Winthrop Manor

by Mary Christian Payne

  “Not necessarily, madam. The car may have been parked some distance away. It would only take a moment to snatch a child from a playpen.” The chief detective began to crawl along the ground where the prints had been discovered. It was quite soft, as there’d been rain on and off over the past few days. In fact, this was the first truly warm, dry day in over a week. The footprints became farther apart, leading away from the playpen. The chief detective explained that the primary reason for such a find would have been that whomever took the child was running, once he or she had the infant.

  “It’s interesting that the babe didn’t cry,” muttered the inspector. He turned to Josephine. “Do you believe your child would have screamed or cried if a stranger approached him?”

  “Yes, I think he would have. Unless whoever took him was someone he was familiar with. That would rule out most everybody. We’re isolated here in the country. I have very few visitors.”

  "Can you name people with whom your son would be comfortable?”

  “Not many. Of course, my uncle,” she answered. "He can be ruled out. I’d trust Roderick with Andrew’s life.”

  "Who else, Lady Winterdale?”

  “Let me think. My sister-in-law, Elisabeth Chambers. She’s my husband Win’s sister. She is now a widow. We used to share this cottage until her husband was killed in the war. Then she moved back to Winthrop Manor to be with her family. It could never be Elisabeth. I suppose Andrew might not cry if his grandfather, the Lord Winthrop were to approach him. He’s on his way here. He should arrive any moment. We aren’t on friendly terms. He and the Lady Winthrop were most upset when they learned their eldest son, Win, had married me, since I have no title. Actually, I’m on better terms with the Lord Winthrop than I am with the Lady Winthrop. She’s never even seen my son. There is another Winthrop—Oliver. He is my husband’s younger brother. To my knowledge, he’s never seen Andrew, either. My baby is a very loving child. It is possible that he wouldn’t cry out if a stranger picked him up. He also may have been sleeping—you don’t suppose it’s possible somebody might have used some sort of substance to make him sleep more soundly?”

  “Yes. Kidnappers have been known to use something like chloroform to make a child unconscious," the inspector murmured, more to himself than to the others.

  Josephine heard his words. “Oh, good heavens, no,” she cried. “Something like that could kill Andrew.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady, I was just thinking aloud. I highly doubt that was done. How long do you think the boy has been missing?” he went on to ask.

  “At most, an hour. That’s how long I was painting. Surely, I would have heard someone. Wouldn’t I?” she asked pitifully.

  “One would think so, but you never know. Anyone who would do something like this could be very well-rehearsed. If you were deeply absorbed in your painting, you might not have heard anything.”

  “Do you suppose it is a kidnapping?” asked Josephine. “Wouldn’t the person leave a note or contact me?”

  “In a kidnapping, we always expect contact with the perpetrator. You obviously have a telephone since you were able to get in touch with us. You need to stay close to that phone.”

  “Then I’m going back into the cottage. If you need to speak with me further, you’re welcome to come inside.”

  Josephine was trembling from head to toe. If she’d lost Andrew, her entire world had collapsed. She needed Win’s strong arms and wise thinking. Who would do such a wicked thing? What would the motive be? Money? She would give everything she owned to hold her baby son. Did someone know she was the daughter-in-law of the Winthrops? Of course, many people did. However, if that were the motive, the person who had done such a dastardly deed also had to know that she had almost no contact with her in-laws. Still, they would know that the Lord Winthrop would never want anything dire to happen to his grandson. All these thoughts and more raced through Josephine’s mind.

  There was nothing to do but wait. The constables told her they were calling in Scotland Yard. Winthrop-on-Hart scarcely had the resources to deal with a high- profile kidnapping. Josephine threw herself down on the sofa in the parlour and sobbed.

  “Oh, Win. I need you so,” she cried.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  At nine o’clock in the morning, the telephone rang in Josephine’s cottage. Her uncle had stayed with her the night before, and the pretty, little abode was well-covered surreptitiously with men from the constable’s office in Winthrop-on-Hart. Josephine raised her brows and looked at the chief detective, silently asking whether he wanted her to answer the call. The detective gave a nod, indicating his preference that she pick up the receiver.

