As she passed beneath the long row of pictures depicting the lineage of the Barony of Wrotham at Bromley Hall, she paused for a moment, and looked back with a frown. She turned to retrace her steps, her pace quickening as she saw Ayres returning from Lady Wrotham’s parlor.
“Ayres,” she called out as she drew near.
“Yes, Miss?”
“Where did you say sherry came from?”
“Fortnum’s Miss. Your hamper arrived this morning.”
“But I didn’t send any hamper…” Ursula started to say before her words were interrupted by a cry from the parlor.
Ursula and Ayres rushed back down the hall and threw open the door. As they entered Ursula saw Lady Wrotham admonishing one of the dogs.
“I swear,” she said turning to them. “My son is determined to drive me to an early grave—even his dogs are in on it! Just look what they made me do? Always getting in the way and tangling up my skirts…” she reached down to pick up the sherry bottle that had tipped over on its side.
“No!” Ursula cried out. “Don’t touch it!”
Lady Wrotham recoiled sharply. “What on earth is the matter with you, girl?!” she said. “It hasn’t all spilled you know!”
“I don’t think we should touch anything until we’ve called the authorities,” Ursula replied, her voice shaking.
“The authorities?! Are you completely mad?” Lady Wrotham retorted.
“Possibly,” Ursula conceded. “But I didn’t send any Fortnum’s hamper.”
“The hamper had your name on it, Miss, quite distinctly,” Ayres said, He paused as the implications of the situation sank in.
Lady Wrotham, however, ignored their concerns and shrugged. “I have many friends who may have thought to send me some sustenance in my hour of need.”
“Maybe,” Ursula responded. “But after what happened to Admiral Smythe do you really want to risk it?”
“It was most certainly laced with cyanide,” Chief Inspector Harrison said. “It’s easily disguised in liquids of this kind…and once either of you had drunk it there was nothing anyone could have done.”
Ursula was seated in one of the upholstered green and white armchairs in the Green Room while Lady Wrotham lay on the sofa, ashen faced, as Ayres placed a cold compress on her forehead. Once he had received Ursula’s urgent message, Chief Inspector Harrison had wasted no time in taking the first train from London. Though it had taken him all afternoon to reach them, he had quickly made his determination.
“The tell-tale almond scent is definitely there—you were just probably not able to smell it Lady Wrotham. Not everyone can,” Harrison said.
“But who would have done such a thing?” Lady Wrotham whispered. “I am beloved on the estate.”
Ursula kept her eyes firmly on the floor.
“Of course you are,” Harrison responded. Lady Wrotham opened one eye and fixed it upon his countenance.
“Do I know you?” she demanded.
Harrison coughed. “Your ladyship may remember my family—we lived on the estate many years ago. My father was one of your tenant farmers. We lived in the cottage at the edge of the Eastern meadows.”
“Didn’t your father move to London?”
“Yes,” Harrison replied. “After that portion of the estate was sold. My father joined his brother in the East End. They operated a couple of stalls in Spitalfields market.”
Ursula looked at Harrison curiously but she could sense his reluctance to say more. By now, Lady Wrotham closed her eyes—she had already lost interest in Harrison’s family.
Harrison folded his arms and turned his attention to Ursula.
“I’m glad you saw fit to send for me,” he said. “Whoever did this was indiscriminate—who knows how many people could have drunk that sherry. If you hadn’t acted as you did, the circumstances could have been dire.”
“The only two people likely to have drunk it,” Ursula reminded him, “were Lady Wrotham and myself. The servants would have hardly partaken.”
“Whoever it was, however, was reckless enough to risk others. What if there had been visitors?”
“Don’t you think, whoever sent it knew that we were likely to be alone? I mean given the circumstances, no one’s likely to come calling, are they?” Ursula responded, and though she tried to avoid sarcasm, some involuntarily snuck through.
“Do you think someone is targeting me because of my son’s treacherous activities,” Lady Wrotham interrupted, her voice hoarse.
