She stopped. ‘Certainly, Colonel.’
He realised he didn’t know what the words were. When he had arrived at that woodman’s cottage last night, she had been waiting outside and the look on her face had been more than relief – surely it had been delight that it was he who had arrived and not Jem or the coachman? If that footman had not been following right behind, he would have jumped down, taken her in his arms and told her everything was going to be all right. Just as well, perhaps, that John had been there. That would have been no way to try and release himself from the chains that bound him. Now he fought an inclination to smooth away the worried line between her dark, questioning eyebrows.
‘How do you find Jackman to work with?’
She gave him her open, frank smile. ‘We have arrived, I think, at a modus operandi, Colonel.’
‘You did not seem very willing at first, I think?’
She nodded gravely. ‘You are right, sir. But I think I underestimated both Mr Jackman’s capabilities and my own ability to adapt.’
How he appreciated that straightforwardness. How much he wanted to hear about her experiences in California, and for this horrorific scenario to be over when they could take another picnic.
He remembered her confusion over suspecting him of being involved with Polly. It was bright of her to make the connection between his ordering of the motor vehicle and availability to dally with the nursemaid at the critical time. He’d been puzzled over the change in her attitude when he returned from London. Now he could understand. With all they had shared over Polly and the inquest, he should have let her know why he had gone to London and why he wasn’t able to return as soon as he’d hoped.
‘When Mr Russell came up at our picnic, he appeared to have met you before.’
‘He was my partner at the dinner the Countess gave just after Belle and I arrived at Mountstanton.’
For a moment Charles could hardly believe he had heard aright. Max invited to dinner?
‘He was very charming and a great help when Mr Warburton disappeared with Belle into the shrubbery.’
‘Indeed!’
‘Yes, very understanding.’
‘And yet you’re willing to believe he could be a murderer?’
She paused. Charles leaned back against the side table and enjoyed watching her think about his question.
‘At the time I sensed that he resented the restrictions his position in society made on his activities. He was ironic about the paucity of opportunities in England for younger sons or gentlemen with little income. He didn’t say so, but I assumed that his own income was not large. It seemed a reason why he would want to travel to America. Now I think his resentment was deeper seated.’
Charles smiled. ‘I can see why Jackman is very happy to work with you.’
‘I am glad to hear that is his opinion, Colonel. When did he say that?’
‘It is not necessary for him to say anything; I know when men are happy working with the partners they have been assigned. I am not so conversant with women.’
There was a silence but a comfortable one.
‘Has the inquest into your brother’s death taken place?’
Charles’s tension returned and he felt an involuntary tightening of his innards. He did not like to think of the number of irregularities that were taking place. ‘Not yet but I understand it is a formality.’
‘Have you scheduled a date for the funeral?’
‘There are some details still to be settled.’ Chief amongst them was Helen’s insistence that no date could be decided until she had heard from her father. ‘I am sure he will want to come,’ she had said this morning. ‘Oh, Charles, I don’t know how I am going to tell him about Belle.’ He had laid a hand on her shoulder, trying to reassure her, the feel of that fragile shoulder sending a familiar jolt through him. ‘And there is the matter of Mr Warburton. Papa is certain to hear about him.’ He wondered if she meant the matter of Warburton’s pursuit of herself or of his seduction of her sister. How could Richard have employed the wastrel?
Then she had looked up at him, her huge blue eyes pleading. ‘You will be my support, won’t you, Charles?’
The strands of the web still held him. ‘Of course, you can count on me.’
At that moment Helen entered the study. She held a telegram.
‘Charles, my father has wired to say he arrives in a few days on the Oceanic.’ She turned to Ursula. ‘I am glad you are here for Papa says you are to meet him at Liverpool.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
The SS Majestic lay alongside the landing stage, awaiting its passengers for New York, its single funnel bearing the White Star Line’s distinctive livery of beige topped with black.
Thomas Jackman and Miss Grandison were waiting in an empty office, supplied by the company. It did not look much used. A bare desk was set against a wall, with a poster of the latest White Star Line ship hanging above. There were a couple of chairs, one of which, tucked away in a corner, Miss Grandison was sitting on; and a plain piece of carpet in the centre of the floor. Standing against a wall was a member of the harbour police.
Thomas stood looking out of the window.
Already passengers had started to walk along the wide, bleak stretch of the stage, with boarding papers ready to be presented at the gangway that would sweep them into the liner’s interior. He hoped it would not be too long before Mr Maximilian Russell appeared.
Jackman had had a busy few days. He’d obtained all the necessary details regarding the Majestic’s sailing. Then, after a discussion with the Colonel on how to tackle the interview with Mr Russell, he had gone to London armed with letters of authority and two appointments. One was with his old boss, the Chief Constable, the other with the White Star Line. When he reached the shipping company, Mr Seldon’s name had seemed to carry more weight than the Mountstanton connection.
Afterwards, he’d spent the evening in his own house, mulling over evidence and theories. The next day he had met Miss Grandison’s train from Salisbury at Paddington station.
