Unlikely Traitors

by Clare Langley-Hawthorne

  Ursula quickly examined her surroundings, taking note of the tall cabinets and bookshelves, the framed photographs of Dobbs with an array of powerful men, and the large replica navigator’s globe on a wooden stand in the corner. Everything was designed to impress, but, she suspected, Dobbs was also sending a message to those like her who dared to challenge him. Opposition, this room said, was not only futile—it was dangerous.

  Ursula took a seat on one of the leather armchairs in front of Dobbs’ oversized desk. She crossed her legs and arms to conceal her nervousness and watched as he walked round to take position behind the large mahogany desk. The swagger in his step was galling.

  “I’ve been looking into some of your Irish friends,” Ursula said as he inched forward on the wooden swivel chair. She set her hat and gloves down on the chair beside her.

  Dobbs regarded her with amusement. “Really?” he said.

  “Yes, Major Frederick Hugh Crawford, to be exact,” she replied and was gratified to see that his smile faded a little.

  “What of it?” Dobbs asked.

  Ursula dug out her notebook from her skirt pocket. “Seems that one of your shipping companies has done quite a bit of business with the major. Even more interesting is that one of your armament firms also seems involved.” Ursula made a show of finding a page in her notebook, grateful that Anderson had discovered this much, at least. “Now, let me see,” she said, “Ah yes, a shipment of rifles was made just last week.” She glanced up quickly.

  Was she imagining it or did Dobbs’ eyes narrow for a moment? There was certainly a dangerous glint in them. Ursula knew she would have to tread carefully.

  “I was surprised,” she said, closing her notebook. “I would have thought the British government would have taken a dim view of gun running for the Ulster Unionists.”

  Dobbs said nothing but continued to watch her warily.

  “Oh, I know the Unionist cause has the support of many in parliament,” Ursula said. “But I feel sure that there are many in the government who would consider arming Ulster for a possible revolt against Home Rule as tantamount to treason…You wouldn’t want the wrong people to learn about your involvement, would you? You are, after all, only alive because the government deemed you to be a useful lackey to have on its side.” She paused and saw the flush of anger rising on Dobbs face. “If I had my way,” she added, “you would have been hanged for murder”—bitterness crept into her tone—“But if I can’t have that satisfaction, the least I can do is see you hang for this.”

  “Only one man is likely to hang, my dear,” Dobbs responded, his composure returning with all its icy arrogance, “and I am happy to testify in court to ensure that he does.”

  Ursula guessed that Dobbs could count on the tacit support of some of the conservative members of parliament and her knowledge of his Unionist activities was not, as yet, a sufficient threat to his position. She would need to use all the information McTiernay had provided her if she was to succeed in drawing him out, even though Anderson had found no evidence linking Dobbs to the pan-Serbian organization known as The Black Hand.

  “Your chums at Whitehall would perhaps be less supportive if they knew about some of your other little side deals,” Ursula said smoothly. “I can’t imagine they wish to see organizations such as Narodna Odbrana or The Black Hand receiving British armaments or intelligence—especially not from a man whose fortune and freedom rests on doing exactly what the government wishes.”

  Dobbs edged his chair away from the desk. His eyes bored into hers but Ursula remained calm. She sensed his uncertainty—that he was worried exactly how much she knew about his activities. In truth, Ursula only had McTiernay’s note to go on and there was always a chance that Dobbs would call her bluff. Ursula maintained eye contact with Dobbs with what she prayed appeared to be calm indifference.

  “Perhaps,” she offered, forcing a confident smile. “I could forget all that I know about your little side deals, if you provided me with the information you have regarding Lord Wrotham’s case.”

  Dobbs rocked back on the swivel chair and watched her closely.

  “It’s up to you,” Ursula said, getting to her feet as if to go. “The satisfaction I will get from thwarting you is almost enough to outweigh helping Lord Wrotham. Believe me, I won’t hesitate to use what I know against you.”

  “I have no doubt of that,” Dobbs responded gesturing for her to sit, “and I will give you what you want on the proviso that you keep your mouth shut.”

