Unlikely Traitors

by Clare Langley-Hawthorne

  Ursula murmured something inaudible but, she hoped, suitably approving. In truth, Ursula treated her staff with far less formality but she could appreciate Lady Winterton’s demand for discretion.

  Lady Winterton poured Ursula’s tea and was soon sitting back in the plush armchair regarding Ursula thoughtfully as she sipped her cup of Orange Pekoe tea.

  “You still look as though you are in much need of sleep,” she observed.

  “Yes,” Ursula admitted. “In truth I have not been sleeping well.”

  “Understandable, but you must take care of yourself.”

  “I know,” Ursula smiled wanly as she took a sip of tea. The two of them fell into an easy, contemplative silence before Ursula said. “I wonder did Admiral Smythe say anything at the gallery opening to suggest anything was amiss?” Ursula asked.

  “Not to me, he didn’t,” Lady Winterton answered. “He seemed in tolerable good humor that evening. He has never been one for idle chit-chat but I can’t say I suspected he was concerned or worried about anything.”

  “I asked Harrison if I could speak to Admiral Smythe’s housekeeper but he refused.”

  “I’m not sure she would have been much help anyway,” Lady Winterton said. “I believe she only came three days a week or so. Admiral Smythe preferred dining at his club and besides, I don’t think he had the money to afford full time domestic staff. Pity he never married into money—but he’s been a confirmed bachelor for as long as I have known him—or indeed for that matter, for as long as Nigel knew him.”

  “Did Admiral Smythe ever have any female companions?” Ursula inquired.

  “Certainly not,” Lady Winterton responded. She eyed Ursula curiously. “Whatever made you ask that?”

  “I was just thinking that it seemed a little sad that was all. I mean from the photograph I saw in Oxford, he was not an unhandsome man—surely you would expect him to have female ‘friends’ shall we say?”

  “He was a man…” Lady Winterton conceded. “No doubt he had the kind of urges men have—but if he frequented brothels he was discreet about it—I never heard any hint of impropriety or, improper relations of any kind.”

  Ursula put her cup down with a sigh.

  “Sorry,” Lady Winterton said. “Not much help am I?”

  “Oh it’s not that,” Ursula said. “I just cannot stand the fact that I don’t have access to more information regarding the case. I feel as if I’m groping around in the dark.”

  Lady Winterton sipped her tea.

  “Did Harrison or Buckley show you any of the files they found in Smythe’s office?” Ursula asked.

  “No, they said nothing about any of the evidence. They seemed more interested in what I knew about Lord Wrotham’s past than anything to do with Admiral Smythe.”

  “When I met with them they brought out all sorts of stuff from Lord Wrotham’s Balliol days—just to make me doubt him I suspect. Did they ask you about a notebook by any chance?”

  “They asked me if I ever saw Lord Wrotham write in one, and I said no. Though now you mention it, they did ask me about whether I had ever had any conversations with him regarding ciphers or codes which did strike me as rather odd at the time—though I guess they know about our work with the WSPU.”

  Both Ursula and Lady Winterton had worked with the WPSU on trying to implement a coding system for messages sent between branches. This had originally arisen out of concerns that people were infiltrating the organization and tipping off police as to expected protests or other militant activities.

  ”I expect they asked you because of Admiral Smythe’s notebook,” Ursula said.

  Lady Winterton cocked her head. “Notebook?” she queried.

  “Yes, they apparently discovered it in some hidden wall safe at Admiral Smythe’s house. It’s encrypted using some kind of numeric code which Sir Buckley is desperate to break. He’s convinced Lord Wrotham had a similar notebook and that he and Admiral Smythe used a book code of some kind to encrypt their notes regarding their missions for Naval Intelligence.”

  “I didn’t know Admiral Smythe kept a notebook of his missions,” Lady Winterton said.

  “Sounds very clandestine and rather exciting, doesn’t it?” Ursula admitted.

  “Though less exciting when you think it may be used to convict Lord Wrotham,” Lady Winterton added.

  “True,” Ursula conceded and the atmosphere in the room again turned somber.

