A Reputation Dies: A thrilling combination of detective fiction and romance (The Rutherford Trilogy Book 1)

by Alice Chetwynd Ley

  ‘There’s the evidence, Mr Cleveland. Deny it if you can. The letter speaks for itself, and a page in the book records your transactions. I think you’d best come along o’ me to Bow Street without more ado.’

  Cleveland stared at the documents, amazed.

  ‘So that’s where they are! I feared the worst when I discovered they were missing this morning — it finally decided me to clear out. But you’re on the wrong track, I tell you! I’m not Thompson — far otherwise! I’m the one who’s being blackmailed — have been ever since the Stock Exchange business, and I can’t find the ready any longer! I’m at a stand!’

  Justin nodded. ‘I thought that was it,’ he said quietly.

  Watts turned a surprised look on him.

  ‘You did, sir? But I don’t see that — we’ve only his word for it.’ He tapped the evidence lying on the table. ‘This letter’s plain enough, and then the entries in the book —’

  ‘Which are incomplete,’ pointed out Justin, ‘in the light of what we know about the blackmailer’s transactions.’

  Cleveland had bowed his head in his hands while this interchange was taking place, but now he roused himself.

  ‘I can prove that I’ve paid out the amounts recorded in the book,’ he said heavily. ‘You can check that at my banker’s. He’ll also show you that I’ve precious little standing to my credit — certainly not the account of a successful blackmailer.’

  He gave a harsh laugh.

  Watts considered this for a moment. If true, it would substantiate Cleveland’s story; unless, of course, he had another account elsewhere under a false name. There remained the letter, however.

  ‘And what about this letter, sir?’ he demanded, pointing to the document.

  ‘I received that yesterday. It’s exactly like all the others which came to me at six-monthly intervals, except that the receiving office was a different one each time.’

  ‘But it’s not directed to you,’ said Justin.

  ‘It was folded in a covering sheet, which I burnt — foolishly, as it now appears, but I was enraged at the time.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you destroy the whole?’

  ‘Because I needed to be sure which receiving office was stated, as he varied them. I hadn’t quite made up my mind then that I was going to make a run for it to France without attempting to try and raise the blood money. Later, I realized it was the only way, God help me!’

  ‘Suppose we accept your story for the present, Cleveland,’ said Justin. ‘Have you any notion who this man Thompson could be?’

  Cleveland gave a hopeless shrug.

  ‘The most obvious suspect seemed to me to be either my broker or someone connected with the Stock Exchange. When I received the first demand, I tried watching at the post office where I’d been instructed to send the money, but it was an impossible task. I couldn’t be there all the time, and there was no means of knowing exactly when he would collect after the due date. Moreover, what good would it have done me to know who he was? I couldn’t bring him to book without ruining my reputation — the only thing was to pay.’

  ‘A melancholy situation indeed. I’d like to have the name of your broker. Perhaps you’d be good enough to write it on the back of this card?’

  He handed a visiting card to Cleveland, who obeyed.

  ‘And now what’s to become of me?’ asked Cleveland with a grim look about his mouth.

  ‘I think it will be necessary for you to accompany this officer to Bow Street to explain matters to the chief magistrate,’ replied Justin. ‘I suggest you inform your groom that you’ve changed your plans and instruct him to convey your vehicle home without you. You will then travel back with us.’

  ‘And afterwards?’

  ‘That will depend, I imagine, on whether the Stock Exchange chooses to prosecute. But in the meantime, you can render valuable assistance to the police which may mitigate your offence. I’ll explain more fully when we reach Bow Street.’

  CHAPTER 16

  Justin called at his brother’s house in Berkeley Square on the following day.

  ‘Look here, old fellow,’ said Edward when they managed to find a few moments alone in the library, ‘have you got any further with this investigation of yours? I can’t help thinking about what you said — suspects, y’know — and I keep looking askance at ’em whenever they come in my way. I can only hope to God they don’t notice! One thing, though, Velmond don’t seem to be under suspicion any longer. He’s looking remarkably cheerful lately.’

