11 - Ticket to Oblivion (21 page)

‘This is where they were hiding,’ said Colbeck. ‘Which way did they go?’

‘Does it matter, sir? They’ll be miles away by now.’

‘A trap won’t travel as fast as a horse.’

‘Do we have to gallop?’ cried Leeming. ‘I’m already saddle-sore.’

‘Think of the two ladies, Victor. Their plight is more important than our discomfort. Let’s see if we can pick up their scent.’

Digging in his heels, he rode off with Leeming several yards behind. It was only a matter of minutes before they came out of the copse into open country. A problem faced them and drew them to a halt once more. The track split into two. One meandered off to the left while the other went arrow-straight towards a wood in the middle distance. Colbeck chose the latter and set off again at a gallop. Leeming followed in his wake, more concerned with staying in the saddle than riding hell for leather. It was a mile or more before Colbeck raised a hand. Both horses were reined in. Leeming eased his mount up beside the inspector.

‘What’s wrong, Inspector?’

‘We should have taken the other road.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I just sense it,’ said Colbeck. ‘Let’s go back and start again.’

‘Do we have to?’

‘Yes, we do. We’ll ride all day and all night, if we have to.’

Leeming rubbed his buttocks. ‘I feel as if we’ve already done that, sir.’

Turning around, they followed the track until they reached the point where the two paths diverged. There was a serpentine quality to the second one. It wound its way past clumps of bushes and the occasional outcrop of rock, making it difficult to see what was ahead. They goaded their horses on until they came to a hill. Colbeck paused at the top to let Leeming catch up with him again. The sergeant was in pain.

‘How much farther is it, sir?’

‘About a mile, I’d say. There’s our destination.’

‘Where?’ asked Leeming, gazing ahead. He saw the building that stood in its own extensive grounds. ‘What’s that?’

‘It looks like a country hotel.’

‘Is that where they’ve been staying?’

‘There’s only one way to find out, Victor.’

Now that they had a destination, Leeming was relieved. The ride was no longer as painful or – to his eyes – quite as pointless. Ignoring the thud of the saddle against his body, he tried to think of the two hostages. They were in the hands of men who seemed intent on keeping them. Unimaginable horrors might await them.

Colbeck rode so hard that he reached the hotel minutes
before his companion. Rushing into the building, he demanded to see the manager then gave a description of the four people he was pursuing.

‘Yes,’ confirmed the manager. ‘They did stay here but you’ve missed them, I’m afraid. They left an hour or so ago.’

The train set off with the usual tumult and quickly gathered speed. Seated in a compartment with their captors, Imogen Burnhope and Rhoda Wills wondered how much longer their torment would last.

In spite of the pleasure of reconciliation, Dolly Wrenson felt the persistent nibble of remorse. She realised now that her anger at George Vaughan had been both unjust and unkind. It was wrong to characterise his disappearance as a desertion of her and to assert her claims over the needs of his cousin. Now that she understood what had actually happened, she was almost hangdog. Imogen Burnhope and her maid were caught up in a crisis that could easily end in their death yet Dolly had put her own selfish desires before them. She could not stop apologising to the artist.

‘My behaviour was unforgivable, George.’

‘You didn’t know the full facts – nor more did I when I left here.’

‘I should have been more understanding.’

‘That would not have come amiss.’

‘I should have trusted you.’

‘That’s certainly true, my angel,’ he said, reaching out to embrace her. ‘You should have remembered the vows we’d
made to each other. I would never dream of walking out on the creature of pure loveliness that is Dolly Wrenson.’

‘I was the one about to leave,’ she said, sheepishly. ‘I could kick myself for having such a ridiculous tantrum.’

‘I like your tantrums. They put colour in your cheeks.’

Dolly giggled. ‘You have a much nicer way of doing that, George!’

