11 - Ticket to Oblivion Read online

  ‘How did you find her?’ he asked the doctor.

  ‘Lady Burnhope is still very agitated,’ replied the other.

  ‘I tried to conceal the news from her but she insisted on hearing it.’

  ‘She talked of nothing else.’

  ‘Is there some way to calm her down?’

  ‘I’ve given her a sedative, Sir Marcus. She’ll soon be asleep.’

  ‘Thank you. Call again tomorrow. You may well be needed’

  They’d met on the landing. Doctor Ferris was a white-haired old man with sharp instincts acquired over many years of sitting at the bedsides of the sick and dying. Though softly spoken and deferential, he made it clear that his patient was to be given the medication prescribed.

  ‘I’ve left my instructions on the bedside table,’ he said.

  ‘They’ll be obeyed to the letter.’

  ‘In that case, Sir Marcus, I’ll take my leave.’ The doctor looked over his shoulder. ‘If you wish to speak to Lady Burnhope, I suggest that you do so very soon. She’s already drowsy.’

  While the doctor padded off down the staircase, Sir Marcus knocked gently on the door of his wife’s bedchamber then let himself in. Paulina was propped up on some pillows, mind in turmoil. When she saw her husband enter, she reached out a desperate hand. He moved across to hold it between both palms.

  ‘How do you feel, my dear?’ he asked with awkward tenderness.

  ‘Is there any news?’ she gasped.

  ‘Not as yet, I fear.’

  ‘It’s been hours and hours. Will our torment never end?’

  ‘Fretting about it will not help, Paulina.’

  ‘But I’m bound to fret. Any mother would do so in the circumstances – and any father as well. Don’t you fret, Marcus?’

  ‘I am naturally anxious,’ he told her, ‘but I’m schooling myself to remain calm and to allow for a modicum of optimism.’

  ‘Optimism?’ she echoed in surprise. ‘I see no cause for that.’

  ‘Hope is a better medicine than despondency.’

  But his wife was well beyond the reach of hope, still less of optimism. From the moment she learnt of her daughter’s disappearance, she’d been plunged into an unrelieved misery. To her rheumy eyes, the situation was impossibly bleak.

  ‘She’s gone, Marcus. We have to accept it – Imogen has gone.’

  ‘I refuse even to countenance the thought,’ he said, decisively.

  ‘She was our one and only child – truly, a gift from God. Need I remind you of the difficulties attending her birth?’

  ‘This is no time to dwell on such matters, my dear.’

  ‘But the memories come flooding back to me.’

  They were not memories that he chose to share. Complications arising from Imogen’s birth had meant that she would have no siblings. It was a bitter blow to a man who’d longed for a son to follow in his footsteps and preserve the traditions of the Burnhope dynasty. Imogen might have her mother’s exquisite beauty but she could never inherit her father’s baronetcy, join him as a Member of Parliament or take part in the manly country pursuits he enjoyed during occasional moments of leisure. A son would have been bursting with ambition to make his mark and achieve something of note; his daughter’s talents lay chiefly in being decorative.

  Paulina was on the point of dozing off when she shook herself awake again.

  ‘What about poor Clive?’ she asked. ‘Have you told him?’

  ‘I sent a letter by courier.’

  ‘He’ll be desolate.’

  ‘Clive will do what I have done, my dear,’ said Sir Marcus, pompously. ‘He’ll substitute action for anguish. Instead of wallowing in despair, he’ll want to join the search for Imogen. Clive Tunnadine is a splendid fellow – that’s why I chose him as our prospective son-in-law.’

  She heaved a sigh. ‘We’ve lost a daughter and he’s lost a wife.’ As her eyelids began to flutter, a thought made her fight off sleep. ‘You mentioned a detective to me. Has he arrived yet?’

  ‘Inspector Colbeck has come and gone,’ he said, shielding from her his disappointment with the visit. ‘He and his sergeant gathered information here before taking the train back to Oxford. For some reason, Colbeck felt that it would be valuable to speak to your sister and her husband.’ He gritted his teeth. ‘We can only pray that the so-called Railway Detective knows what he’s doing.’

