11 - Ticket to Oblivion (20 page)

‘It’s a telescope,’ he said.

Tallis was rueful. ‘
You
should be driving that trap.’

‘Sir Marcus has to go this time, sir.’

‘Why did you have to agree with him? In situations like this, I expect you to support me without equivocation.’

‘You gave the wrong advice.’

‘I feel the same,’ said Leeming. ‘We had to do as the kidnapper ordered.’

‘Sergeant,’ hissed Tallis, making him draw back into the undergrowth, ‘next time you wish to rid yourself of your mindless opinion, think twice before you open that disastrous orifice known as your mouth. I’ve heard more than enough nonsense coming out of it for one day.’

‘Then the same stricture applies to me, sir,’ said Colbeck, siding with his friend. ‘The sergeant is only endorsing what I said. Why don’t we all maintain a companionable silence and concentrate on the exchange? That’s what brought us here, after all.’

Sir Marcus Burnhope was not enjoying the ride across the vale. To start with, he was unused to driving a trap. When he was at home in Worcestershire, his coachman satisfied all his travel requirements. Cabs served him well in London. He was now thrust into a novel situation, bumping over uneven ground and trying to control a horse that seemed to have a strange obsession with lurching to the left instead of following the commands of its driver. Sir Marcus had to tug hard on the reins to keep the animal heading towards the bridge.

There was a secondary problem. He became nervous. When he’d insisted on being involved in the exchange, he’d done so with complete confidence. There’d been no whiff of fear to trouble him. Now that he was on his way to the fateful encounter, doubts and anxieties emerged. Without any weapon at his disposal, he was on his way to meet two deserters from the army, hardened men who’d routinely borne arms and been taught to use them. All of a sudden, Sir Marcus realised how brave Colbeck had been in impersonating him at the first exchange. Making light
of the fact that a gun was probably trained on him, the inspector had walked imperturbably into an open field. Sir Marcus, on the other hand, was deeply perturbed. His hands began to shake. The only thing which kept him going was the prospect of securing his daughter’s freedom. Between his feet, the leather bag with the money in it seemed hot against his ankles. Sweat broke out on his brow and under his arms.

It was a long ride to the bridge but he eventually reached it, bringing the horse to a halt nearby. He saw the piece of paper fluttering in the wind and alighted from the trap. When he moved the stone and read the message, it was blunt.

Sir Marcus raised his eyes to scan the wooded ridge above him but saw no sign of life. There was not even a bird in the sky. He walked back to the trap and picked up the bag. It felt vastly heavier now and he had to cradle it in his arms. Taking it halfway across the bridge, he lowered it onto the rock with misgivings.

Then he waited.

Crouched among the trees, Colbeck was also waiting. Through the telescope, he watched with great interest and gave a commentary to Leeming and Tallis. The superintendent soon tired of hearing everything second-hand and he reached out.

‘Let me have the telescope,’ he said.

‘You have to adjust it very carefully,’ warned Colbeck.

‘Just give it here.’

Taking the instrument, he tried to peer through it but
he seemed to be looking through a milky circle of glass. Everything was indistinct. He became tetchy.

‘I can’t see what’s happening,’ he complained.

‘Nothing is happening, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Even the sergeant and I can see that. Nothing whatsoever is happening at all down there.’

In fact, a great deal was happening to Sir Marcus Burnhope. He was, by turns, worried, frightened, appalled, sickened, hopeful, depressed, cold enough to shiver and hot enough to sweat freely. It was deliberate, he told himself. They were deliberately making him wait while they checked that he was absolutely alone. The longer it went on, the more uneasy he became. He began to wonder if the kidnappers were simply playing games with him. It was almost a quarter of an hour before he saw the trap rolling out of the trees on the other side of the stream. Sir Marcus envied the skill with which the man was driving, zigzagging at speed down the incline, then getting increased pace out of the horse once they’d reached more level ground.

Beside the driver was a woman and Sir Marcus first thought that it was his daughter. He stretched out his arms to welcome her, only to drop them by his sides again when the trap got close enough for him to recognise Rhoda Wills. He rallied. Her appearance was at least a positive sign that the kidnapper was prepared to honour his commitment. Turning his attention to the man, he studied him with an amalgam of interest and loathing. This was the kidnapper who’d seized Imogen and held her captive. Sir Marcus had an overpowering urge to kill the man but he had neither the weapon to do it nor the strength even to move. The sheer
enormity of what was involved in the confrontation had paralysed him.

