Unlikely Traitors (15 page)

“I wish it was that easy, Mr. Pemberton,” Ursula said. “But I think we can dispense with the pretense and get down to the real issues at hand.” She ignored Anderson’s hesitant sideways glance and continued. “The Crown is pursuing this case based, I believe on at least two witnesses as well as documentary evidence—am I right?”

“Yes,” Pemberton replied, quickly recovering. “The laws of treason require at least two witnesses and the Crown has specified that the charges are reliant

on the testimony of Lord Wrotham’s second cousin Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg, and an Irish informer by the name of Padraig O’Shaunessy who was apparently at the alleged meeting in Germany and was privy to plans to assassinate members of the Royal family. I also received word just this morning of an additional witness in the case, Mr. Christopher Dobbs”—Ursula caught Anderson’s glance this time—“It appears he was initially asked to assist with the procurement of arms via his contacts in Germany.”

“So Mr. Dobbs is now one of the Crown’s key witnesses?” Ursula asked and her jaw clenched involuntarily at the thought.

“Yes, though, as the case progresses I expect we will receive details with respect to other witnesses in due course. Do you have cause to know if Christopher Dobbs has had much dealing with Lord Wrotham?”

“There is certainly no love lost between them, if that’s what you mean,” Ursula replied, trying to maintain her composure.

“I should inform you,” Anderson told Pemberton quickly, “that Dobbs once expressed an interest in acquiring Marlow Industries. Miss Marlow has already asked me to investigate any links or financial interests that Mr. Dobbs may have respect to the Wrotham family.”

“You mean the family debtors, I assume…” Pemberton asked and his voice dropped to little more than a murmur.

“You needn’t both try and shield my sensibilities,” Ursula interrupted. “I am well aware of Lord Wrotham’s precarious financial situation, though he is hardly to blame for the deplorable state in which his brother left the estate.”

“No, no, of course not,” Pemberton hastened to assure her. “No one could have impugned Lord Wrotham on that score.”

Anderson cleared his throat. “I think Miss Marlow may be justifiably concerned that Dobbs’ interest in this case is personal as well as commercial, so I have widened my inquiries to ascertain the nature of all Dobbs business interests to see if whether any of them impinge on Lord Wrotham’s affairs.” Anderson had discreetly avoided mentioning the animosity clearly felt between Lord Wrotham, Dobbs’ and herself.

“Mr. Anderson is looking at both families’ commercial interests in Germany, Britain and Ireland,” Ursula said.

“I see,” Pemberton answered. “Are you planning to hire a private investigator by any chance?”

”Not for now, I’d rather not risk it,” Ursula replied. “I think it’s best that only the three of us in this room are privy to any information that may be unearthed though our inquiries. The last thing we need is an unscrupulous investigator leaking stuff to the newspapers.”

“Agreed,” Pemberton said with a barely suppressed shudder.

“One company I am particularly interested in The Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company—are you aware that Lord Wrotham once acted in a case involving this company?”

“No, I can’t say that I was.”

“Well, I would like help finding the case report”—Ursula dug out a piece of paper from her pocket—“The case is called
El Dorado Investments v. The Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company
.
I think the High Court heard the appeal in 1907.”

“I suppose I could get my clerks to look the case citation up if you’d like,” Pemberton offered, after a pause. His expression was faintly bemused.

“That would be most helpful,” Ursula replied.

“May I ask why you should be so interested in this case?” Pemberton said.

“Have you not considered that someone may wish to injure Lord Wrotham in this way?” Ursula responded.

“What do you mean?” Pemberton stared at her.

“Let’s assume, for the sake of argument say, that the charges made against Lord Wrotham are a fabrication and the witnesses statements a lie…Can you think of anyone who would wish to see Lord Wrotham humiliated in this manner? Perhaps someone in power who has borne him a grudge?” Ursula kept her tone brisk and her expression deliberately neutral before Pemberton’s obvious incredulity. Nonetheless, she could hear Anderson rock back and forth on his chair with apparent unease.

“You can’t be serious Miss Marlow!” Pemberton spluttered. “Such a person would have to be diabolical in the extreme and if that was the case why doesn’t Lord Wrotham deny the charges most vigorously rather than remaining silent as he has? I hardly think that theory has any serious merit to it…”

“Really, I would have thought it was obvious,” Ursula responded. “Lord Wrotham’s actions may well have been manipulated to appear treasonous.”

