Unlikely Traitors (11 page)

Ursula looked down and realized that where she had paused, where she had let the fountain pen rest, a pool of black ink had formed, seeping slowly as it was absorbed by the paper, until its slippery, glossy form had been entirely sucked dry. Ursula turned the page quickly, fearful she might start believing in omens if she looked too closely.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ursula found it hard to shake off the dread she had felt while reading the file that Harrison had provided her. Although Harrison was clearly unwilling to provide her with any material relevant to Lord Wrotham’s current case (and really, Ursula chided herself, that should have come as no surprise) he had also felt compelled to reveal this aspect of Lord Wrotham’s past—but to what end? To show her that he was a man willing to cover up murder for his country? To seed doubt in her mind because of the use of cyanide poison in both cases?

The obituary for Admiral Smythe appeared in the
Times
that morning (“
Distinguished Naval Officer Drowns in the Thames
”) but made no mention of cyanide. The cause of death listed was drowning. When Ursula saw that a date for a private memorial had been set, she hesitated. After yesterday’s accusatory telephone conversation with Admiral Smythe’s sister, it was probably unwise to even consider attending, but she felt, as a result, that she had failed Lord Wrotham somehow. The obituary listed a number of charities that Admiral Smythe was associated with and Ursula decided that a donation to one of these was probably the most prudent cause of action.

She was still unsure what to make of Harrison’s behavior but she had no opportunity to question him further before her interview with Sir Buckley that morning. As Samuels drove her to Whitehall she reflected that most of what she had read, should she admit it, was entirely in keeping with the man she knew to be Lord Wrotham. When he was her father’s barrister and trusted advisor, hadn’t he kept her father’s secrets from the world? Hadn’t he always acted with an enigmatic ‘discretion’ ideally suited to government work? But that hardly supported the notion that he would turn traitor—indeed it merely reinforced Ursula’s belief that there was much more to this situation than anyone—Lord Wrotham, Sir Buckley or Chief Inspector Harrison was telling her.

Ursula was shown into Sir Reginald Buckley’s office by a dour man in a grey pin-striped suit, whose military bearing and pinched disdain for her, as he looked her modern, mannish day suit up and down, left Ursula under no illusion as to his opinion of her. Where was her respectable marriage, her respectable home life and her respectable, well-behaved children? To the secretary, Ursula suspected, she was little more than a tainted specimen of ‘independent womanhood’.

“Please take a seat, Miss Marlow,” Sir Buckley said as she entered and his tone was surprisingly felicitous compared to their last meeting. “May I offer you a cup of tea, perhaps?”

Ursula could tell, from the cut and cloth of his Saville Row suit (probably made by Gieves & Hawkes who outfitted many in the Royal Navy) and his foulard-print Ascot necktie, just how much Sir Buckley venerated his status amongst ‘the establishment’. Perhaps someone in the War Office had reminded him of the size and wealth of the textile empire Ursula’s father had left her? If so, Sir Buckley was astute enough to recognize that with money came influence, even for an outsider and a woman like Ursula.

Hmm
, though Ursula,
perhaps Pemberton was right, they are just trying to ‘soften me up’ in the hopes that I might turn Crown witness
. That was what Pemberton had told her he suspected when she had telephoned him earlier that morning. No doubt Sir Buckley was hoping that she would see the error of her ways and provide assistance in his case against Lord Wrotham. If that was indeed true, Ursula thought, as she handed the secretary her hat and gloves, he was sorely mistaken.

“No tea, thank you,” Ursula answered Sir Buckley, all politeness. “I’m not here for a social chat.”

As she took her seat, she shot Chief inspector Harrison a quick glance. He was perched on a wooden chair beneath a small window, a notepad and pencil in his lap. He acknowledged her presence with nothing more than a nod.

“I take it your lawyer won’t be joining us, then?’ Sir Buckley said.

“No, should I have asked him to?” Ursula replied. “I was led to believe that I am not a suspect in this case.”

“No, no, of course not,” Sir Buckley assured her as he sat down hastily. As he was arranging his papers on the desk and adjusting his shirt cuffs (revealing ostentatious gold and diamond cuff links), Ursula noticed the display of framed photographs on the nearest set of bookshelves: Sir Buckley with Winston Churchill, First Lord of the Admiralty; Sir Buckley with Sir Edward Grey, the Foreign Secretary; and, of course, Ursula murmured, Sir Buckley with Andrew Bonar Law, leader of the Conservative Party and staunch supporter of the Unionist cause in Ireland.

Sir Buckley cleared his throat and began to speak. “I regret Miss Marlow that we last met under very trying circumstances. I hope you understand that we were engaged in the delicate task of identifying and collecting evidence, but I promise you that every effort was made to protect the books in Lord Wrotham’s library.” Sir Buckley fiddled with his gold tie pin. “Now, I’m afraid, I do have to ask you a number of questions regarding the charges laid against Lord Wrotham…”

“You would have hardly ordered me here, otherwise,” Ursula responded. She regarded him grimly, unmoved by his apology.

“Yes, well…” Sir Buckley cleared his throat once more.

“Before you start your questions,” Ursula said, leaning forward in her chair and pinning him beneath her gaze. “I must formally protest the insinuation that I was in any way involved or had any knowledge of Lord Wrotham’s activities. Lord Wrotham has never discussed his governmental duties with me. I was never aware of his movements or meetings abroad and I have never, ever, been privy to discussions with him regarding the activities that led to these charges. As far as I was aware, Lord Wrotham’s politics were clear and unambiguous. He did not support home rule for Ireland. He had no love for the German imperialist cause and he was, and always maintained himself to be, a patriotic Englishman.”