  “Your sordid dealings are of no further concern to me,” she answered coolly.

  Christopher Dobbs rose to his feet and crossed the room. Hidden inside one of the lower cabinets of the bookshelves was a large wall safe. With his back turned to her, Dobbs quickly opened it and rummaged for a few seconds before extracting a single piece of ledger paper.

  He walked back and tossed it to her across the desk.

  “This is it?” she asked, regarding the sheet with skepticism.

  “That’s all I have at the moment,” he answered. “A closer examination will reveal it to be a summary of the financial accounts for the Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company dated 1907 with corresponding links to investments made by Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg and Fergus McTiernay. You don’t need to be certified as an accountant to work out that both men were defrauding the company. I’m sure by now you know that Lord Wrotham defended the company in a court case brought by disgruntled investors.”

  Ursula gave a short sharp nod and continued to watch Dobbs suspiciously. She knew better than to take anything on face value from him.

  “I just happen to know that the reason the Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg is testifying against Lord Wrotham is because someone threatened to divulge where the money is to the Count’s extremely long list of creditors. Now the Count may be a fool but he’s not stupid enough to allow wind of this to reach the ears of men like those associated with The Black Hand. If they were to learn the truth about the money from Guyana then they might start getting suspicious—and if they delve deeper they are likely to discover a number of unsavory business practices from their dear friend the Count…He is worried not just about his safety but also his reputation among Germany high society. The last thing he wants is for anyone to discover what really happened in Guyana.”

  “Why were you originally offering to tell me this?” Ursula asked. “There must have been something you were hoping to get in return.”

  ”What, apart from the enjoyment of bedding you?” Dobbs said and she flushed at the reference to their conversation at Lady Winterton’s party. Dobbs really was a brute, but Ursula was not about to give him the satisfaction of another outburst. Instead she merely raised an eyebrow enquiringly.

  “Your investigations into Lord Wrotham’s case will undoubtedly uncover information regarding potential rivals in the armaments trade,” Dobbs replied briskly. “Information that may prove useful to me one day.”

  “And you really thought I would be willing to share this information with you?” Ursula said.

  Dobbs smirked. “If I know you, it will end up on the front page of every newspaper in the country.”

  Ursula felt uneasy, now she had played the hand McTiernay had given her, she was not at all sure that Dobbs was not still holding something back.

  “There is still one thing I’d like to know,” Ursula said.

  “And that is?” Dobbs regarded her insolently.

  “Who exactly used the information you’ve given me, to compel Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg to testify against Lord Wrotham?”

  Dobbs smiled. “Ah, that little piece of information would require further payment…”

  Ursula felt a surge of anger. She snatched her hat and gloves and quickly rose to her feet.

  “Don’t tell me your scruples are now suddenly offended,” Dobbs said with a laugh. “Remember my dear, you came to me…as you will come to me again when you realize you still need my help.”

  “Kindly unlock the door,” U
rsula said stiffly, trying to maintain a tenuous hold on self-control, “so that I can leave.”

  “As you wish,” Dobbs replied. He slowly got up out of his chair, stretched his neck and walked around from behind the desk. Ursula was still standing, holding the back of the chair to steady herself as she waited for the rage to subside. She turned go but as she did so, Dobbs gripped her wrists and forced her back down on the chair to face him. He pinned her arms behind her easily, pressing his weight down upon her.

  His hot breath was on her cheeks even as she struggled to turn her face away, even as she kicked and writhed beneath him. “You don’t seriously imagine that your petty threats will ever succeed against me—and please, there’s no point in screaming,” he said in a low voice in her ear, “all my employees know when to be discreet.”

  Dobbs’ strength took Ursula by surprise. She had been under his power once before, when he had threatened to kill her over her discovery of his part in the death of Katya Vilensky, and she was under no illusion that he would have any qualms about doing the same now.

