‘If you feel guilty, Father,’ said Emma, ‘you can imagine how I feel. I was there when Imogen met this man. I had no idea that he had set up the encounter so that he could get to know her name.’
‘You are not to blame, Emma.’
‘I’m bound to bear some responsibility. My eyes were blinkered.’
‘That’s no bad thing in a young lady of your age,’ said Cassandra.
‘Yes, it is, Mother. Imogen and I were altogether too innocent.’
‘Loss of innocence can be both painful and sobering,’ said the curate. ‘I’ve seen it happen too many times. Sadly, it’s the fate that’s befallen Imogen.’
‘Where is she now?’ asked Paulina, dolefully. ‘That’s all I wish to know. What is happening to my daughter?’
Imogen Burnside and Rhoda Wills sat in the waiting room at Crewe station in a state of paralysis. Neither of them could speak. They had both witnessed something so horrendous that it had left their brains numb. A man had been shot dead right in front of them. They knew from experience that Whiteside and Cullen were quite merciless but they were shocked to see just how uncompromisingly ruthless they could be. A wave of despair had washed over Imogen. While she had no real love for Clive Tunnadine, she admired the way that he’d stood up to Whiteside and actually fought with him, only to be killed by a bullet in his back. It was an unjust reward for his bravery and the fault lay partly with her. If Imogen had not foolishly been drawn into a romance that had never really existed, Tunnadine would still be alive and her father would not have been compelled to part with a vast sum of money. As she recalled the sight of the dead body on the ground, she felt as if she had blood on her hands.
Rhoda was equally powerless to move or speak. While she had never liked Tunnadine, she was rocked by the way that he’d been murdered and overwhelmed with pity for him. In order to rescue Imogen, he was not only ready to part with a great deal of money. He was also prepared to take the risk of facing the kidnappers in person. Not having been present at the first attempted exchange, she was unaware that Tunnadine had himself done exactly what Cullen had done and shot someone from a concealed position. The irony of the situation therefore eluded her. All that she saw was a man being cut down for a courageous act. Rhoda could not excuse herself. When the doomed romance first started, she had colluded with Imogen and believed all the glib promises Whiteside made to her. The dazzling prospects had blinded her to the pleasures she may have enjoyed at home. Vernon Tolley would have been a most suitable husband for her and she regretted blocking him out entirely from her considerations. The coachman deserved better.
The other reason that kept both women seated in silence was that Whiteside and Cullen sat either side of them like a pair of human bookends. While Imogen and Rhoda had lost their tongues, the two men chatted away inconsequentially as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Nobody seeing them so relaxed and untroubled would guess that they were accomplices in kidnap, extortion and murder. The porter whom they’d hired to look after their luggage put his head round the door. It was the signal that their train was on its way. Taking Imogen by the elbow, Whiteside helped her up. Cullen did the same for Rhoda. The two women were eased out onto the platform.
Imogen at last recovered her voice. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I’m about to honour my promise to you,’ said Whiteside with a mock bow.
‘Do you dare to speak of honour, sir?’
‘The sergeant and I obey a strict code.’
‘Does it have to involve intimidating me and my maid?’
‘Nobody forced you to come, Imogen. You were a volunteer.’
‘That was because I didn’t realise what I was volunteering for,’ she said.
‘You came because I offered to take you off across the sea,’ he recalled. ‘And that’s exactly what I’m about to do. So you may have to take back your sneers and your suspicions. I really am going to …’
The rest of the sentence was smothered beneath the train’s uproar.
Evening shadows were darkening the streets of the capital when they ran Sir Marcus Burnhope to ground at his club. Throbbing with frustration at the way that his money and his daughter had been snatched away from him, he’d been drinking heavily but bore himself up well. He and the two detectives adjourned to a private room.
‘Do you have any news for me?’ he demanded.
‘We have no news about the whereabouts of the kidnappers and their victims,’ replied Colbeck. ‘Enquiries are still continuing.’
‘Then why have you bothered to come here?’
‘We need to speak on a related matter, Sir Marcus.’
‘It had better be an important one. I’ll not listen to tittle-tattle.’
‘You’ve already made your feelings known on this subject,’ said Colbeck, ‘but there have been developments since you heard what your nephew, George Vaughan, had to say.’
‘If you’ve come to repeat those gross allegations,’ warned Sir Marcus, ‘you can save your breath. Mr Tunnadine is being unfairly maligned. I’ve known him for years and will vouch for his good character.’
‘We saw what he did, Sir Marcus,’ said Leeming, unable to forget the injuries to Lucinda Graham. ‘We have the name of the young lady in question and the address at which Mr Tunnadine visited her on a regular basis.’
‘And,’ Colbeck put in, ‘we also have the names of the servants who were, in effect, witnesses to the assault because they heard their master’s raised voice clearly and they went to Miss Graham’s aid after he’d gone out of the house and slammed the door after him.’
‘It’s a conspiracy,’ asserted Sir Marcus. ‘They’re all in this together.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you met the victim.’
‘I’ve no intention of doing so.’
‘Well, Mr Tunnadine will meet her in a court of law,’ said Leeming.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, man.’
‘He has to answer for his mistakes, Sir Marcus.’
‘And so do you, Sergeant,’ blustered the other. ‘You can’t come bothering me at my club on a trumped-up charge against a senior politician who is set to do great things for this country. Get out, the pair of you!’ He rose to his feet and pointed to the door. ‘I shall inform Superintendent Tallis of your disgraceful behaviour.’
‘It was the superintendent who sent us,’ explained Colbeck, taking a document from his pocket. ‘He gave me this warrant for the arrest of Mr Tunnadine on charges of murder and assault. We’d hoped to find the gentleman here with you but it seems that we’ve drawn a blank there.’
Sir Marcus wobbled slightly before dropping back into his chair. All the bluster he could manage would not outweigh the authority of an arrest warrant. If the superintendent had been convinced of Tunnadine’s guilt with regard to the assault on the young lady, it could not be dismissed so easily. He looked for another way out.
‘Listen,’ he began, his tone more emollient, ‘I’m sure that you needn’t go to the lengths of an arrest. I was there when Mr Tunnadine’s gun went off. It could have done so accidentally. It was certainly not murder in any shape or form. You saw him open his wallet and offer compensation. Was that the action of a killer?’
‘It was the action of someone who wanted to buy off the family of the victim,’ said Leeming. ‘He didn’t do it as if he was actually sorry.’
‘Well, he was — deep down.’
‘We never got to explore the depths of Mr Tunnadine’s soul,’ said Colbeck, archly. ‘It’s a fabled territory I’d hesitate to survey. What concerns me is that he shot a man who was struggling with me at the time.’