‘What’s your advice?’ asked Tunnadine.
‘That depends on when the money is ready, sir.’
‘My banker says that I can collect it in the morning.’
‘Then while you’re doing that, I’ll take a train to Crewe. The letter is careful to give us no details of the actual exchange,’ said Kee. ‘It simply orders you to stay at a nominated hotel on a particular day so that instructions can be delivered to you there.’
‘I’ll check the railway timetable in Bradshaw.’
‘Do you possess a weapon, sir?’
‘I have several firearms and I’m a good shot.’
‘Then we are two of a kind for I’ve been trained as a marksman. Between us, I feel sure that we can bring this fellow down — and his accomplice, for he will surely have one. Beware of more tricks, Mr Tunnadine. He’s a guileful man.’
‘I’ll insist on seeing that Imogen is alive and unharmed before any exchange is made. We won’t be palmed off with an ignorant country girl this time.’
In spite of the tiresome delays and the sudden changes of plan, Imogen Burnhope still retained complete faith in the man she loved. Terence Whiteside was everything that she had ever hoped for in a future husband. He was brave, handsome, kind, generous, unbelievably patient and filled with a spirit of adventure. Once she’d got to know Clive Tunnadine, the idea of marrying him was tinged with fear. His political career would always take precedence and she would be compelled to lead the same empty existence as her mother, left at home and largely disregarded. Captain Whiteside was different. He’d offered her a vision of wedded bliss that had entranced her. They were to be secretly married in England before sailing off to France where, he told her, he owned an estate in the Dordogne. Far from discovery, they would create their own private Garden of Eden. The fact that the marriage still hadn’t taken place dismayed her at first but Whiteside had persuaded her that it was only a matter of days before he took her as his wife.
Imogen might be lulled into a trance by his smooth tongue but Rhoda Wills was deeply troubled by the turn of events. There had been a definite excitement in the prospect of an escape to a foreign country, especially as it involved a degree of play-acting at Oxford station. Rhoda had willingly helped Imogen to put on an army uniform and had tied the bandage in place to conceal part of her face. She’d then expected to be driven to a remote church where the wedding ceremony would take place in private. In their exhilaration, neither she nor Imogen had stopped to question the validity of a marriage conducted in such a way. In the event, it never occurred. Instead of sailing off to the Continent with her newly-wed mistress, Rhoda was being kept in a hotel somewhere in Oxfordshire and fed on a sequence of what she now discerned as patent excuses.
It was, however, impossible to convince Imogen that anything was amiss.
‘I’m very worried,’ said Rhoda.
Imogen smiled. ‘You’re always worried.’
‘Far too many things have gone wrong.’
‘That’s not true at all. The moment we stepped onto that train, everything went exactly as arranged. I changed into the uniform that Captain Whiteside had provided and I was whisked away from Oxford as the soldier.’
‘I don’t remember the train journey so fondly,’ said Rhoda. ‘You told me to put my head out of the window in the Mickleton Tunnel so that the smoke would darken my complexion and make it more difficult for your aunt to recognise me. All that happened was that my hat blew off and I ended up with a mouthful of dust and a stink of smoke in my nostrils.’ Imogen laughed. Rhoda was aggrieved. ‘It wasn’t funny.’
‘I’m sorry, Rhoda,’ said the other. ‘Without you, none of this would have happened. You helped to rescue me from Burnhope Manor. I’ll always remember that.’
‘Don’t be grateful until you’re quite sure that you have been rescued.’
Sharing a sofa in the bay window, they were in the larger and more well appointed of the adjoining rooms. It had the kind of lavishness to which Imogen was accustomed and proved to her that Whiteside really did possess the wealth of which he’d boasted. Rhoda gazed longingly through the window.
‘It wouldn’t be so bad if we were allowed to go outside.’
‘We can’t do that, Rhoda. We mustn’t be seen.’
‘But we’ve been cooped up for days, even eating our meals in here. We both need some exercise. Why can’t we at least take a turn in the garden?’
‘It’s only a matter of time before we leave.’
‘I wonder,’ said the maid, doubtfully.
‘You should read that favourite sonnet of mine. It was the one that Captain Whiteside quoted in his first letter to me. And have you forgotten the name of the locomotive that took us to Oxford?’ asked Imogen, excitedly. ‘It was Will Shakspere. That was a sign. The sonnet I’ve just mentioned was written by Shakespeare. The bit of it that I always call to mind helps me to ignore the minor inconveniences that have afflicted us. ‘Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds …’ That’s how it is with me, Rhoda. Although our plans have altered slightly, my love has remained constant. Will Shakspere — I’ll always remember the name of that locomotive and so, I trust, will you.’
‘What I remember is losing my hat in that tunnel.’
‘I gave you my own to wear when I changed into that uniform.’ Rhoda fell silent but her expression spoke volumes. ‘Why are you so sad?’ asked Imogen. ‘Don’t you feel happy for me?’
‘I wish that I could,’ replied the maid. ‘I didn’t think that Mr Tunnadine would be a fit husband for you and I hated seeing the way your parents tried to bully you into marrying him. But are you really any better off now?’
‘Of course I am. I’ve been blessed with a husband of my own choice.’
‘But he’s not your husband, Miss Imogen.’
‘He soon will be. You and Sergeant Cullen will be the witnesses.’
‘That’s another thing I must mention,’ said Rhoda, glancing over her shoulder. ‘I’ve tried to keep my anxieties to myself because I don’t wish to unsettle you in any way. However, I must speak out about the sergeant. He troubles me.’
‘Why? He’s been perfectly civil to both of us.’
‘There’s something about him I don’t quite like.’
‘He’s Captain Whiteside’s best friend. That in itself should be more than enough to commend him. Why this uncalled-for dislike of Sergeant Cullen? I find that lovely Irish lilt of his so musical.’
‘It wasn’t very musical this morning,’ recalled Rhoda. ‘He came into my room when I tried to open your trunk and he ordered me to leave it alone. He used a voice I’d never heard before and it shook me.’
‘He was only repeating what the captain told us. Our luggage must be kept locked so that we can leave at a moment’s notice. Besides, I don’t need anything from the trunk, Rhoda. I’m comfortable in what I wear.’
‘It upset me a great deal.’
‘Then I’ll ask the sergeant to apologise.’
‘You might ask him something else at the same time.’
‘What’s that?
‘After he left the room,’ said Rhoda, ‘I wondered why he’d been so harsh with me. It was unkind of him. So I disobeyed his order. I unlocked the trunk and went through its contents. It’s no wonder he didn’t want me to look inside.’