  ‘Yes, there can no longer be any reason for the authorities to suspect him. As for progress, I believe I can claim that the ground is gradually being cleared. You may recall that I suggested in the beginning that there might be other victims of this blackmailer? We now know of one other, at least — possibly two.’

  ‘Good God! Do you intend to tell me who they are?’

  Justin nodded. ‘Since I’ve confided in your daughter, I can scarce draw the line at you, what? The second victim is Lady Kinver.’

  ‘Lady Kinver?’ repeated Lord Rutherford, in tones of horror. ‘My dear chap, are you sure? If ever any female could claim to have lived a life of complete rectitude — apart from my own female relatives, of course,’ he added hastily, ‘she must be the one! And as for poor Kinver, his health was such before he died that there was small possibility of his getting into any kind of scandal. It seems incredible, Justin!’

  ‘Nevertheless, it is so. I have it from Lady Kinver herself, through the medium of my godmama, I must add, a very useful witness.’

  ‘Cassandra? Ah, there’s not much goes on but Cassie knows of it, true enough. Well, who’d have thought it?’

  ‘It’s only fair to admit, old chap, that your judgment of character isn’t at fault,’ said Justin with a grin. ‘The scandal didn’t concern either Jane or Charles Kinver but their daughter, Maria.’

  Edward drew down his mouth. ‘Hm. Don’t recollect the chit, though I fancy we attended her wedding — sure to have done, in fact. Poor Jane, nasty business. Children can be the very devil,’ he added feelingly. ‘Did this blackguard touch her for much blunt?’

  ‘In the region of twenty thousand pounds.’

  ‘Good God!’ exclaimed Lord Rutherford again.

  ‘There’s a certain monotony in the way you keep calling upon your maker, old fellow,’ Justin objected lightly.

  ‘I may well do so! The whole business is fantastic, and if anyone other than you had told me of it, I should say they were gammoning me,’ retorted Edward. ‘I can only hope you succeed in putting an end to this scoundrel’s activities, for such scum shouldn’t be allowed to live — hanging’s too good for ’em! Who’s the other poor devil? The one you say is a possible victim?’

  ‘Cleveland,’ answered Justin briefly.

  ‘But I thought you said he was one of your list of suspects?’ protested Edward.

  Justin admitted that this was so and went on to explain the situation.

  ‘So you see,’ he finished, ‘until we’ve examined his banking account, we cannot be sure that he really did make those payments. For myself, I suspected from quite an early stage that he might be a victim rather than the criminal. When you told me that there were rumours about his connection with the Stock Exchange fraud, it did open up such a possibility.’

  ‘The rate you’re going, you’ll soon find all your suspects are victims,’ pronounced Lord Rutherford gloomily. ‘Wasn’t Bradfield one of ’em? Don’t mind telling you, Justin, I don’t like that above half, as Anthea’s just accepted an invitation to join a small house party at the Bradfields’ place in Sussex for a few days. She’s off there tomorrow. Not that I think for a moment Bradfield could possibly be this scoundrel Thompson, but then who the devil does seem likely?’

  ‘Quite so. Who else will be in this party?’

  ‘The Velmonds and the Aylesfords, I believe. No others. Anthea never met Mrs Bradfield before the lady’s present visit to Town, so we think she’s probably being asked becaus
e of her friendship with Lucilla Velmond. Poor little Lucy’s so shy, Mrs Bradfield may have felt she’d be more comfortable with Anthea along.’

  ‘No one can accuse my niece of being shy,’ agreed Justin.

  ‘Good God, no, quite the reverse! Which reminds me, she insists on having a private word with you before you go. I’ll send her in here to you, but mind, don’t set her on to any freakish starts!’

  Justin promised, and a few moments later Anthea swept into the library, looking as captivating as usual in a white morning gown of deceptive simplicity. He studied her appreciatively for a moment through his quizzing glass.

  ‘Very charming,’ he commented. ‘And for whose benefit, may I ask? Not, I fancy, the frog-faced Grassington, your admirer at the ball.’

  She laughed musically. ‘I’m not expecting to see anyone but family today — it is Sunday, recollect.’

  ‘So that’s why I wasn’t at the necessity of beating a path to your door over the bodies of suitors.’

