Colbeck knew that somebody would come. Whenever he was in pursuit of a criminal, he tried to put himself inside that person’s mind, considering the available options before choosing the most advantageous. The kidnapper would be annoyed at the failure of his original plan and would want to extort an even larger ransom the next time. He would act quickly because the longer he delayed, the greater the opportunity to track him down and rescue his two captives. At the earlier exchange, the man he’d employed as a go-between had been shot. Careful not to expose another intermediary to danger, he would be more likely to send him under cover of darkness. That was why Colbeck was sitting beside a window on the ground floor of Burnhope Manor. If he could intercept the messenger, he might learn more about the man who’d sent the message. The long wait began.
Though he’d never met the Honourable Imogen Burnhope, he’d built up a composite portrait of her from the comments made by various members of the family. She was young, beautiful but largely ignorant of the ways of the world. Her innocence was her potential weakness. The coachman had given Colbeck a good description of Rhoda Wills. Because of her loyalty to her mistress, her plight was equally dire but it was Imogen’s reckless decision that had imperilled them. Colbeck had begun to understand her urge to escape. For all its opulence, Burnhope Manor had a hollow feeling to it. Since her father was away most of the time, Imogen would have been kept under the close supervision of her mother. It must have been oppressive.
Sir Marcus’s one major intrusion into his daughter’s life was to select a husband for her. That, Colbeck believed, was what might have tipped the balance in favour of flight. While there might have been fleeting delight when the match was made – and when Tunnadine seemed an appealing bridegroom – even someone as naive as Imogen would have soon entertained doubts about him. The unfavourable reaction to him of members of the Vaughan family would have influenced her. In getting married, she must have realised, she would simply be moving from one unhappy situation to another. When an avenue of escape appeared, therefore, she was minded to take it, and her maid had apparently encouraged her to do so. Yet only an offer of overwhelming appeal would have made Imogen shun the countless privileges bestowed upon her by her family.
Colbeck was convinced that the offer had been made by the soldier whom she met in Christ Church Meadow. He was also convinced that the man’s appearance at precisely the right moment to rescue the women had not been fortuitous. Stage management had been involved. The ruffian who’d leapt from the bushes had probably been an accomplice of the soldier who beat him off. Imogen and her maid would have been relieved and thankful. On the walk back to the college, Captain Whiteside – if that was his real name – had no doubt further ingratiated himself and set in motion a process that had culminated in the abduction.
Acutely aware that it was all supposition, Colbeck nevertheless believed that there was more than a germ of truth in his theory. He wished that Madeleine had been there to offer her advice. While he felt confident about entering the warped minds of villains, he was less sure-footed when trying to determine how a young woman thought and acted. There were other reasons why he longed to be beside his wife.
When the clock chimed in the hall, he shook off his fatigue. It was three o’clock in the morning and all he could see through the window was a vast expanse of gloom. Yet he kept his eyes peeled and was eventually rewarded. A figure was conjured out of the darkness, approaching the house with furtive steps. Colbeck jumped up from his chair and went into the hall. He reached the front door in time to see a letter being slipped under it. That was all the prompting he required. After pulling back the bolts, he turned the massive key in its lock and opened the door. Alarmed at the unexpected noise, the visitor took to his heels. Colbeck went after him, guided by the noise of his footsteps on the gravel path and judging by their evident speed that the postman was young and fit.
Colbeck was fast but his anonymous quarry was even swifter and he might well have escaped had he not decided to leave the path and plunge into the cover of the trees. Almost as soon as he did so, he tripped over an exposed root and dived headlong to the ground. His cry of surprise told Colbeck exactly where he was. Before he could haul himself up, the man felt the full weight of the inspector on his back.
‘Let me go,’ he cried.
‘We must first have a talk, my friend.’
After lifting him to his feet by his collar, Colbeck introduced himself and elicited the name of Dick Rudder from the messenger. The young man was terrified. He was an apprentice at a flour mill and had been approached by a stranger while drinking at an inn.
