Ticket to Oblivion

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

There was a limit to the amount of time that George Vaughan could comfortably spend at Burnhope Manor. In earlier years, when his cousin was there, he would play happily with Imogen for hours on end and not even notice the slightly forbidding atmosphere of the house. In her absence, his only companions were his ailing aunt, his judgmental mother and his sister. After the receipt of a second ransom demand, Colbeck had gone off to Oxford and Sir Marcus had headed for London to visit his bank, leaving the artist at the mercy of the two older women and with the fluctuating support from Emma. Lady Burnside was less of a problem because she was still confined to her bed but Cassandra Vaughan insisted on keeping her younger son there. Though not fully aware of the rumours about his alleged profligacy in Chelsea, she still compared him unfavourably with his brother. Her constant reprimands wore George down.

He was in the drawing room with Emma and their mother. Torn between her love for her brother and her duty to obey her parents to the letter, his sister was in an awkward position. She watched the duel with growing unease.

‘Why can’t you be more like Percy?’ asked Cassandra.

‘I might ask why my brother can’t be more like me.’

‘You’re being facetious.’

‘No, I’m not, Mother,’ he said. ‘I’d be prepared to attend church on a more regular basis if Percy behaved less like a monk and more like a human being. If I take a step towards him, he should take one towards me. Wouldn’t that bring us closer?’

‘Yes, it would,’ said Emma, tentatively.

‘Of course it wouldn’t,’ said her mother. ‘I’m not having Percy dragged down to your level, George. I want you to rise up to his standards of behaviour.’

He laughed. ‘Holy orders are anathema to me. If I was hypocritical enough to climb into a pulpit, my London friends would storm the church and throw buns at me. I’m an artist, Mother,’ he stressed. ‘I follow my Muse.’

‘That’s arrant poppycock!’

‘Mother!’ exclaimed Emma.

‘You’ve only yourself to blame for the way I’ve turned out,’ he said.

Cassandra’s eyes flashed. ‘Don’t be insulting!’

‘Who taught me to draw when I was a child?’

‘You did the same for me when I was little, Mother,’ said Emma.

‘Who sat me on her knee and guided my hand as I splashed watercolours onto the paper? It was you, Mother. You set my artistic career in motion. Emma could draw pretty pictures but Percy had no creative instincts,’ he said. ‘He hated being made to paint. All that my brother was interested in was the church because he loved the sound of the organ. It was like a siren call to him.’

There was a sizeable grain of truth in the charge and it silenced his mother long enough for him to urge her to accept his waywardness as an expression of his dedication to his art. Before she could return to the attack, he took his leave with elaborate courtesy. Emma did her best to persuade him to stay but he would not. Cassandra had one more shock to absorb. As she waved him off from the door, her son didn’t climb into the landau to be driven to the railway station. Instead, with true egalitarian zeal, he clambered up beside the coachman. It was also an affirmation of friendship because he’d known and liked Vernon Tolley for many years. The coachman had only been a stable lad when George Vaughan and his siblings came to the house as children. Tolley let them feed the horses and play in the hayloft. They’d watched him grow to maturity and take on more important duties.

What the artist had wanted was the undemanding companionship of a decent man who’d done him favours over the years. Having at last escaped his mother’s interrogation, however, he was now closely questioned again, albeit in a much more deferential manner. Tolley was desperate for any morsel of information. His passenger talked freely to the coachman. Tolley had been present at the bungled exchange of the ransom so there was no need to hold anything back. George Vaughan explained that a second demand had arrived.

‘I gathered that, sir,’ said the other. ‘When I drove Inspector Colbeck to the station, I sensed that something had happened. Later on, I took Sir Marcus to Shrub Hill and he was very short with me. That only happens when he’s upset.’

‘Now you know why.’

‘So there’s hope that the two of them are still alive?’

‘The inspector was convinced of it, Tolley.’

‘Does he have any idea where they can be?’

‘He seems to think that they’re somewhere in Oxfordshire,’ said the artist. ‘That’s where the exchange will take place tomorrow and that’s where the detectives will be conducting their search.’

