Unlikely Traitors (7 page)

“She thinks it’s because of my influence, doesn’t she?” Ursula said hoarsely. Biggs was in no doubt who she was talking about. He nodded as Ursula stumbled to take a seat in the armchair behind the large mahogany desk.

“Where are they?” Ursula asked,

“Mrs. Stewart and Bridget are both in their quarters upstairs. I told them they’d best pack and be ready to leave.”

“Yes, I see,” Ursula replied, but truth be told she felt as though she was only beginning to comprehend the full ramifications of Lord Wrotham’s arrest.

“Before you send them down,” Ursula said slowly, dreading what she must now ask. “Tell me what of Cook? What about Samuels? Or Julia?”

“Cook informed me she is too set in her ways to seek another position. She will stay.”

“Hardly a ringing endorsement,” Ursula murmured. “But I thank her for it.”

“Samuels also intends to stay, for now at least. Although, he confided in me that he has received an offer to take up an apprenticeship as a garage mechanic. I fear he may not be long in domestic service.”

“And Julia?” Ursula swallowed quickly. “What has she said?”

“As you are no doubt aware, Julia has become increasingly drawn to missionary work, but she appears content to minister to you, for the time-being.” Ursula detected a note of censure in his voice as if she had been naive to expect anything more.

Mechanically, Ursula reached over and lifted the lid of the silver cigarette box that her father had always kept on his desk. With shaking fingers she lit a cigarette and tried to restore some semblance of equanimity. Ursula leaned back in her chair and drew on the cigarette. Was she really little more than an object of their pity?

“Now, I must ask about you,” she hesitated. “You who have always shown my family such loyalty, must I see you leave as well?”

“You need never ask the question,” Biggs answered and his gaze never wavered. “I remain, as I have always been. I hope I need say no more.”

“No,” Ursula replied with a weak smile, “and, please, forgive me for asking. I should have known better than to doubt you.”

Biggs bowed stiffly. A slight flush behind his ears the only sign of his discomfiture.

“Shall I send in Bridget and Mrs. Stewart?” he asked.

“No,” Ursula replied. “Summon the others. I want to speak to them first.”

Biggs looked uncertain.

“It is all right, Biggs,” Ursula reassured him. “I will not take long, and I trust you know me well enough to know that I won’t throw Mrs. Stewart or Bridget out on the streets after dark. Samuels can either drive them or they can stay tonight and leave first thing in the morning. I have no intention of doing anything that may provoke undue attention or comment.”

Biggs simply nodded and then exited the room to fetch the other servants.

Ursula closed her eyes and prepared herself.

Biggs was the first to enter, followed by Samuels, who, in his chauffeur’s uniform and boots, still reeked of grease and petrol. Ursula was sure he had been hard at work checking that she hadn’t caused any damage to the Bugatti during her trip to Bromley Hall. Samuels was very protective of her motor cars and, despite successfully teaching Ursula to drive, remained skeptical that women should be allowed on the road at all. Cook arrived next, wiping her hands on her white apron and straightening her cap. She rarely left the kitchen and looked ill at ease in the unfamiliar surroundings of Ursula’s study. Catching sight of one of Ursula’s latest acquisitions, a lithograph by Paul Klee, she gave a sniff of disapproval. Finally Julia walked in the room, clutching the bible that was now her constant companion. She looked around anxiously, noting Mrs. Stewart and Bridget’s absence.

Ursula cleared her throat and began: “I know these are difficult times, but I want to reassure you all that I am grateful for your continued loyalty and support.” She looked around, trying to gauge their reaction. “Your loyalty will, however, be sorely tested in the coming weeks. This morning a notice appeared in
The Times
announcing that I have called off my engagement to Lord Wrotham.”

Julia went pale and swayed dangerously. Samuels reached over and steadied her before escorting her to a chair. Cook responded with a snort of disgust. She was never one to countenance Julia’s ‘overwrought’ emotions, as she called them.

“I must, for all our sakes, distance myself from what has happened,” Ursula continued. “I warn you that
we
—and I do mean
all
of us—will be subject to a great deal of unwanted publicity, not to say distress, over the coming weeks. Already there are two amongst us, Mrs. Stewart and Bridget, who have decided to leave rather than face such scrutiny.”

