Colbeck was fast but his anonymous quarry was even swifter and he might well have escaped had he not decided to leave the path and plunge into the cover of the trees. Almost as soon as he did so, he tripped over an exposed root and dived headlong to the ground. His cry of surprise told Colbeck exactly where he was. Before he could haul himself up, the man felt the full weight of the inspector on his back.
‘Let me go,’ he cried.
‘We must first have a talk, my friend.’
After lifting him to his feet by his collar, Colbeck introduced himself and elicited the name of Dick Rudder from the messenger. The young man was terrified. He was an apprentice at a flour mill and had been approached by a stranger while drinking at an inn.
‘All I had to do was to deliver a letter after dark,’ he said.
‘Why did you come so late?’
‘He paid me well, sir. I spent it on drink and fell asleep.’
‘Describe the man to me.’
‘He was about my height and I’d put him at thirty or more. And he had a way about him, sir. He made you feel that you were a friend. It was so with me, anyway, and we only talked for five or ten minutes.’
‘Was he well spoken and smartly dressed?’
‘Yes — that’s right, Inspector.’
‘What else can you tell me about him?’
‘I took him for a soldier.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘My uncle was in the army,’ replied Rudder. ‘He had the same straight back and the same swagger as this man. At least, my uncle did until he got killed in the Crimea. You’d never get me in an army uniform.’
‘Tell me exactly what this stranger said to you.’
‘Will you let me go then?’
‘Yes, Dick — you’re not in any trouble.’
Rudder was so pleased that he shook Colbeck’s hand as if operating a village pump. He then launched into an account of the conversation he’d had. Sobered by his capture, he recalled almost all the details of his chat. Colbeck now had a much clearer image of the kidnapper. He was grateful to the apprentice.
‘How much did he give you, Dick?’
‘I got half a sovereign, sir — just for delivering a letter.’
‘Then I’ll match that amount,’ said Colbeck, reaching into his pocket and handing the money over. ‘It will help to soothe your bruises. Now, away with you and don’t tell a soul about what happened here tonight. Is that a promise?’
Rudder nodded repeatedly then slipped away into the darkness.
Dominic Vaughan sat beside his elder son on a bench in the Master’s garden. It was a sunny day but the fine weather did not dispel their mutual sadness. The fate of Imogen and her maid was a weight that pressed down heavily on both of them. The curate was particularly despondent. His father sought to distract him from his grief.
‘How are things in North Cerney?’ he asked.
‘I am very contented, looking after my flock.’
‘Have you no greater ambitions, Percy?’
‘In time, as you well know, I’ll become rector there.’
‘I’d hoped that you’d set your sights higher,’ said Vaughan. ‘There’s only so much one can do in a parish church.’
‘It suits my temperament, Father. Small and insignificant as it may appear, All Saints has an intriguing history. If you look at the rectors’ board, you’ll see that the first incumbent was John de Belvale in the year 1269. When I become the next link in that long chain of worship,’ said the curate, ‘I intend to write a history of the clergy who’ve served North Cerney over the centuries.’
‘Why confine yourself to a church when a cathedral might beckon?’
‘I lack the qualities for high office.’
‘You are clever enough to acquire them, Percy. Look at me,’ said his father. ‘When I was an undergraduate, I was so meek that people thought I was waiting to inherit the earth.’ His son smiled wanly at the biblical reference. ‘But I applied myself and eventually learnt the skills needed to become a fellow. When I rose to be Master, of course, I had to become more adept at political dagger-work and less tolerant of my colleagues’ prejudices.’
‘My memory is that Mother helped to stiffen your resolve.’
‘A good woman is a blessing to any man.’ His son lowered his head. ‘In time, you will find someone to share your life then you can enjoy the benison that only marriage can bring.’
‘I have no plans to take a wife, Father.’
‘Neither did I until I met your mother.’
‘My case is different,’ explained his son, looking at him. ‘If I cannot have the wife of my own choosing, I’d prefer to remain celibate.’
Vaughan understood. Though his elder son had tried to keep his love for Imogen a secret, it had become clear to all members of the family. Percy Vaughan’s passions ran deep. Losing her to a man like Clive Tunnadine had been a shuddering blow to him but discovering that she’d been abducted was far worse. The curate was suffering agonies.
‘May I ask you something?’ he said at length.
‘You know full well that you may.’
‘And will you promise to give me an honest answer?’
‘I’d like to think that all my answers are honest,’ said Vaughan, seriously.
‘Why did you always favour George over me?’
His father was taken aback. ‘But I didn’t, Percy. I loved you both equally.’
‘You may have attempted to do so but he was the one you indulged. I was admired for my discipline and my scholarship but George was the one who could make you laugh, even when his mischievous streak got out of hand. You gave him opportunities, Father,’ he complained. ‘You gave George licence that was denied me.’
‘You didn’t need licence — he did.’
‘After all that’s happened, he’s still your favourite.’
It was true and Vaughan was ashamed to admit it. George had always been given preferential treatment by both parents. Emma, too, had sought her younger brother’s company first. Percy Vaughan had felt isolated and undervalued.
‘If I’ve shown George more kindness,’ said the Master, ‘then it was a grievous fault and I apologise for it. You’ve brought nothing but honour to the family name. George, alas, is more likely to besmirch it. A moment ago, you spoke of celibacy as something you’d willingly embrace. It is a concept entirely foreign to your brother.’
‘You’ll forgive him, whatever he does.’
‘He’s my son, Percy.’
‘So am I.’
There was a noticeable tension in the air. Neither man had meant to talk about their relationship but it had nevertheless happened. As a result, both of them felt raw. Vaughan wrenched the conversation back to the abduction.
‘It is such a strain, not knowing what’s happening to Imogen and her maid,’ he said, sorrowfully. ‘I’m on tenterhooks, as indeed you must be. What on earth can we do, Percy?’
‘We must continue to pray for both of them,’ advised the curate, ‘and we must pray for Inspector Colbeck as well. He needs all the help he can get.’
At that moment in time, Colbeck was, in fact, getting help from the head porter of the college. The letter delivered during the night had contained a demand for twice the amount of the original ransom. Sir Marcus Burnhope was given a day and a half to raise the money. Since there was nothing he could usefully do in the Worcestershire countryside, Colbeck had taken the train to Oxford to pursue a line of enquiry there. Samuel Woolcott, the venerable head porter, seemed to blend in perfectly with the ancient stonework all around him. His head was bald but strands of hair grew in profusion all over the lower part of his face like so much ivy. Old age had not dulled his mind or prevented him from carrying out his duties with commendable vigour. He and Colbeck conversed in the Lodge. Woolcott spoke in a local accent that had a soft, bewitching burr.