‘All I had to do was to deliver a letter after dark,’ he said.
‘Why did you come so late?’
‘He paid me well, sir. I spent it on drink and fell asleep.’
‘Describe the man to me.’
‘He was about my height and I’d put him at thirty or more. And he had a way about him, sir. He made you feel that you were a friend. It was so with me, anyway, and we only talked for five or ten minutes.’
‘Was he well spoken and smartly dressed?’
‘Yes – that’s right, Inspector.’
‘What else can you tell me about him?’
‘I took him for a soldier.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘My uncle was in the army,’ replied Rudder. ‘He had the same straight back and the same swagger as this man. At least, my uncle did until he got killed in the Crimea. You’d never get me in an army uniform.’
‘Tell me exactly what this stranger said to you.’
‘Will you let me go then?’
‘Yes, Dick – you’re not in any trouble.’
Rudder was so pleased that he shook Colbeck’s hand as if operating a village pump. He then launched into an account of the conversation he’d had. Sobered by his capture, he recalled almost all the details of his chat. Colbeck now had a much clearer image of the kidnapper. He was grateful to the apprentice.
‘How much did he give you, Dick?’
‘I got half a sovereign, sir – just for delivering a letter.’
‘Then I’ll match that amount,’ said Colbeck, reaching into his pocket and handing the money over. ‘It will help to soothe your bruises. Now, away with you and don’t tell a soul about what happened here tonight. Is that a promise?’
Rudder nodded repeatedly then slipped away into the darkness.
Dominic Vaughan sat beside his elder son on a bench in the Master’s garden. It was a sunny day but the fine weather did not dispel their mutual sadness. The fate of Imogen and her maid was a weight that pressed down heavily on both of them. The curate was particularly despondent. His father sought to distract him from his grief.
‘How are things in North Cerney?’ he asked.
‘I am very contented, looking after my flock.’
‘Have you no greater ambitions, Percy?’
‘In time, as you well know, I’ll become rector there.’
‘I’d hoped that you’d set your sights higher,’ said Vaughan. ‘There’s only so much one can do in a parish church.’
‘It suits my temperament, Father. Small and insignificant as it may appear, All Saints has an intriguing history. If you look at the rectors’ board, you’ll see that the first incumbent was John de Belvale in the year 1269. When I become the next link in that long chain of worship,’ said the curate, ‘I intend to write a history of the clergy who’ve served North Cerney over the centuries.’
‘Why confine yourself to a church when a cathedral might beckon?’
‘I lack the qualities for high office.’
‘You are clever enough to acquire them, Percy. Look at me,’ said his father. ‘When I was an undergraduate, I was so meek that people thought I was waiting to inherit the earth.’ His son smiled wanly at the biblical reference. ‘But I applied myself and eventually learnt the skills needed to become a fellow. When I rose to be Master, of course, I had to become more adept at political dagger-work and les
s tolerant of my colleagues’ prejudices.’
‘My memory is that Mother helped to stiffen your resolve.’
‘A good woman is a blessing to any man.’ His son lowered his head. ‘In time, you will find someone to share your life then you can enjoy the benison that only marriage can bring.’
‘I have no plans to take a wife, Father.’
‘Neither did I until I met your mother.’
‘My case is different,’ explained his son, looking at him. ‘If I cannot have the wife of my own choosing, I’d prefer to remain celibate.’
Vaughan understood. Though his elder son had tried to keep his love for Imogen a secret, it had become clear to all members of the family. Percy Vaughan’s passions ran deep. Losing her to a man like Clive Tunnadine had been a shuddering blow to him but discovering that she’d been abducted was far worse. The curate was suffering agonies.
‘May I ask you something?’ he said at length.
‘You know full well that you may.’
‘And will you promise to give me an honest answer?’
‘I’d like to think that all my answers are honest,’ said Vaughan, seriously.
‘Why did you always favour George over me?’
His father was taken aback. ‘But I didn’t, Percy. I loved you both equally.’
