A Fête Worse Than Death (31 page)

He threw his cigarette on the floor and slowly took another from his case. ‘She died. Beatrice died. There were all sorts of explanations I was given but the solid truth was that this baby, who Beatrice had been longing for, had cost her mother her life. I remember the doctor saying to me, “You've got your daughter,” but I didn't
want
my daughter. I wanted Beatrice. I could hardly bear to look at the child . . . Cissie and Andrew Vayle were my salvation.' He glanced up. ‘The Vayles were good people, Haldean. They were from Lower Woodbury but always came up to Town for the season. I'd run across Andrew whilst showing him a car and he'd invited us to dinner. There was a lot of local feeling about me and Beatrice and how the guv'nor had acted. Some supported him, some didn't, and the Vayles, who were only a few years older than us, rather took our part. After Marguerite was born, Andrew and Cissie came to see me. He was both tactful and honest. He guessed how I felt – I'd made no secret of it – and said that the one big regret in their lives was that they had no children. Placed as I was, could they look after the baby? They'd never pretend to be anything more than foster parents and I would always be her father. I feel sick when I think of how I answered him. I told him he could have the damn child and call it Vayle. I wanted nothing more to do with her, ever. If they'd take her off my hands, I was getting out of this bloody country and never coming back. At this point the baby wailed in the next room and Cissie got up without a word. I heard her talking to the nurse, then she came back into the room holding the child. She said, “Oh, Andrew . . .” and looked. Gets you when a woman looks like that.'

He smoked his cigarette down to the butt, then abruptly shook himself. ‘From then on Marguerite belonged to the Vayles. And I? I'd got what I wanted. I didn't feel pleased or regretful, just numb. They went off with Marguerite and I was free to go. Cissie stood at the door and asked me if I wanted to say goodbye to my daughter but I couldn't. She wasn't mine any longer and I didn't want to interfere.

‘Well, the next couple of years I spent drifting until I found myself going further and further into the Canadian west. Eventually the news caught up with me that my father had died but I had no desire to return home. I gave instructions for the estate to be sold and a few months later had a sizeable chunk in the bank. Then I met the man whose name I borrowed, Hugh Lawrence. I ran into him by taking his part in a fight with some toughs in a bar at Black Springs. By the time we'd put them to rights we found we were friends, and we've remained friends ever since. Lawrence is the goods. He's one of the best men I've ever known. He had a nose for copper and was itching to develop a site he'd found on the Peace River. With my money and his knowledge we prospered until a small town had built up around the workings. But Lawrence didn't really care about money. It was the excitement of the find he was after and he'd often go off on lone trips, prospecting. He had the wonderful gift of being able to be friends without wanting to turn you inside out but eventually got to know all about Beatrice and the baby. Andrew wrote to me occasionally and a couple of times enclosed a photograph of the child. Lawrence tried, without pushing it, to make me see it wasn't the child's fault and, eventually, something of what he was saying took root. Then war was declared and I started thinking about home and the more I thought, the more I realized that's where I wanted to be. I sold my share to Lawrence and we travelled to London together. He fancied seeing England and wanted to put some deals through in London. When I got to London I put most of my money into a trust for Marguerite. If I got killed it wouldn't be any good to me and if I survived I could rely on Lawrence to give me a start back in Canada. I had a hankering to see her but – well, what was the point? She was happy with the Vayles. Following my wishes, they'd let her believe she was their daughter and I didn't want to disturb her for purely selfish reasons. There was one thing I did which I came to regret, though. I wanted Marguerite to be free to marry without the unhappiness I'd endured, so made the proviso that she should be able to have her money on marriage. Lawrence and the Vayles were the trustees and they had the sense to put in the clause that any marriage before her majority must be approved by them. Thank God they did. I was later to be very grateful for their foresight.