  “Soon,” Dobbs said, “you and I are going to have a long overdue chat about gratitude and respect—”

  Ursula arched her back trying to cause him to lose his balance but all he did was press his hands against her wrists more tightly. “Although I grow impatient with our conversations,” he murmured in her ear, “I must confess I’m beginning to find the challenge…exciting…”

  His tongue licked the tip of her ear and then slid down along her neck. Ursula tried to kick him in the shins but Dobbs pinned her legs down with the full weight of his body.

  “Hmmm…” he said, his voice muffled by the folds of her shawl style collar. “I always knew you would smell good. I bet you taste even better.”He moved his head down to where her jacket parted and the cut of her silk shirt revealed the swell of her breasts. With the tip of his front teeth glimmering in the overhead electric light, he lightly bit at one of her nipples beneath the fabric. Ursula’s body froze with the shock of such a chillingly intimate and abhorrent act. She could not move. Could not fight him. Her body was too numb to react. A small dark patch of saliva remained on her blouse as Dobbs pulled away from her with a smile. Her senses finally awoke and she tore herself free from his grasp. But by now Dobbs was satisfied; he made no attempt to continue to hold her down. Nauseated, Ursula stumbled to her feet as Dobbs calmly walked to the door and unlocked it.

  “I look forward to seeing you again, Miss Marlow,” he said. “When you return, as no doubt you will, begging me for further answers.”

  As she passed him, Ursula faced him with such ire she could barely control the rage in her voice. “If I had a gun,” she said, “I would have killed you for that.”

  “If you had a gun. Miss Marlow, I would have wrested it from you.” Dobbs leaned in towards her. “Then,” he said, “I really would have been able to have everything his Lordship has had.”

  Ursula got into the back seat of Bertie and struggled to pull a handkerchief out from her skirt pocket. She kept her jacket buttoned tightly to hide the stain on her blouse.

  “Are you all right?” Samuels asked anxiously as Ursula retched.

  She nodded weakly. “Just take me home.” She could barely speak, the disgust was so great.

  Samuels faithfully drove her home as quickly as possible, weaving his way through the London traffic with one eye open for any reporters who might still be hoping to catch a glimpse of her for their latest story. Thankfully there were none waiting for them outside Chester Square and Ursula was safely escorted by Samuels up the stone steps and inside before the neighbors’ curtains even parted.

  Once inside, Julia bundled Ursula upstairs and stood by in stunned astonishment as Ursula tore off her jacket and shirt as soon as she entered her bedroom. Ursula threw them both to the floor before collapsing on her bed. Her breathing was still ragged and the sour taste in her mouth remained—even as she tried to drive the image of Christopher Dobbs from her mind.

  “Can I get you anything, Miss?” Julia asked anxiously.

  Ursula shook her head. “Just burn it,” she said, pointing to the offending silk shirt that lay crumpled on the floor.

  “Burn it?” Julia echoed.

  “Yes,” Ursula said as she laid her head back to contain the nausea that rose once more. “Burn it and then send Hugh Carmichael a telegram. Tell him I need to buy a lady’s gun.”

  That night Biggs delivered a note from Chief Inspector Harrison. It was brief and to the point. No fingerprints could be obtained from the files found on Admiral Smythe’s desk. We are proceeding on the assumption that they are not forgeries. You should reconsider your position. Any information you provide me I can use to plead for clemency in His Lordship’s case.

  Ursula tossed the note into the fireplace but as she leaned her head against the mantel she closed her eyes. She could see the photograph of the four men in her mind—captured on that idyllic summer’s day at Balliol—and was reminded of Tennyson’s words in the poem “The Princess”: O Death in Life, the days that are no more. It was all she could do to keep from weeping.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  BROMLEY HALL, NORTHAMPTONSHIRE

  “What news do you have then?” Lady Wrotham asked, flicking the crumbs from her lap onto the floor where they were hastily licked up by one of the collies. Her tone remained petulant. No doubt, Ursula reflected, she wished to be in London where she could milk the drama of her son’s arrest for all it was worth, but Ursula was not about to install Lady Wrotham in her Chester Square home and Lord Wrotham had vowed long ago that his mother was never to step foot in his Mayfair abode. So Lady Wrotham had to be content sitting in the Green Room, but she did not have to pretend to be happy about it. Biding her time in the shadows of Bromley Hall was hardly the dowager’s style.