  When they reached the railway station in Worcester, the detectives were met by a happy coincidence. Not only could they catch an express train to Oxford, the locomotive that pulled it was Will Shakspere. According to the porter who’d put their luggage on the train, it was the self-same one that had taken Imogen and her maid off on their travels. Colbeck and Leeming were thus able to recreate their journey, very confident that they wouldn’t disappear into a void as the women had apparently done. The hectic dash to Shrub Hill in the cab had left little opportunity for reflection on what they’d so far discovered. In the privacy of a railway compartment, they were able to compare notes properly.

  ‘What did you make of Sir Marcus?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘People like that always frighten me, sir.’

  ‘I don’t see why they should. You’re never frightened when you take on a ruffian armed with a cudgel or arrest an obstreperous drunk. When it comes to a brawl, you’re the most fearless person I’ve ever met.’

  ‘Sir Marcus is rich, he’s titled, he’s important. I’m none of those things.’

  ‘You’re rich in the things that matter, Victor. As for a title, “detective sergeant” is something of which to be proud when attached to your name. Then we come to importance,’ said Colbeck. ‘Answer me this. When someone’s daughter vanishes from the face of the earth, which is more important – her father or the man who helps to find her?’

  ‘I never thought of it that way,’ admitted Leeming with a chuckle. ‘Sir Marcus needs us. He may look down on us but we are the ones leading the chase.’

  ‘What did you learn at Burnhope Manor?’

  ‘I learnt that I don’t belong there, sir. I felt like an intruder. I was also in awe of that portrait of him over the fireplace. It made him look so … majestic.’

  ‘It flattered his vanity,’ said Colbeck, ‘which is why he paid the artist a large amount of money to give prominence to his better features while, at the same time, concealing the less appealing ones – and there were several of those. What struck me,’ he continued, ‘was how little he knew of his daughter’s life and movements. Evidently, she’s led an isolated existence under the aegis of Lady Burnhope.’

  ‘Why did you ask to see her bedchamber?’

  ‘I wanted some idea of what she’d taken on the trip.’

  ‘Your request really upset Sir Marcus.’

  ‘I was prepared for such a reaction. It’s a great pity. We could have learnt a lot from seeing what apparel she’d taken, but my principal interest was in her jewellery. Had she simply been going to stay at an Oxford college for a relatively short time, she wouldn’t have needed to take it. Academic institutions give a young lady little scope for display. If,’ Colbeck went on, ‘she nevertheless did take her most precious possessions, then a whole new line of enquiry opens up.’

  ‘Does it?’ Leeming was bewildered. ‘I fail to see it, sir.’

  ‘Remember what the coachman told us. He and the porter were each given a handsome tip. What does that tell you?’

  ‘The young lady was uncommonly kind-hearted.’

  ‘I prefer to think that she was excessively grateful.’

  ‘Yet all that they did was to put her on a train.’

  ‘Without realising it,’ said Colbeck, thinking it through, ‘they might have been doing a lot more than that. This was the first time that Lady Burnside’s daughter was travelling unsupervised. Imagine the sense of independence she must have felt.’ He looked across at the sergeant. ‘What else did the coachman tell us?’

  ‘He told us that he was sweet on Rhoda Wills. Not that he said it in so many
words,’ Leeming recalled, ‘but I could read that fond smile of his. He was far less upset about the disappearance of Sir Marcus’s daughter than he was of her maid.’

  ‘He gave us a vital clue, Victor.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Think hard.’

  Face puckered in concentration, Leeming went through the meeting with Vernon Tolley in his mind. A smile slowly spread across his face and he snapped his fingers.

  ‘It was that valise,’ he said. ‘It went inside the carriage instead of on top of it.’

  ‘And why do you think that was?’

  ‘It contained something needed on the journey.’

  ‘Well done!’

  Leeming’s smile froze. ‘But that still doesn’t explain how they disappeared.’

  ‘Perhaps they didn’t,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Then where did they go?’

  ‘They stayed exactly where they were, Victor.’ He laughed at the sergeant’s expression of complete bafflement. ‘They got on the train at Worcester and left it at its terminus in Oxford.’

