‘Oh, I’ll be there,’ said Colbeck, sensing that a new stage of the investigation had suddenly opened up, ‘and I’ll make sure that Victor Leeming is there as well.’
‘It looks as if that arrest warrant for Tunnadine will not be needed.’
‘Apparently not — Sir Marcus will be shocked to hear of his death.’
‘He’ll also wonder why the man didn’t confide that he, too, had received a ransom demand. Kee may be able to explain that. He will supervise the return of the body to London before coming on to us with the full story of what happened.’
‘From where was his telegraph sent, sir?’
‘It came from the railway station in Crewe.’
Colbeck thought about Madeleine’s latest painting. It featured a locomotive that had been built at the railway works in the same town. A smile touched his lips.
‘Why do you find that amusing?’ asked Tallis, gruffly.
‘I’m not so much amused as excited, sir,’ replied Colbeck, ‘and I’m bound to ask a teasing question.’
‘What is it?’
‘When does a coincidence become an omen?’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sir Marcus Burnhope was troubled. After the detectives left him at his club, he went up to his room and sat in a chair with a glass of whisky beside him. Sleep was out of the question. Too many unanswerable questions plagued him. While the fate of his daughter still dominated his mind, the figure of Clive Tunnadine kept popping up and his friend was now in a slightly different guise. The allegations that Colbeck and Leeming had presented to him only served to infuriate Sir Marcus and forced him back on the defensive. Now that he was alone, however, and able to review what they told him with a degree of dispassion, niggling doubts began to appear. He recalled some joking remarks made in the House of Commons about Tunnadine, the kind of silly banter in which he never indulged and, as a rule, studiously ignored. Then there were the knowing looks that Tunnadine sometimes attracted and the nudges he’d seen between other politicians when his friend approached them. The jokes, looks and nudges now took on some significance.
Yet he still couldn’t believe that Tunnadine was capable of the violence his nephew had described and the detectives had confirmed. Nor could he entertain the thought that his friend had kept a mistress. Tunnadine had always seemed so fully committed to political affairs that he had no time for dalliances of any kind and no discernible inclination towards them. The two men had sat on committees together, prepared reports for the Prime Minister and even travelled abroad as colleagues. In all the years that Sir Marcus had known him, there was not the slightest hint that Tunnadine had a secret life involving deception, immorality and violent behaviour. As he downed his whisky, he veered back to his original belief. Lucinda Graham’s accusation, he concluded, was the work of a devious woman who sought to wrest money out of a decent man by threatening to blacken his name. The arrest warrant carried by Colbeck should — in Sir Marcus’s opinion — have borne the name of the supposed victim of the assault. She was the real criminal.
Satisfied that he had rationalised the situation, he was ready to retire to bed. It was then that the letter arrived from Superintendent Tallis. It was delivered by a member of the club staff who awaited his response. When Sir Marcus read the contents of the missive, his bleary eyes widened in absolute horror. He immediately gave the man orders that he should be awakened at dawn. In fact, he needed no call next day because he found it impossible to doze off during the night. When he set off from the club in a cab, fingers of light were poking through the gloom of the capital. The train from Paddington took him to Oxford where he changed platforms and caught an express to Shrub Hill.
As on a previous occasion, he’d arranged for a telegraph to be sent to the station, asking for someone to ride to Burnhope Manor to alert his coachman. Vernon Tolley was therefore waiting to open the door of the landau and lower the step.
‘Welcome back, Sir Marcus!’ he said, politely.
‘Drive me home.’
‘I hope that you had a good journey.’
‘You heard me, Tolley,’ snapped the other. ‘Do as you’re told and get me back to Burnhope Manor as soon as possible.’
Dominic Vaughan and his elder son were up far too early for breakfast. To work up an appetite and to pray for the release of the hostages, they walked the quarter of a mile to the village church and let themselves in. It was Percy Vaughan who became the senior figure now, shepherding his father to the altar rail and kneeling beside him to recite a long prayer that somehow brought them closer together than they had been for years. Little had been said on the journey there. On the way back, however, father and son were able to have a proper conversation.
‘That was a very moving prayer, Percy.’
‘The words just came to me.’
‘They were both poignant and appropriate,’ said Vaughan. ‘I’m so grateful that you decided to come to Burnhope Manor.’
‘I was a prey to the same impulse as you, Father. I felt I was needed here.’
‘If truth be told, you’ve been far more use than your mother. There are times when her presence can be a little abrasive and your aunt needs a more tranquil personality at her bedside.’
‘I’ve only done what I’ve been trained to do.’
‘It’s more a case of instinct than training. You have a knack that nobody else in the family possesses. Emma is too inexperienced, poor girl, and George is too skittish. Had he been trying to comfort your aunt, he’d have made her feel worse rather than better.’
‘I’d absolve him of that charge,’ said the curate. ‘What’s happened to Imogen and her maid seems to have calmed George down immeasurably and given him a sense of maturity. It’s made a great impact on all of us, of course, but it’s taught my brother a valuable lesson about family values.’
‘You could be right, Percy.’
Listening to the birdsong, they strolled on down the country lane. Dominic Vaughan was aware of a natural togetherness absent for a very long time.
‘Your aunt said a strange thing to me last evening,’ he said.
‘What was it, Father?’
‘Perhaps it’s best if I don’t repeat it. You might feel embarrassment.’
His son was curious. ‘Was it to do with Imogen’s engagement, by any chance?’ he asked. ‘If it was, then Aunt Paulina has already confided in me that she was not entirely happy with their choice of husband.’
‘When I spoke to her, she added a rider.’
‘Oh?’
‘Your aunt said in passing that you’d be a far more suitable candidate for your cousin’s hand.’ Vaughan saw his son’s confusion and felt remorseful. ‘There,’ he went on, ‘I told you that it might bring a blush to your cheek.’
‘Aunt Paulina is unwell,’ said the other, covering his unease with a smile. ‘I shouldn’t pay too much attention to what she says. When I sat with her yesterday, her mind wandered constantly.’
Pretending to treat his aunt’s comment as unimportant, he was instead deeply touched by it. Percy Vaughan had always felt that nobody at Burnhope Manor had ever taken him seriously. They were more interested in his brother’s antics or in his sister’s latest news. The curate had been slightly peripheral. The fact that someone had now spoken up for him filled him with a joy that was clouded by apprehension. Until the release of his cousin, any hopes he might nurse were illusory.
The two of them had almost reached the house when the landau came down the drive at speed and scattered gravel everywhere as it slid to a halt. Sir Marcus was on his feet at once. The coachman opened the door, let down the step and stood out of the way. As Sir Marcus alighted, they rushed across to him.
‘You seem to be in a devil of a hurry,’ observed Vaughan.
‘I’ve had the most alarming news, Dominic.’