11 - Ticket to Oblivion

by Edward Marston

  ‘What’s your advice?’ asked Tunnadine.

  ‘That depends on when the money is ready, sir.’

  ‘My banker says that I can collect it in the morning.’

  ‘Then while you’re doing that, I’ll take a train to Crewe. The letter is careful to give us no details of the actual exchange,’ said Kee. ‘It simply orders you to stay at a nominated hotel on a particular day so that instructions can be delivered to you there.’

  ‘I’ll check the railway timetable in Bradshaw.’

  ‘Do you possess a weapon, sir?’

  ‘I have several firearms and I’m a good shot.’

  ‘Then we are two of a kind for I’ve been trained as a marksman. Between us, I feel sure that we can bring this fellow down – and his accomplice, for he will surely have one. Beware of more tricks, Mr Tunnadine. He’s a guileful man.’

  ‘I’ll insist on seeing that Imogen is alive and unharmed before any exchange is made. We won’t be palmed off with an ignorant country girl this time.’

  In spite of the tiresome delays and the sudden changes of plan, Imogen Burnhope still retained complete faith in the man she loved. Terence Whiteside was everything that she had ever hoped for in a future husband. He was brave, handsome, kind, generous, unbelievably patient and filled with a spirit of adventure. Once she’d got to know Clive Tunnadine, the idea of marrying him was tinged with fear. His political career would always take precedence and she would be compelled to lead the same empty existence as her mother, left at home and largely disregarded. Captain Whiteside was different. He’d offered her a vision of wedded bliss that had entranced her. They were to be secretly married in England before sailing off to France where, he told her, he owned an estate in the Dordogne. Far from discovery, they would create their own private Garden of Eden. The fact that the marriage still hadn’t taken place dismayed her at first but Whiteside had persuaded her that it was only a matter of days before he took her as his wife.

  Imogen might be lulled into a trance by his smooth tongue but Rhoda Wills was deeply troubled by the turn of events. There had been a definite excitement in the prospect of an escape to a foreign country, especially as it involved a degree of play-acting at Oxford station. Rhoda had willingly helped Imogen to put on an army uniform and had tied the bandage in place to conceal part of her face. She’d then expected to be driven to a remote church where the wedding ceremony would take place in private. In their exhilaration, neither she nor Imogen had stopped to question the validity of a marriage conducted in such a way. In the event, it never occurred. Instead of sailing off to the Continent with her newly-wed mistress, Rhoda was being kept in a hotel somewhere in Oxfordshire and fed on a sequence of what she now discerned as patent excuses.

  It was, however, impossible to convince Imogen that anything was amiss.

  ‘I’m very worried,’ said Rhoda.

  Imogen smiled. ‘You’re always worried.’

  ‘Far too many things have gone wrong.’

  ‘That’s not true at all. The moment we stepped onto that train, everything went exactly as arranged. I changed into the uniform that Captain Whiteside had provided and I was whisked away from Oxford as the soldier.’

  ‘I don’t remember the train journey so fondly,’ said Rhoda. ‘You told me to put my head out of the window in the Mickleton Tunnel so that the smoke would darken my complexion and make it more difficult for your aunt to recognise me. All that happened was that my hat blew off and I ended up with a mouthful of dust and a stink of smoke in my nostrils.’ Imogen laughed. Rhoda was aggrieved. ‘It wasn’t funny.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Rhoda,’ said the other. ‘Without you, none of this would have happened. You helped to rescue me from Burnhope Manor. I’ll always remember that.’

  ‘Don’t be grateful until you’re quite sure that you have been rescued.’

  Sharing a sofa in the bay window, they were in the larger and more well appointed of the adjoining rooms. It had the kind of lavishness to which Imogen was accustomed and proved to her that Whiteside really did possess the wealth of which he’d boasted. Rhoda gazed longingly through the window.

  ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if we were allowed to go outside.’

  ‘We can’t do that, Rhoda. We mustn’t be seen.’