  ‘Then why didn’t Mrs Vaughan and her daughter see them?’

  ‘It’s because – and this is merely guesswork on my part – they didn’t recognise Sir Marcus’s daughter and her maid.’

  ‘That’s impossible. They knew both of them well.’

  ‘Mrs Vaughan and her daughter were expecting two women to get off the train. It was a crowded platform, remember. They wouldn’t have looked twice if a man and a woman had alighted together – or if two men stepped out of a carriage.’

  Leeming snapped his fingers. ‘It’s that valise again!’

  ‘Suppose that it contained a means of disguise.’

  ‘They’d have plenty of time to change on their way to Oxford and they could easily have lost themselves in the crowd when they got there. I think you’ve hit on the solution, sir.’ The excitement drained out of Leeming’s voice. ‘There’s just one thing,’ he said, dully. ‘I can’t think of a single reason why Sir Marcus’s daughter should want to sneak past her aunt and her cousin. She enjoyed her visits to Oxford. The coachman confirmed that. Why deceive her relatives in that way?’

  ‘Imogen Burnhope was seizing her one chance of escape.’

  ‘Why should she want to escape from a life of such privilege?’

  ‘I’m not certain, Victor, but it may be related to that book of Shakespeare sonnets in the library. She was the person who’d been reading them, not her parents. Poetry would seem to be signally absent from the Burnhope marriage.’

  ‘I’ve never read any sonnets,’ confessed Leeming. ‘In fact, I don’t even know what a sonnet is. What’s so special about them?’

  ‘The overriding theme of Shakespeare’s sonnets is love.’

  ‘Then someone about to get married would be likely to read them.’

  ‘Only if she was pleased with the wedding plans,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I fancy that she may have had reservations.’

  ‘Yet her father insisted that she’d never been happier.’

  ‘That only means that the marriage had his blessing. His daughter would have had no freedom of choice in the matter. I doubt very much if her happiness was even considered. It was just assumed by her father. We heard how beautiful Imogen Burnhope was. She must have had many admirers. Being trapped on the estate for most of the time, she’d have been unable to enjoy their admiration unless …’ Colbeck hunched his shoulders. ‘… unless she found a way to circumvent her mother’s control of her life. If that were the case, she’d be in a position to make her own choice.’

  Leeming goggled. ‘You think that the young lady is on the run?’

  ‘Yes, Victor, I do. I wouldn’t dare mention it to her family or to her relatives but her behaviour smacks of calculation. Her reading of the sonnets suggests that Imogen Burnhope is in love but it may not be with the man she is destined to marry.’

  ‘Yet she accepted his proposal.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  ‘She can’t renounce that.’

  ‘It’s highly unusual, I grant you. It would take a great deal of courage for her to make such a momentous decision but love can embolden even the meekest of individuals. The truth will only emerge when we meet the man to whom she is betrothed. Is she running to him?’ asked Colbeck, stroking his chin meditatively, ‘or running away from him?’

  Clive Tunnadine was an unwelcome visitor to Oxford. He stormed into University College and ordered the head porter to take him at once to the Master’s Lodging. He was received politely by Dominic Vaughan and offered refreshment that he spurned rudely as if he’d just been invited to drink poison. Before he could explain why he’d descended on the college in such an ill-tempered way, Tunnadine was interrupted by the arrival of Cassandra and obliged to go through ritual greetings. Her presence made him moderate his tone somewhat.

  ‘I saw you through the window,’ she said, ‘and guessed why you must have come. It’s this terrible business about Imogen. We are quite distraught.’

  ‘We are also mystified,’ said her husband. ‘The OWWR is capable of some catastrophic errors but it has, to my mind, never before contrived to lose two of its passengers in transit. Sir Marcus will take the company to task.’

  ‘The fault may not lie at their door, Mr Vaughan.’

  ‘Where else, I pray?’