Annoyed to leave the capital yet again, Victor Leeming was at least contented with their mode of transport. He held the reins of the trap they’d hired and controlled the horse with relative ease. It allowed him to explore his fantasy of being a cab driver, moving at an unhurried speed and listening to the rhythmical sound of hooves. He was shaken out of his daydream when one of the wheels went over a large stone and the whole trap tilted briefly before righting itself with a jolt.

‘Where are we?’ he asked, looking around.

‘We’re still a couple of miles from the area chosen,’ said

Colbeck, scrutinising the map across his thighs. ‘We need to locate this vale, Victor.’

‘How precise were the instructions?’

‘They were carefully imprecise so that we could not find the exact spot of the exchange beforehand. In the guise of Sir Marcus, I am to go to a bridge and await further orders. Captain Whiteside — if it is indeed he — will want to make certain that I have not brought an impetuous accomplice with me this time.’

‘Mr Tunnadine is a lunatic.’

‘That’s why he must know nothing of this second demand.’

‘Being kept in the dark will make him very angry.’

‘I don’t care about that,’ said Colbeck. ‘By rights, he should be under lock and key. The superintendent has taken up the matter with the commissioner who will, in turn, refer it to the higher reaches of the judiciary. That fawning Worcestershire magistrate Tallis told me about should be rapped hard over the knuckles.’

‘I think he should be in the same cell as Mr Tunnadine.’

‘I’m inclined to agree.’

‘The superintendent said that he was bowing and scraping to Sir Marcus.’

‘Sycophancy is never pleasant to behold, Victor. It’s one of the inevitable consequences of having a landed aristocracy. Incidentally,’ Colbeck went on, ‘I owe you an apology.’

‘Why is that, sir?’

‘I sent you to that artist’s studio when George Vaughan wasn’t there.’

‘Somebody else was.’

‘Oh?’

‘It was the young lady with an arm missing in the painting.’

Try as he might, Leeming had been unable to forget his confrontation with Dolly Wrenson. It had been too harrowing to put behind him. In the hope of getting it off his chest, he confided in Colbeck. The inspector had to hide his amusement.

‘You should have accepted it as a compliment, Victor.’

‘I’m not used to compliments from ladies — not that she’s really a lady, mind you.’

‘Something about you clearly prompted her interest.’

‘That’s what disturbs me, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘What sort of man did she think that I was? All that she seemed to be wearing was a dressing gown.’

‘The young lady obviously felt safe in the presence of a policeman.’

‘Well, I didn’t feel safe in her presence, I can tell you that.’

Colbeck grinned. ‘I can’t believe you were so bashful,’ he said. ‘Marriage to Estelle should have armoured you against any blandishments like that. You’ve been able to brush aside improper advances in the past without letting them trouble you.’

‘It was different with this young lady, sir. She was no common streetwalker. Dolly was beautiful and — God help me — I’d been forced to look at that …’

‘At that nude portrait of her — is that what you mean?’

‘Yes, it is. Besides,’ said Leeming, ‘I have a mirror in my house. I know I have an ugly face. What woman would choose me because of my appearance?’

‘Estelle did.’

‘I know and I’ve been grateful ever since, sir. But this young lady would never have looked at me twice if she hadn’t been eager to punish young Mr Vaughan. That was why she made improper suggestions to me. I was to be used as a weapon against him,’ said Leeming, flicking the reins to increase the speed of the horse. ‘It made me feel dreadful.’

‘You have my sympathy,’ said Colbeck, patting his knee. ‘If we need to contact young Mr Vaughan at his studio again, I’ll go in your stead.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘Console yourself with this thought. Had his brother, Percy, been accosted by this young lady, he’d have been even more scandalised than you. Religion has so far sheltered him from the world of feminine wiles, whereas George revels in it.’

‘It’s a closed book to me,’ admitted Leeming, ‘and I want it to stay closed.’ They rode on for a few minutes before he spoke again. ‘How can two brothers be so different in every way? Percy Vaughan is a curate who, according to you, believes in clean living and self-denial, while George shares a bed with … with a woman like Dolly. You wouldn’t believe that they had the same parents.’