  She quickly grabbed for it. “Hello,” she said, trying to keep her voice from quivering.

  An obviously camouflaged voice spoke. “I’m calling about your missing boy.”

  What the caller didn't know was that the detectives had already made certain the operator was listening to all calls placed to Josephine’s cottage. Therefore, the means existed for the operator to report the number from which the call originated.

  “Yes,” answered Josephine, sounding calm, though her heart was racing a mile a second. “What about my baby? Is Andrew all right?”

  “He’s in fine fettle. You needn’t worry about that. He wasn’t taken because anyone wants money.”

  “Then why? Why?” Josephine could not hold back the tears. It was impossible to tell if the caller was a man or a woman. There must have been some sort of filter placed over the speaker because the voice was clearly camouflaged. “He’s my baby—not even a year old. He needs his mummy. Please, please, why would you do something so cruel?”

  “I shouldn’t even be making this call,” the person answered. “It could cause me no end of trouble. But I got to feeling sorry for you, being a mother with a husband who probably isn’t coming home. So at least I wanted to let you know the baby is all right. He will be cared for by lovely people—not like the Winthrops, of course—but he’ll have a very good life.”

  “Are you saying you have no intention of bringing him back at all?” Josephine asked. By then, she was trembling from head to toe.

  “I’m afraid I have to give you that sad news.”

  “Think of how his father will feel when he returns from this dreadful war to find that he hasn’t a son,” Josephine pleaded.

  “Jay… James—um, Win… He won’t be coming back. He’s been gone so long now, there isn’t any hope that’s he’s alive. You have to understand that you aren’t fit to raise him. He’s much more highborn than you are. It’s really better for him, you see. He’ll be raised by someone who knows much more about the highborn.”

  “Please, tell me who I’m speaking with. Is this Win’s mother?” Josephine pleaded.

  “No. This isn’t her. You don’t know me. I have to go now. I just want you to know that little Andrew will be all right. No harm is going to come to him. You must forget him, and go on with your life.”

  The call disconnected, and all Josephine heard was dial tone.

  She threw herself down onto the sofa and sobbed. “Oh, God! What am I to do? Please, someone help me,” she cried.

  “Tell us what you can about the call, Lady Winterdale,” asked the constable. “Was it a man or a woman?”

  “I really don’t know. It might have been either, but if I had to guess, I would say a woman. The person sounded a bit um…down-market. Uneducated. The word ‘fettle’ was substituted for condition. When I asked if Andrew was all right, the person said he was in ‘fine fettle’. But that could have been a ruse to throw me off. The voice was definitely altered. I’d say there was a handkerchief or some such thing placed over the receiver. I just don’t understand anything. The person said money wasn’t the motive for the kidnapping. Whoever it was indicated that I wasn’t highborn enough to be raising a child who would someday be an earl’s son. But they also said Win was undoubtedly dead and wouldn’t be coming home.”

  “Madam, go over with
me again the rules of inheritance in families like the Winthrops,” the chief detective said.

  “It’s quite simple, really. If Win should die, which I don’t even want to contemplate, his son would be the successor. Of course, someone would be named as a guardian in his place, to handle his affairs until he reached his majority. I suppose, as his mother, that would be me.”

  “And if Andrew should die, as well as your husband?” the inspector continued.

  “Oh God. The next in line would be that disgusting Oliver.”

  “Do you believe Oliver capable of carrying out such a horrendous deed? Actually killing his own nephew?”

  Josephine raised her head, eyes swollen and tears still falling. “I’ve never thought of it. I don’t know him terribly well, to tell the truth. He and Win have never been close. I do know he is envious of Win because Win is the first-born son and will inherit everything. Well—not everything. Oliver would receive a share of the estate, but as far as the holding itself, it would go to Win, and he would naturally be the next earl.”