‘I went to France, was commissioned, and avoided dying long enough to be promoted. I'd mixed in with all sorts of men in the previous years and learnt enough to be popular. Then we came up against the Augier Ridge. Major Haldean, you know that country, don't you? A rise of fifty feet is mountainous and the Germans were sitting on the top of the ridge with machine guns. There had been a chateau but by August 1916 it was in ruins. We tried four times to take it and every time were thrown back. Then Boscombe – the guy who was killed the other day – found a tunnel. I couldn't believe the tunnel would lead anywhere useful but it was worth a try. I contacted Staff and received permission to take a party to explore. We got a fair way when the Germans jumped us. I can't tell you much about what happened. I stopped a bullet and woke up on the other side of the lines. It was a few weeks later before I found out what I was meant to have done. Some fresh prisoners came into the camp and were full of the story of my supposed treachery. That got pretty nasty, I can tell you . . .'

He shook his head and lit another cigarette. Glancing up, he shrugged. ‘What can I say? I knew I was innocent, but the evidence was damning. One black mark against me was that I spoke German fluently and, as a result, got on better with the guards in the camp than most of the other prisoners. And it was clear enough I didn't hate the Germans. How could I, knowing that Beatrice was a German herself? There had been some ill feeling about my supposed pro-German tendencies and the idea I was a traitor was only too readily accepted. No one believed me and, partly for my own protection, the Germans decided to remove me to another camp. I escaped by jumping the train and, because I spoke the language, was able to get up to Rostock with little trouble. I stowed away on a Danish boat, got to Harwich and made my way to London. What I learned there convinced me that any attempt to clear my name would be futile.'

‘Hold on a minute, sir,' asked Haldean. ‘What did you do for money?'

Tyburn shrugged. ‘It won't do him any harm to tell you now, I suppose. Andrew Vayle helped me. It was Andrew who pointed out that feeling was running so high, I'd better wait until the end of the war at least, before trying to restore my reputation. He took my word, but no one else in England would've done. I called myself Stockland – my mother's name – sailed for Canada and made my way back to the Peace River. Lawrence had heard the story and done what he could to protest my innocence. Useless, of course. It was Lawrence who suggested I stay put. He'd opened another mine fifty miles or so upriver and insisted on making me a present of it. He gave out that I was an old American friend of his who had come into partnership, and the firm of Lawrence and Stockland flourished. Most of the men who had worked for me as Tyburn had gone and the handful that were left failed to recognize me. There wasn't a lot of contact between the two mines anyway, and I'd shaved off my moustache, which altered my appearance a good deal. If I'd come across someone who'd known me well as Tyburn, the game would've been up, but as it was, I was safe enough. Then we got the news that Andrew Vayle had died and, at Christmas 1919, Cissie Vayle died too. Lawrence, as trustee, was invited to England, but . . . but Marguerite was my daughter, after all. The solicitor who had dealt with Lawrence when the trust was established had retired and I decided to risk a deception. I came over in Lawrence's place and he spent the time I was in England to go on one of his solitary trips using the name of Stockland.'

‘You changed identities?' asked Ashley.

Tyburn smiled for the first time since he had started his story. ‘Yes. It appealed to Lawrence's sense of humour, apart from anything else. He'd become quite a big noise and he relished the chance to leave it all behind and travel without any fuss. I thought there was little danger of anyone remembering Martin Tyburn and I could forge Lawrence's signature well enough to pass muster on any documents. I went to Marguerite's school.' He sighed. ‘I fell, for her, hook, line and sinker. Although she didn't look like her mother, odd things she did – the way she held her head, the way she walked – all reminded me of Beatrice. I'd ignored her for years; now I was crazy about her. I had another reason for visiting England, too. As Lawrence it was reasonable that I should want to find out the truth about my “old friend” Tyburn. I employed a lawyer – Bell of Moreland and Bell, Lincoln's Inn – and quickly got the gist of it. There had been a flood of first-class information to the Germans and it was obvious there was a fairly senior spy at work. After I failed to return from the Augier tunnels there were documents found in my kit that pointed directly to me. Whoever the spy was had found a convenient scapegoat in me. There was no doubt in anyone's mind; I was the traitor.'

‘Did the spying continue after your capture?' asked Haldean.

