The New Countess (26 page)

‘She is also a woman,’ he thought but did not say, contenting himself with:

‘It is hardly a matter of reason, your Ladyship, but of passion.’

She’d looked mildly puzzled at this and he wondered if she’d herself ever sacrificed reason to passion. Probably not.

His Lordship was a genial enough cove but wouldn’t encourage his wife to behave other than decorously. Like so many of his class he kept passion for himself and his harlots, reserving ‘respect’ for his wife. At this moment the Earl was visiting a tart called Carmen, so it was reported by his guardians: Ministers of the Crown were discreetly watched over, though the Home Secretary Akers-Douglas had advised that it was better if they did not get to hear of it – they would only object, preferring to put their privacy before their security. So the watchers moved silently and secretly. The Earl in particular could too easily fall victim to blackmail; the King was open about his liaisons – those who have nothing to hide have nothing to fear – but the Earl, no doubt out of respect for his wife, kept his secrets.

Carmen was watched too. She was a Brazilian; Brazil was a polyglot state awash with mad dictators, agents provocateurs and anarchists: Heaven alone knew what plot she might be part of, what pillow talk she heard or passed on. And Strachan was keeping an eye on his Lordship’s valet Digby, the one who introduced his Lordship to The Cardinal’s Hat. Strachan knew about the place: it was little more than a sophisticated brothel, its customers international diplomats, titled gentlemen and high-ranking Westminster officials, many with devious tastes. It prided itself on its discretion and was anything but discreet; as it happened, Special Branch already had three paid informers on the staff: one cloakroom girl, one cleaner and one barman, who reported back on the comings and goings of the clientèle.

Digby was a rather unsavoury character who had exotic proclivities; how he had ended up in Dilberne employ had yet to be ascertained. This was enough to attract Strachan’s attention, the more so because Digby had been seen to call at the offices of a Mr William Brown, a publisher, who was a friend of a certain the Hon. Anthony Robin, an editor, with whose sister Diana, the Dilberne daughter Rosina, a radical writer and agitator, just happened to be staying on her return from Australia. It was unlikely that No. 3 Fleet Street was a nest of conspirators but it all certainly seemed rather too close for comfort to the heart of political power, especially since Dilberne was in the King’s circle. One needed to be sure that everything was innocent and coincidental. In his experience coincidence was actually rather rare.

In her recent runaway mode Minnie had chosen to take refuge with Rosina, and who knew what unhealthy influences the latter had? Mother-love could indeed provoke a mother to kidnap her own children, but so could spite, politics, greed. Sex was the most innocent motivation of all, and it was something of a reassurance that Mr Robin was to be cited as a co-respondent in Lord Arthur’s divorce case. If the Viscount had not yet served papers on his wife, it was certainly not because he had changed his mind but for the simple reason that she could not be found.

The Dilbernes were charming, affable and well-connected; to cancel the King’s trip would be a pity, but might yet have to happen. Poor Isobel. Her trouble was that she would not be advised. He knew well enough that she trusted him and liked him, and he suspected that had he been better born she might even have fancied him, and his thoughts did stray sometimes in that direction – though he kept a stern check on them. Just every now and then he detected a look from her which suggested that were he to do something drastic, such as tell her of Carmen’s existence, she might in shock and distress, and the desire for vengeance – never to be discounted in a woman – fall into his arms. But it was not going to happen.

And she was rash, thus quarrelling with a clever daughter, and now with a wealthy daughter-in-law. At least it was pretty evident that the kidnapping was a domestic matter. A terrorist or criminal, anyone who offered a threat to the King, would have snatched the children but left the maid. Only a woman, a mother, would think of taking the nursemaid as well.