‘Percy is the more interesting of the two, in my opinion. He’s sombre and self-possessed with depths that nobody could plumb. George, on the other hand, is a true extrovert. He loves to cause outrage by his behaviour,’ said Colbeck, ‘but he’s only playing at being an artist, I fancy. I found him engaging but a trifle superficial. Percy is the thinker in the family. I don’t believe that his brother ever has a serious thought. George just does what appeals to him at any point in time.’

When he climbed the steps to the studio, George Vaughan was not at all sure what kind of reception he’d get. While Dolly was a voluptuous young lady, she was also very capricious. The threat she’d issued when he’d last seen her was worrying. He’d become so used to her companionship and her ready passion that he’d rather taken her for granted. The idea that he may have lost both was unnerving. He would never find a model as compliant as her or a lover as skilful and satisfying. Together, they could enhance his career; apart, he’d be working in a void without inspiration.

When he reached the door of the studio, he paused to listen. There was no sound from within. He was unsure whether to knock or simply to let himself in with his key. After much cogitation, he did both, tapping on the door then unlocking it. His heart sank. The room was empty and the bed unmade. When he looked around for a letter, he found none. Dolly appeared to have washed her hands of him and fled. He sat down on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. It was minutes before he heard the floorboard creak.

She was there, after all. Dolly was hiding behind the screen where she used to undress before posing for him. Leaping up, he ran across the room and moved the screen aside. He was overcome with contrition.

‘I thought I’d lost you, my darling.’

‘That issue is still in the balance,’ she warned.

‘You gave me such a fright, Dolly.’

‘It’s the least you deserve for running out on me like that.’

‘It was an emergency,’ he said. ‘I explained that to you.’

‘Deeds mean more than words, George Vaughan. I pleaded with you to stay and you still went rushing off to Oxford. If you hadn’t come back today, I was going to pack my things and leave. Artists are all the same,’ she complained. ‘They promise you the earth then drop you like a stone.’

‘That isn’t what happened.’

‘It’s what I felt happened and it hurt. It was the same with Sebastian when I was his model. He filled my ears with wonderful promises but never delivered them. That’s why I ran away to you in the end. I’ve done with artists,’ she announced, stamping a petulant foot. ‘You’re the third who’s let me down.’

‘I’ll make amends,’ he vowed. ‘I love you, Dolly. I can’t work without you.’

‘Next time I’ll choose a politician, like my friend. She says that they’re much more reliable, especially if they’re married. They’re more grateful and they’re far more generous.’

‘I’ll be generous when I become rich and famous.’

‘We may both be old and grey by the time that happens.’

‘No, we won’t,’ he said, taking her by the arms. ‘You know that I have talent. You’ve told me a dozen times that I’m a better artist than Sebastian or the one before him. Success is only a year or two away — perhaps even a month or two. Stay with me, Dolly. We belong together.’

She broke away and walked to the window to look out across the houses.

‘London is full of men who’d appreciate my worth,’ she said. ‘They’d keep me in the sort of luxury that my friend enjoys. I wouldn’t have to put up with bare floorboards and that awful bed and the constant stink of oil paint.’

‘Then you must go,’ he told her, changing his tack. ‘If I disappoint you so much, Dolly, then you’re better off with some mealy-mouthed politician or some wealthy banker who can only see you when his wife is away. What I tried to do was to share everything with you — my time, my work, my money and my love. I didn’t just fit you in between my marital commitments. Go to this friend of yours,’ he urged, pointing to the door. ‘Ask her how she reeled in her Member of Parliament. Find out exactly what she has to do to maintain his interest. Off you go, Dolly.’

She was stunned. ‘Are you serious, George?’

‘I don’t want to hold you against your will.’

‘But a moment ago, you said you couldn’t work without me.’

‘There are lots of Dolly Wrensons in the world. I’ll find another one.’

‘You’re not … throwing me out, are you?’

‘No,’ he explained. ‘I simply want you to make up your mind. First, I want you to understand why I had to leave so suddenly. Hear me out, please, that’s all I ask. If, at the end of it, you still think I betrayed you, then we’re better off apart. Is that acceptable to you?’ She nodded. ‘Then, come here.’