‘You may have attempted to do so but he was the one you indulged. I was admired for my discipline and my scholarship but George was the one who could make you laugh, even when his mischievous streak got out of hand. You gave him opportunities, Father,’ he complained. ‘You gave George licence that was denied me.’
‘You didn’t need licence – he did.’
‘After all that’s happened, he’s still your favourite.’
It was true and Vaughan was ashamed to admit it. George had always been given preferential treatment by both parents. Emma, too, had sought her younger brother’s company first. Percy Vaughan had felt isolated and undervalued.
‘If I’ve shown George more kindness,’ said the Master, ‘then it was a grievous fault and I apologise for it. You’ve brought nothing but honour to the family name. George, alas, is more likely to besmirch it. A moment ago, you spoke of celibacy as something you’d willingly embrace. It is a concept entirely foreign to your brother.’
‘You’ll forgive him, whatever he does.’
‘He’s my son, Percy.’
‘So am I.’
There was a noticeable tension in the air. Neither man had meant to talk about their relationship but it had nevertheless happened. As a result, both of them felt raw. Vaughan wrenched the conversation back to the abduction.
‘It is such a strain, not knowing what’s happening to Imogen and her maid,’ he said, sorrowfully. ‘I’m on tenterhooks, as indeed you must be. What on earth can we do, Percy?’
‘We must continue to pray for both of them,’ advised the curate, ‘and we must pray for Inspector Colbeck as well. He needs all the help he can get.’
At that moment in time, Colbeck was, in fact, getting help from the head porter of the college. The letter delivered during the night had contained a demand for twice the amount of the original ransom. Sir Marcus Burnhope was given a day and a half to raise the money. Since there was nothing he could usefully do in the Worcestershire countryside, Colbeck had taken the train to Oxford to pursue a line of enquiry there. Samuel Woolcott, the venerable head porter, seemed to blend in perfectly with the ancient stonework all around him. His head was bald but strands of hair grew in profusion all over the lower part of his face like so much ivy. Old age had not dulled his mind or prevented him from carrying out his duties with commendable vigour. He and Colbeck conversed in the Lodge. Woolcott spoke in a local accent that had a soft, bewitching burr.
‘When would this be, Inspector?’
‘It was probably some eighteen months ago.’
Woolcott chortled. ‘Why, that’s as recent as yesterday afternoon to me,’ he said. ‘My memory goes back over six decades. Nobody here can match that, sir.’
‘Let’s confine ourselves to an afternoon in February or March of last year. Lady Burnhope and her daughter were staying with the Master.’
‘You don’t need to remind me of that.’
‘Why not?’
‘It was always an event when that young lady visited. The undergraduates buzzed round her like wasps around a pot of strawberry jam, so they did. I felt sorry for her because all that attention bothered her. The Master’s daughter was used to it. The other young lady was not.’
‘Cast your mind back to a day when there was snow on the ground and the two of them went out for a walk.’
Woolcott scratched his head. ‘There’d have been a few days like that, sir.’
‘This one was special. She went out with one companion and came back with two. The ladies were escorted back here by a soldier in the uniform of a captain.’
‘You don’t need to tell me his rank,’ said the old man. ‘I’d have recognised it just from looking at him. I’ve a grandson in the army, you see. He was a wayward lad until he went off to serve Queen and Country but they’ve beaten good manners into him. Now,’ he added, ‘you’ll be wanting to know if I recall the incident and I do. The captain was very attentive to the ladies.’
The head porter went on to describe the soldier at exhaustive length and every detail corresponded with those already gleaned by Colbeck. By the time Woolcott had finished, the inspector was certain that the hero of Christ Church Meadow was the same man as the one issuing ransom demands.
‘He was a cavalry officer,’ said Woolcott. ‘I know my regiments, sir.’
‘What happened when the two ladies walked away?’