“There has been a remarkable degree of publicity surrounding this case,” Chief Inspector Harrison admitted. “But no details of Admiral Smythe’s death have been reported. I know for a fact that no one in the press has been told about the cyanide. The official cause of death issued was drowning—we deliberately suppressed any mention of cyanide poisoning.”
“So it was probably Admiral Smythe’s murderer who sent us the sherry…” Ursula said. “At least this helps eliminate Lord Wrotham from your investigations into Admiral Smythe’s death.”
“Unfortunately, nothing so simple as that, Miss Marlow…Fortnum & Mason’s records state that the hamper was ordered by telephone under your account name and picked up by an unknown messenger boy yesterday morning.”
“What, now you think I may have attempted to poison Lady Wrotham to move suspicion away from Lord Wrotham?” Ursula exclaimed.
“I’d not be much of a policeman if I’d leapt to that conclusion without first checking your movements and activities.”
Ursula flushed. She should have known of course that she would have been under surveillance.
“Instead, I have men speaking with the staff at Fortnum’s. I only hope we can trace the messenger boy and find out who sent him.”
Ursula sank back against the cushions “Do you think whoever planned this wanted both of us to die?” she asked.
“Whoever it is may have not cared—either, or both of you may have been sufficient…” Harrison replied.
“But of course, the person who was likely to suffer the most,” Ursula said slowly, “would have been Lord Wrotham?” She shivered. “What better way to seek revenge,” she said, “than to kill the two women closest to him?”
“What better way indeed,” Harrison replied, his face as inscrutable as a block of granite beneath the chisel.
Revenge. The word spoke volumes—about the past, about the motivation for murder or treason. But by whom? And for what? Ursula’s thoughts were reeling. Did the answer lie in the past? In Guyana perhaps? Or was it more obvious than that—could she retrace Lord Wrotham’s steps that led to his arrest and try and make sense of it? But where to start and where to go? Germany? Ireland? She only knew one thing—that she would see it through to the end—whatever end it may be.
PART TWO
GERMANY
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
BERNSTORFF-HOLLWEG SCHLOSS,
THURINGEN MOUNTAINS, THE GERMAN EMPIRE
The castle was little more than a burnt out ruin. As Ursula climbed the steep cobbled stone path, leaving the motorcar she had hired far below, she saw evidence of the speed of destruction everywhere. From the charred earth and bare trees, from the twisted iron that had melted in the ferocity of the fire, and the collapsed stone ruins that were already being overrun by vegetation. So much for finding Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg, or learning what truly happened at the meeting here in December 1911, thought Ursula ruefully. She was too late, whatever secrets had been kept here had been destroyed days, maybe even weeks ago.
Winded from the steep climb, Ursula stopped to catch her breath. She pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of her divided green ‘hiking skirt’ and mopped her brow. Disappointment clenched in her stomach as well as anger—coming to Germany had turned into little more than a wild goose chase. She gazed despondently across to what must have once been a thick pine forest—the little that remained was now a half charred and mottled bosket, looking forlorn in its brief glimmers of greenness, against the blackened earth and
blue-gray boulders. Ursula made her way over and sat down on one of the smaller, wind-smoothed rocks. If she had thought she could pass herself off as a sturdy English rambling type then she was sorely mistaken. As she continued to gasp for breath she was thankful she had encountered no one on her walk here. She continued to wipe her face, the hearty breakfast she had enjoyed at the small gästehaus in Bad Liebenstein now sitting uneasily in her stomach.
Ursula had been in Germany just over a week. She and Lady Winterton had accompanied Lady Wrotham to the sanatorium at the historic spa of Bad Liebenstein under the auspices of helping the dowager recover from the shock of the recent attempt to poison her (not to mention the stress of her son’s arrest). Ursula had never been more grateful than when Lady Winterton offered to assist her—the thought of having Lady Wrotham as a sole traveling companion had been a nightmarish one and Lady Winterton’s valuable linguistic skills came in handy as Ursula knew no German. (Lady Wrotham’s German seemed limited to commands that she would bark out randomly.)