Leading her to a chair, he sat her down and gave her a full account of where he’d been and what he’d done while he was away. Dolly listened intently. When she heard that his cousin was in mortal danger, she let out a gasp. When he told her about the man being shot dead, she was overwhelmed with shame. Imogen Burnhope was in the most appalling predicament yet all that Dolly had done was to chide her lover for running off to see if he could in some way help her. By the time he’d finished, the tears were running down her cheeks.

He indicated the door again. ‘Do you still intend to leave?’

‘No, George,’ she said, getting up and moving to the bed. ‘Come here.’

‘You told me that bed was awful.’

‘It is when I have to sleep in it alone.’

‘What about the stink of oil paint?’

She giggled. ‘I’ll hold my nose.’ When he crossed over to her, she raised a finger. ‘There is one condition, mind you.’

‘What’s that, Dolly?’

‘When it’s all over, please — please — give me another arm in the portrait.’

The change in their situation was so sudden and dramatic that it left both of them dazed. Imogen and Rhoda sat side by side in the room that they now shared and bewailed their fate. They were gullible victims of a plot. The man whom Imogen had trusted implicitly was no more than an unscrupulous fraudster with designs on her father’s wealth. As a result of his flattering letters with their well-chosen quotations from Shakespeare’s sonnets, she had been ensnared. She felt sick with grief. Rhoda, too, was wallowing in recriminations. It was her fault, she kept telling herself. Put in the privileged position of looking after her mistress, she’d instead helped to lead her astray. Rhoda was shocked at her own naivety. She was older, wiser and infinitely more mature than Imogen. The maid should never have allowed herself to be caught up in the fairy tale. Something else jabbed at her mind. Imogen was in flight from the tyranny of her parents and the horror of having to marry Clive Tunnadine. Rhoda, however, had regrets when she left. Vernon Tolley’s admiration of her was requited in her breast. In putting her mistress’s needs first, she’d had to forego her own interests. When she might have been encouraging the coachman, she was instead entombed in a hotel room with an armed man next door.

‘There must be some way out,’ she said, rising to her feet.

‘We’re trapped, Rhoda. There’s no escape.’

‘Why don’t I try to distract Sergeant Cullen while you get away?’

‘How can I go anywhere when the door is locked?’ whined Imogen.

‘Bang on it until a member of staff comes,’ urged the maid. ‘I’ll keep the sergeant talking in the other room.’

‘It’s far too dangerous, Rhoda. In any case, where would I go? I have no money and I have no idea where we are. They’d come after me.’

‘Complain to the hotel manager. Ask him to call the police.’

‘You saw how far we drove from Oxford,’ said Imogen. ‘This place couldn’t be more isolated. Besides, I couldn’t endanger the manager by getting him involved. The captain and the sergeant both have weapons.’

‘At least we can try,’ insisted Rhoda.

Crossing to the door, she turned the handle and pulled as hard as she could. The door was firmly locked. She tugged away for a long time. All that she did was to produce a loud rattle and to tire herself. There was another consequence. The other door swung open and Sergeant Cullen stepped into the room.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded. ‘You were ordered to leave that door alone. Captain Whiteside will hear of this.’

‘Please don’t tell him,’ said Imogen. ‘We meant no harm.’

‘I know exactly what you meant. I’m on guard.’

‘We won’t touch the door again, I promise.’

‘I’m taking no chances. I’ll stay here with you.’

‘Give us some privacy, at least,’ said Rhoda, indignantly.

‘You don’t deserve it. If it was left to me, I’d stay in here all night with you.’ He smirked at Rhoda. ‘Wouldn’t you like that?’

Recoiling from his taunt, she went back to the sofa. Cullen sat on the edge of the bed and regarded them. He was a solid man of medium height with livid battle scars decorating a craggy face. The lilting Irish voice that had appealed to Imogen now grated on her ear. His earlier courtesy had shaded into a military brusqueness.

‘What’s to become of us?’ asked Rhoda.

‘Wait and see — it will be a nice surprise for you.’

‘You can’t hold us against our will.’