Woolcott chortled again. ‘He did what all the undergraduates were doing and that was to stare at them and nurse foolish hopes. Once they went through into the Radcliffe Quad, the captain asked me who the prettier one was and how long she’d be in Oxford. I saw no harm in telling him.’ His face creased into an apology. ‘I’m sorry if I did wrong, Inspector.’
‘You weren’t to know what he had in mind.’
‘I still don’t.’
‘Did you ever see the fellow again?’
‘Oh yes,’ replied Woolcott. ‘I saw him a few times. He looked very different out of uniform but I knew that it was him. Once I’ve seen a face, I never forget it. The captain never came to the college, as far as I know, but he was here in Oxford, no question of that.’
‘When was the last time? Can you remember?’
‘I will if you give me a moment, sir. It was earlier this year on a very cold day. I know that because I had my collar turned up and my hat pulled down. So did the captain,’ he said. ‘I passed him outside Elliston and Cavell’s. That’s the big store in the high street.’
‘I know it well from my days as an undergraduate, Mr Woolcott.’
‘He didn’t recognise me but I spotted him at once.’
‘Could you put a date on the encounter?’
‘I can give you a time, Inspector. It was near enough to noon. As for the date, it must have been late in February. Yes,’ he confirmed, ‘that would be it for sure. It was rather odd, now that I think of it.’
‘In what way was it odd?’
‘Well, I hadn’t laid eyes on the man for months, then he turns up at the very time that Lady Burnhope was staying here with her daughter. Isn’t that peculiar?’
Colbeck made no comment. Everything he’d been told by Woolcott had reinforced his theory about the kidnap. After thanking the head porter, he stepped out of the Lodge at exactly the same time that the Master and his elder son were coming into the Main Quadrangle. They were very surprised to see him. Percy Vaughan was carrying a valise as if about to depart but he was desperate for information before he went. He and his father descended on Colbeck and pressed him for the latest news. They were told about the way that Tunnadine had intervened during the attempted exchange and were disheartened when they heard that the two women had not, in any case, been there
.
‘He’s killed them,’ said the curate, forlornly. ‘He’s only pretending that they’re still alive in order to extract money from my uncle. The man is an absolute monster.’
‘No, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘he’s a wily character who is exploiting to the full the advantage he holds. I don’t believe that either of the two ladies is dead. They are being held somewhere, though under what conditions, I couldn’t hazard a guess.’
‘Is there no hope of catching this villain?’ asked Vaughan.
‘There’s every hope. Thanks to the assistance I received from your daughter and from the head porter here, I know who the man is and how he operates. He’s no longer a phantom but a hazy photograph inside my head.’
While he told them enough to satisfy their curiosity, Colbeck held back much detail. They were cheered by the progress he’d made, though still very concerned for the safety of the two women. He did his best to reassure them.
‘What’s the next step, Inspector?’ said Vaughan.
‘I need to ask you a favour, sir,’ replied Colbeck. ‘Every college relies on an army of scouts. They are the unsung heroes of this university.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Inspector.’
‘When Lady Burnhope and her daughter stay here, who looks after them?’
‘They travel with their own maids, of course, but I always assign a scout to each of them. He’s there to fetch, carry, change the beds and answer any other needs.’
‘Whom did you assign to look after your niece?’
‘Oh, it was always Arthur Lugstone. He’s very reliable.’
‘I’d like to meet him as soon as possible.’
‘That can be arranged.’
‘I’ve been puzzling over something,’ said Percy Vaughan, brow furrowed. ‘If Mr Tunnadine shot a man dead in cold blood, why is he not being held in custody?’
‘Sir Marcus had too much influence over a local magistrate.’
‘Then he’s abused that influence.’
‘Too true, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Superintendent Tallis will be seeking ways to rectify the situation. As upholders of law and order, we cannot allow anybody to evade justice. Mr Tunnadine will be called to account before long. His status as a Member of Parliament can only offer him a degree of protection. It will be insufficient to save him from prosecution. Oh,’ he went on with a half smile, ‘there’s something else you may care to know about the gentleman.’
11 - Ticket to Oblivion Page 16