‘It’s very good of you, Mr Jackman,’ she’d said as he lifted down her small case. ‘I told the Colonel that I am well able to travel on my own to Liverpool should you have needed to make other arrangements. However,’ she’d added quickly, ‘it is very pleasant to have your company.’
Jackman had been surprised at how comfortable he had felt in her company as they took the train to Liverpool, discussing the case and exchanging travel experiences. He enjoyed her quick mind and ability to conduct a conversation without fluttering her eyelashes or producing coy comments intended to demonstrate female susceptibilities.
In Liverpool they had visited the offices of the White Star Line, followed by an appointment with the harbour police. On both occasions, Miss Grandison had comported herself with the utmost discretion. Introduced as the bereaved Countess’s representative, in her severely tailored black travelling costume she had seemed to melt into the background. Afterwards they had checked into the Adelphi Hotel. Jackman appreciated its grandeur and the air of smart efficiency. Miss Grandison suggested they make use of the luxurious dining room for their evening meal.
‘You are not afraid of losing your reputation?’ Jackman had asked.
‘I am long past the need for a chaperon,’ she replied lightly.
The dining room was most pleasant, without being overwhelming. Jackman felt comfortable with its upholstered chairs, immaculate white tablecloths, sparkling cutlery and glassware. He liked the touch of a small vase of rose buds in the centre of their table. The other diners looked most respectable and Miss Grandison, wearing her black travelling suit with her chestnut hair tied into a tight knot at the back of her neck, seemed to have turned off the light of her personality. Jackman thought what a useful attribute that must be.
During the meal, Miss Grandison confessed that she was nervous about the coming interview with Maximilian Russell. The idea that this self-confident American woman could be nervous was somehow reassu
ring. Jackman leaned back in his chair.
‘Bearing in mind all the arrangements that have been made, I do not anticipate that he will cause us much trouble.’
‘I have only met Mr Russell a few times; he has always been very pleasant, charming in fact, but I found him a powerful character.’
He regarded her thoughtfully. ‘Do you mean that he could be dangerous?’
‘If he felt threatened, yes, I think so.’
‘The circumstantial evidence against him is strong but not conclusive. I think we can rely on his demeanour when faced with us tomorrow to declare his guilt or innocence.’
‘It is the situation that will transpire if he is guilty that I am worried about, Mr Jackman.’
‘Will Mr Russell recognise you?’
‘He will not be expecting an encounter, but I am sure he will have no trouble in placing me.’
‘So his reaction will almost certainly tell us what we need to know.’
Miss Grandison sighed. ‘Despite my strong belief that he could be the Earl’s assassin, I hope he is not.’
Towards the end of the meal, Miss Grandison asked him about London. ‘I had hoped to see the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey, Madame Tussaud’s. And now I fear I may have to return to the States without visiting any of them.’
‘That would be a shame,’ Jackman said, dismissing an urge to offer himself as escort for a trip round London.
She nodded regretfully. ‘Mr Seldon may well decide Belle, Miss Seldon, should return straight home.’
Jackman could understand why. ‘Surely, though, if she is escorted by her father, there would be no need for you to return as well?’
‘I was hired to be her companion. Without Belle, there is no reason for me to remain in England.’
‘Perhaps the Countess might need you to support her?’
She gave a brief, ironic laugh. ‘No, Mr Jackman, there is no chance of that.’
* * *
More and more passengers were advancing on the gangway. Jackman knew that at any minute Mr Russell could be shown into the office. He felt tense and wondered if Miss Grandison had infected him with her apprehension over how this man could react to their questioning.
After all, only a few feet away was the boat Russell intended should take him to a new life. If he was guilty, might he fight for his freedom? Perhaps try and take Miss Grandison hostage?
Jackman told himself not to be ridiculous. The harbour police could perform an arrest and, if Russell attempted to resist he, Jackman, should be well able to deal with him. And the man could be innocent.
A movement at the bottom of the gangway caught Jackman’s eye. A tall passenger was being questioned by the two officers checking boarding papers.
‘I think Mr Russell might have arrived,’ Jackman murmured.
The harbour policeman straightened his shoulders and moved one leg slightly apart from the other. Miss Grandison’s gloved hands tightened on the small purse she held on her lap.
Yes, after some argument, one of the officers had taken charge of the passenger’s carpet bag and was now escorting him in their direction. As the two men disappeared into the main building, Jackman could feel tension building in the office. They were about to be faced either with a killer, or an innocent man who might have valuable information for them.
A few minutes later, the door opened and a light, authoritative voice was heard to say, ‘I cannot imagine what problem there could be with my papers.’
‘I’m sure it’ll all be sorted out very quickly, sir,’ came the stolid, official response.
Then the passenger entered.
Afterwards, Jackman tried to work out the exact sequence of events. But everything had happened so swiftly, even his trained policeman’s eye had difficulty sorting it all out.
The open door initially masked Miss Grandison and the passenger approached Jackman.
‘What’s this all about?’ he asked. ‘I see no reason for further checks on my papers.’
Jackman saw no sign of the charm Miss Grandison had mentioned. The man was well dressed with a long coat over a fine tweed suit, and he held himself with an easy command, but he looked tired and stressed, with an air of nervous energy that put the detective on his guard.