‘We didn’t need to at first,’ he said with a grin. ‘The captain tricked you into coming along of your own volition, so you did. Now wasn’t that a clever ruse of his? I didn’t have to guard you at all. You liked being here with us.’

‘Let us go,’ implored Imogen. ‘I’ll give you money.’

‘We can get far more from your father. You’re his only child. That puts a high price on your head. If he doesn’t pay up, of course …’

He had a smile like a gash in a ripe melon. They drew back as they realised the full implications of the threat that hung over them. Rhoda was frightened of the Irishman. Imogen tried to grasp at a final straw.

‘This is no way to treat someone in my position,’ she said with dignity. ‘We should be released forthwith. When the captain returns, I shall appeal to him as an officer and a gentleman.’ Cullen went off into peals of laughter. She was deflated. ‘What is so amusing?’

‘It’s your description of Captain Whiteside,’ he replied. ‘First, he’s no longer an officer and second, he was never a gentleman. The both of you will find that out very soon.’

Their reconnaissance was thorough and it gave the detectives some idea of what was in store for them. From a vantage point on one of the hills, the kidnapper would have an excellent view of the dale and be able to see if anyone was trying to creep up on him. Fringed with trees and dappled by the sun, the location favoured someone who wanted to control the exchange of hostages for money before making a swift departure. On the train journey back to London, they had a compartment to themselves and could therefore consider their options.

‘I could get there early and hide in the trees,’ volunteered Leeming.

‘You don’t know in which part of the wooded areas he’d be lurking.’

‘I could use the telescope to find out, sir.’

‘Captain Whiteside will be using a telescope on you, Victor. He’ll scan the whole dale before he makes his move. There’s nothing else for it,’ said Colbeck. ‘We have to follow his instructions. The safety of the hostages is paramount. Once they’ve been returned, we go after Whiteside and this Sergeant Cullen.’

Leeming blenched. ‘Do we follow them on horseback?’

‘Can you think of a quicker way?’

‘They’re from a cavalry regiment, sir. They know how to ride.’

‘We can’t expect to overtake them, Victor. We just need to pick up their trail and follow them. When they’re well clear, they’ll think that their mission was a great success and they’ll relax. They won’t expect us to be so close behind them.’

‘Where will they go?’

‘Oh, they’ll have an escape plan worked out,’ Colbeck told him. ‘The chances are that the horses are hired from somewhere near a railway station, enabling them to hop onto a train and — as they think — make off with the ransom money.’

‘I’m still not happy about riding a horse, sir.’

‘We’ll find you a quiet mount this time.’

‘Where do you think they are at the moment?’

‘Well, as I told you, my feeling is that they’ve been somewhere in Oxfordshire all the time. The further they travelled with the two ladies, the more chance they had of being seen. They’d have prepared a hiding place well in advance,’ said Colbeck. ‘They needed to keep Sir Marcus’s daughter and her maid completely out of sight.’

The discussion continued all the way back to London and it distracted Leeming from the incessant din of the train and the rocking of their carriage. Though the evening was drawing on, they caught a cab and went straight to Scotland Yard. Tallis had departed but he’d left a message for them. It was waiting on Colbeck’s desk. Picking it up, the inspector read the letter with an approving smile.

‘The superintendent has been as good as his word,’ he said. ‘He made enquiries about our two suspects. Captain Terence Whiteside and Sergeant Manus Cullen did both serve in a cavalry regiment but neither of them has been anywhere near

the Crimea. The heroics with which the captain left Mrs Greenfield spellbound were pure invention. No doubt he told the same stirring tales to Sir Marcus’s daughter.’ He folded the letter to put in his pocket. ‘I thought it was Irishmen who were supposed to have the gift of the gab.’

‘Perhaps the captain has Irish blood, sir.’

‘He has the cheek of the devil, I know that.’

‘Women are so easily taken in.’

‘Don’t tell that to your wife or she’ll box your ears,’ said Colbeck. ‘In my experience, women have far more intuition than we do. Madeleine senses things that completely elude me. How easy is it to bamboozle Estelle?’

‘It’s near impossible, sir,’ replied Leeming with pride. ‘She’d have seen through all the nonsense that he fed to Sir Marcus’s daughter.’

