by V. B. Tenery
Bletchley Park Mansion
Buckinghamshire, England
Aubrey Milford had spent the last week with British commandos training in marksmanship, demolition, hand-to-hand combat, and many, many endurance marches. He had the blisters to prove it. Holding his own with the much younger men wasn’t easy, but he’d managed to stay abreast.
Unlike his compatriots who remained billeted at camp for the duration, Aubrey returned to Buckinghamshire for the weekend. He’d made it back to the Mansion earlier than he’d thought, but he’d still arrived after Grace left for her dinner with Lewis. Before reporting in, he stopped at the canteen to grab a bite and found it almost deserted.
Aubrey now worked out of Waddon Hall, about five miles away. Overcrowding was an ongoing problem at Bletchley Park. One branch had moved to Switzerland; others had been placed in strategic areas. He’d just learned Switzerland would be his destination when he completed training.
He’d thought a lot about the changes in his life over the past month. When he met Grey Hamilton for the first time since they parted at university, Aubrey had been happily complacent. He had a job he loved and was set to marry a woman he thought he adored. He’d lost it all and discovered it didn’t really matter. It had been a myth of his own making. God in His infinite wisdom had a different plan. He’d turned Aubrey’s world upside down, and given him something far superior.
Fatigue swept over him after he left a message at C’s office. It had rained all day and Aubrey had marched ten miles across the cold, wet countryside. Now his only wish was to get to his quarters and sleep the weekend away. He trudged down the main stairway and had just stepped into the lobby, when a page for him sounded over the PA system.
***
Mack chatted away on the drive to Buckinghamshire about wanting to get back to America and hoping he never had to see France again. Grey only half listened.
“Why don’t you take that lovely wife of your and move to America,” Mack said. “Just until this war is over.”
Grey cast a side-ways glance at him. “If America was under attack, would you move somewhere safe?”
A hearty laugh rumbled from Mack’s chest. “Not hardly.”
Grey’s thoughts returned to something that had nagged him all the way across the Channel. Finally free of the daily life and death struggles in Frame, his mind was drawn back to the Vidal case. Details he should have questioned long ago. Everyone, himself included, had been too quick to accept the easy answer: that Gunter Becke was the killer.
He was troubled by that first interview with Nigel Lewis the night he arrived at the Bristol Arms. His total recall rolled the facts of the case before the window of his mind. He recalled Nigel’s words verbatim: “There’s been a murder upstairs, apartment 3C. The girl’s name is Jacky Vidal, strangled with her own scarf. She worked at Bletchley Park.”
How had Nigel known she was strangled with a scarf, and how would he know it was her scarf? He’d also failed to mention he knew Jacky Vidal personally. Edwin Fossbury had said Nigel introduced him to Jacky. That was important, and yet Nigel had said nothing.
The files of his memory flashed back to the crime scene list Aubrey had shown him. Nigel’s name wasn’t on the list. Had he come into the flat without it being logged?
Grey needed to speak to Aubrey, but due to his absence from Scotland Yard, he had no way to contact him.
At nine o’clock in the evening, the Mansion lobby was empty. People were either working or sleeping. Grey stepped into the entrance and the public address system paged of all people, Aubrey Milford. He glanced up to see his friend hurrying down the main staircase.
Aubrey strode quickly across the marble floor. “Grey, old man. Good heavens, we’ve been trying to find out where you were for weeks. When did you get here?”
Grey dropped his luggage on the marble floor and clasped Aubrey’s hand. “Just now. What are you doing here? Do you know where Grace is?”
Aubrey gave his shoulder a hardy pat. “Let me take this call. Then I’ll answer all your questions.”
He hung up the phone, then hurried back to where Grey stood. “That was Grace. She asked me to come pick her up. I think she’s in trouble. We were disconnected before I could ask any questions.”
“Where did she call from?”