They were in the studio and an overcast sky meant that the light was too poor for him to work properly. He’d experimented with candles and an oil lamp but they cast only a fitful glow over his model. Yet they had, in fact, given him an idea of another portrait of Dolly, surrounded by flickering flames and dancing shadows, but it was a project for the future. The priority now was to finish the existing work and for that he needed good light.

‘I need to buy some more paints,’ he said, examining his stock. ‘Would you like to come with me or will you let me go alone?’

‘I’m not your keeper, George.’

‘You tried to be when I last left this house.’

‘It was very childish of me. I’ve grown up now.’

‘I won’t be long, Dolly. With luck, the light may have improved by the time I get back.’ He could not resist a grin. ‘Will you still be here?’

‘I won’t move an inch.’

‘Thank you, my dove. Losing you would be like losing a limb.’

‘Then you’ll know how I feel,’ she said, crossing to the easel and throwing back the cloth that covered it. ‘Give me my left arm, George Vaughan.’

‘I’ll do more than that,’ he promised. ‘You can have one
arm of your own and two of mine to wrap around you all night. Will that satisfy you?’

‘You know it will – now away with you, kind sir.’

After putting on his coat and hat, he gave her a kiss before leaving the room. She could hear his footsteps clacking down the infinity of steps to the ground floor. When the sound faded, she went to the window and watched him come out of the front door and walk jauntily down the street. Dolly chided herself once again for ever doubting him. George Vaughan had been the most handsome, selfless, tender, loving, indulgent man she’d ever met. His resources were limited at the moment yet he never stinted her. Though she’d lived in more comfortable quarters with another artist, she never used that fact as a stick with which to hit her lover. Luxury was irrelevant. Simply being with him was enough to fill her with contentment.

Dolly was seized by the urge to do something by way of contrition to give him visible proof of the way that she felt. Her first instinct was to tidy the studio, so she made the bed, moved the few sticks of furniture and began to pick up the various things scattered on the floor. All of a sudden, she stopped and burst out laughing. This was not the way to please George Vaughan. He loved the friendly chaos of his studio. It was his natural habitat. Order was inimical to him. He’d fled from the controlled environment of life at an Oxford college and gone in search of a world without rules and without conventional boundaries. Having gathered up a pile of items to set on the table, she grabbed them again and scattered the whole lot over the floor. Dolly even rumpled the bed again.

It was then that she heard the footsteps on the stairs. She
was surprised. It could not be her lover returning so soon. The shop that sold artists’ supplies was some distance away. Even someone as young and athletic as George Vaughan could not get there and back at such speed. Dolly moved to the door and listened. The footsteps were slow and weary. She could almost sense the effort that it was taking out of her visitor. The sounds finally stopped and there was a faint knock on the door.

She opened it and saw the stooping figure of a young woman. Her face was a mass of bruises, her lips swollen and one eye was closed. Dolly did not even see the expensive attire her visitor wore. She was mesmerised by the injuries.

‘Hello,’ said the woman with relief. ‘I found you at last.’

‘What do you want?’

‘You’re the one friend who won’t turn me away.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Dolly, drawing back. ‘Who exactly are you?’

‘Don’t you recognise my voice?’

‘No, I’m afraid that I don’t.’

‘It’s Lucinda,’ said the other. ‘Lucinda Graham.’

The thrill of the chase was a positive boon to Victor Leeming’s buttocks. They no longer ached and his thighs no longer burnt. Having established the direction in which their quarry had gone, they were able to track them and that bred excitement in the sergeant. Country people tended to be observant. Because so few strangers passed them in the course of a normal day, they usually noticed those who did. Four people had galloped past. A man and two women occupied a trap loaded with luggage. They were accompanied by a horseman who sat high in the saddle
and led the way. Colbeck and Leeming were painstaking in their search. By stopping at every farm and village, they found someone each time who could tell them whether the fugitives had passed that way or not. The route eventually became clear.

‘They’re heading for the railway,’ said Colbeck.

‘Are they going back to Oxford station?’