  “I wonder if we will discover Lord Wrotham kept a notebook too?” Lady Winterton mused.

  “If he did, he hasn’t told me about it,” Ursula said and she could not disguise her bitterness. Lord Wrotham’s silence continued to frustrate her—at times it depressed her to think he had such little faith in her.

  “You know,” Lady Winterton said suddenly. “I still have some of my old photograph albums, would you like me to get them out for you? There may be a few of Lord Wrotham and perhaps even that firebrand, McTiernay. I have some of Nigel’s old photographs too—though most of these remain on his estate in Ireland.”

  Ursula’s mood brightened. “I would indeed like to have a look,” she said.

  Lady Winterton left and soon returned bearing two leather bound photograph albums. Ursula sat next to her on the couch and peered over as Lady Winterton showed her the photographs.

  “Here’s one taken just after Nigel’s funeral,” Lady Winterton pointed to a somber party of men clad in mourning suits. “That’s Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg, next to Lord Wrotham. You can see McTiernay on the other side.”Ursula noticed McTiernay wore what appeared to be a medallion off his fob watch chain. She looked closely but could not make out anything further.

  “It’s a Saint Dismas medallion,” Lady Winterton said, her voice quiet. Ursula jerked back and Lady Winterton regarded her with mild surprise. “Does that mean something to you?”

  “No…” Ursula responded quickly. “It’s nothing…” She was not prepared to disclose everything to Lady Winterton yet—particularly one that merely suggested greater complicity between McTiernay and Lord Wrotham.

  “Did any of the others wear one?” Ursula asked.

  “None of the others were Catholic, my dear,” Lady Winterton reminded her.

  “No, of course not,” Ursula said.

  Lady Winterton continued to turn the pages. “These are just all of the estate…so nothing of interest really here.” Ursula saw a series of grainy pictures of a squat, uninspiring country house as Lady Winterton flipped the pages over. “They were taken of course before we fell on hard times—the estate’s not much to look at now I’m afraid.”

  Ursula knew better than to bring up the issue of Lord Winterton’s financial affairs. It was no secret that his impecuniosity had caused much of Lady Winterton’s family’s resistance to the marriage.

  “Ah, here’s one of Nigel’s old photographs from Balliol,” Lady Winterton said and Ursula leaned over eagerly.

  In the picture all four men were in cricket whites. McTiernay held his bat nonchalantly tucked under his arm and his stance was one of natural arrogance and ease. Lord Winterton and Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg were standing next to him, their cricket jumpers knotted round their necks, sleeves rolled. Lord Winterton’s pale hair looked silvery and provided a sharp contrast to the dark haired McTiernay and Wrotham. Lord Wrotham, who stood a little behind McTiernay, had a tall ice-filled glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He stared at the camera with the haughtiness of youth and Ursula reflected how idyllic the scene seemed to be—although she had to admit they all looked rather hot and impatient from posing for the photograph beneath the glare of the sun.

  “I can’t help but wonder,” Ursula said, as Lady Winterton closed the photograph album. “What really happened between these men—what prompted them to become involved in this case?”

  “I’m afraid only Lord Wrotham can answer that,” Lady Winterton said, “or perhaps the Count, if you find him.”

  “If Admiral Smythe really was murdered, I feel c
ertain that it must have been someone he knew, someone close enough that he would never have suspected…” Ursula’s voice trailed off distracted by her thoughts. “Poisoning seems so personal somehow…and the timing too, so that it would look as if Lord Wrotham was responsible. It makes me wonder whether the person we’re looking for didn’t also have a grudge against Lord Wrotham…”

  “Such a theory sounds a trifle absurd,” Lady Winterton said quietly.

  “I know,” Ursula replied, rubbing her eyes. “When I see those photographs it makes me doubt that any of this could be even possible…but then…”

  “Then?” Lady Winterton prompted.

  “I remember what happened to my father,” Ursula replied. “And I know that though the past can bury secrets, it can never hide them forever. One day, the sins of the past always come back to haunt you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Ursula received word from Pemberton by the first post the following morning, that the citation for the case she was looking for had been located, and she had permission to go to the Temple Library to peruse the case at her earliest convenience.

