As the Crow Flies (43 page)

A
few months later I received a note from Colonel Forbes acknowledging my letter,
but otherwise I heard nothing further concerning Guy’s unfortunate
misrepresentation. I therefore assumed everything must be back on an even keel
and that Colonel Hamilton’s fabrication had been treated with the disdain it
merited.

Then
one morning in June the following year, Gerald was called away to the War
Office on what he thought at the time must be another routine parliamentary
briefing.

When
my husband returned to Chester Square unexpectedly that afternoon he made me
sit down and drink a large whisky before he explained that he had some
unpleasant news to impart. I had rarely seen him looking so grim as I sat there
silently wondering what could possibly be important enough to cause him to
return home during the day.

“Guy
has resigned his commission,” announced Gerald tersely. “He will be returning
to England just as soon as the necessary paperwork has been completed.”

“Why?”
I asked, quite stunned.

“No
reason was given,” Gerald replied. “I was called to the War Office this
morning, and tipped off by Billy Cuthbert, a brother Fusilier. He informed me
privately that if Guy hadn’t resigned he would undoubtedly have been cashiered.”

During
the time I waited for Guy’s return to England I went over every snippet of
information on the rapidly growing Trumper empire that Mr. Harris was able to
supply me with, however minute or seemingly insignificant it seemed at the
time. Among the many pages of material that the detective sent, no doubt in
order to justify his outrageous fees, I came across one item which I suspected
might have been almost as important to the Trumpers as my son’s reputation was
to me.

I
carried out all the necessary inquiries myself, and having checked over the property
one Sunday morning I phoned Savill’s on the Monday and made a bid of two
thousand, five hundred pounds for the property in question. The agent rang back
later in the week to say someone else who I realized had to be Trumper’s had
offered three thousand. “Then bid four thousand,” I told him, before replacing
the phone.

The
estate agents were able to confirm later that afternoon that I was in
possession of the freehold on 25 to 99 Chelsea Terrace, a block of thirty-eight
flats. Trumper’s representative, I was assured, would be informed immediately
who their next-door neighbor was to be.

G
uy Trentham
arrived back on the doorstep of 19 Chester Square on a chilly afternoon in
September 1922, just after Gibson had cleared away afternoon tea. His mother
would never forget the occasion, because when Guy was shown into the drawing
room she hardly recognized him. Mrs. Trentham had been writing a letter at her
desk when Gibson announced, “Captain Guy.”

She
turned to see her son enter the room and walk straight over to the fireplace
where he stood, legs astride, with his back to the coals. His glazed eyes
stared in front of him but he didn’t speak.

Mrs.
Trentham was only thankful that her husband was taking part in a debate at the
Commons that afternoon and was not expected back until after the ten o’clock
vote that night.

Guy
obviously hadn’t shaved for several days. He could also have made excellent use
of a scrubbing brush, while the suit he wore was barely recognizable as the one
that only three years before had been tailored by Gieves. The disheveled figure
stood with his back to the blazing coal fire, his body visibly shivering, as he
turnd to face his mother. For the first time Mrs. Trentham noticed that her son
was holding a brown paper parcel under one arm.

Although
she was not cold, Mrs. Trentham also shuddered. She remained at her desk,
feeling no desire to embrace her first born, or be the one who broke the
silence between them.

“What
have you been told, Mother?” Guy uttered at last, his voice shaky and
uncertain.

“Nothing
of any real substance.” She looked up at him quizzically. “Other than that you
have resigned your commission, and that had you not done so you would have been
cashiered.”

“That
much is true,” he admitted, at last releasing the parcel he had been clutching
and placing it on the table beside him. “But only because they conspired
against me.”

“They?”

“Yes,
Colonel Hamilton, Trumper and the girl.”

“Colonel
Forbes preferred the word of Miss Salmon even after I had written to him?”
asked Mrs. Trentham icily.

“Yes
yes, he did. After all, Colonel Hamilton still has a lot of friends in the
regiment and some of them were only too happy to carry out his bidding if it
meant a rival might be eliminated.”

She
watched him for a moment as he swayed nervously from foot to foot. “But I
thought the matter had been finally settled. After all, the birth
certificate... “

“That
might have been the case had it been signed by Charlie Trumper as well as the
girl, but the certificate only bore the single signature hers. What made
matters worse, Colonel Hamilton advised Miss Salmon to threaten a
breach-of-promise suit naming me as the father. Had she done so, of course,
despite my being innocent of any charge they could lay at my door, the good
name of the regiment would have suffered irredeemably. I therefore felt I’d
been left with no choice but to take the honorable course and resign my
commission.” His voice became even more bitter. “And all because Trumper feared
that the truth might come out.”

“What
are you talking about, Guy?”

He
avoided his mother’s direct gaze as he moved from the fireplace to the drinks
cabinet where he poured himself a large whisky. He left the soda syphon
untouched and took a long swallow. His mother waited in silence for him to
continue.

“After
the second battle of the Marne I was ordered by Colonel Hamilton to set up an
inquiry into Trumper’s cowardice in the field,” said Guy as he moved back to
the fireplace. “Many thought he should have been court-martialed, but the only
other witness, a Private Prescott, was himself killed by a stray bullet when
only yards from the safety of our own trenches. I had foolishly allowed myself
to lead Prescott and Trumper back towards our lines, and when Prescott fell I
looked round to see a smile on Trumper’s face. All he said was, ‘Bad luck,
Captain, now you haven’t got your witness, have you?”

“Did
you tell anyone about this at the time?”

