Lucinda was in pain and quietly terrified. She had, in effect, been ravished and there’d been nothing whatsoever that she could do about it. Tunnadine owned her. Having enjoyed all the advantages of being his mistress, she was now suffering the disadvantages. She felt sick, unprotected and violated. Was this how he intended to treat his wife?
It was a disturbing thought.
Tunnadine got up, dressed and left without saying a single word.
A train journey in the company of Edward Tallis could never be a source of enjoyment but it was far less of a trial than Victor Leeming had imagined. On the first stage of their return to London, he listened patiently to the superintendent’s lengthy fulminations against the way that Clive Tunnadine had escaped justice. The sergeant was treated to a lecture on the sanctity of the law and made to feel, at one point, that he was the malefactor. Their arrival in Oxford terminated the lecture. It was never continued because Tallis fell asleep almost as soon as the second train was in motion. Leeming was able to review the day’s events in comparative safety before he, too, was lulled into a deep slumber. It was only when the train squealed to a halt in Paddington that the two detectives woke up.
Tallis hailed a cab and headed for Scotland Yard. Leeming, meanwhile, was driven at a comforting trot towards John Islip Street so that he could deliver the letter that Colbeck had written to Madeleine. After a few pleasantries with her, Leeming took the cab on to Chelsea. All that he had to do was to tell George Vaughan what had happened in the Worcestershire countryside that day, then he could go home to his family. When he reached the crumbling old house, he was admitted by the landlady and allowed to walk up the interminable stairs to the attic. He knocked on the door of the artist’s studio. After a few seconds, it was flung open by Dolly Wrenson. A welcoming smile congealed on her face and disappointment filled her voice.
‘I thought it was George, coming back at last.’
‘It’s only me – Sergeant Leeming.’
‘Nothing terrible has happened to George, has it?’ she asked, seizing him by the shoulders. ‘If he’s been in an accident, tell me the truth. I’ll go to him instantly.’
‘Mr Vaughan has not been hurt in any way. I came here to see him.’
‘He went off to Oxford and left me all alone. I’ve been so lonely, Sergeant.’ Her smile slowly came back into view. ‘I’m a woman who likes company.’
‘Can I leave a message for Mr Vaughan?’
‘You can do more than that,’ she said, pulling him into the attic and shutting the door behind them. ‘I need your opinion and I want you to be honest.’ She released her hold. ‘By the way, do you have a Christian name?’
‘It’s Victor – Victor Leeming.’
‘Then it looks as if the spoils go to the victor.’
‘I don’t understand.’
She giggled. ‘You will. Come over here.’
Dolly guided him across to the easel and lifted off the tattered sheet from the portrait. Before he could stop himself, Leeming was gazing at her nude body. When he tried to look away, she held his head between her hands and forced him to study the canvas. His cheeks were crimson and his mind in turmoil.
‘What do you think, Victor?’ she asked.
‘You look … very nice,’ he croaked.
‘But I have no arm. George should have given me an arm before he left. It was cruel of him to leave me looking like that. I have lovely arms.’ She turned him to face her. ‘Don’t you think they’re beautiful?’
‘Yes, yes, I do.’
‘But you haven’t seen them properly.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘You can take more than that,’ she said, slipping her robe off one shoulder to reveal a naked arm of exquisite loveliness. ‘George needs to be punished. Will you help me to punish him, Victor?’
Leeming was nonplussed. Wanting to leave, he somehow felt rooted to the spot. He was hopelessly unequal to the situation. It was odd. When he’d been a uniformed constable on the beat, he’d been offered favours by any number of prostitutes and turned them down without embarrassment. He always felt sorry that they’d been reduced to selling their bodies. Most of the ladies of the night had either been sad young creatures with cosmetics daubed liberally over their pinched faces or raddled older women bearing the telltale marks of their profession. Dolly Wrenson fitted into neither category. She was young, wholesome and very alluring. Leeming was not so much tempted as horrified. Her smile broadened.