Ursula waited for the full import of her words to sink in. It was hard to say such things to a group of people she had known and trusted most her life, but she knew it had to be done. She took a deep breath, dreading what had to come next. “I do not wish anyone who feels at all compromised by what has happened to Lord Wrotham, to feel that they have to remain in my employment. So if anyone else considers that it would be improper to stay”—Ursula’s words caught in her throat—“You have the opportunity to hand in your resignation to me this evening without fear of censure. I promise you that I will respect your decision, and provide you with a full and glowing reference.”

Everyone remained silent, except Cook who, with eyes half-closed had begun muttering under her breath. Julia remained in her seat, a stricken expression on her normally rosy-cheeked face.

“There will be people, reporters and the like, who will offer you money for your story,” Ursula reminded them. “They may offer you money to say almost anything about me, or, indeed, about Lord Wrotham. I must tell you now that I cannot tolerate any disloyalty. If you should tell the press anything at all, I will prosecute for slander, and ensure that all of London society are aware of the reason for your dismissal.”

Biggs straightened his coat tails. “Miss Marlow,” he said solemnly. “I hope I speak on behalf of all of us here when I say that we are committed to preserving the good name of both the Marlow and Wrotham households.”

“Thank you Biggs,” Ursula replied. “So am I.”

CHAPTER FOUR

CHESTER SQUARE

It was close to midnight when Ursula, sitting in her study reading a book of Christina Rossetti’s poetry that Lord Wrotham had given her, heard the bell ring at the servants’ entrance below. In truth she had not been reading, but rather turning the events of the last few days over and over in her mind. Images from her interview with Mrs. Stewart, barely two hours ago, were still raw. She could see Mrs. Stewart sitting before her, her gaze teary but defiant. Unable to face another emotional confrontation, Ursula had cut off Mrs. Stewart’s lengthy explanation in mid-sentence saying coldly: “I have no desire to hear your reasons, no doubt you are satisfied with them. I simply wish to know whether you require a reference from me.” Mrs. Stewart’s face, as she heard Ursula’s words, haunted her still. This was not how either of them had wanted things to end.

It seemed a long time till morning and, with her head still aching despite the Bayer Aspirin powder she took earlier, Ursula was nowhere near being able to sleep.

The servants’ doorbell rang once more. Ursula put down the soft, leather-bound book, marking her place with the pink ribbon and checked the mantel clock. She rubbed her eyes, murmured, and decided she had better go investigate on her own.

She met Biggs on the staircase leading up from the kitchen.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“Chief Inspector Harrison, Miss. He wishes to come upstairs and meet with you but wants to make sure all the curtains and blinds are drawn.”

Ursula raised an eyebrow. “All this cloak and dagger seems a bit unnecessary—the press are hardly likely to be skulking about near midnight—but you can reassure him everything is closed and he can come on up.”

She stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders, trying to clear her head.

“May I offer you and the Chief Inspector some refreshment?” Biggs asked.

“Tea would be lovely,” she replied. “Thank you.”

Biggs padded off down the stairs, soft-shoed as always.

Ursula walked back into the study and turned off the geometric glass and bronze lamp on her desk. The room dimmed, illuminated now only by the electric standard lamp in the far corner of the room. Ursula moved a chair next to the fretwork screen in front of the fireplace for Harrison and eased down in the deep leather armchair opposite.

Chief Inspector Harrison entered, closing the study door behind him carefully.

“Miss Marlow,” he said and paused beside the chair. He looked uncomfortable at being alone in her presence.

“Sit down, please,” Ursula urged. “You look tired,” she said. “I’ve asked Biggs to bring us some tea. It’s late. Have you had dinner? Supper?”

Harrison shook his head as he sat down.

“Then I’ll get Biggs to see what he can rustle up,” Ursula replied. She leaned forward resting her chin on her hands and gazed at him expectantly.

Harrison’s face was inscrutable. “I came because”—he chewed on his lip—“I think I might need your help.”

“Really?” Ursula answered, leaning back as she crossed her arms.

“Look,” Harrison replied. “I know it didn’t appear so at first, but I’ve had time to mull over things a bit more and I’ve started to have…”

“Doubts?” Ursula prompted.