Nanny had managed to provide an adequate description of the perpetrators, and there could be no doubt but that they were Minnie, her mother the Irishwoman Tessa O’Brien and a tall woman who was as likely as not to be Grace, the ex-employee who might or might not be described as disgruntled. It was a possibility that the nursemaid was an accomplice; the plot could have layer upon layer to it, starting with some anarchist in Odessa, and point back to the King, but Mr Strachan did not think so. Local girls of fifteen were more likely to run off than conspire. Those who bring the bad news are often involved, true, but it was not likely to be Nanny. Nanny was an old, confused woman who after the snatch had dragged the empty pram after her down muddy lanes and all the way to the front door, thus taking twice the time to bring the news as she need have. It had not occurred to her simply to abandon it. She was in the first stages of senility, and in Mr Strachan’s opinion should not have been left in charge of the nursery. He might in time say as much to her Ladyship but since all she was likely to say was, ‘
Oh for Heaven’s sake, Mr Strachan, stick to your policing
,’ et cetera, et cetera, he felt disinclined so to do.

He had put all necessary procedures in place without delay. They were not exactly normal procedures since obviously steps must be taken to avoid public attention. A divorce was bad enough but for a Viscountess to kidnap her own children would reverberate through the centuries. Or so her Ladyship observed, and his Lordship agreed. The Dilbernes had received the news calmly. That is to say they did not shriek, wail or call upon their Maker. They seemed more outraged than anxious. His Lordship had started to put through a call to the Home Secretary but changed his mind and said:

‘Do what you must, Strachan, at whatever cost. Just get them back safe and sound, soon, and above all quietly.’

‘Oh what a little horror she is!’ was all the Countess said. ‘What a mother for poor little Edgar to have!’ and she called for Mr Neville to fire the nursemaid in her absence for disloyalty. She was not to serve out her notice.

‘It is wrong to wish anyone dead,’ said Lord Arthur, ‘but I certainly wish my wife had never been born,’ and went away into a corner with the Earl, presumably to discuss whether Mr Strachan could be trusted with the task of bringing back the children. From the expression on his face and the tone of his voice it seemed that for Arthur the answer was no, Strachan was far from trustworthy. It occurred then to the Inspector that the Viscount suffered from paranoia and imagined there was something ‘going on’ between himself and her Ladyship. The idea was absurd. They had walked up to the Gatehouse together once or twice discussing locks and keys and how the pheasant chicks were doing. Anything else was ludicrous.

Her Ladyship joined her husband and son and after a few more words were exchanged turned to him and said, ‘Mr Strachan, we are so lucky you are with us. We trust you completely. Now just get on with it!’

Perhaps the idea was not so ludicrous, but now was not the time to think about it.

In the interests of discretion he did not use the usual channels to inform the Liverpool Police of the kidnapping but made sure a few key figures in the Special Branch were put in the picture. He used his own team – some at the Court, some billeted in various cottages around – to scour the immediate area and found nothing. They were not expected to. Nanny had taken a long time to raise the alarm; the birds were well flown. But it transpired very soon that the absconding party had left in one of the new Austin Phaetons – a motorist had seen it pass.

If Minnie had any sense, the Inspector realized, she would get her children back to the United States as soon as possible, and in his opinion Minnie was both sensible and efficient, if over-emotional. She would try. Tracing the absconding party would only be hard once they were outside the country. The wealthy are easily remembered: they are watched where they go with envy and wonder. But speed was of the essence. By mid-afternoon ten of his team were on the case; enquiries at shipping lines and grand hotels were made and soon revealed that Mrs O’Brien and Grace had landed from New York on the Tuesday, spent the night in the Savoy, where they had been joined the next day by a distraught Minnie. The party of three had stayed until the following Monday – presumably the day after Minnie’s indiscretions had led to her being barred the door of her home, her life and her children – when they had checked out of the Savoy leaving no address. Presumably they had spent the days thereafter planning the abduction.

The snatch had been very well achieved – place, timing and logistics flawless. They might have placed too much reliance on the nursemaid’s co-operation – but time would tell. And of course they had not bargained on the speed with which the Inspector was able to act. The party, of three adults and two children, had booked into a suite at Brown’s Hotel in Dover Street for the one night under the name O’Corcoran. AUST 1 was back in the garage by 6.15 – they had made good speed – and a uniform, white and blue, probably a nanny’s, had been handed in for overnight cleaning at the cost of seven-and-ninepence.