‘If you’re a policeman,’ she cooed, ‘you must be big and strong. Are you?’
‘All I wish to do is to deliver a message,’ he said, backing away.
‘Tell me afterwards.’
‘The two women have been kidnapped. We received a ransom note.’
‘You’ve seen my arms, Victor, now you can feel them wrapped around you.’
He inched towards the door. ‘I’m afraid that I have to go.’
‘The night is young.’
‘Please pass on the message to Mr Vaughan.’
‘A gentleman should never reject a lady.’
Leeming was beyond the point of rejection. He was in a complete panic. As Dolly lunged towards him, he evaded her grasp, opened the door and fled down the stairs as if the house was on fire. He didn’t stop running until he was three streets away. It was an incident he wouldn’t mention to his wife, yet it would lodge in his memory a very long time.
Ordinarily, Sir Marcus Burnhope would never have dreamt of inviting a detective to dine with him but Colbeck was different from the normal run of policemen. He was astute, well educated and clearly dedicated to the task in hand. Cassandra had chosen to dine with her sister, leaving the two men to discuss the case freely. They were still reconstructing the events of the afternoon when wholly unexpected visitors arrived at Burnhope Manor. Believing they might have useful information to impart, Emma and George Vaughan had caught the train to Worcester and hired a cab to bring them to their uncle’s house. Sir Marcus was surprised to see them. While giving Emma a cordial greeting, he felt less hospitable when he saw her brother’s startling attire and long hair. He caught a decided whiff of dissipation. Colbeck was far more tolerant. Pleased to see Emma, he was delighted to meet the artist about whom Leeming had spoken. By the same token, George Vaughan was glad to meet the inspector.
On hearing that two of her children had arrived, Cassandra came downstairs to embrace her daughter and to scold her son for his disreputable appearance. All five of them adjourned to the drawing room and found a seat.
‘Whatever brought you here?’ asked Cassandra.
‘We have something to tell the inspector,’ replied the artist. ‘It could have a bearing on the case.’
‘On the other hand,’ said Emma, ‘it might be irrelevant. I have my doubts.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Be quiet, George,’ said his mother. ‘Let your sister tell her tale.’
Emma looked around the ring of faces and began to lose her confidence. It took some prompting from her mother and some gentle persuasion from Colbeck to get her to speak. She plunged in.
‘Some time last year,’ she said, ‘Aunt Paulina and Imogen came to stay with us in Oxford. I think it was February or March because there was snow on the ground. Imogen and I went for a walk one day in Christ Church Meadow. It was a glorious morning with the sun turning everything bright and shiny.’
‘We don’t need to hear that,’ complained her brother.
‘Don’t interrupt,’ said Cassandra, sharply.
‘But Emma needs to get to the point.’
‘Let her proceed at her own pace,’ said Colbeck. ‘There’s no hurry.’
‘I think that there is,’ grumbled Sir Marcus. ‘If Emma has any information that will help us in the search for Imogen’s kidnapper, I want to hear it now.’
‘Then you shall, Uncle,’ said Emma, spurred on by the rebuke. ‘We were enjoying our walk when this ruffian suddenly leapt out from some bushes to accost us. He demand
ed money. Imogen was so frightened that she was ready to hand over some coins just to get rid of him. He was a fearsome man, old, dirty, bearded and wearing tattered clothing that looked as if he’d slept in it. Also, he gave off the most noisome stink.’
‘Why did you never mention this incident to me?’ demanded Cassandra.
‘Now who’s interrupting?’ said her son, smirking.
‘We thought it would alarm you, Mother,’ explained Emma, ‘and it would certainly have upset Aunt Paulina. We were afraid that you’d stop us going out alone together and we didn’t want that.’
‘It’s a fair assumption,’ observed Colbeck. ‘How did this business end?’
‘A soldier came to our rescue, Inspector. He grabbed hold of the man and pitched him back into the bushes. Then he introduced himself and insisted on escorting us back to the safety of the college.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Nothing,’ said Emma. ‘We went into the college and never saw him again.’