“That as may be”—Pemberton’s skepticism remained undiminished—“but I have to proceed on the assumption that the crown case is based on facts and the application of the law—not some vast and, dare I say, ludicrous conspiracy theory.”

“I see,” Ursula replied, but she was not one to be brow beaten by any man, least of all a lawyer. “Nevertheless would you indulge me?” Ursula turned to speak to Anderson.

“Perhaps,” she began. “We should try and identify the investors involved in that legal case as well as any companies which once had direct ties to The Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company. It’s a starting point at least. I would also like a list of all of Lord Wrotham’s most controversial cases,”Ursula turned back to Pemberton. “No, I haven’t completely lost my senses, I just haven’t discounted the possibility that someone with a grudge against Lord Wrotham is instigating this.”

Pemberton’s eyebrows lifted but, after exchanging glances with Anderson, he finally nodded his acquiescence.

“What about the documentary evidence in the case?” Ursula asked. “Do you have copies of the files or Admiral Smythe’s notebook as yet?”

“In time we will get access to all the documents—but Miss Marlow, it is still early days, we are only in the preliminary stages of the case and, as you well know, the law does not charge forward apace—unfortunately it is very much inclined to dawdle.”

Ursula leaned back in her chair with a disgruntled sigh. She was getting increasingly frustrated by her inability to move forward in her inquiries.

“Have any further charges been laid with regard to Admiral Smythe’s death?” she asked.

“Has Lord Wrotham been charged with his murder, do you mean? No”—Pemberton shook his head—“not yet…”

“But Lord Wrotham still refuses to offer any evidence in his own defense…” Ursula prompted. Her voice was hollow. She knew the answer.

“Yes,” Pemberton admitted. “I’m afraid he does.”

“I am sure…” Anderson offered uncertainly into the silence. “His lordship has his reasons…”

Pemberton gave an unsatisfied sniff. “That as may be, but he’s placed us all in a most damnable position.”

Ursula noticed Pemberton furtively glance at the wall clock, and she gathered up her gloves and purse. “Well,” she said briskly. “We won’t get him out of jail by sitting around here!” She got to her feet. “Just let me know when your clerk has found the Imperial Gold and Diamond Mining Company case.”

“I will make suitable arrangements for you to be able to visit the law library to read it,” Pemberton replied and he too got to his feet. Ursula saw the hesitancy and she suddenly understood that there was at least one matter that they had not yet covered: One of extreme delicacy given Lord Wrotham’s precarious financial situation.

“I am, of course, planning to pay all legal expenses necessary to clear Lord Wrotham’s name—so if we require background searches, additional witnesses—anything like that—you must spare no expense…”

Pemberton averted his eyes with an embarrassed cough. “Thank you…that certainly…yes…” he stumbled over the words.

“I am well aware of the precariousness of the Wrotham family finances,” Ursula said. “So please, let us say nothing further in the matter only rest easy, Marlow industries will be covering all costs in this case.” Ursula gave Anderson a nudge. As her new appointed guardian he would have to also agree. He looked up and gave an eventual, though not entirely convincing, nod.

“No need to see me out,” Ursula said briskly as she tugged on her hat and gloves. “I know my way around Temple Inn quite well by now.” And with that she exited Pemberton’s chambers with what she hoped conveyed a confident, yet steely determination.

Once in the quadrangle, Anderson stopped Ursula in mid-step. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to go through with all of this—delving into these cases and companies? You may find out things that about Lord Wrotham that you would rather not have known…”

“I know,” Ursula replied. She knew all too well what it was like to uncover the secrets of the past—it was what led her to discover her father’s killer after all. “It’s a risk,” she admitted, “but it’s one that I have to take.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence and, as they exited Inner Temple Lane onto Fleet Street, Ursula spied Samuels leaning against the bonnet of Bertie, reading the
Daily Mail
newspaper as he waited for them to return.

“Is a German invasion still imminent?’ Ursula asked. The proprietor of the
Daily Mail
, Lord Northcliffe, was notorious for warmongering.