  Tunnadine looked from one to the other. He’d met them only twice before at social gatherings and formed a clear view of the couple. Vaughan struck him as a refugee from a real life in which he was too timid to thrive, preferring instead to inhabit the alternative universe of scholarship with its mild intellectual joys and its monastic affinities. Cassandra, however, was too forceful and opinionated to blend easily into the surroundings. While her husband may have withdrawn from the workaday world, she still kept one foot in it and felt able to pass judgement on major events of the day in a way that Tunnadine found annoying and unbecoming in a woman. It was something he was determined to prevent Imogen Burnhope from ever doing when she eventually became his wife.

  For their part, Dominic and Cassandra Vaughan accepted him at face value because he was about to join the family. Vaughan had a natural respect for any member of the government and his wife could see that – though wholly lacking in charm or good looks – Tunnadine would be a vigorous husband in every sense. Her view of him was about to be changed.

  ‘It pains me to say this,’ he said with blatant dishonesty, ‘but I’m led to think that you, Mrs Vaughan, may have been at fault.’

  Cassandra blenched. ‘How dare you even suggest it!’

  ‘Imogen did get off that train but you must have missed her in the crowd.’

  ‘That’s an appalling allegation.’

  ‘And it’s one that I refute,’ said Vaughan, coming to her aid. ‘My wife is exceptionally sharp-eyed. There is no way that she – or Emma, for that matter – would have failed to see a face that is so lovingly familiar.’

  ‘I believe that Mrs Vaughan may have been cleverly distracted,’ argued Tunnadine. ‘It was all part of a game. Let me finish,’ he added, quelling them with a wave of his arm. ‘On the train from London, I’ve had ample time to explore the possibilities and I’ve come to one conclusion. This family is to blame.’

  ‘That’s a monstrous accusation!’ cried Cassandra.

  ‘I demand that you withdraw it,’ said Vaughan, confronting him. ‘Even if my wife and daughter did miss them in the crowd, it would not account for their total disappearance. Imogen and her maid would simply have caught a cab and come straight here to the college. Your claim is baseless, sir.’

  ‘I think not,’ asserted Tunnadine.

  ‘I’m afraid that I must ask you to leave this college.’

  ‘I’ll not go until this matter is finally sorted out.’

  ‘My wife and daughter are wholly innocent of your charge.’

  ‘That may be so.’

  ‘It is so!’ shouted Cassandra. ‘I demand an apology.’

  Vaughan d
rew himself up to his full height. ‘Well, Mr Tunnadine?

  ‘There is someone you are conveniently overlooking,’ said their visitor. ‘Perhaps I was too hasty in apportioning blame. Your wife and daughter may, after all, bear no direct responsibility. Both were unwitting victims. They were duped by someone who’d take delight in such an exercise.’

  ‘To what exercise are you referring, may I ask?’

  ‘I speak of the disgraceful prank that has caused us so much pain.’

  ‘I’m not aware of any prank

  Tunnadine’s eyes blazed. ‘Need I speak his abominable name?’

  There was a long, eventful silence. Vaughan’s jaw dropped and Cassandra’s cheeks turned crimson. Their visitor’s accusation no longer seemed so far-fetched. He had reached a conclusion that neither of them had even considered. Husband and wife were so troubled by mutual embarrassment that they dared not look at each other.

  ‘I see that you’ve understood me at last,’ said Tunnadine.

  Colbeck and Leeming were part of a sizeable number of passengers who left the train at Oxford General station. They were in the same position as the missing women would have been, two bodies on a platform awash with people waiting to welcome friends, well-wishers bidding farewell to travellers and eager porters going about their business. In such a melee, they both realised, it would not have been difficult to slip out of the station unnoticed. That fact lent credence to Colbeck’s theory that the women had indeed reached Oxford.

  When they hired a cab to take them into the town, Leeming was restive.

  ‘Do we really need to speak to Mrs Vaughan and her daughter?’

  ‘What does the superintendent always say?’

  The sergeant grimaced. ‘Leave no stone unturned.’

  ‘That’s why we’re here, Victor – to turn over some stones.’

  ‘Is that the only reason, sir?’

  Colbeck smiled. ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘it isn’t. The plain truth is that I couldn’t resist the temptation to come back to a place where I spent such happy times as an undergraduate. Not that I’m here to rekindle old memories,’ he promised. ‘We have a lot of work to do and that has priority.’