‘You never saw him again,’ her brother reminded her. ‘What about Imogen?’
‘I can’t believe that she had any further contact with him. If she had, then Imogen would certainly have told me.’
‘She’d have told her mother as well,’ declared Sir Marcus. ‘Our daughter has been brought up properly. She’d never encourage the interest of some stranger she met in a chance encounter, especially if he was a mere soldier. What was his rank?’
‘He was a captain, Uncle. The name he gave us was Captain Whiteside.’
‘Would you recognise him if you saw him again?’ asked Colbeck.
‘Oh, yes, Inspector – he was very dashing.’
‘But he was not the soldier you saw on the platform at the station?’ Emma shook her head. ‘What about the second soldier, the one who got off the train.’
‘I didn’t really take much notice of him.’
‘We were too busy looking out for Imogen,’ said Cassandra.
Sir Marcus was sceptical. ‘None of this sounds remotely germane to the kidnap,’ he decided. ‘It was all of eighteen months ago and Imogen has probably forgotten all about it.’
‘That’s what I did,’ volunteered Emma. ‘Being pounced on by that ruffian was so distressing that I tried hard to put it out of my mind.’
‘I was the one who dug it out again,’ boasted her brother. ‘You should have saved yourself the trouble, George,’ said his uncle.
‘I’m glad to hear about the incident,’ added Cassandra. ‘One thinks of Oxford as a seat of learning but we have plenty of vagabonds in our midst as well. You should be more careful where you walk, Emma. Male company is always advisable.’
‘I believe that Emma and her cousin were entitled to be on their own,’ said the artist. ‘The presence of a man – even one as sensitive as me – would only serve to inhibit their conversation. What happened was unfortunate but they survived intact.’ He turned to Colbeck. ‘I felt that it was important for you to hear about the incident, Inspector,’ he went on. ‘Were we justified in making the effort to get here?’
‘I’m not entirely sure about that, Mr Vaughan,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I’m grateful that you came and I’m very glad to make your acquaintance.’
Convinced that they had something crucial to report, George Vaughan was downcast. Colbeck’s lukewarm response had also upset his sister. Emma was self-conscious about the fact that she’d described an event that she’d have preferred to stay hidden. Not only had it been more or less dismissed as irrelevant, it had given her mother ammunition to use against her. Emma’s freedom to come and go from the college would henceforth be supervised more closely.
Colbeck was sorry to upset the two of them. Privately, he was delighted to hear about the encounter and certain that it was directly related to the kidnap. In admitting that, however, he would be alerting Sir Marcus to the possibility that his daughter had had a clandestine friendship with Captain Whiteside. If and when Imogen was released, it would sour relations between father and daughter and Colbeck was very keen to protect her.
‘There has to be a connection,’ emphasised George Vaughan. ‘A soldier came to their rescue and a soldier was seen waiting at Oxford station.’
‘There’s a regiment stationed near the city,’ said Sir Marcus, dismissively. ‘It’s not surprising that redcoats appear from time to time at the station.’
‘Exactly,’ said Colbeck, endorsing the remark. ‘What we’ve been told was very interesting but of no practical value. The fact that a soldier greeted the train that day is pure coincidence.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Since she knew for certain that her husband would not return home that evening, Madeleine Colbeck elected to visit her father. Light had faded from the sky so it was impossible for her to work at her easel and, in any case, she wanted some company. It was several weeks since she’d gone back to the little house in Camden Town and, as the cab drew up outside it, she felt a nostalgic pull. It disappeared the moment that she stepped inside. Now that she lived in a much larger and more comfortable abode, the house in which she’d been born seemed impossibly cramped. As her horizons had broadened, her old home had diminished in size. Yet she’d enjoyed her childhood there and, after the death of her mother, virtually ran the house. Caleb Andrews was very pleased to see her and she, in turn, was glad to find the place looking as neat and tidy as it had been during her time there.