  ‘You’re as absurd as ever,’ she chided him. ‘But pray attend to me for a moment, Justin, for I’ve some information to give you, though I fear it’s not vastly exciting, being more negative than otherwise. I did ask Lucy if she’d ever confided in Dr Wetherby, and she said she had not.’

  He nodded. ‘It seemed unlikely.’

  ‘Yes, but she did suggest another way in which Dr Wetherby — or possibly others, for that matter — might have heard of her escapade,’ went on Anthea in a more hopeful tone. ‘You may not be aware of this, Justin, but Mrs Cleveland is a prodigious tattler, and she must have known of Lucy’s secret through Cecilia. It seems to me quite likely that when Lucy’s engagement to Velmond was first talked of in society, dear Mrs Cleveland may have dropped some lightly veiled hint about poor Lucy’s past. And then, of course, not only Dr Wetherby but anyone else, for that matter, might have come to hear of it. Do you not think that probable?’

  ‘Indeed I do, and I can’t tell you how prodigiously grateful I am for your invaluable assistance, my dear niece.’

  ‘Pooh, you’re roasting me again! But there’s another thing, Justin. I believe I’ve managed to puzzle out how it was that Yarnton came to learn of the existence of this blackmailer Thompson. There’s something Lucy told me —’

  She proceeded to relate the conversation which had passed between Lucy and herself on this subject.

  ‘Of course, I dare say you’ll have already thought of it for yourself,’ she concluded a trifle ruefully.

  ‘I wasn’t aware that Yarnton had actually observed Lucilla Velmond hand the packet to the postman, so naturally you had the advantage of me in that respect,’ he answered in a rallying tone. ‘Given that fact, your train of reasoning subsequently appears eminently plausible. I must admit that I’d worked out something of the kind, on a purely hypothetical basis, of course. But that’s by the way. And now I think it’s time I gave you my latest information, Anthea.’

  He told her about Cleveland.

  ‘Oh, but that’s a great deal too bad!’ she exclaimed at the conclusion. ‘I had quite decided, you know, that he was the villain!’

  ‘May I ask why?’

  ‘Woman’s intuition!’ she laughed. ‘And it did seem then that he was the only one who could have known of both secrets, Lucy’s and Lady Kinver’s. Now it appears possible that all the other suspects might have come to know, too. But Justin —’

  She broke off, and he raised inquiring brows at her.

  ‘If Mr Cleveland is yet another victim, who do you think would be aware of his secret?’

  ‘According to Cleveland himself, his broker.’

  ‘Stockbroker, do you mean? But who is he? He cannot be one of your original list of suspects!’

  ‘Not that, no. But he is the same man whom Bradfield employs for his own transactions.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘Yes, my girl.’ He waved an admonitory finger at her. ‘But while you’re staying in his house in Sussex, you will contrive to forget about that and all else to do with this affair. Understood?’

  She nodded docilely enough, but he did not altogether trust the gleam in her eye which showed for just a second, then was gone.

  There were those who disapproved of Sunday travelling, but evidently the gentleman who arrived unexpectedly at the Crown in Amersham during the afternoon of that day was not of their number. He had only a manservant with him and had brought one small portmanteau; so it was assumed by the host, a shrewd judge of travellers, that his visitor would require only overnight accommodation. There seemed some uncertainty about this on the gentleman’s part, for he bespoke a private sitting-room as well as bedchambers for himself and his servant. Naturally the landlord did not press him on this point but hastened downstairs to ascertain that a suitably good dinner would be awaiting the guest at the hour requested.

  Having left his man Selby to attend to matters at the inn, Justin strolled down the High Street of the attractive little market town. His discerning eye took in the varying styles of architecture, from medieval through Tudor to that of the present day. He paused to consider the Market Hall and farther along the neat row of almshouses.

  It was just beyond these that he came upon the house he was seeking, an undistinguished building some fifty years old sandwiched between two others of similar vintage. He hesitated outside for a few moments before finally making up his mind and resolutely striding up the path to wield the knocker.