‘Mr Russell,’ he started, ‘we have been sent by Colonel Stanhope …’ Before he could continue, Miss Grandison gasped and rose, her face white, and her purse slipped to the ground.
Russell turned. When he saw her, his expression froze and Jackman, not a fanciful man, later swore he had the look of a man facing his nemesis.
Jackman started again. ‘Mr Russell, we understand you met with the late Earl of Mountstanton shortly before his death six days ago …’
He trailed off as, with a speed that took them all by surprise, the man reached into the pocket of his overcoat and produced a small but lethal looking pistol.
Miss Grandison uttered a strangled cry. The harbour policeman took a step forward and said, ‘Now, now, sir.’
Jackman produced his own revolver. ‘There is nowhere you can escape to, sir; give me your gun.’
The pistol was raised; a shot rang out in the small room.
Mr Russell’s knees gave way; he sank to the ground, the pistol falling from his fingers, blood issuing from his ear. As he collapsed, Miss Grandison threw herself down by his side, pulled off his cravat, opened his shirt and pumped her hands on his chest. Jackman scooped up the gun, slipped on the safety catch, and put it in his pocket.
Miss Grandison seemed to realise her efforts were useless. The dying man’s mouth moved. She bent so that an ear was directly above his lips. A moment later, he had gone, his eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Jackman checked for a pulse while Miss Grandison reached forward and pulled down the eyelids, her mouth a thin line of distaste. Jackman helped her to her feet, then sat her down in a chair.
‘Are you all right? Can I send for anything?’
For an instant her eyelids fluttered and closed for a moment as she gave a deep sigh. Then, ‘Thank you, Mr Jackman. I am quite all right.’
Knocking came on the door. The harbour policeman went outside and they could hear his voice assuring those outside that everything was in order.
‘What did he say?’ Jackman asked.
For a moment he thought she was not going to answer, then, very quietly, ‘He whispered, ‘‘Forgive me, Helen”.’
‘Helen? Isn’t that the name of the Countess?’
‘I didn’t realise how close their relationship was.’ She spoke almost in a trance. ‘It was all there, at that dinner party; I should have seen.’ She looked up at him and seemed to come back to the present. ‘What happens now, Mr Jackman?’
He looked down at the corpse. ‘If ever guilt was displayed, we saw it today. But he has cheated the hangman.’
Miss Grandison shivered.
‘We need a death certificate, of course, then …’
‘We must take his body back to Mountstanton,’ she declared, her voice suddenly strong.
‘To Mountstanton?’
‘The Colonel will need proof of what has happened.’
‘Will not a death certificate be enough?’
She looked down at the dead man and shook her head. ‘I think he will expect to see his body.’
Jackman remembered the character of the man who had hired him and knew she was right. ‘Well, then, I had better start making arrangements,’ he said. ‘But first I will take you back to the hotel.’
She shook her head. ‘Thank you, Mr Jackman, I appreciate your concern but I am sure you will have to deal with a great many official procedures. I will find my own way.’ She picked up her purse, then put a hand to her forehead and swayed slightly. ‘Oh, dear …’ she said faintly.
He caught her before she fell.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ursula regained consciousness and found herself lying on a narrow bed in a small, bare room. She lay for a moment wondering where she was and what had happened.
She gradually realised the room was in the same style as the office where they had waited for Max Russell. Then memory flooded back and she wished she could return to oblivion.
What was Helen going to say? How was the Colonel going to take this news?
The door opened and in came a nurse in a blue cotton uniform, white starched apron and winged cap. ‘How are we feeling?’ She took Ursula’s wrist and felt for her pulse.
‘I’m fine,’ Ursula murmured, wondering how accurate that statement was. ‘I don’t know what came over me.’
‘Shock,’ the nurse said in a kindly manner. ‘I’ll bring you a nice cup of tea and then I think you will do all right.’
‘Where am I?’ Ursula asked before she disappeared.
‘It’s a first aid area. We sometimes have passengers who need a little attention.’ The nurse whisked out of the room before Ursula could pose any more questions.
Ursula discovered that her footwear had been removed and set neatly on the floor. Gingerly, she sat up, swung her legs off the bed and put on her shoes. She felt as though she was in a dream world.
The nurse brought in a cup of tea and tutted to see her up. ‘Don’t want you swooning again, Miss Grandison.’
Ursula drank the hot, sweet liquid and felt life gradually returning. ‘How is Mr Jackman managing with … with everything, nurse?’
‘Would you like me to find out, Miss Grandison?’
‘No, thank you,’ Ursula said quickly. ‘Is there, though, someone who could find me a cab to take me to my hotel?’
Back in her hotel room, the scene in the office returned again and again to haunt her. To shoot himself like that! But then Ursula remembered the look in his eyes as he saw her. He must have realised the game was up and that there was only one way out. He had come prepared; no wonder he had seemed nervous when he entered the office.
What had he intended to do in America? Assume a new identity? Or rely on the probability that no one there would be interested in Maximilian Russell?’
‘Forgive me, Helen,’ he had said with his dying breath.
Max Russell and Helen, Countess of Mountstanton.
Deadly Inheritance Page 41