‘Your wife doesn’t have the slightest intention of running away from home to some phantom paradise. Estelle is very happy with her husband and children. Imogen Burnhope, by contrast,’ said Colbeck, pointedly, ‘was not happy with her lot. She wanted to believe there was something better for her and that made her credulous. When she learns the truth, it will be a heart-rending moment.’

‘That’s all the more reason to catch this lying cavalry officer and his friend.’

‘They’ll be caught and roundly punished, Victor.’

‘Did the letter give you any idea where they’ve been living, sir?’

‘No — but if you find out, please inform the army.’

‘Why is that?’

‘They’re both deserters.’

Edward Tallis accompanied him to the bank then travelled back to Worcestershire with him in order to act as a bodyguard. Sir Marcus was carrying an immense amount of money in his bag and it never left his side throughout the two train journeys. In case of trouble, the superintendent had an old army pistol concealed in his valise. The other reason he went back to Burnhope Manor was to remind himself that he was still theoretically in charge of the investigation. Having telegraphed ahead to Shrub Hill, they arrived to find that a message had been taken out to the house. Vernon Tolley was waiting to drive them there.

The coachman did not have to guess what had happened this time. Sir Marcus and Tallis talked openly about the latest development in the case. All that Tolley did was to keep his ears pricked.

‘What if they don’t hand Imogen over?’ asked Sir Marcus, beset by anxiety. ‘What if she’s no longer alive?’

‘I feel certain that she is,’ said Tallis, confidently. ‘Without a live hostage, he has no bargaining tool. If we don’t see your daughter, no money will be given.’

‘He and his accomplice can live in luxury for the rest of their lives on the amount in this bag. Are you sure that Colbeck will be able to retrieve it?’

‘I am, Sir Marcus.’

‘It’s galling to be compelled to buy my own daughter back like this.’

‘Look at it another way,’ advised Tallis. ‘We’ve had hostages killed before now because their parents were either unable to afford the ransom or because they couldn’t pay it in time. Captain Whiteside will get his money on time.’

‘I look forward to his getting his just desserts.’

‘So do I, Sir Marcus. As an army man, I’m horrified that this whole affair is the work of two deserters. They were a disgrace to the uniforms they wore. If they’d been under my command,’ said Tallis, ‘I’d have had them tied securely to a cannon and given two hundred lashes apiece.’ He gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘It was a punishment that had a tendency to discourage others from similar disobedience.’

Though they talked freely about the treatment that Whiteside and Cullen should receive, they never once introduced Tunnadine into the conversation because they’d agreed to differ on the subject of his punishment. Each man had his own position and neither would be shifted from it. Where they did side with each other was on the decision to keep him unaware of the second ransom demand. If he was not at the exchange, he couldn’t make another disastrous intervention.

When they reached Burnhope Manor, they waited until the coachman had put down the step and they alighted. Sir Marcus hugged the bag protectively as if it were a baby rescued from a house fire. The butler admitted them and they entered the hall to be welcomed by Cassandra and Emma Vaughan. A third member of the family had joined them. He darted forward to shake Sir Marcus’s hand.

‘Good evening, Uncle,’ said the curate.

‘What, in God’s name, are you doing here, Percy?’

‘I’m doing exactly what you just said. I’m here in God’s name.’

‘Percy wanted to offer his assistance,’ explained Cassandra. ‘I wish that I could say the same of my other son but he disappeared off to London.’

‘George would have helped,’ said Emma, loyally. ‘He’s very brave.’

‘I’d prefer to put my trust in Percy.’

‘Why?’ asked Sir Marcus. ‘What does he intend to do?’

‘I intend to appeal to the kidnapper,’ said the curate. ‘When he sees that I’m a man of the cloth, he’ll know I pose no threat to him. I’ll reason with him. I’ll remind him of Christian teaching. I’ll talk to him so persuasively that he’ll hand over Imogen and her maid without asking for anything in return.’

Cassandra beamed. ‘Isn’t that a splendid idea?’

‘No, Mother,’ said Emma. ‘It isn’t. Percy will be in great jeopardy.’