  A piece of dimity curtaining was hastily twitched aside, and a child’s face appeared for a few seconds before vanishing just as suddenly behind an impatient female arm which drew the curtain back into place. The sound of babbling voices reached his ears, and there was a quick scurry of feet before the door was finally opened and a diminutive, not very tidy housemaid appeared on the threshold.

  She opened the door the merest fraction, looking inquiringly at the visitor but saying nothing.

  ‘I believe this is the residence of the Reverend Josiah Peyton?’ asked Justin politely.

  She nodded, twisting her apron in her fingers. He began to wonder if she chanced to be deaf, in which case his errand would be even more difficult to explain. At that moment, however, two children came running towards her, and she shooed them away with enough eloquence to dispel this notion.

  He had extracted a card from his case and was about to proffer it to her, when a plaintive female voice called out from the regions beyond the hall.

  ‘Who is it, Sally? If it’s Mrs Rumford about the hymn books, show her into the parlour, and I will join her in a moment. Oh, you little wretch!’

  This last was evidently addressed to one of the children, for the maid appeared unabashed. She accepted the card gingerly, as though expecting it to explode at any minute, and opened the door wider.

  ‘Be pleased to step into the parlour, sir, an’ I’ll fetch missis.’

  The two children had reappeared, bringing two smaller fry with them; but she steered him skilfully past them into the front-room from which he had previously been observed. After some argument with the children, she succeeded in sending them off and closing the door upon the visitor.

  He looked about him. The furniture and carpet were of good quality, but showed the ravages of time. The hangings could with advantage have been renewed, as the sun had faded their colour. An open pianoforte against one wall had several damaged keys, no doubt as a result of being battered by numerous pairs of inexpert young hands.

  The door opened to admit a lady of ample proportions dressed in a lilac gown which Justin’s experienced eye noted was several seasons out of date. She looked harassed, and the hair under her cap tended to straggle, but her voice was undoubtedly that of a well-bred woman.

  ‘How do you do, Mr, er —’ She consulted the card in her hand in a flustered way.

  ‘Rutherford,’ he supplied, bowing. ‘At your service, ma’am. I believe I am addressing Mrs Peyton?’

  She acknowledged this, looking puzzled. Nevertheless, she invited him to be
seated.

  ‘I don’t wish to trespass on your time, ma’am,’ he said, remaining on his feet for the moment. ‘I really called in hoping to see your husband, the Reverend Josiah Peyton.’

  Her face cleared. ‘Oh, an acquaintance of Josiah’s!’ she exclaimed. ‘I thought I had never before met you, Mr, er —’

  ‘Rutherford,’ said Justin patiently. ‘Is your husband at home, ma’am? Do you think he could possibly spare me a moment of his time?’

  ‘He’s stepped out for an hour or two, Mr, er —’

  ‘Rutherford.’

  ‘Oh, yes, pray forgive me, I fear I am rather stupid about names, and we do have quite a number of callers,’ she said, fluttering her hands about in a helpless way. ‘But do be seated, and I’ll send for some refreshment.’

  ‘Pray don’t put yourself to that trouble, ma’am. Perhaps I need not await your husband’s return, as I dare say you will be able to tell me what I wish to know. It is this: do you expect your son, Mr Roderick Peyton, to pay you a visit? Or perhaps he has already arrived? I inquired for him at Mr Cleveland’s residence in London and was told that I might find him here, as he had been granted a few days’ leave of absence.’

  ‘Roderick?’ She pushed some of the straying hair back under her cap in a distrait way. ‘Oh, but he is not my son, you know — I am the second Mrs Peyton.’

  Justin apologized. She inclined her head in acknowledgment.

  ‘That is quite all right. But he isn’t here. Indeed, he rarely visits his father. We’ve seen very little of him over the years since first he went up to Cambridge.’

  Justin was not really surprised to learn this. Unless a strong rapport had existed between father and son, this establishment could have few attractions for any young man.

  ‘So you have no notion, ma’am, where I could find him?’

  She shook her head. ‘I fear we know nothing of his present life beyond the little he tells his father of his employment, when they do chance to meet.’ She sniffed. ‘I don’t scruple to tell you, Mr, er, er, Rutherford,’ — she brought this out triumphantly — ‘that it is not my notion of a proper filial relationship.’