  Ursula scrambled to finish her breakfast while Julia got her clothes ready, and by half past nine Ursula was striding down Temple Lane towards Church Court and the Temple library, ready, she hoped, to discover a little more about Lord Wrotham’s enigmatic past.

  As Ursula entered and took the volume of King’s Bench reports that had been left for her to her seat, she could feel the stares of the other members of the Temple Inn—for it was hardly usual for a woman to be gracing their library with her presence, let alone actually reading a law case. Ignoring their disapproving looks, Ursula opened up the volume of the King’s Bench reports to the place that Pemberton’s clerk had marked. In the glow of the green and brass table lamp she started turning the pages, her initial excitement fading. The more she read, the more she worried that she was wasting her time—what possible relevance could a commercial case that was almost a decade old have on Lord Wrotham’s arrest for treason?

  Nevertheless she gritted her teeth and continued. The case must have arisen soon after Lord Wrotham ‘took silk’ and was appointed King’s Counsel. It was an appeal to the High Court in the King’s Bench Division pertaining to an alleged breach of contract between a company established for speculative investments (El Dorado Investments) and the Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company. Although most of the discussion centered on the arcane distinction between conditions and warranties and allegations of oral promises made, Ursula was able to grasp that the dispute fundamentally came down to an issue of expectations. El Dorado investments (as per its name) represented a group of investors who had hoped to get rich from gold and diamond mining in Guyana and, when these riches failed to materialized, they sued the Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company. Ursula was not surprised to see reference to two directors of the company, Fergus McTiernay and Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg, but she noted that neither Admiral Smythe nor Lord Wrotham’s association with the company was mentioned. Ursula was unfamiliar with the legal issues discussed, but it was obvious as she read the decision of the Lord Chief Justice (who represented the majority opinion), that Lord Wrotham had not only destroyed the claimants’ arguments in the lower courts, he had also managed to dash all grounds of appeal. Accordingly, El Dorado Investments not only lost the appeal but was also forced to pay all legal costs associated with the case—grounds enough for resentment no doubt—but motivation to contrive evidence against Lord Wrotham for treason? Unlikely.

  “Damn and blast!” Ursula muttered under her breath as she put the heavy tome aside. An elderly barrister clad in black gown and grey wig shot her an outraged look as he passed. Cheeks reddening, Ursula sighed, frustrated that so far she had made little progress. Had Harrison given her the file about Guyana merely to divert her attention from the real issues? In her current state of mind, she could not be sure. All the information she had so far obtained seemed to obfuscate rather than illuminate the truth, but then, Ursula reflected ruefully, the same could also be said about almost everything in Lord Wrotham’s past.

  Ursula was relieved to find the Inner Temple all but deserted as she crossed Church Court and hurried along Crown Office Row. Today, at least, she had been granted a respite from the constant hounding of reporters eager for information on Lord Wrotham’s case. As she walked through the gardens towards the Victorian Embankment and the place where Samuels had been instructed to wait, a short man in a brown sack suit approached her. He bowed, tipping his bowler hat as he did so, before handing her a piece of folded paper. Ursula took and opened it reluctantly.

  On the piece of paper was a handwritten message: Ask Christopher Dobbs about his dealings with Major Frederick Hugh Crawford. This should be sufficient to get you the information you seek. If not, tell him you know about his secret dealings with both Narodna Odbrana and the Serbian society known as The Black Hand.