Aubrey explained as they hurried to Grey’s Bentley. “She was having dinner in Buckinghamshire with Nigel Lewis. She asked me to accompany them, but I didn’t get back to the Mansion until a few minutes ago.”
“She’s with Nigel? Dear God. Hurry, man. I’m sure Nigel killed Jacky Vidal. I’ll explain on the way.”
Smythe-Groves Mansion
Buckinghampshire, England
The sensation of extreme cold brought Grace back into consciousness. She opened her eyes in a dark room lighted only by candles. When she twisted her neck to scan the dimly-lit room, her head exploded with pain so intense it felt like being bashed repeatedly with a cricket bat. She gave a low moan and lay back on the bed.
It was a large bedroom, with heavy Victorian furniture and green brocade drapes. A massive marble fireplace resided on one end of the room. French doors at the other end apparently led to the balcony.
Nigel Lewis strode across the room and stopped at the bedside. “Ah, I see you’ve awakened. Sorry about the knock on the head, but I had no choice.”
He tied her hands and feet with coarse rope and secured the ends to the bed frame. “I won’t gag you. There’s no one to hear if you scream. I truly am sorry about this, Grace. I’ll try to make this quick. I don’t want you to suffer.”
In a voice laden with sarcasm, she said, That’s thoughtful of you, Nigel.”
He pushed the hair away from her face and caressed her cheek. “I’m sincerely sorry, whether you believe it or not. I should have thrown that stupid coin away, but it was a memento of Jacky, you see. I truly loved her, but after I introduced her to Fossbury she didn’t know I existed.
“That night . . . I asked her to marry me. She told me Edwin had already proposed. I tried to convince Jacky he would never make her his wife because of his position. She laughed and said even if he didn’t, she would never marry me.
“I went mad. I grabbed the scarf around her neck . . . when I came to myself, she lay in my arms, limp . . . dead. I truly didn’t mean to kill her. It just . . . happened.”
He sat on the bedside and stared down at her. “I was sure Grey and Inspector Milford would realize I was the killer. That’s when I hired the waiter to spike your tea. I thought the photographs would scare him off.” Nigel barked a harsh laugh. “Instead, Grey married you. I never thought of that. When he caught Gunter Becke and the case was closed, I thought it had ended.”
He checked the ropes to make sure they were snug. “Just my rotten luck you had to recognize that coin.”
Grace watched his face, looking for any signs of weakness she could use against him. His face was gray and cold, like a stone mask. “You killed Tilley and sent that man to kill me.”
He stood and shook his head. “No, my dear. I had no reason to kill you or Tilly. That would have been Becke or someone he hired. He knew you both could identify him.
“What are your gentle plans to murder me, Nigel?”
“I’m going to set fire to my friend’s musty old mansion. It will serve him right for not letting our soldiers billet here. Don’t look so frightened, my dear. I’ll torch the bottom floor first. You’ll die of smoke inhalation long before the flames reach the third floor.”
Loch Fyne Seafood
Buckinghamshire, England
It was almost eleven when Grey slid the Bentley to the curb at the restaurant’s front entrance. The maître d’ met him and Aubrey in the foyer.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen, we’re just closing.”
We’re trying to locate a man and woman who dined here this evening. A reservation for Nigel Lewis. Are they still here?”
“He looked at the reservation book. “They were seated in section eight.
Let me check with their waiter. Albert serves that area.”
“Never, mind,” Grey showed him his credentials. “Just point out the waiter.”
With Aubrey close behind, Grey found the right area. Only one couple sat at a table and it wasn’t Nigel and Grace.
A waiter, presumably Albert, hurried across the floor. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for a couple who were seated at one of your tables tonight. He’s a tall, thin man about thirty-four, with a beautiful blond woman. When did they leave?”
“I think I know who you mean. I didn’t actually see them leave. The lady left the table and headed towards the ladies room. I went to the kitchen to check on orders for my customers and when I returned, the gentleman had gone. He left notes on the table for their dinner.”
“What time was this?” Grey asked.