Guy
returned to the drinks cabinet to refill his glass. “Who could I tell without
Prescott to back me up. The least I could do was to make sure that he was
awarded a posthumous Military Medal. Even if it meant letting Trumper off the
hook. Later, I discovered Trumper wouldn’t even confirm my version of what had
happened on the battlefield, which nearly prevented my being awarded the MC.”

“And
now that he’s succeeded in forcing you to resign your commission, it can only
be your word against his.”

“That
would have been the case if Trumper had not made one foolish mistake which
could still cause his downfall.”

“What
are you talking about?”

“Well,”
continued Guy, his manner slightly more composed, “while the bathe was at its
height I came to the rescue of the two men in question. I found them hiding in
a bombed-out church. I made the decision to remain there until nightfall, when
it was my intention to lead them back to the safely of our own trenches. While
we were waiting on the roof for the sun to go down and Trumper was under the
impression that I was asleep, I saw him slope off back to the chancery and
remove a magnificent picture of the Virgin Mary from behind the altar. I
continued to watch him as he placed the little oil in his haversack. I said
nothing at the time because I realized that this was the proof I needed of his
duplicity; after all, the picture could always be resumed to the church at some
later date. Once we were back behind our own lines I immediately had Trumper’s
equipment searched so I could have him arrested for the Theft. But to my
surprise it was nowhere to be found.”

“So
how can that be of any use to you now?”

“Because
the picture has subsequently reappeared.”

“Reappeared?”

“Yes,”
said Guy, his voice rising. “Daphne Harcourt-Browne told me dial she had spotted
the painting on the drawing room wall in Trumper’s house, and was even able to
give me a detailed description of it. There was no doubt in my mind that it was
the same portrait of the Virgin Mary and Child that he had earlier stolen from
the church.”

“But
there’s tilde anyone can do about that while the painting is still hanging in
his home.”

“It
isn’t any longer. Which is the reason I’m disguised like this.”

“You
must stop talking in riddles,” said his mother. “Explain yourself properly,
Guy.”

“This
morning I visited Trumper’s home, and told the housekeeper that I had served
alongside her master on the Western Front.”

“Was
that wise, Guy?”

“I
told her my name was Fowler, Corporal Denis Fowler, and I had been trying to
get in touch with Charlie for some time. I knew he wasn’t around because I’d
seen him go into one of his shops on Chelsea Terrace only a few minutes before.
The maid who stared at me suspiciously asked if I would wait in the hall while
she went upstairs to tell Mrs. Trumper I was there. That gave me easily enough
time to slip into the front room and remove the picture from where Daphne had
told me it was hanging. I was out of the house even before they could possibly
have worked out what I was up to.”

“But
surely they will report the theft to the police and you will be arrested.”

“Not
a chance,” said Guy as he picked up the brown paper parcel from the table and
started to unwrap it. “The last thing Trumper will want the police to get their
hands on is this.” He passed the picture over to his mother.

Mrs.
Trentham stared at the little oil. “From now on you can leave Mr. Trumper to
me,” she said without explanation. Guy smiled for the first time since he had
set foot in the house. “However,” she continued, “we must concentrate on the
more immediate problem of what we are going to do about your future. I’m still
confident I can get you a position in the City. I have already spoken to... “

“That
won’t work, Mother, and you know it. There’s no future for me in England for
the time being. Or, at least, not until my name has been cleared. In any case,
I don’t want to hang around London explaining to your bridge circle why I’m no
longer with the regiment in India. No, I’ll have to go abroad until things have
quieted down a little.”

“Then
I’ll need some more time to think,” Guy’s mother replied. “Meanwhile, go up and
have a bath and shave, and while you’re at it find yourself some clean clothes
and I’ll work out what has to be done.”

As
soon as Guy had left the room Mrs. Trentham returned to her writing desk and
locked the little picture in the bottom left-hand drawer. She placed the key in
her bag, then began to concentrate on the more immediate problem of what should
be done to protect the Trentham name.

As
she stared out of the window a plan began to form in her mind which, although
it would require using even more of her dwindling resources, might at least
give her the breathing space she required to expose Trumper for the thief and
liar he was, and at the same time to exonerate her son.

Mrs.
Trentham reckoned she only had about fifty pounds in cash in the safe deposit
box in her bedroom, but she still possessed sixteen thousand of the twenty
thousand that her father had settled on her the day she was married. “Always
there in case of some unforeseen emergency,” he had told her prophetically.

Mrs.
Trentham took out a piece of writing paper from her drawer and began to make
some notes. She was only too aware that once her son left Chester Square that
night she might not see him again for some considerable time. Forty minutes
later she studied her efforts:

Woo
(~)

I.

~
Rem

{S,~
I) Ids P;~te.

Her
thoughts were interrupted by the return of Guy, looking a little more like the
son she remembered. A blazer and cavalry twills had replaced the crumpled suit
and the skin although pale was at least clean shaven. Mrs. Trentham folded up
the piece of paper, having finally decided on exactly what course of action
needed to be taken.

“Now,
sit down and listen carefully,” she said.

Guy
Trentham left Chester Square a few minutes after nine o’clock, an hour before
his father was due to return from the Commons. He had fifty-three pounds in
cash along with a check for five thousand pounds lodged in an inside pocket. He
had agreed that he would write to his father the moment he landed in Sydney,
explaining why he had traveled direct to Australia. His mother had vowed that
while he was away she would do everything in her power to clear her son’s name,
so that he might eventually return to England vindicated, and take up his
rightful place as head of the family.

The
only two servants who had seen Captain Trentham that evening were instructed by
their mistress not to mention his visit to anyone, especially her husband, on
pain of losing their positions in the household.