“More than doubts,” Harrison answered. “I’m starting to be concerned about where this investigation is heading. Sir Buckley’s convinced Lord Wrotham’s guilty, but I’m worried no one has taken a step back and thought about Admiral Smythe’s files or the circumstances in which we found them.” Harrison traced the outline of his mustache with his index finger. “When I first moved to Scotland Yard I was assigned to the forgery section. Most of the cases involved obvious document forgeries—mortgages, wills and the like but one thing my experience taught me was to use my instinct. More often than not, if it looked too good to be true, it probably was.”

“You think the files could be forgeries?” Ursula queried.

Harrison licked his lips; he still looked uneasy. “I’m just saying, it seems a little too convenient that we found incriminating files in Admiral Smythe’s study—like they were deliberately left or even staged for us to find as soon as Admiral Smythe was reported missing. We only found Admiral Smythe’s notebook, however, after an extensive search that uncovered his secret wall safe. All the entries in the notebook were encrypted—but the files we found—”

“Were not?” Ursula supplied.

Harrison nodded.

“Do you think someone deliberately planted those files to implicate Lord Wrotham?” she asked.

There was a tap at the door and Biggs, entered carrying a tea tray and, preempting Ursula’s request, a plate piled high with Lancashire cheese, bread, and pickled onions for Harrison’s supper. Biggs placed the tray down on the sideboard behind Harrison’s chair, passed him the plate and poured them each a cup of Darjeeling tea. Harrison looked strangely embarrassed, as if he had not expected to be treated with such hospitality.

“Thank you Biggs,” Ursula said absently, her mind still processing what Harrison said. Biggs exited the room in silence. “Has Sir Buckley sent the files off for handwriting or fingerprint analysis?” she asked Harrison

Harrison’s brow lifted in surprise, but he answered. “Yes, or rather I arranged for that to be undertaken. It will take some time of course. Fingerprint analysis is a relatively new science after all and I’m not sure what they will be able to find.”

Ursula pursed her lips, deep in thought. “So tell me,” she said, trying to ignore the pounding in her head. “What did these files purport to say?”

Harrison hastily took a bite of bread and cheese and a quick swig of tea before answering. “One of the files provides details of an alleged meeting in December 1911 at the castle of Lord Wrotham’s cousin, Count Frederich von Bernstorff-Hollweg.”

“Second cousin,” Ursula reminded him.

“Yes, well…” Harrison continued awkwardly. “As you, no doubt, know by now, the Count is one the main witnesses in the case against Lord Wrotham. But at this meeting there was also a man called Fergus McTiernay—another old friend of Lord Wrotham’s from Balliol.”

“Yes,” Ursula prompted him.

“McTiernay is a known Irish Republican sympathizer even though he’s a gentleman. Special Branch has been watching him for years but, up till now, we always believed he was an advocate of political rather than military action. But at this meeting it seems as though plans to sell information regarding the naval defenses on the South-West coast of England were discussed—a plan that ultimately led to a conspiracy to assassinate and overthrow the British government in Ireland.”

Harrison took some more bread and cheese and Ursula noticed how much his manners reminded her of her father. It was in way he hesitated as he decided how to hold the knife and his deliberations on how best to tear the bread. It was always the first thing that revealed your class, she thought ruefully. Harrison, like her father, never could escape his origins.

Ursula got to her feet, crossed the room and picked up her notepad and pencil. She returned to her seat and starting taking notes.

“Tell me more about McTiernay and Lord Wrotham’s cousin,” Ursula said.

“The Count is a well-known philanderer with a reputation for dabbling in whatever get rich scheme he can get his hands on. Hardly a stellar witness, yet, given his title, he moves easily among both German and British high society.”

“Are he and Lord Wrotham estranged, is that why he is testifying against him?” Ursula asked.

“I was rather hoping you might be able to tell us that—for as far as we know the two men were good friends as well as relations. The Count is also said to be favored by the Kaiser himself—possibly because of his military aspirations, but, most likely, because of his business associations.”

Ursula watched Harrison, her expression becoming steadily more guarded. “As I’ve already told you,” she said. “Lord Wrotham has never spoken to me about the Count or his dealings with him…”