The waiter screwed his face into a thoughtful frown. “I’d say about forty-minutes ago, sir.”
Aubrey tapped a cigarette on his case and lit it. “That must have been when she called me to come for her.”
Thoughts of the night the German had almost thrown Grace off the balcony almost paralyzed him with fear and panic. His mind disengaged with gut-wrenching frustration. He was going to lose her. He ran to the car, his heart pounded so hard he thought his chest couldn’t contain it. “Do we know where Nigel is staying, what he’s driving? We have to find her, Aubrey, and soon, before that madman kills her.”
“Let’s go back to the Mansion. Lewis would have had to sign the car in at the gate. The guards will know what he’s driving, and may even know where he stopped over.”
It took thirty precious minutes to get back to the Park. Grey stopped at the gate and waved the guard over. “I need some information fast. My wife’s life is in danger. What kind of motor car was Nigel Lewis have tonight, and do you know where he is stays when he’s here?”
The guard pulled the gate log and Aubrey wrote down the cars description.
“I believe Mr. Lewis stays at the old Smythe-Groves estate when he’s here. He’s mentioned it a few times,” the guard said and gave them directions.
“Call the constable in Buckinghamshire and tell him to get out there as fast as possible,” Grey said. “We’ll meet them there.”
Grey slammed the Bentley into reverse and pressed the accelerator to the floorboard.
CHAPTER 23
Smythe-Groves Mansion
Buckinghampshire, England
The powerful engine shot forward and ate up the ten miles to the mansion in no more than fifteen minutes. A bright glow on the horizon almost stopped his heart.
Fire!
He pulled as close to the front entrance as possible and still avoid the flames. He jerked the vehicle into park and jumped out, leaving the door open. The constable’s car and an ambulance stopped beside him. Grey didn’t hesitate. Aubrey could explain.
Grey charged into the foyer and stopped.
Nigel Lewis stood in the center of the room, the staircase behind him enveloped in flames, a Luger aimed at Grey’s chest. “I should have expected her knight to run to the rescue. That’s how my luck has been running of late.”
“Where is she, Lewis? Tell me, or so help me I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Nigel lowered the gun, his voice low and tired. “You are probably too late. As you can see, the stairs are an inferno. But if you can get to her, she’s in a bedroom on the third floor, west side.” Lewis gazed at the constable’s emergency lights outside the entrance. “As they say in films, it looks like the jig is up.”
Aubrey burst into the foyer and before he reached Lewis, the man pressed the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.
Grey didn’t wait. Nigel wasn’t important. Grey had to find Grace. His leaden feet dashed into the kitchen. In a house this size, there was always a servant’s staircase to the upper floors. He removed the wool scarf from his neck and stopped at the sink. Dousing the scarf with water, he tied it over his mouth and nose and charged up the back stairs, taking the steps two at a time to the next level.
Smoke and heat billowed behind him as he fought his way to the third floor. The only way was up, but once he found Grace there would be no way back down either set of stairs.
The smoke wasn’t as heavy on the top floor, and he pulled the scarf down and turned west. “Grace! Grace! Grace!” he shouted her name with each step. Above the roar and crackle of the flames he heard a faint cry. “Here. I’m in here.”
The sound came from the last room on the end.
With every ticking second the fire moved closer down the hall and when he reached the door, he felt it to make sure there was no heat on the other side.
It was still cool to the touch.
He turned the knob and shoved it open, then closed it solidly behind him. That’s when he saw her.
She was tied to the bed, face pale, lovely blue eyes wide with shock, still wearing her coat and shoes.
All they’d experienced together, all the time they had spent apart, all the worrying about her safety, and now words refused to leave his tongue.
She was here.
She was alive.
Grace struggled to lift her head from the pillow. “Grey, oh Grey . . . I’ve been afraid you were dead . . . when did you . . . how did you find me?”
“Hush, sweetheart. I’ll answer all your questions as soon as we get you out of here.”
