‘It’s nearer half an hour, Emma. I shall write another letter.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘What’s the point of building a railway when it constantly lets one down?’
Emma knew better than to argue with her mother. She was just as disappointed with the long wait but she did not vent her spleen on the railway company. Her abiding concern was for her cousin, Imogen, who would probably be fretting in a stuffy carriage. While her mother thought only of herself, the considerate Emma was hoping that Imogen would not be too discomfited. She loved her cousin dearly and had spent weeks looking forward to the visit. The fact that Lady Burnhope would not be coming to Oxford meant that Imogen and Emma would be able to spend more time alone together, liberated from the surveillance of the older woman. It served to sharpen Emma’s anticipatory pleasure.
‘Where the devil is it?’ snapped Cassandra.
‘I don’t know, Mother.’
‘It’s supposed to be an express train, for heaven’s sake! They’d have got here sooner had they walked. Oh, this is intolerable,’ she went on, clicking her tongue then looking around for someone to blame. ‘Where’s the stationmaster? Why doesn’t the fellow do something?’
‘It’s not his fault,’ said Emma.
‘Well, someone should be held responsible.’
‘The train will be here soon.’
Cassandra stamped a foot. ‘Stop saying that, Emma! It’s driving me insane.’
‘I’m sorry, Mother.’
‘And don’t keep apologising all the time.’
Before her anger could spill over into a full-blown rage, Cassandra heard a noise that made her start. The distant thunder of the train was accompanied by clouds of smoke curling up over the trees. Will Shakspere finally came into view, puffing bravely as it rattled along. There was a collective sigh of relief from the crowd on the platform. Several people had gathered there, either to welcome passengers who got off the train or to climb aboard for the return journey. Cassandra summoned a porter with a regal wave. Emma was elated, standing on her toes and ready to wave the moment she clapped eyes on her cousin. Her mother couldn’t resist the temptation to complain to the driver and fireman as they rolled past on the footplate but her words were lost in the pandemonium.
Carriage after carriage went past but Emma could see neither Imogen nor her maid. When the train juddered to a halt, she jerked her head to and fro so that she could cover both ends of the platform. Wanting to embrace her cousin by way of a greeting, she searched the sea of faces emerging from the carriages. Cassandra was equally alert, eager to welcome her niece before going off to confront the driver of the locomotive. In fact, she did neither. Though she and her daughter waited for some time, there was no sign of the visitors from Burnhope Manor. The platform was thronged for a couple of minutes, then people gradually dispersed or boarded the train. Cassandra and Emma were left alone to walk the length of the platform so that they could look into every carriage. The fruitless search left them utterly dismayed.
‘They would surely have travelled first class,’ decided Cassandra.
‘Yet they didn’t get out of any carriage, first or otherwise.’
‘Where on earth can Imogen be?’
‘Perhaps they missed the train, Mother,’ Emma surmised.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Your aunt would have taken great care that they got to the station in time. They must have been on board.’
‘Then where are they?’
Her mother was vengeful. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, taking a last look up and down the train, ‘but someone will suffer for this. I simply won’t stand for it!’
CHAPTER TWO
When he entered his office at Scotland Yard, the first thing that Robert Colbeck did was to doff his top hat and stand in front of the mirror so that he could check his appearance. He used a hand to smooth down his hair then he adjusted his cravat and brushed some specks of dust from the shoulder of his frock coat. Satisfied that he looked at his best, he became aware of the faintest aroma of cigar smoke. It meant that Tallis had been in the room and he would only have come there if he wanted to see the inspector as a matter of urgency. Colbeck didn’t keep him waiting any longer. Marching off, he knocked on the superintendent’s door and entered the room in answer to a gruff invitation. Edward Tallis was seated at his desk, poring over a map. As he looked up, there was an accusatory note in his voice.
‘So — you finally got here, did you?’
‘Yes, sir,’ replied Colbeck.
‘Where, in the name of all that’s holy, have you been?’
‘I had a prior commitment, Superintendent.’
‘Nothing takes precedence over your work here.’
‘It was my work at Scotland Yard that led to the arrest and conviction of Amos Redwood,’ explained Colbeck. ‘He preyed on unaccompanied young women on the South Eastern Railway until we caught him. I was in court all morning, giving evidence at his trial. You should have remembered that, sir.’
Tallis was nettled. ‘Don’t tell me what I should have remembered. It was your duty to remind me that you were unavailable this morning. You failed to do so.’
Colbeck deflected the criticism with an appeasing smile. Because of the unresolved tension between them, Tallis was always ready to pick a fight with him. While he admired the inspector’s unrivalled skills as a detective, he resented the fame and approbation that they brought him, contrasting, as they did, with the censure that Tallis routinely encountered from a hostile press. Colbeck had learnt to avoid conflict with his superior by pretending to take the blame.
‘The fault was, indeed, mine, sir,’ he conceded, shutting the door and crossing to look down at the map. ‘I see that you are studying some of the most beautiful counties in England. Does this mean that you are searching for somewhere to spend a well-earned holiday?’
‘Holiday?’ repeated the other, testily. ‘Don’t talk nonsense. With all the heavy responsibilities I bear, I never have time for a holiday.’
‘Yet you obviously need one, Superintendent.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘You push yourself too hard, sir. Nobody can work continuously throughout the year, as you strive to do. Your health and judgement are bound to suffer.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with my health or my judgement,’ said Tallis, stung by the comment. ‘Do I look unhealthy to you?’
‘No, no — of course not, sir,’ said Colbeck, tactfully.
In fact, the superintendent did look more than usually careworn. He was a big, solid man with iron-grey hair and a neat moustache. The pouches under his eyes had darkened and his normal straight-backed posture had acquired a pronounced droop.
‘Nevertheless,’ added Colbeck, ‘a week or even a fortnight in some rural retreat would be the making of you.’ Hearing a warning growl in the other man’s throat, he quickly changed the subject. ‘You have a new case for me, sir?’
‘It’s one that needs immediate attention.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘It concerns the disappearance of Sir Marcus Burnhope’s daughter.’
‘That name sounds familiar.’
‘And so it should. If you perused the newspapers as thoroughly as I do, you’d know that Sir Marcus is a member of the Cabinet. He is President of the Board of Control.’
‘Forgive my correcting you,’ said Colbeck, smoothly, ‘but there’s something that you missed in your thorough perusal of the press. That particular Cabinet post will soon be abolished. Sir Marcus will instead become Secretary of State for India.’ He raised a teasing eyebrow. ‘Since your army career took you to the subcontinent, I’m surprised that you didn’t pick up that important detail.’
‘That’s neither here nor there,’ said Tallis, blustering. ‘The point is that Sir Marcus is a man of immense influence. There’s a crisis in his family. We must solve it and do so with speed.’
‘How much information do we have?’