  ‘But we’ve been cooped up for days, even eating our meals in here. We both need some exercise. Why can’t we at least take a turn in the garden?’

  ‘It’s only a matter of time before we leave.’

  ‘I wonder,’ said the maid, doubtfully.

  ‘You should read that favourite sonnet of mine. It was the one that Captain Whiteside quoted in his first letter to me. And have you forgotten the name of the locomotive that took us to Oxford?’ asked Imogen, excitedly. ‘It was Will Shakspere. That was a sign. The sonnet I’ve just mentioned was written by Shakespeare. The bit of it that I always call to mind helps me to ignore the minor inconveniences that have afflicted us. ‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds …’ That’s how it is with me, Rhoda. Although our plans have altered slightly, my love has remained constant. Will Shakspere – I’ll always remember the name of that locomotive and so, I trust, will you.’

  ‘What I remember is losing my hat in that tunnel.’

  ‘I gave you my own to wear when I changed into that uniform.’ Rhoda fell silent but her expression spoke volumes. ‘Why are you so sad?’ asked Imogen. ‘Don’t you feel happy for me?’

  ‘I wish that I could,’ replied the maid. ‘I didn’t think that Mr Tunnadine would be a fit husband for you and I hated seeing the way your parents tried to bully you into marrying him. But are you really any better off now?’

  ‘Of course I am. I’ve been blessed with a husband of my own choice.’

  ‘But he’s not your husband, Miss Imogen.’

  ‘He soon will be. You and Sergeant Cullen will be the witnesses.’

  ‘That’s another thing I must mention,’ said Rhoda, glancing over her shoulder. ‘I’ve tried to keep my anxieties to myself because I don’t wish to unsettle you in any way. However, I must speak out about the sergeant. He troubles me.’

  ‘Why? He’s been perfectly civil to both of us.’

  ‘There’s something about him I don’t quite like.’

  ‘He’s Captain Whiteside’s best friend. That in itself should be more than enough to commend him. Why this uncalled-for dislike of Sergeant Cullen? I find that lovely Irish lilt of his so musical.’

  ‘It wasn’t very musical this morning,’ recalled Rhoda. ‘He came into my room when I tried to open your trunk and he ordered me to leave it alone. He used a voice I’d never heard before and it shook me.’

  ‘He was only repeating what the captain told us. Our luggage must be kept locked so that we can leave at a moment’s notice. Besides, I don’t need anything from the trunk, Rhoda. I’m comfortable in what I wear.’

  ‘It upset me a great deal.’

  ‘Then I’ll ask the sergeant to apologise.’

  ‘You might ask him something else at the same time.’

  ‘What’s that?

  ‘After he left the room,’ said Rhoda, ‘I wondered why he’d been so harsh with me. It was unkind of him. So I disobeyed his order. I unlocked the trunk and went through its contents. It’s no wonder he didn’t want me to look inside.’

  ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

  ‘One of your dresses – the pretty red one you like so much – is missing. Either the sergeant or the captain must have taken it out.’ Imogen blanched. ‘Why do you think they did that?’

  Before he caught a train back to Oxford, Colbeck made time for a fleeting visit to his house. When he heard that Madeleine was in her studio, he crept upstairs, opened the door quietly, then moved up behind her to put his hands gently over her eyes.

  ‘Robert!’ she cried in delight. ‘You’re home again.’

  He took his hands away. ‘How did you know it was me?’

  ‘Nobody else would dare to in
terrupt me.’ Turning to face him, she collected a kiss. ‘Even my father would have the sense to keep clear of me when I’m painting. I went to see him yesterday evening, by the way.’

  ‘How is he?’

  ‘At the moment, he’s mystified that you don’t enrol him as a detective on your latest case. He thinks that he has special gifts when it comes to solving crimes on the railways. I’m too soft-hearted to tell him he’d be a terrible hindrance to you.’ She put her paintbrush aside and wiped her hands on a cloth. ‘How long can you stay?’

  ‘No time at all, alas,’ he replied. ‘It will just be long enough for me to gather a few things and bring you up to date with what’s been happening. As soon as I’ve done that, I’m taking Victor back to Oxford.’