‘No, Victor, it might be too much of a risk. They could be seen and recognised there.’ He smiled. ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they did go to Oxford and stood on the platform at the same time as Sir Marcus and the superintendent? That would be a very interesting reunion.’

‘Where does this road take us?’ asked Leeming, cantering beside him.

‘According to the map, it will take us about three miles north-west to another stop on the OWWR. They headed for Handborough, I suspect.’

‘That would mean going back over the line on which the two women travelled in the first place.’

‘So?’

‘The kidnappers are surely not taking them to Burnhope Manor, are they?’

‘The train goes on well beyond Shrub Hill station – over thirty miles to be precise. They could get off anywhere along the line.’

‘In that case, we’ve lost them.’

‘Not necessarily,’ said Colbeck. ‘We will at least divine their escape strategy. That’s a vital first stage to apprehending them.’

‘Captain Whiteside is like a will-o’-the-wisp. No sooner do you see him than he vanishes again. This time, he’s vanished with all that money.’

‘He’s clever and resourceful, Victor. He’s kept his hostages in order to wrest even more by way of ransom. While the two ladies are highly valuable, however, they are also a threat to him. Imogen Burnhope, by all accounts, is exceptionally beautiful. She’s bound to be noticed.’

Colbeck was proved right. They got to Handborough station and learnt that Imogen had been one of four passengers who boarded a train there and who travelled with a lot of luggage. The stationmaster remembered them well.

‘It was odd,’ he recalled. ‘The tall man did all the talking and the two ladies never uttered a word. They clung together and didn’t even acknowledge my greeting. It was almost as if they’d had their tongues cut out.’

‘What about the trap and the horse?’ asked Leeming.

‘They’d been hired from stables near Oxford, sir. The tall man asked me to arrange their return and gave me a generous reward for doing so.’

‘Where were they going?’

‘They bought four tickets to Wolverhampton, sir.’

‘Then we’ll buy two to the same destination,’ said Colbeck, instantly, ‘and prevail upon you to return our hired horses as well.’ He pressed some coins into the man’s hands. ‘Meanwhile, we’d appreciate a description of these four travellers.’

‘Then I have to start with the younger lady,’ said the stationmaster with a respectful chuckle. ‘She was a real beauty, sir. I’ve seen none to match her, even though she seemed so very sad …’

Dolly sensed the needs of her friend at a glance. The first thing that Lucinda Graham sought was kindness and
compassion. Taking her gently by the hand, Dolly led her across to the bed and lowered her down, sitting beside her with a gentle arm around her shoulder. They sat quietly for several reassuring minutes. It was only when Lucinda thanked her that Dolly went across to the jug of water, poured some into a bowl and then came back to her. She used a wet cloth to bathe her visitor’s face, wincing as she saw the full extent of the injuries and wondering who could possibly have inflicted them. Her friend eventually spoke.’

‘I tried two other friends before you, Dolly,’ she said. ‘One of them turned me away and the other showed no pity at all. In this state, of course, I couldn’t possibly go home to my parents. They washed their hands of me years ago and would hardly take me back now. As a last resort, I came looking for you.’

Dolly squeezed her hands. ‘And I’m glad you found me, Lucinda. You’re always welcome here.’ She looked around. ‘I know that you’re accustomed to much finer accommodation but this suits George and me.’

Lucinda’s head dropped. ‘I don’t have any accommodation now.’

‘Why not?’

‘He threw me out.’

‘Are you talking about your politician?’

‘Yes, Dolly, I am.’

‘I thought that he spent lavishly on you.’

‘He did.’

‘What made him turn on you like this?’

‘I spoke out of turn.’

‘I do that all the time, Lucinda,’ said Dolly, ‘but I don’t get attacked for it. George loves the way I blurt out things
in company and cause embarrassment. He says that I’m incorrigible.’ She appraised her friend. ‘You’re in agony, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes.’