  For her part, Ursula felt compelled out of a sense of duty to visit Lady Wrotham and relay to her what news she could of her son’s condition as well as progress in the case. Needless to say, Ursula told her nothing of her own enquiries, Christopher Dobbs, or the file on Guyana that Harrison had shown her.

  “After all the grief he’s given me of late my nerves are in shreds! I tell you, if I never hear from my son again it will be too soon.”

  “Lady Wrotham,” Ursula said gently. “I know you don’t mean that.”

  The dowager pulled a lace handkerchief from the pocket of her chiffon blouse and dabbed her eyes. Ursula, unmoved by Lady Wrotham’s feigned sensibilities, reached out to stroke one of the collie’s ears (who were still hoping for further tidbits from Lady Wrotham’s plate).

  “I’m sure it will all blow over in good time,” Ursula said as if comforting the dog. “You’ll see…It will all turn out to be a grave mistake, that’s all.”

  Lady Wrotham stuffed the handkerchief up her sleeve. “From what I hear, that’s the last thing it will turn out to be,” she replied caustically. “How, pray tell, can I be expected to restore the family’s good name if I am not in London but stuck out here in the middle of Northamptonshire?! How can I disavow all knowledge of Oliver’s indiscretions—rebut the whispers and insinuations, if I…am…not…there?” The last four words were stressed with an emphatic shake of an index finger.

  “It cannot be helped,” Ursula replied. “Believe me you are better off here where you cannot be hounded by the press.”

  Lady Wrotham harrumphed. “I assure you, there are quite a few things I would like the press to hear…”

  Ursula was not sure how much longer her irritation with Lady Wrotham could remain in check.

  “Unless you have anything good to say about your son, I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself,” Ursula snapped. To her surprise Lady Wrotham actually looked abashed for a moment.

  “I’m sorry,” Ursula apologized. “I shouldn’t be taking out my frustration on you. I just wish I could put the pieces together and begin to understand what’s going on.”

  “When it comes to Oliver, I gave up trying to do th
at years ago,” Lady Wrotham responded with a sniff. “After Guyana the man was more private than ever—if that was humanly possible.”

  “So he never told you anything about what happened there?” Ursula asked bleakly.

  “No. Though I noticed that he no longer invited his Balliol friends to the estate—no loss, I assure you. But by then he hardly ever came up here anyway—always holed up in London with his legal work and his time in the House of Lords…Never took me to the continent did he? No—I was always stuck away here, forgotten…”

  “I think I’d better go see if the library is back in order,” Ursula said, getting hastily to her feet. She had just about enough of Lady Wrotham’s selfishness for one day.

  Lady Wrotham glared at Ursula as she gave the servants’ bell a short sharp tug. “At least Ayres continues to show me a little respect!” she said, drawing her head back imperiously.

  Ursula hurried out of the room before she said something she would be sure to regret. In her rush, she almost bumped into Ayres in the hallway.

  “Ah, Miss Marlow…was it you that rang?”

  Ursula shook her head. “No, it was her Ladyship. I’m just escaping…I mean, on my way, to see how the library is holding up.”

  “May I recommend that you avoid that Miss Marlow,” Ayres said. “I fear what you see there may…”

  “Induce a fit of apoplexy?” Ursula supplied.

  Ayres exhaled loudly “The Metropolitan Police have, I fear, failed, to respect our wishes and the place is in disarray. We are still trying to rectify the situation, I’m afraid.”

  “Don’t worry, I will steel myself for what’s in store,” she reassured him. “Though, Lady Wrotham, I’m afraid, may require some fortification of her own…”

  Ayres lifted up his tray. “I thought this fine sherry that you sent from Fortnum’s could be just the thing to lift her ladyship’s spirits.”

  Ursula tipped an imaginary cap at Ayres with a smile and continued on her way down the hallway towards the picture gallery.