As he struggled with the restraints, he wished for his pack and the very sharp knife inside. Smoke seeped into the room and it was becoming more difficult to breathe. It took three valuable minutes to untie her hands and another two to loosen her feet.
“Can you stand?”
“I think so. Nigel hit me with something and I have a terrible headache. I may have a concussion. Where is he?”
“He shot himself after I arrived.”
Grey helped her to her feet. “Go out on the balcony and close the door behind you. We don’t want to feed fire any more oxygen than necessary.”
“I don’t want to leave you . . .”
“Do as I say. I’ll be with you shortly. I’m going to tie the bedsheets together and make a ladder of sorts. Now go.”
After she’d gone, he quickly stripped the bed, and tied the sheets together in tight knots. The fire’s roar from the corridor increased as he finished his ladder. He lowered himself to the floor. Air was a little cleaner there and breathing became easier. They had to get over that balcony rail soon before the whole structure collapsed and took them with it.
Dragging the sheets behind him, he stepped onto the terrace and tied the sheets to the rail and looked down. It was almost one floor too short.
He gazed into Grace’s eyes. “This is about four meters short of freedom, but the gallery extends over the pool. The water looks nasty. Probably hasn’t been used for years so keep your mouth closed and don’t breathe. However repugnant, it’s softer than the ground.”
On the other side of the French doors, hungry flames filled the bedroom and licked at the mullioned glass. “Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“Climb onto my back and put your arms around my neck. Hold tight.” He eased over the rail and waited until her arms were secure around his neck. He inched down the makeshift rope, praying the linen threads weren’t rotted with age.
Her face was pressed against the back of his head, and he smiled. “Does this situation give you a déjà vu moment from the Bristol Arms?”
“It certainly does. After this, I intend to stay away from anything higher than ten feet off the ground.” She snugged her face against his shoulder.
“Careful, woman. Don’t distract me. I need to get our feet on terra firma before the roof falls on us. By the way, I’ll never again complain again about your meager appetite. Any more weight and these sheets would likely rip into shreds.”
His hand reached the last knot. “My love, we have literally come to the end of our rope. You ready?”
Her head nodded ag
ainst the back of his neck.
“I’ll count to three, then let go. When I do, shut your eyes tightly, take a deep breath, keep your mouth closed, and for heaven’s sake don’t breathe. That water is not only sludge, it’s ice-cold. By the way, you do swim, don’t you?”
There was a quiver in her voice when she answered. “Yes, but never in sludge.”
“You can do it,” he assured her.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
He sent up a prayer and let go.
Never had he experienced such fierce cold as the icy water that covered every millimeter of his body. The shock shivered through him, taking his breath away. Not a bad thing while under water. When they landed in the pool Grace released her grip, but he grabbed her hand. The water was too murky to find her if they became separated. They hit the bottom and pushed upward to the surface.
When their heads popped up, Aubrey, two constables, and two ambulance attendants in white uniforms waited.
He and Grace swam to the pool’s side and the men pulled them up onto the deck. The ambulance driver provided two blankets, and the burning castle provided welcome heat.
The rescuers were silent as he walked Grace to the rear of the ambulance. No conversation. No questions. Grey helped her inside, onto the stretcher, still holding her ice icy hand. “I’ll return to the Park to bathe and change. I won’t be long.”
She squeezed his hand and gave him an imploring glance. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Nor do I, but I must. I’ll return quickly and bring you a change of dry clothes as well.” Grey asked the driver, “Where are you taking her?”
The driver waited for the second attendant to get in back with Grace, then slammed the door and checked to make sure it was fastened tight. “We don’t have a hospital, sir, but Dr. Candler, our local doctor has a four-bed surgery in town. He’ll take good care of her.”
Aubrey walked Grey back to the Bentley and slid behind the wheel. “I’ll drive and let you thaw out.” He shook his head. “That was quite a rescue, my friend. My heart was lodged in my throat when you and Grace came over that balcony.”