‘Yes. That much was obvious. However, there was always some leakage of information, so it didn't raise anyone's suspicions, and things had quietened down for a few months after I'd gone. But I
knew
I was innocent and therefore the real spy had escaped scot-free. It had to be someone with access to my things because I certainly hadn't put the papers there, which narrowed it down to the men who were at the farm with me. I did wonder about Boscombe, who I always disliked, but he transferred to the RFC, and was posted to a training school in England. He couldn't have done any spying from there. I simply couldn't bring myself to suspect the rest of my officers. Most of those who survived the tunnels were killed at Fricourt, as Stafford reminded me just now. I realize that spies can be killed as other men are, but my suspicions centred on the one man who had been in the tunnels, who survived the war, and who might have had access to my kit.'

Haldean nodded. ‘Colonel Whitfield?'

‘Colonel Whitfield,' agreed Tyburn. ‘I knew nothing about the man but I made it my business to find out. He'd gone from the cavalry to the staff, and who better than a staff officer to have information that the Germans would want? He'd been awarded the VC – what a cover that made! I was very leery of the good Colonel.'

‘So what did you do?' demanded Ashley.

Tyburn shrugged. ‘What could I do? He was secure. Major Tyburn had disappeared and was popularly supposed to be dead. If I started making a fuss then the spotlight would fall on me and for the sake of Lawrence, who had shielded me, and for Marguerite, who would be bound to be caught up in the mess, I decided to let matters stand. As Stockland I was respected in Canada. As Lawrence I could come to England and see my daughter. And so it went on. Then I got a letter from Alice Rivers . . .'

Tyburn drew deeply on his cigarette, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘Of all the men in England my daughter had fallen in love with Whitfield. In a way I could have expected it. Since the Vayles died, Hesperus has been Marguerite's home and a good home, too. With Breedenbrook being so close it was inevitable that they should meet, but it struck me like a thunderbolt. I hurried across and threw an almighty spanner in that gentleman's works. I suspected he had been a spy and a traitor; I was certain his interest in Marguerite began and ended with her money. No one could understand why I refused the match but I didn't have to explain. The more I saw of him, the less I liked him. I would have done anything –
anything
– to prevent Marguerite becoming his wife.'

‘And what did you do?' asked Ashley.

‘I refused my consent. I know what you believe but you're wrong. Whoever killed Whitfield it wasn't me. I can't see why he shouldn't have killed himself. I suspect he was nearly broke and he was sodden with drink. When I refused to budge on the marriage, he may well have thought that was the best way out. But I didn't kill him. I could get what I wanted without resorting to murder. I agreed to meet him because I intended to buy him off. He was disturbing Marguerite's peace of mind and I meant to stop him. I knew he had no idea who I was, as we'd never met each other until a fortnight ago, so I intended to say enough about the Augier Ridge to let him see that one person, at least, was wise to him. If he'd been guilty he couldn't have mistaken my hints. As it was, I never got to say anything to him.'

He paused, putting his hands round his crooked knee. ‘It all happened exactly as I said. I arrived at the barn, walked into a punch like a pile-driver, went out like a light and, when I came to, got out as quickly as I could. I had no idea Whitfield was there until Major Haldean showed me his body. I don't know how my fingerprints got on the gun. I've been racking my brains to remember if anyone could have shown me a gun or a gun-barrel I might have touched without knowing, but I've drawn a blank. I don't remember hearing a shot. I think I must have been unconscious when it was fired. Not being a complete fool I realize how thin it must sound, but it's the truth.'

‘Are you sure you don't wish to revise your statement?' said Ashley.

Tyburn met his gaze. ‘No. It would be easy enough for me to say I'd seen Whitfield before I came out of the barn but I'm not going to. If I could think of some believable explanation I might try it, but I can't. All I can tell you is that I'm innocent. Damn it all, man, why
should
I kill him? Can't you see how awkward this is going to be for Hugh Lawrence? I wouldn't drag him into it if I could think of a way round it. Hugh's been good to me. I'd never repay him like this.'

‘Does Miss Vayle know who you are?' asked Haldean.

‘She does now. I told her last night.' He smiled. ‘The odd thing was I think she was beginning to suspect. She certainly wasn't as surprised as I thought she might be. She believes in me, thank God. That's been a great comfort to me over the last few hours. But . . .' His face lengthened. ‘I didn't want her to find out like this and when I think of the people who've trusted me – Philip and Alice Rivers but most of all Hugh Lawrence – and all the trouble it's going to bring them . . . Well, it's a hard furrow to plough but it's not of my making.'