  ‘I envy him. I remember the time that you took me there for a day.’

  ‘That was a nostalgic visit. This one has a more serious purpose.’

  Madeleine followed him along the landing to their bedroom. While he collected a few items from the wardrobe, he gave her an outline of the latest developments. She was shocked to hear of the way that Tunnadine had shot the farm labourer and then been granted bail by a magistrate but her chief interest lay in what Colbeck had discovered about the plight of Imogen Burnhope.

  ‘What an appalling situation to be in,’ she said. ‘I feel so sorry for her. This soldier you speak of seems to have got a hold over her that led her to make the most extraordinary decision. She’ll have bitter regrets about leaving her family now.’

  ‘The young lady may not have reached that point yet, Madeleine. When she does, the disenchantment is going to hurt her at a deep level. I do hope that we can get her safely back at the second attempt.’

  ‘Do you think that Captain Whiteside will try to deceive you again?’

  ‘I’m certain of it but he won’t succeed this time.’

  ‘What about Mr Tunnadine?’

  ‘By rights,’ said Colbeck, ‘the man should be behind bars. In his heart, Sir Marcus knows that. It’s the reason he agreed to my request that we say nothing to Tunnadine about the second ransom demand. If fortune favours us, we’ll secure the release of Sir Marcus’s daughter and her maid. While she’s being consoled by her family, we can pursue the kidnapper and his accomplice.’

  ‘She’ll be in a very strange situation,’ commented Madeleine. ‘Having been cruelly misled by a man she loved, Imogen Burnhope will have to go back to one for whom she has no such affection. In a sense, she’s caught between the devil and the deep, blue sea.’

  ‘I dispute that, Madeleine. She could never go back to Tunnadine. If she had any real feelings for the fellow, she’d never have fled from him in the first place. This experience will have been sobering for her,’ said Colbeck. ‘She’ll have suffered badly, yet she’ll have learnt from her suffering. Put yourself in her position. If you’d been duped as she has obviously been, how would you feel?’

  Face puckered, Madeleine took only a second to come to her decision.

  ‘I’d feel as if I’d never trust another man as long as I lived,’ she said.

  ‘Does that include me?’

  ‘You’re an exception to the rule.’

  ‘Tell me why.’

  ‘Stop fishing for compliments, Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘I need something to sustain me during my night away from you.’

  ‘Talk to Victor Leeming.’

  ‘He has limited abilities when it comes to conversation, Madeleine, and he lacks your inimitable charm.’ He kissed his fingers then touched her lips with them. ‘Let me ask you one more question.’

  ‘Who am I supposed to be – Madeleine Colbeck or Imogen Burnhope?’

  ‘Pretend that you’re the latter for a moment,’ he said. ‘Let me repeat my question. Suppose – for the sake of argument – that you’re still under the spell of this clever individual. Suppose that you willingly deceive yourself until the point where the scales finally fall from your eyes.’ He lifted her chin with his finger. ‘What happens then?’

  Imogen Burnhope was in such a state of anguish that she walked up and down the room before flinging herself into a chair then getting up to repeat the whole process again. Her maid’s revelation had wounded her to the quick. Refusing to believe it at first, she’d stormed into the adjoining room and asked Rhoda to unlock the trunk. All of her dresses had been carefully placed in it. The moment the lid was lifted, she began to go through each garment, working her way at a frenetic pace to the very bottom. The evidence was undeniable. The red dress was missing. Imogen had seen it being folded into position so she knew that it had left Burnhope Manor with her. She could think of no reason why Captain Whiteside or Sergeant Cullen had removed it without even asking her permission. It was not merely a disconcerting incident. It was a first cruel jolt out of her beautiful dream.