Earlier that morning, Ursula had left Lady Winterton at the gästehaus they were both staying in near the sanatorium, while Lady Wrotham checked herself in to avail herself of the various cures available. The sanatorium was equipped with bathing houses for hydrotherapies and balconies from which patients could receive the ‘resting cures’ prescribed to them. Such cures sounded rather appealing now and Ursula, still short of breath and feeling queasy, had to lean against one of the disfigured black trees to regain her strength.
Once she had recovered, Ursula gingerly climbed over ash and rock, blackened beams and disfigured metal that appeared to have once been suits of armor. She felt the wind rise—cold and bleak on this ruined escarpment in the Thüringen Mountains. Yet there was, even amid the wail of the wind, the sound of firm footsteps, of boots crunching over cinders as if the remains of the castle were bones to be crushed. Ursula froze.
From over the rise of rock and ash came a figure, dark against the sky.
“James?!” Ursula exclaimed as she recognized Lord Wrotham’s chauffeur. “What on earth are you doing here?!”
As James’ presence here raised any number of intriguing and possibly disturbing theories, Ursula remained watchful as he approached.
“Miss Marlow,” James said calmly. “As soon as my contacts, or should I say his Lordship’s contactsin the shipping industry informed me that you had boarded a ship bound for Germany, I knew it was only a matter of time before you came here.”
“You were expecting me?” Ursula queried, still keeping her distance.
“Of course, although I wish the circumstances were different,” James replied. “Until now, I have been unable to carry out his Lordship’s orders.”
“His orders?” Ursula repeated. “But Lord Wrotham has been most concerned about your disappearance. He thinks you’re still in England.” Anxiety rose within her, making her already queasy stomach much worse. Had Lord Wrotham deceived her in this respect too? “What orders? What are you talking about?”
“Ah,” James responded. As he started walking towards her, Ursula held up her hand. “Don’t come any closer,” she instructed him.
James halted in mid step.
“Please, Miss Marlow,” he said. “I can explain. Lord Wrotham’s orders were that, in the event of his arrest, I should immediately find you and get you out of England. His primary concern, as always, was for your safety. The morning before his arrest, however, I received specific instructions from Admiral Smythe to leave for Germany. It wasn’t until I landed in Hamburg and heard of Lord Wrotham’s arrest as well as Admiral Smythe’s disappearance, that I began to suspect that the orders I received were false.”
“If you suspected they were false, why did you not return to England?” Ursula asked.
“Miss Marlow, things are more complicated perhaps than they first appear. As soon as I heard who the crown witness was against Lord Wrotham I knew I had to stay in Germany and confront the Count. If you give me a chance to explain, then hopefully you can trust me…” James held out his hands as if to placate her, but Ursula continued to regard him warily.
“You do know that Admiral Smythe is dead,” she said, watching his face closely. “His body was fished out of the Thames a week ago.”
“Yes,” James answered slowly. “It makes our next steps all the more difficult.”
“Our next steps?” Ursula queried. “You mean in terms of my investigation into who is behind all of this?”
“No, I mean in terms of getting you to safety. I have also heard about the attempt on Lady Wrotham’s life.”
“You seem remarkably well informed—but if you are here then you must know that I am undertaking my own enquiries…”
“My orders are to see you safely out of harm’s way, that is all.”
Ursula ignored the implication that he would not assist in her investigation and said “I had hoped to speak with the Count, but it seems I am too late…Do you know what happened here?”
“A fire broke out in the kitchens about a week ago and it spread so fast there was nothing they could do to contain it. I happen to know one of the scullery maids and she told me the Count was lucky to escape with his life.”
Ursula bit her lip. “Do you know where the Count is now?”
James shook his head.
“Lady Winterton was hoping she might be able to use her family connections, should my trip here prove unsuccessful. Perhaps she can help. She has quite the circle of continental friends…”
“You won’t get anywhere near him,” James replied emphatically. “Not now, and unless you’re hochgeboren don’t expect to be invited to any parties at which you might even see him by chance. Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg, like many of the German nobility, is a snob—he won’t mix with the likes of you or me.”