‘He won’t be allowed anywhere near the kidnapper,’ said Tallis. ‘As soon as he sees that his instructions have been defied, the man will probably turn tail and run, taking the hostages with him. All that you’ll have done, Reverend, is to imperil your cousin and her maid. I can’t let you do that.’

‘Neither can I,’ said Sir Marcus.

‘But I’m the ideal person,’ argued Percy.

‘You heard the superintendent. You will not be involved.’

‘The exchange must be left in the hands of Inspector Colbeck,’ said Tallis. ‘He became Sir Marcus on the first occasion and will do so again.’

‘No, he will not,’ asserted Sir Marcus. ‘The kidnapper specified that I should reclaim my daughter and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Inspector Colbeck will not be required this time. I will take the responsibility myself.’

Tallis quailed at the prospect but his authority had been overridden.

Clive Tunnadine congratulated himself on making two wise decisions. He’d hired Alban Kee and he’d told nobody else about the ransom demand. There had been some difficulty in raising the money at such short notice but he’d browbeaten the bank manager and eventually got his way. The politician had declined Kee’s offer to act as a bodyguard, feeling that he could look after the money quite well on his own. He therefore dispatched the private detective to Crewe to get the lie of the land, intending to join him on the morrow. Tunnadine still felt vestigial guilt over the way that he’d assaulted Lucinda Graham. The flowers had acted as a balm and his apology had been accepted by her. Yet he knew it was not enough. Lucinda deserved to be wooed and cosseted. It would be the perfect way to take his mind off the tricky negotiations with the kidnapper that lay ahead.

Though she was pleased to see him, her wariness was evident. He called for a decanter of wine. When the servant had poured two glasses, Tunnadine and his mistress were left alone to drink, relax and enjoy each other’s company. The bruises on her arms had been covered by her dress but, in spite of the cosmetics, he could see the telltale marks on her face. The main thing was that he’d now been forgiven.

Lucinda was even beginning to tantalise him a little. The compact had been made. He would spend the night in her bed and drive away the hideous memories of his earlier visit. Lucinda needed to be indulged.

‘Did you mean what you said when you brought those flowers?’ she asked.

‘I’m a man of honour, Lucinda. Of course, I meant it.’ He sipped his wine. ‘What exactly was it that I said?’

‘To be honest, you didn’t exactly put it into words. You hinted.’

‘And what was the import of my hint?’

She waved an arm. ‘I could look to remain here for a while.’

‘You can stay for longer than that, Lucinda. You’ve earned this house. My visits may be less regular in future but you won’t be ignored, I guarantee. I think you know by now that I’m a man who enjoys the pleasures of life.’

‘It’s a joy to share them with you,’ she said, nestling against his shoulder. ‘You’ve taught me so much.’

‘And you, conversely, have been an excellent tutor to me.’

‘I am always at your command.’

‘That’s what I like to hear.’

They emptied their glasses, refilled them and got steadily more excited about the night of abandon that beckoned them. Tunnadine slipped an arm around her shoulders and took a first, lingering kiss. Lucinda stroked his thigh gently. When he put his glass aside, he stood up so that she could remove his frock coat for him. As she hung it carefully over a chair, she gave a teasing smile.

‘Are you going to be nice to me tonight?’ she asked.

‘I’m going to be extremely nice and extravagantly attentive.’

‘Make sure that you are, Clive.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Because you’ve given me a power over you,’ she taunted. ‘When a man gets married, he puts a dangerous weapon into the hands of his mistress.’ She plucked at his cravat. ‘If you don’t behave exactly as I want you to, then I’ll turn blackmailer and threaten to tell your wife.’

It was a disastrous comment to make. Blind rage seized Tunnadine and he lashed out violently. His first punch knocked her against the wall where he continued to belabour her with both fists. Blood gushed from her nose. He knocked out her two front teeth with a fearsome blow. When she fell to the floor in agony, he kicked her in the stomach then grabbed his coat.

‘Get out of this house!’ he shouted. ‘If you dare to approach my wife, I swear that I’ll kill you with my bare hands.’

It was over.