  The man who had handed her the paper, flashed a crooked smile before saying: “with the compliments of Mr. Fergus McTiernay.” The lilt of his Irish accent was unmistakable but no sooner had Ursula’s glance flickered back the letter than the man disappeared from view with the same disarming alacrity as he had arrived. She studied the message turning the piece of paper between her fingers thoughtfully before placing it in her skirt pocket. Clearly McTiernay knew about Christopher Dobbs—but was he and his message to be trusted? Ursula wondered just what kind of game McTiernay was playing at in helping her—but regardless, she had to pursue whatever information Dobbs may have. Ursula made her way over to the ‘Bertie’ and climbed in the backseat, knowing that no matter how much she despised Dobbs she would have to confront him. Of that she was sure. Ursula gritted her teeth. Tomorrow, she thought, I will do it tomorrow, but in the meantime she would check on the progress of Gerard Anderson’s inquiries. When it came to Christopher Dobbs, it was always prudent to be well-armed.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The brass plaque on the black lacquered door read: Dobbs Shipping Company Ltd. By Appointment to His Majesty, George V. Ursula turned the doorknob and entered a green and black marble-lined entrance foyer. She sniffed in disgust as she saw the long list of Dobbs’ acquisitions posted on a further series of brass plaques just inside the doorway. Madison Steel and Plating Ltd., Liverpool Shipbuilding and Shipyards, Dobbs Munitions and Ammunition Supplies…the list went on, but at least, Ursula reflected, she had prevented Marlow Industries from suffering the same fate. She would rather die than hand over any of her father’s business empire to Christopher Dobbs.

  On the opposite wall, above the secretary’s desk, was a magnificent mural depicting a map of the world, complete with details of all the Dobbs’ companies’ shipping routes. From the cut crystal chandelier that swung from the high ceiling above, to the sleek modern typewriter sitting unused behind the secretary’s high backed chair and the Marconi wireless receiver strategically displayed on a pedestal beneath the window, Christopher Dobbs was determined to display the extent of his power in every expensive detail. It sickened Ursula to see his success displayed so ostentatiously. By all rights he should have been hanged for his role in the deaths of Katya Vilenksy and her sister Arina, but his usefulness to the British government kept him immune from justice.

  Steeling herself for what she must do, Ursula approached the secretary with long deliberate strides. Her boots struck the polished floor with each footfall, creating an illusion of almost masculine authority which Ursula, inwardly nervous, was grateful for. As Ursula reached the high polished front desk with its carved, ship-like details she nodded to the secretary.

  “Kindly inform Mr. Dobbs that Miss Marlow is here to see him,” Ursula instructed with calm assurance. She pulled off her navy blue velvet hat and soft leather gloves as she spoke and regarded the young red-headed secretary with cool appraising eyes. It was not difficult to see why Christopher Dobbs had hired this young woman. She was petite and pretty, with violet eyes and a small pout of a mouth. It was als
o obvious from the bat of her eyelashes and the tap-tap of her fingernails on the shiny desk top that she posed little intellectual threat to him or anyone else.

  “Have you an appointment?” the secretary asked. She looked down at her desk calendar, already flustered.

  “No, I have not,” Ursula replied.

  “Well I’m afraid…” the secretary began hesitantly before Ursula insisted. “Please tell Mr. Dobbs that I am here. I’m sure he will rearrange his schedule if necessary.”

  The telephone rang and the secretary bobbed up and down on her seat before taking the call, her face reddening with a mixture of embarrassment and uncertainty.

  Ursula merely raised an eyebrow. The secretary put the telephone ear-piece down and quickly got to her feet once more. “I will just go and ask him, Miss Marlow.”

  “Much obliged,” Ursula answered.

  The secretary disappeared behind an imposing oak door off to the right. It led, Ursula could only assume, to Christopher Dobbs’ office. It was a far cry, Ursula thought, from the man who just two years ago had taken over his father’s shipping company when it was in dire financial straits. Dobbs now had the money and the influence to own an office in the heart of London’s financial district and he was clearly determined to impress all who entered. It was no secret that Dobbs, convinced a war with Germany was inevitable, was building an armament empire worthy of competing with Vickers and Krupp.

  The secretary emerged quickly from Dobbs’ office.

  “Please come on through,” she said with a squeak. “He will see you right away.”

  “I thought he might,” Ursula muttered under her breath, but still, the palms of her hands were clammy. It was never prudent to underestimate Christopher Dobbs.

  “Miss Marlow,” Dobbs welcomed her from the doorway with a crocodile smile. “I’m surprised it took you this long to come and see me.”

  “I’ve been busy,” Ursula replied.

  “But of course,” Dobbs said as he closed the door behind her. She heard him turn the key in the lock.