‘There’s nothing criminal about creative art,’ declared the other. ‘We fill the world with beauty and excite the mind. Well, look at my latest work,’ he went on, taking the portrait from the easel and holding it under his visitor’s nose. ‘Is that not something to gladden the heart of any red-blooded man?’
Dolly looked up from the canvas with her chin tilted high. One whole arm was missing but the rest of her body was there in all of its alluring glory. Notwithstanding his embarrassment, Leeming had to admit that it was work of some quality. Radical changes had occurred. A squalid attic had been transformed into a palace, the chair became a throne and the model had a regal presence. Dolly was now a princess. The brushwork was uneven but the overall effect was nevertheless stunning. The sergeant had to make a conscious effort to turn away.
‘Do you have any idea where your cousin might be?’ he asked.
‘You’re the detective.’
‘Inspector Colbeck feels that this whole episode has been triggered by something from within the family.’
‘It has,’ said the artist, replacing the portrait on the easel. ‘Imogen has fled from tyrannical parents who keep her locked to a ball and chain. As to where she might have gone-’ George Vaughan stopped as a new possibility presented itself. ‘Why, yes,’ he cried, ‘it could be a family matter, after all. Lovely as she might be, Imogen was always too pure and unworldly for me. I prefer someone like Dolly Wrenson, an uninhibited woman with real fire and passion. But there is someone in the family who revered Imogen as a saint. That’s the person you want, Sergeant. Speak to my brother, Percy. He’s been longing for Imogen to marry him one day.’
After kneeling in prayer at the high altar, Colbeck and Percy Vaughan rose to their feet. Though relatively small, the church had an abundance of interesting features and the curate enjoyed pointing them out. Colbeck’s attention was drawn to the finely carved corbels in the perpendicular roof, the heads on the north side being identified as William Whitchurch, a former rector, Henry VI, the reigning monarch when the roof was built, and the Duke of Buckingham, the contemporaneous landowner and lord of the manor. The pulpit dated from the late fifteenth century, its bowl carved from one piece of stone. Like many other things in the church, the lectern came from the Continent, the top being of Flemish brass and the steel pedestal hailing from Spain. The seventeenth-century reading desk was made out of an old box pew. The most unusual item was a barrel organ, reached by a quaint little staircase and able to play a couple of dozen tunes to the congregation.
Interested as Colbeck was, he felt that his guide was deliberately keeping him there because he was reluctant to talk about his family. The church was Percy Vaughan’s domain. Inside it, he felt safe, in charge, at peace. When they came back out into the churchyard, however, he was tense and anxious.
‘You promised me that you’d talk more openly after we prayed,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘Your church is a delight but I didn’t come all this way simply to admire it.’
‘I’m grateful that you did come, Inspector. I’d hate to have been left unaware of dear Imogen’s plight.’ The curate moistened his lips before continuing. ‘If you’ve spoken to my sister, she might well have told you that I was very fond of my cousin. So was my brother, for that matter, but George’s yearning is for ladies of a less virtuous kind. When I took him to task on the subject, he simply laughed at me.’ He pulled a face. ‘I suppose that every family must have its black sheep.’
‘In your case, the family also has a good shepherd.’
‘I took holy orders out of inner conviction,’ said Percy Vaughan, ‘but there was a degree of penance involved.’
‘I can’t imagine that you were in need of repentance.’
‘My mind was not as settled as it now is, Inspector. It was once occupied by a vision of life with Imogen, a hopeless vision because my feelings were not requited and because her parents had higher ambitions than to see their daughter married to a humble curate. But strong emotions can overpower us,’ he continued, ‘and I was in their grip for a long while.’
‘Your sister indicated something of the kind, sir.’
‘Poor Emma never understood what I was really feeling and I was unable to confide in her lest she should tell Imogen in an unguarded moment. That would have been humiliating.’ He looked at Colbeck. ‘You said that you were married?’
‘I am and happily so.’
‘Then you were able to follow your heart and choose freely.’
‘It was so in both our cases.’
‘You were fortunate — I am not.’ He let out a groan of pain. ‘Imogen is lost to me forever.’
‘She will be found,’ affirmed Colbeck. ‘Of that I have no doubt.’
‘Then you must have received a different answer when you knelt at the altar,’ said the curate, solemnly, ‘for all I heard was silence. Whenever I’ve prayed in the past, there was always a sign — however slight — that God was listening. He may not have been able to grant me my wishes but at least God was aware of them and that in itself was a consolation. Today in church, I prayed in earnest for Imogen and her maid to be returned to us without delay.’ Percy Vaughan looked bereft. ‘I got no answer, no hint even that my words had been heard. Do you know what that means? It’s too late, Inspector. They are beyond saving.’ He bit his lip. ‘Imogen and her maid must be dead.’
‘How are you feeling now, Paulina?’
‘I feel very frail and very confused.’
‘There’s no colour in your cheeks.’
‘The doctor says that all I can do is rest.’
‘Well,’ said Cassandra, ‘at least do so where you can breathe in fresh air. It’s far too stuffy in here.’ Crossing the bedchamber, she flung open a window. ‘That’s better. It will do you good to be fanned by a light breeze.’
‘Thank you for coming, sister. I do appreciate it.’
‘There was no point in staying in Oxford. Dominic is preoccupied with college matters and Emma has a fit of weeping whenever she thinks of her cousin. I left both of them to their own devices. My place is here. I’d like to think that Marcus has been looking after you,’ she added, tartly, ‘but that’s too much to expect.’
‘He’s done his best.’
‘It’s not good enough, Paulina, and never has been.’
Cassandra Vaughan had never been in awe of her brother-in-law. While others admired Sir Marcus as a man of distinction, she saw his deficiencies as a husband and had the courage to tackle him about them. Her comments were invariably brushed aside with a lordly wave of the hand but that didn’t stop her continuing to speak up on behalf of her sister. Paulina was clearly ailing and there was a marked deterioration in her condition since Cassandra’s last visit to Burnhope Manor.
‘When did the doctor last call, Paulina?’
‘He came first thing this morning.’
‘I’d like to speak to him.’
‘He said that he’d try to come again tomorrow.’
‘If he doesn’t,’ said Cassandra, ‘I shall go looking for him. Having brought three children up, I’m used to dealing with the medical profession. So many of its members try to fob you off with glib diagnoses — I know how to get the truth out of a doctor. It’s something your husband should have done.’
‘Don’t blame Marcus. This dire news about Imogen has hit him hard.’
‘What about you? You’re her mother. It’s hit you even harder because Marcus is in better health to withstand the blow. Have there been any developments?’
‘Two detectives came but I was not allowed to see them.’
‘It was your right to do so, Paulina.’
‘I lacked the strength to enforce that right.’
‘Well, I can tell you that Inspector Colbeck visited us as well. We were struck by his acumen and by his confidence. Mr Tunnadine happened to be there at the time, making a nuisance of himself.’
Paulina sat up anxiously. ‘How is dear Clive?’
‘You’d not have spoken of him so solicitously had you been there. He was both offensive and insulting. I’d not let a bully like that marry my daughter,’ said Cassandra. ‘I was grateful when Inspector Colbeck put him in his place.’