“Any day now, Miss,” Samuels replied with a grin as he opened the rear door and assisted Ursula inside. Anderson clambered in alongside her while Samuels cranked the engine. As Samuels navigated the motorcar along the busy streets towards Belgravia, Ursula turned to Anderson and asked: “My father didn’t know Admiral Smythe, by any chance, did he?” she asked.

“No, Anderson replied. “He moved in quite a different social circle. I believe your father may have met him once and you know how close he was to Lord Wrotham.”

“Pity,” Ursula mused. “It would have been useful to have some independent account of what the man was like.”

“Yes,” Anderson agreed. “Though what little I’ve heard suggests he valued his secrecy. There have certainly been no rumors of whispers of scandal—though he had little in the way of business interests.”

Ursula fiddled with the one of the cuffs of her shirt as she rested her arm on the passenger door.

“Did my father ever mention that Lord Wrotham had once been in Guyana?” she asked.

Anderson shrugged. “He may have, but I don’t recall anything of significance. I believe your father met Lord Wrotham on the return journey from there—they were on the same ship from New York to England.”

“Yes, I knew that…I just wondered if my father ever said”—Ursula paused. She felt a sudden stab of grief. If only her father was still here, she could have had someone to talk to about Lord Wrotham—someone who probably knew more about his secrets than anyone else.

“I know,” Anderson said gently. “I still miss him too.” His face bore the same wistfulness as Ursula, for he had been a good friend to her father. Ursula bit her lip to keep her tears in check. Although Anderson’s children had been spared the murderous vengeance wrought by the man who had killed Robert Marlow, the tragic events of 1910 still reverberated among all of Ursula’s father’s friends. Ursula suspected that the bonds of friendship between Robert Marlow and his long-time business associates were not unlike those that bound Lord Wrotham and his friends from Balliol. They were borne out of history of shared secrets—of past betrayals and bitter recriminations.

“It’s frustrating,” Ursula said as she leaned her head against the window glass. “Chief Inspector Harrison won’t even let me in to see Admiral Smythe’s office or home—or speak with his housekeeper. I know they are handling the investigation but I can’t help feeling that they are missing something crucial—something that a man like my father could have known.”

“I think you assume too much, Ursula,” Anderson said, slipping into informality. “I’m not sure even your father could have helped Lord Wrotham.”

Ursula took a deep breath “No, perhaps not…” she murmured as she returned her gaze to the window.

After a moment’s hesitation, Anderson asked. “Do you really think Christopher Dobbs could be involved?” Christopher Dobbs’ father, Obadiah had once been a close friend of Anderson’s but, after he had tried to blackmail them all following Robert Marlow’s death, friendship between the families had cooled. Anderson was ignorant of Christopher Dobbs’ involvement in the death of Katya Vilenksy and her sister the previous year, but he was nonetheless wary of the power and influence Dobbs’ companies now wielded. With the possibility of a war with Germany fast approaching, Dobbs’ shipbuilding, munitions factories and supplies were in ever increasing demand.

Ursula knew if she told him of the conversation she had with Dobbs at Lady Winterton’s party, Anderson would warn her off investigating Dobbs any further. Avoiding the implication in his question, she merely answered: “I am my father’s daughter. I never forget that without my fortune I am nothing.”

As Samuels dropped Anderson off at his office on Threadneedle Street, and they continued on their way to Chester Square, Ursula reflected that there was more truth to those words than she cared to admit. Of course she wanted all this information as part of her investigation into the case against Lord Wrotham—and she wanted to clear his name above all things—but she was not so altruistic not to recognize the seriousness with which any diminution of her own monetary fortune would have on her standing in society. Tenuous as her position was, if she were to lose her fortune she would lose everything.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The morning with Pemberton and Anderson had made Ursula restless and uneasy and, after pacing the house for an unsettled few hours, Ursula decided she need to be doing something not waiting at home fretting about an investigation she had little control over. Donning a new navy and cream piped day suit Ursula decided to make her first social call since Lord Wrotham’s arrest. When she arrived at Lady Winterton’s house, she felt a nervousness that was alien to her—but she summoned the courage and rang the doorbell—casting an imperious look at a passerby who, recognizing her features no doubt from a newspaper photograph, dared to stare at her with unrestrained curiosity.