When the trap skidded to a halt on the bridge, he could barely speak.

‘Where’s my daughter?’ he asked, hoarsely.

‘She’s waiting up in the trees with my friend,’ said Whiteside, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. ‘When I’m satisfied that you’ve brought the ransom, Imogen will be released.’

‘If you’ve laid a hand on her …’

The words died on his lips. He was in no position to make threats and he felt ridiculous for doing so. His gaze switched to Rhoda Wills.

‘Is my daughter unharmed?’ he asked.

‘Yes, Sir Marcus,’ she replied, uncertainly.

‘Where is she being kept?’

‘I’ll ask the questions,’ said Whiteside, jumping down and walking towards him. ‘You’ve had ocular proof that the two ladies are at my mercy. Let’s see if you’ve brought what I asked, shall we?’

When the man opened the bag, Sir Marcus went dizzy. He could barely see Whiteside counting his spoils. It was an effort simply to stay upright. Rhoda looked on in silence, desperate to yell out a warning but all too aware of the consequences both to her and to Imogen. The kidnapper smiled at Sir Marcus.

‘You’ve obeyed your orders this time,’ he said with approval. ‘You also came in person. Last time, another man came in your stead. That annoyed me.’

‘I want my daughter back.’

‘Be patient, Sir Marcus. I’ll bring her to you.’

‘Why isn’t she here now?’ he turned to Rhoda. ‘Answer me, woman.’

‘She has more sense,’ said Whiteside, tossing the bag into the trap and picking up the stone that had held the message in place on the rock. ‘You will see Imogen in due course.’ He climbed up beside Rhoda. ‘Meanwhile, you have an important task, Sir Marcus.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You have some chasing to do.’

Standing up, Whiteside threw the stone at Sir Marcus’s horse and caught it on the flank. The animal neighed in protest then bolted alongside the stream. Sir Marcus had been tricked. He’d parted with an immense amount of money and got nothing in return. Shaking with impotent fury, he didn’t know whether to go after his horse or to run towards the other trap. Whiteside removed the second option in a flash. Cracking his whip, he sent the animal in a semicircle before it set off at a gallop across the vale. Bouncing about beside him, Rhoda looked over her shoulder in mute apology at the part she’d been compelled to play in the deception.

Shocked, hurt and in despair, Sir Marcus slumped down on the stone bridge.

Colbeck hadn’t needed the telescope to see what had happened. Even from that distance, he could recognise skulduggery. Leaping into the saddle, he kicked his horse into action and raced down the gradient to the vale itself. While he wanted to go after the other trap, he felt the need to restore Sir Marcus’s means of transport or both he and Tallis would be completely stranded. To that end,
he galloped across the grass at an angle to cut off the fleeing horse. It took him a long time to get within reach of the trap and even longer to bring it under control because the horse pulling it kept veering off at acute angles. When it eventually straightened, Colbeck eased up alongside it, leant over to grab the reins and gradually slowed its furious pace until he could drag it in a wide arc and bring it to a halt. Dismounting, he tied his own horse to the back of the trap, then clambered aboard again to begin the return journey. Colbeck was both sad and angry. The second meeting with the kidnapper had been a calamity.

In the distance, he could see the poignant sight of Sir Marcus Burnhope, sitting on the bridge in a state of bereavement. His heart went out to the man. When he looked far across to the right, Colbeck saw something else that provoked his immediate sympathy.

Victor Leeming was leading his horse by the reins and trotting across the grass with patent difficulty. It was a vivid depiction of master and servant. Secure in the saddle, Edward Tallis was clearly taking advantage of his superior rank.

Bound tight to a chair, Imogen Burnside was mortified. While the rope bit into her wrists and her ankles, it was the handkerchief stuffed into her mouth that troubled her most. Held in place by a gag, it made her feel as if she was being smothered to death. Yet her physical pain was mild compared to the mental torture she was undergoing. It was excruciating. She’d betrayed her family in order to be with the man she loved, only to find that he was using
her as a passport to a fortune extracted from her father. There seemed to be no limit to the wickedness of Terence Whiteside and his accomplice. It made her wonder what would happen when they came back. Tied up and unable to defend herself, she could easily be molested. Now that he no longer had to wear a mask of politeness, Cullen had already started to ogle both her and her maid.