  “So, theoretically, there would be motive for Oliver to contemplate such an act?” replied the inspector. “Especially if he thinks that his brother is not going to return from the war.”

  “I suppose,” answered Josephine. “I just have a hard time conceiving of Oliver doing away with his own nephew.”

  “Was anything else said during the conversation that might be a clue?” the chief detective continued.

  “The only other thing I thought a bit odd was that the caller stumbled a little when referring to my husband. His Christian name is James, but most everyone has always called him Win, which, of course, would be derived from the title name—Winthrop. The person on the telephone first called him James. Then there was a pause, and they called him Jay. Finally, they referred to him as Win.”

  “Do you know of anyone who refers to him as Jay?”

  “No. I’ve never heard him called that. I suppose it wouldn't be unusual. It’s not an unheard of by-name for James.”

  “I’m beginning to think more and more that the culprit here is the uncle—Oliver. Whomever has taken your baby appears to have an interest in never seeing your husband become the next earl at Winthrop Manor. It would seem likely this individual hopes to see Oliver inherit. The Lord Winterdale has been missing for what? Over eight months, right? To my way of thinking, the telephone call points to Oliver more than anyone. If the Lord Winterdale doesn’t return from the war, and Andrew is never found, Oliver will be the one who profits. You said the caller assured you the child was all right.”

  “Yes. But is he? Was that only said to ease my suffering? The caller said he or she would get into trouble if it was known that the call was placed. So getting in touch with me wasn’t part of the plan,” said Josephine. “Can’t we call the operator who handled the call, and see if we can determine where it was placed from?”

  “Yes. That’s exactly my intention,” he replied. Walking over to the telephone, he waited just a moment before the operator came on the line.

  Josephine listened carefully to the detective's portion of the conversation.

  “Yes, is this the operator who was present when a call was received at the Lady Winterdale’s home?” the detective stated. He proceeded by giving her the exchange number. “Yes, That’s good news. Can you give me the number from which the call originated?”

  He motioned to Josephine that he needed a pen or pencil to write with. She quickly handed him a pad of paper and a pen. He listened as the operator spoke and scribbled on the paper.

  “Are you able to give me the location of that number? All right, yes, I understand. I certainly appreciate your help. Please continue to monitor all calls to this number,” he added.

  The moment he placed the receiver back into its cradle, Josephine fired off a rapid series of questions.

  “Where did the call originate? Was it local? Did she listen to the voice? Was it familiar to her?”

  “Please allow me to answer, my lady. Yes, she listened to the call; no, she did not recognise the voice; it was not familiar to her; the number was local; unfortunately for us, it was placed from a telephone box in Winthrop-on-Hart.”

  “So we’ve learned nothing more,” cried Josephine.

  “Not quite true. We’ve learned that whomever has taken your child is still in this vicinity. There has been adequate time for the perpetrator to be far away by now. My hunch is that the individual lives in this area then.”

  “My god. What if it’s Oliver? He could be telling me Andrew is all right in order to calm my fears. His motive could be to harm him—to do away with him, so if Win doesn’t return from the war, Oliver will definitely inherit someday.”

  “That is a possibility. Not one I care to speculate upon. You know your brother-in-law. Do you honestly believe him capable of harming a small child?”

  “Not really. He’s very arrogant and rather immature. I do know he would do most anything to be able to inherit Winthrop Manor. To my knowledge, he has no skills of any sort. I’ve heard the Lord Winthrop refer to him as a fool. Frankly, I think it would be more likely for him to place Andrew with a kind, Christian family and pay them to raise him. I’m sure we’re all aware that there are many needy families who make extra funds by acting as surrogates for women who give birth to children out of wedlock. Oh, Lord. If that is the case, we might never find my child. He could be anywhere in England.”

  “Let’s not take our thoughts in that direction. I’m still more inclined to believe the infant is close by.”