‘Where’s Robert this evening?’ he asked.
‘He’s spending the night at Burnhope Manor. Victor Leeming brought me a letter from him. There have been complications.’
‘What sort of complications?’
‘I don’t know, Father, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I did.’
‘But I might be able to help, Maddy.’
‘You can help Robert best by letting him do his job unimpeded.’
‘I wouldn’t impede him,’ he protested. ‘I’d just give him the benefit of my superior judgement. Yes,’ he continued, quashing her attempt at a reply, ‘I know that you think I’m senile enough to be measured for my coffin but there’s nothing to compare with experience and I’ve had plenty of it. Who provided Robert with a vital clue when he was up in Scotland earlier this year?’
‘You did very well,’ she conceded. ‘But this is a different case altogether.’
‘If it’s connected to the railways, I’m the man they need.’
‘Robert is well aware of that,’ she said with a smile. ‘Every time you set eyes on him, you remind him of the fact.’
‘Then why doesn’t he call on me?’
‘Victor Leeming provides all the assistance he needs, Father. He’s a good detective. Robert has taught him everything he knows.’
‘I wish he’d teach the sergeant to wear a mask,’ said Andrews with a dry laugh. ‘That face of his would frighten anybody.’
‘Victor has a heart of gold.’
‘What use is that when he looks like something out of Regent’s Park Zoo?’
‘His wife doesn’t think so, Father, and neither do his children. Anyway,’ she went on, weighing her words, ‘Victor is not ugly – it’s just that he’s not as handsome as some men. When you get to know him, you forget his appearance.’
‘Speak for yourself, Maddy.’
It was always the same. Whenever his son-in-law embarked on a new case, Andrews craved involvement. Because it was invariably denied him, he found something or someone to criticise out of pique. Leeming was the victim this time. Tallis had also been the whipping boy on occasion. Madeleine herself had attracted adverse comment from him though she’d defended herself robustly and forced an apology out of him. Before her father could make further comments about Leeming’s face, she diverted him by crossing to the picture that hung over the mantelpiece. It was one of her earliest paintings and she could see the distinct signs of the amateur she’d been at the time. Andrews, however, would hear no disparagement of her work. It occupied a unique position in his memoirs.
‘I had
a grand time when I drove Cornwall,’ he said, fondly. ‘She was built at Crewe for the LNWR and was a joy to drive.’
‘I only wish that my painting had been more accurate.’
‘You caught the spirit of the locomotive, Maddy, and that’s why I love it. I’ve spent hours just staring at her. What made her different was the combination of inner plate frames, with the cylinder mounted outside and securely held by a double frame at the front end. We used to have a problem with fractures in the crank axle,’ he recalled. ‘Cornwall avoided that because the drive from the cylinders was delivered to the driving wheels by means of connecting rods attached to the crank pins on the wheels.’
‘I wasn’t able to show technical aspects like that,’ she confessed.
‘You showed enough for me to recognise a fine locomotive and a wonderful artist. Who’d have thought you could bring her to life like this?’
‘I did my best, Father, but I can do much better now. That’s why I’m painting her again in a very different setting. I hope you approve.’
‘I’m proud of you, Maddy,’ he said, giving her a hug, ‘and I was proud to drive Cornwall. You won’t find a locomotive as good as this on the Old Worse and Worse. It’s a shambles. I’m amazed that company is still in business if they lose passengers while the train is steaming along. Talking of which,’ he continued, ‘did Robert’s letter say that he hoped to find the missing women?’
‘Robert always sounds hopeful. Even in the most difficult investigations, he remains optimistic.’
‘So why is he staying at this big house in Worcestershire?’
She clicked her tongue. ‘Stop probing. I’ve told you all I know.’
‘Does he just want the pleasure of sleeping in a four-poster bed?’
‘Oh, I don’t think Robert will get much sleep,’ she confided. ‘That’s one of the things he did say in his letter. He has to maintain a vigil all night.’
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