeck would have brought the investigation to a successful conclusion. Thanks to Mr Tunnadine’s foolhardy intervention, a man has been shot dead and Sir Marcus’s daughter is in greater jeopardy.’

  ‘I was trying to rescue her.’

  ‘Imogen was never there to be rescued,’ said Sir Marcus. ‘That rogue would have taken my money and given us nothing in return.’

  ‘Colbeck will hunt him down,’ Tallis told them. ‘Meanwhile, there are criminal charges to face. The law must run its course.’

  Before Tunnadine could protest once more, Sir Marcus silenced him with a firm nudge. Tallis could not be bullied or persuaded to change his mind. No more words were exchanged during the rest of the journey. Lost in their private thoughts, the three men simply sat back in the carriage. Vernon Tolley was dejected. Having listened to the arguments bubbling away behind him, the coachman had heard no mention whatsoever of Rhoda Wills and no suggestion that she might still be alive. It alarmed him. In retrospect, he sided with Tallis. The blame for what happened should rest squarely on Tunnadine. He hoped that the politician would be held in custody but that hope was soon dashed.

  When they reached the home of Joshua Pearl, the passengers alighted. The magistrate was a fleshy man in his fifties with jowls that wobbled as he spoke. In the presence of Sir Marcus, he was deferential to the point of obsequiousness and he was overly impressed to learn that Tunnadine was a Member of Parliament. Long before Tallis spoke, the outcome of the visit had been decided. The superintendent presented a strong case for the refusal of bail but it was swept aside with a flabby arm. Pearl released the prisoner for a nominal amount. As they left the magistrate’s house, Tunnadine grinned in triumph.

  ‘Do pass on the good news to Colbeck,’ he said to Tallis, ‘and you can tell that grotesque sergeant of yours that I’ll be suing him for assault.’

  Offered the chance to ride the bay mare again, Leeming declined. He and Colbeck therefore walked back in the direction of Burnhope Manor with the inspector leading the horse by the rein. Both men were saddened by the fate of Mary and her mother and hoped that the compensation would bring them a measure of solace. Colbeck had promised to contact an undertaker in Worcester so that someone could be sent out to take care of the body. As long as it remained in the cottage, it would only deepen their misery.

  ‘It’s a pity they couldn’t tell us anything useful about that man,’ said Leeming.

  ‘But they did, Victor.’

  ‘Really? I heard nothing, sir.’

  ‘Mary told us what a fine horseman he was. She’s a country girl, accustomed to seeing riders in the saddle and able to judge the height of a horse at a glance. If this fellow is the former soldier I suspect, then Mary’s evidence puts him in a cavalry regiment. It’s a clue that may help us to find him.’

  ‘What about the mother?’

  ‘She remarked on his character. He’s a ladies’ man, no question of that.’

  ‘Soldiers always are,’ said Leeming. ‘With the exception of Superintendent Tallis, that is,’ he added with a mirthless laugh. ‘One woman is enough for me. When I met Estelle, it was the most wonderful moment of my life. Since then, I’ve never looked at another woman.’

  ‘The man we’re after behaves differently,’ said Colbeck. ‘My guess is that he’s a predator who’s had a number of ladies in his life, dazzled by his redcoat and brass buttons. Imogen Burnhope happens to be the latest one.’

  ‘What will happen to her, sir?’

  ‘I don’t rightly know. After the failure of today’s exercise, he may choose to cut and run, but I doubt it.’

  ‘The two ladies are assets. He won’t toss them away lightly.’

  ‘That’s my feeling, Victor. Do you remember the case we had in Wales?’

  Leeming groaned. ‘I remember it only too well, sir. Someone stole a silver coffee pot in the shape of a locomotive and demanded a lot of money for it. I was unlucky enough to be the person who handed over the ransom.’ He removed his hat to rub his scalp. ‘I can still feel the blow that knocked me out. The villain took the money. All I got in return was a headache that lasted for a week.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  Leeming pondered. ‘Ah, I see what you mean,’ he said at length. ‘There was a second demand and it was for a lot more money.’

  �
��That is what will happen here,’ decided Colbeck. ‘Our cavalry officer will be back for a larger ransom, to be exchanged under stricter conditions.’

  ‘How will Sir Marcus react to that?’

  ‘He’ll pay up. He has to, Victor. It’s the only way to get his daughter back.’

  ‘She must be going through the most terrible ordeal, poor woman.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said Colbeck. ‘Patently she’s been duped and is at the mercy of the kidnapper, yet she may not realise it. Imogen Burnhope is defenceless. By making her fall in love with him, he has the tightest possible hold on her.’

  The hotel was luxurious and Imogen had everything that she wanted but the delay was irksome. Expecting to be hundreds of miles away by now, she was still in England. Suspicion slowly taking root, Rhoda Wills was restive. Most of the promises made had yet to be honoured and she was wondering if they ever would be. When she tried to confide her worries, however, they were completely ignored by Imogen. Her faith was absolute and she’d hear no criticism of the man she adored. It was only a question of time, she believed, before they sailed away on their adventure.

  Imogen was at the window when she saw him come into view, cantering as he entered the courtyard and clattering across the cobbles. He tugged the horse to a halt and leapt from the saddle, leaving the animal to the ostler who came running from the stables. When Imogen moved to the door, Rhoda got there first.

  ‘We have to stay here,’ she reminded Imogen.

  ‘But I want to give him a welcome.’

  ‘You heard what he told us. We’re not to be seen.’

  ‘I’ve been locked away in this room for too long, Rhoda.’

  ‘So have I,’ said the maid, mournfully, ‘but there’s no help for it – we’re like birds in a cage.’

  ‘No, we’re not,’ retorted Imogen. ‘I won’t have you saying things like that. We’ve escaped from a cage and we’re free at last. I resent your tone, Rhoda. It’s uncalled for. I don’t want to hear any more complaints.’

  Rhoda bobbed apologetically. ‘I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.’

  ‘Nobody forced you to come with me.’