‘I’m aching all over,’ admitted Lucinda, putting a hand to her stomach, ‘but the worst pain is here. He kicked me, Dolly. When he knocked me to the floor, he kicked me as if I was a disobedient dog.’

‘Have you reported him to the police?’

‘There’s no point.’

‘It’s a case of assault and battery.’

‘Let it pass.’

Dolly was enraged. ‘Let it pass?’ she repeated. ‘My dear friend is beaten black and blue and you want me to pretend that it never happened? I can’t do that, Lucinda. The evidence is right in front of me. This brute needs to be punished.’

‘It was my own fault.’

‘Of course it wasn’t – you’re the victim. Have him arrested.’

‘He’s too important.’

‘Nobody should be allowed to get away with savagery like this.’

‘I can see that you’ve had no dealings with the police,’ said Lucinda, dully. ‘They’d never show me the sympathy that you have. Some men beat their wives all the time and the police never interfere. They’re even less likely to take my part when they learn that I was attacked by the man who kept me. They’re far more likely to laugh and tell me I deserved it. Policemen don’t bother about people like me, Dolly.’

‘Well, I bother.’

‘Thank goodness that someone does.’

‘And if you need somewhere to stay for a while, we’ll help you.’

‘You’re so kind.’

Lucinda burst into tears and plucked a handkerchief from her sleeve. Dolly found a simple way to stop her crying. Leading her across to the easel, she tossed back the cloth to reveal the portrait. Her visitor goggled in wonder.

‘Is that really you?’

Dolly laughed. ‘It’s not only me – it’s
all
of me.’

‘You look lovely … like a queen.’

‘I don’t think Her Majesty would pose for a portrait like that. It would be undignified for a real queen. George wanted to show me off to the world. Don’t you think he’s clever? Yes, it
is
little Dolly Wrenson,’ she said, proudly, ‘but the artist’s skill has transformed me.’

Neither of them heard the feet approaching up the stairs. The first they knew of George Vaughan’s return was when he walked through the door. Like Dolly, he was shaken by the visitor’s appearance at first but he quickly rallied and pulled out a bottle of brandy from under the bed. After pouring a glass for Lucinda, he led her to the chair. Dolly, meanwhile, was giving him a breathless account of what had befallen her friend. He exuded sympathy.

‘Someone must be called to account for this, Lucinda,’ he said.

Dolly nodded in assent. ‘That’s what I told her.’

‘Who is this rogue?’

‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that,’ said Lucinda, anxiously.

‘He needs a good thrashing. What’s his name?’

‘I swore that I’d never divulge it to anyone, George.’

‘When did you do that?’

‘It was when I first moved into the house.’

‘And I daresay that you kept your promise, didn’t you?’

‘I did. Nobody else knows his name and nobody will.’

‘But the rules have changed now,’ Dolly pointed out. ‘It was all very well protecting him when you were being kept by him but that’s not the case now. He threw you out. He punched and kicked you, Lucinda. Do you really think it’s your bounden duty to hide the name of a thug like that? If it’d been me that he attacked, I’d be shouting his name from the rooftops.’

‘Dolly is right,’ said the artist. ‘This man may be a Member of Parliament but that doesn’t entitle him to do what he did to you. He’s no better than an animal. You owe him no loyalty, Lucinda. Tell us who he is.’

Clive Tunnadine arrived at Crewe station to be met by Alban Kee. The private detective had booked rooms at the hotel mentioned in the ransom note. Taking charge of the politician’s luggage, he summoned a cab and they drove off. Tunnadine wasted no time looking at the surroundings. Crewe was a railway town with a station built in the Elizabethan style. They went past rows of identical houses where those employed at the thriving railway works lived. An element of neatness and symmetry had been imposed on a small community that had grown in size until its population was well past eight thousand. The hotel was just outside the town. As soon as Tunnadine had been assigned a room, he sat down in it with Kee to discuss the situation.