Where had they taken Rhoda? That was the question burrowing into Imogen’s brain. What had they done to her and would her maid ever be able to forgive her for leading them into a continuous ordeal? Since the true situation had been revealed, neither man showed the slightest respect for their captives. Imogen and Rhoda had been kept in line with fulsome promises and luxurious accommodation. They were unnecessary now. Dire threats and lengths of rope were the order of the day. She and her maid could expect more of the same in the days that lay ahead. As the hours rolled by, Imogen felt as if she could hardly breathe and her bonds were cutting off the circulation of her blood. When she thought of her family, remorse was like molten lava inside her head. Her mother, already in poor health, would be laid low by her disappearance. Her father would also be suffering intensely.

Then there were her relatives in Oxford. Her uncle and aunt were God-fearing people who would never understand the irresistible urge she’d had to end one life and begin a new and supposedly better one. She’d acted in defiance of everything she’d been brought up to believe. In retrospect, she couldn’t understand it herself and would never convince anyone that her impulse was a laudable one. George Vaughan was the only person who might appreciate her
desire for freedom because he’d felt that urge himself. His sister, Emma, would be aghast at what her cousin had done. In her eyes, it would be wholly reprehensible. What of Percy, a deacon of the church, devoting his life to the fulfilment of a sacred purpose? He was the one she most regretted having to shock and betray. It was unfair on him. Percy Vaughan had always been kind, patient and clumsily tender with her. Imogen would hate to lose his undemanding love, yet even he would have no time for her now.

She was still mourning the total loss of respect from her family when the door opened and Rhoda Wills was hustled into the room by Whiteside and Cullen. The men were in good humour but the maid’s only concern was for her mistress. Rushing across to her, she removed the gag then began to untie the ropes.

‘What happened?’ gasped Imogen.

‘Your father did as he was told,’ replied Whiteside, holding up the leather bag. ‘He just paid a small fortune and got absolutely nothing in return.’

‘I watched him through a telescope,’ said Cullen with a ripe chuckle. ‘He gave us all that money for a daughter who was trussed up in a hotel room miles away. Praise the Lord for stupid fathers!’

‘He’s not stupid,’ said Imogen, defensively. ‘My father’s a good man.’

‘Then why did you desert him?’

The gibe was like the stab of a dagger and it was unanswerable.

‘You’ve got what you wanted,’ Rhoda pleaded, ‘why not let us go?’

‘We got what we wanted from Sir Marcus,’ said
Whiteside, ‘but we still need the pair of you. There’s no point in settling for one ransom when we can have two. Next time, it will be Mr Tunnadine who hands over the money. Yes,’ he went on as he saw the look of amazement on Imogen’s face. ‘He doesn’t realise that you were so eager to marry him that you were ready to sail off to France. The poor fool will be trying to get back a bride who can’t bear the sight of him.’

Sir Marcus Burnhope was inconsolable. The ease with which he’d lost the ransom was breathtaking. To the loss of a vast sum could be added the horror of not even being allowed to see his daughter, let alone be reunited with her. When Colbeck reached him, he was still sitting dejectedly on the bridge.

‘They tricked me,’ he admitted, close to tears.

‘We were watching, Sir Marcus.’

‘Because he brought my daughter’s maid, I was unguarded enough to part with the money. I’ve been fleeced, Inspector.’

‘Did the maid say anything?’

‘She told me that my daughter was unharmed but that was all. Now that I think of it, she was obviously under orders to tell me nothing else.’ He glanced at the trap. ‘Thank you for retrieving it for me, though, in truth, I’ve been so gullible that I deserve to walk all the way back to Oxford.’

‘You’ll be able to get there in a measure of comfort,’ said Colbeck. ‘My advice is that you should return to London with the superintendent. We can make contact with you at your club.’

Tallis and Leeming eventually reached them. While the
former dismounted, the latter sank down onto the wall beside Sir Marcus. Glistening with sweat, Leeming was seriously short of breath. Colbeck gave him no time to rest. There had already been a lengthy delay but pursuit was necessary. The trap was left for the two older men while the detectives rode off across the bridge at a canter. They followed a track that led them across the vale and up the hill to the copse at the top. They paused to take stock of the situation.