  “What shall we do? I’m terrified. Uncle Roderick, will you please stay here with me tonight? I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Of course, my dear. I also believe the authorities have indicated their intention to have a man posted here at all times.”

  “That does make me feel better,” she responded. “Nevertheless, I still want you by my side. We must make a list of every possible person who could be the culprit.”

  “I definitely agree,” Uncle Roderick answered. "There are only so many people who have an interest in who will become the next earl at Winthrop Manor.”

  “Yes,” interjected the detective inspector. “I believe that would be an enormous help. Tomorrow, the men from Scotland Yard will arrive. You’re well aware of their expertise. They seldom fail to resolve a case, and I scarcely believe this will be one of the few they don’t solve. I’m going to take leave now, but if you should have any more calls—any at all—notify me immediately. I don’t care if it’s three o’clock in the morning. I’ll want to know. My wife is well used to knocks at our door and midnight calls. Please, try to get some rest. I know it’s difficult, but the last thing we need is Andrew’s mum becoming fatigued and ill.”

  Josephine rose from the sofa and walked him to the door. “Thank you for everything you’ve done. I do feel better, just knowing expert authorities are involved. I would never have believed when I woke this morning and bathed and fed my precious son, that tonight, I wouldn’t know his whereabouts or who is caring for him.” Tears welled again in her eyes.

  “God bless you, Lady Winterdale. I definitely feel at this juncture we’ll find the little chap, and he’ll be back in your arms very soon.”

  ***

  No matter how positive the detectives felt, another day and night passed with no further progress on the case. Josephine and Roderick had completed their list, which included Oliver, the Lord and Lady Winthrop, Oliver’s lady friend, Cynthia Wilkins-Young, and even Elisabeth, whose name Josephine had been loath to add.

  The Scotland Yard detectives arrived, and both Josephine and Roderick were most impressed with them. After listening to the entire story, they agreed with the local authorities regarding the belief that Andrew was still in the vicinity of Winthrop-on-Hart. That gave Josephine a bit of hope. One by one, the world-renowned detectives followed every possible lead. Every person on Josephine and Roderick’s list was interrogated. And one by one, a checkmark was placed by their
names, which didn’t in any way clear them of distrust but helped keep track of who had and hadn’t been interviewed. Even those with solid alibis were not released from suspicion. The action of primary importance was the news that Scotland Yard was going to pay Oliver a visit at Winthrop Manor. Josephine felt certain he had some part in this nightmare they were living in. She was somewhat confused about why people who had alibis were being questioned, but she also understood that Scotland Yard knew much more about solving crimes than she did.

  When Josephine enquired as to why such persons were still regarded as possible suspects, she was told they had not ruled out the prospect that a member of the family had hired an unknown person to carry out the actual deed. The detectives instructed Josephine not to have any personal contact with any one of the possible suspects. She felt particularly sad not to be allowed to show a simple act of kindness toward Elisabeth. After all, they were still sisters-in-law, and Elisabeth was the widow of Josephine’s brother. Josephine begged the authorities to make an exception regarding her dear friend, but they reiterated their command firmly, stating that she not converse with anyone in the family.

  Besides her continual worry about her missing child, she was still consumed with anxiety about whether Win would ever be located. She had a definite belief that if he were to return home, the mystery of his son’s disappearance would be solved. Every method utilised to locate Win had been met with disappointing results. Supposedly, the Red Cross was extremely efficient when it came to finding missing servicemen. Yet, the persons on the very top of the ladder hadn't been able to find a trace of him. Nonetheless, Josephine refused to give up hope. She harboured an inner feeling that he was alive and would eventually find his way back to her.

  Uncle Roderick continually lamented that no lady should ever have had to face such a devastating and stressful time. It was horrific enough to have one’s baby snatched. However, to live with that evil act while also being greatly troubled by the devastating possibility that she might never learn what had become of the man she adored was almost more than even a strong person should be forced to endure. Her uncle continuously said how impressed he was with Josephine’s ability to carry on, and that he admired her strength and courage.