Ursula’s eyes narrowed at the perceived insult.
“No point lookin’ at me like that,” James responded. “I’m not the one who makes the rules. As far as the Count’s concerned, your family, seeing as how they were in trade, isn’t of his class. Of course, the Count did make exceptions for anarchists, Irish rebels and the like. If he could profit then he’d meet with you, but now—he’s no fool; he’s not going to speak with you on any account.”
Ursula flushed. “I suppose you think there’s no point in me being here then!” she retorted. “But I’ll not be giving up my enquiries that easily.”
“I never thought you would,” James said calmly. “But we’d best hurry before the Count’s men discover we are here.” His eyes were mercurial in the changing light. “We don’t have much time.”
Ursula held back, unsure whether she should trust him. “Who are you really?” she demanded. “For I find it hard to believe that you’re just Lord Wrotham’s chauffeur.”
“Miss Marlow, we don’t have time for me to tell you my life’s history. There are armed men here to deter any locals poking through the ruins to see what they can salvage. The Count is nothing if not paranoid these days. If we are to find what we need, we need to do so immediately, and then leave.”
Ursula crossed her arms. “What could there possibly be left to find here?” she asked, still unconvinced.
“You’d be surprised what secrets can be unearthed,” James replied enigmatically. He signaled her to follow him towards another small copse of trees, singed black and surrounded by large boulders and rocks. Ursula followed cautiously.
“Why are you here? I doubt it was on the off chance that you’d see me today? What is it that you’re looking for?” Ursula pressed.
“I’m looking for the man who probably started the fire.”
“You think it was Fergus McTiernay, don’t you?” Ursula said slowly as she steadied herself on one of the tree trunks. She really needed to improve her fitness if such a walk made her feel so bad. “You think he wants the Count dead because he’s testifying against Lord Wrotham…”
“No, I think he wants him dead because the Count betrayed McTiernay,” James replie
d. “He betrayed their friendship and for McTiernay that is unforgivable.”
“What about Lord Wrotham?”—Ursula swallowed hard—“Does McTiernay think he betrayed him?”
“I’m not sure,” James confessed. “McTiernay may still believe Wrotham is a fellow Irish patriot. Whether he now suspects Wrotham was double-dealing—that he was really acting on behalf of the British government, I can’t say.”
“Are you confirming that Lord Wrotham was acting on behalf of the government?” Ursula demanded. Finally she thought, I might get some answers.
James whirled around, as if he heard something and, turning back quickly, placed a finger to his lips signaling silence.
“I’m not confirming or denying anything,” he whispered as he led her, half crouching, to what little cover there was—amidst the straggle of fir trees and rocks. “After all,” he flashed an unexpected grin, “that’s my job.”
“If you can’t answer my questions, you can at least tell me what on earth you possibly hope to find here!” Ursula gestured to the bare blackened earth.
James flashed another crooked half-smile as he pointed behind her, into the dim grayness between the branches and rocks. “Well, if you were to go through there for instance, you would find two shallow graves.”
“Graves?” Ursula repeated, her mouth suddenly dry. “How did you know where they would be?”
“Why Miss Marlow,” James responded. “I was here, of course. I dug the graves myself.”
James instructed Ursula to remain concealed behind one of the boulders while he began digging and sifting through the dirt and ash using his bare hands.
“You’re not going to exhume the bodies like that I hope?” Ursula said, feeling weak at the prospect of James unearthing bones before her very eyes.
“No, I’d have brought a shovel if I was planning on that,” James replied. “I’m looking for something else.” On his hands and knees he dug furiously with his hands. “Fire has a way of unearthing things that people wish to remain hidden,” he said, briefly wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “I saw his Lordship come out here a couple of hours after we buried the two men and I have a feeling he placed what I’m looking for somewhere around here. I’m just not exactly sure where…” He continued his searching and sifting. “As you well know, his Lordship is good at playing his cards close to his chest.”
Unlikely Traitors Page 15