  A second jolt followed immediately. Her beloved captain was not at the hotel but she knew that Cullen was still there. Eager to confront him and demand the truth, she went to the door and discovered that a key had been turned in the lock from the outside. It was the same in her room. There was no way out. At a stroke, Imogen and her maid had turned from pampered guests into virtual prisoners. All the delays and adjustments to the original plan now took on a more sinister aspect. While she tried desperately hard to convince herself that Whiteside would never betray her, the truth at last began to dawn on her and it had a shattering impact. Insisting on being left alone, she moved restlessly around her room, pausing every now and then to stare through the window in the hope of seeing the return of the man who’d brought her there.

  It was over an hour before she saw him ride up and hand his horse over to an ostler. As he walked towards the hotel, he saw her in the window and doffed his hat before making a low bow. It banished her fears for a few seconds but they soon came back to assail her. By the time he tapped on the door and turned the key in the lock, she was quivering with fright and bewilderment.

  ‘What ails you, my love?’ he said, seeing her distress and taking her in his arms. ‘Is this the welcome that I get?’

  She pushed him away. ‘Please don’t touch me.’

  ‘But you like me to touch you, Imogen.’

  ‘I want an explanation.’

  ‘What sort of explanation?’

  ‘To start with,’ she said, ‘I wish to know why Rhoda and I are locked into our rooms. That’s never happened before.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, grinning, ‘is that all that’s put that frown on your lovely face? It’s my fault. I should have told you. While I was away, Sergeant Cullen had to step out of the hotel for a while. I told him to lock both doors so that nobody could disturb you. Your father has launched a search for you. Sir Marcus has offered a large reward for information leading to the discovery of your whereabouts. I didn’t want some inquisitive underling to see the pair of you and tell tales. Don’t you understand, my love?’ he went on with a smile. ‘You and your maid were not being locked in – other people were being locked out.’

  It was a plausible explanation and she accepted it for a while. Imogen even allowed him to embrace her again but it was somehow different now. She no longer enjoyed the tender feel or the manly smell of him. The honeyed words he whispered in her ear had lost their potency. She stepped back.

  ‘I want you to be honest with me, Terence,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve never been anything but honest,’ he claimed.

  ‘Where have you been?’

  ‘I had people to call on and places to visit.’

  ‘What people and which places?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I have a right to know.’

  ‘Then I can tell you that I had some dealings at a bank in Oxford and visited the man who’s arranged our passages to France. It’s taken him longer than expected to forge the passports. That accounts for the delay.’

  ‘When do we leave?’

  ‘We leave when everything is in order, my love. Don’t fret about it.’

  ‘You kee
p prevaricating, Terence. I’m bound to fret.’

  He spread his arms. ‘I thought you trusted me.’

  Imogen studied him. She had never trusted anyone so completely in her life. She struggled to recapture that trust. Terence Whiteside was the same tall, dashing soldier she’d first met in Christ Church Meadow. He had a weather-beaten look that only added to his appeal. What she’d loved about him was that he was essentially a man of action. His years in the army had taught him to make decisions quickly. His life had often depended on these decisions. Imogen was impressed by that. When he started to court her, he did so with almost chivalric attention. Urbane and educated, he’d taught her to love Shakespeare’s sonnets as much as he did, using quotations from them in his letters and drawing her ever closer to him.

  She’d never seen him glower at her before but that was what he did now.

  ‘What is going on?’ he demanded.

  ‘I asked for an explanation, that’s all.’

  ‘There’s something behind your questions.’ He looked towards the next room. ‘Has that maid been whispering in your ear?’

  ‘Rhoda is as anxious as I am.’

  ‘She’s a servant. I’ll not have her upsetting my plans.’

  ‘But your plans keep changing, Terence,’ she said, emboldened by her anger. ‘And you do things without warning us beforehand. When Rhoda tried to open the trunk, she was chided by Sergeant Cullen. She later discovered why.’

  ‘Then she’s an interfering bitch!’

  Imogen was shaken. ‘Don’t speak like that about her.’

  ‘I’ll speak as I choose.’

  ‘What did you do with my red dress?’ she challenged.

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Yes, you do. It was a favourite of mine and it was packed in the trunk. When Rhoda went through the contents, it was missing.’