They had had supper in their rooms. Pork chops, sauté potatoes, lamb cutlets, cheese omelette, green peas, scrambled eggs, jelly and custard, warm milk, two glasses of wine. They had refused the turn-down service. They had rung through to reception and made enquiries about trains to Liverpool Terminus. They had asked for an alarm call at 7.30 a.m., and a taxi ordered for nine. Mr Strachan deduced they would be travelling on the steam ship
Carpania,
which sailed at 2.30 bound for New York. There were no O’Corcorans, O’Briens or Hedleighs on the passenger lists, but the Inspector and his men would be there to waylay them. He doubted that these particular child snatchers had the criminal contacts necessary to get passports changed – though it was possible – even so, two small boys could not be rendered invisible. He had known of a kidnapped child drugged and rolled in a carpet in a getaway – but that was not going to happen with Edgar or his little brother.

He called up the Brighton and Portsmouth Railway Company at ten that night and ordered a special train from Dilberne Halt to be at Liverpool Terminus by noon the next day. It would comprise a locomotive and tender and one carriage only. The journey, it was calculated, over two hundred miles, could be done in four hours, travelling via Reading, Birmingham and Stoke-on-Trent. Trains in the way would be re-routed to speed its passage. The Inspector and his team would leave early enough to allow time for unforseen eventualities. One trained officer would carry a Webley revolver against the remote possibility that the situation was more complicated than it seemed and terrorists were involved.

By eight the next morning a party of nine was assembled on the up-line platform of Dilberne Halt as the special puffed in, the engine a magnificent hissing creature in iron and brass, rearing to go. It seemed only reasonable that other trains should allow it precedence and get out of its way. The tender was elegant and in the cream and chocolate uniform of the Great Western Railway, as was the single carriage it hauled. Brighton and Portsmouth Railways had hired it in from G.W.R. and there had been no time to change its livery, as would have happened had there been any to spare. But this was a police emergency, even though no one was quite sure what sort of police or what sort of emergency it was. It was generally assumed that it was to do with the secret visit of the King, now only two weeks away.

Boarding the train that morning were Mr Strachan and his six-strong team, one armed – surely well able to deal with two Irish ladies, one maid, one nursemaid, and two very small children. They had to wait five minutes or so before her Ladyship, Isobel, arrived in her carriage, accompanied by her maid Lily. She had wanted to bring Nanny but Mr Strachan advised against it, and for once she had listened.

Come to wave goodbye were his Lordship and the Viscount, but having dropped Isobel off they departed at once, Reginald whipping up the horses, not even waiting for the train to leave, his Lordship to attend to affairs of State – Balfour could no longer hold on to power, and was actually resigning – and Lord Arthur to try lining his exhaust pipes with horse hair: if you couldn’t get rid of the sound, you could at least try muffling it. Isobel would not travel in the Jehu while it continued to make these absurd little noises.

Molly Makes a Decision

Tuesday 5th December 1905, The Servants’ Hall, Dilberne Court

All longed to know what had gone on at Liverpool the previous day but the Inspector, who had arrived back late on the Sunday night, was tight-lipped, morose, and would divulge nothing other than that Lady Isobel had gone straight to Belgrave Square to be with his Lordship. The Inspector took a late breakfast, refused the sausages and bacon Cook offered him but accepted toast with marmalade, and then retreated to his room and presumably his telephone, which by-passed the normal telephone exchange, so there was no finding out information from that source. Mr and Mrs Barnes, Molly’s parents, reported from the Gatehouse that there was no news of Molly other than that Lord Arthur, before himself taking the early train up to London, had said that everything was under control and they were not to worry – worry enough in itself.

Lily was their only hope of news, but Lily was still in bed, having arrived back even later than the Inspector and was now refusing to get up, saying her Ladyship had told her to sleep in. Nanny had nothing more to report about the events of Sunday, remaining speechless, still shocked, sitting in the nursery staring into space without even the strength to tidy up. Mr Neville had had to delegate Belinda to put away the toys left out by the poor lost little masters before they set out for church that tragic morning. The Special Branch men were a dead loss when it came to providing information; their lips, they had been taught to say, and did, were sealed. So all had to contain themselves until Lily surfaced.