Ursula’s statement seemed to momentarily take the wind out of Sir Buckley’s proverbial sails but, all too soon, he recovered and asked, as the air blew out his cheeks. “But what of your politics, Miss Marlow? What influence did they have on his Lordship?”

“None whatsoever,” Ursula answered. “It was one area we tried best to avoid. We held opposing views on the question of female suffrage, Irish nationalism and trade unionism…and, believe me, the list could go on. In short, there was very little in terms of politics that we did agree on.”

“So you had no idea of his support for the Irish nationalist cause?”

“What support?” Ursula replied. “I have already told you, he was a Unionist.”

“So you are not aware of these, then?” Sir Buckley drew out a file from the pile on his desk and opened it. He spread three papers in front of her. The first appeared to be a broadsheet entitled
Freedom of Thought, Freedom of Expression: The Radical Undergraduate
co-authored by Lord Wrotham and Fergus McTiernay. The second were typed minutes of a debate at the Oxford Union on
Ireland for the Irish?
featuring Lord Wrotham as the one of the speaker for the affirmative. The third was a copy of an invitation dated October 1911 for the Hanover Club—an Oxford University society that had been formed to promote Anglo-German relations during this time of crisis. It listed Lord Wrotham as one of its prominent after dinner speakers.

“No,” Ursula said, looking up at Sir Buckley. “I have not seen these before.”

Her finger nails dug into the palms of her hands as she hid both her shock and her bewilderment behind a mask of feigned self-possession.

“But you knew about Lord Wrotham’s strong business and family ties to Germany,” Sir Buckley said.

“Yes.”

“And you knew about Lord Wrotham’s frequent visits to the continent?”

“I was aware of them,” Ursula admitted.

“And were you aware of the nature of his visits to Germany?” he asked.

Despite his initial solicitousness, there was no mistaking that Sir Buckley was now relishing Ursula’s discomfiture.

Ursula shook her head.

“What about something like this?” Sir Buckley held up a small black notebook. “This is Admiral Smythe’s, but our witnesses report seeing Lord Wrotham possessing a similar notebook.”

“As far as I’m aware Lord Wrotham carries no notebook, only a slim volume of poetry by Alfred Lord Tennyson on occasion.”

“Do you know which volume that might be?” Sir Buckley asked sharply. He was clearly eager for information that might help identify the cipher key Harrison had spoken of, but Ursula was in no mood to satisfy his curiosity.

“No,” she lied. “I do not.”

She saw Harrison raise his eyebrows but he did not interject.

Sir Buckley handed her the notebook. “Please take a look Miss Marlow and tell me if you recognize anything.”

Ursula took the notebook and opened it. Inside, the lined pages were filled with strings of numbers, all of which appeared to be in no particular order or sequence.
So this was what the cipher looked like
, Ursula thought. No wonder Sir Buckley was anxious. Mindful of her brief experience with codes the previous year, Ursula tried to focus on anything in the pages that might reveal some kind of pattern—but she could discern nothing. Inwardly she vowed to dig out her notes from the research she and Lady Winterton had conducted for the WPSU as well as her history books from Somerville College, where she had first become interested in the use of ciphers by Mary Queen of Scots.

“No,” Ursula repeated, as she perused the notebook. “I’ve not seen anything like this before…Tell me, are you any closer to knowing what these numbers refer to?”

“No,” Sir Buckley replied stiffly. “We are not.”

The questions continued to go back and forth for the remainder of the hour but as much as Sir Buckley tried to draw her out, Ursula was determined to reveal as little as possible. Lord Wrotham may well have kept many secrets from her but she would not abandon him now, and she was certainly not about to trust the likes of Sir Buckley.

After Sir Buckley had finished, Chief Inspector Harrison drilled her for a further hour about Lord Wrotham’s business relations with her father, his role as her guardian, and his involvement in the management of Marlow Industries. Throughout the interrogation, Harrison remained aloof and unemotional, though Ursula sensed unsettled currents beneath the smooth exterior of his countenance.

“Are you aware that Bromley Hall may have to be closed due to unpaid debts stemming from Lord Wrotham’s brother’s mismanagement of the estate?” Harrison asked.

Ursula knew Lord Wrotham’s brother, Gerard, had almost bankrupted the estate before his death, but she had also known better than to inquire too deeply into the matter. Lord Wrotham’s family had always been a thorny topic of discussion.

“I knew the financial situation was tenuous but I was not aware of the extent of the debts owed,” Ursula confessed.

“We have reason to believe that money may have been funneled to Lord Wrotham through accounts in both Ireland and Germany—were you ever aware of any transactions of this nature?”

“I am not privy to Lord Wrotham’s financial affairs, and before you ask, Lord Wrotham has never asked for money from me. As my guardian, however, he has always treated my inheritance with due propriety. I know my accounts are all in good order but I am not aware of any of his dealings with Ireland or Germany.”

“But you are aware that the Wrotham family has German business interests and that Lord Wrotham visited the continent on a regular basis.”

“Yes,” Ursula admitted reluctantly.

“And yet you maintain he never discussed the nature of these visits…”

“As you know, Lord Wrotham keeps his business affairs private,” Ursula replied, leveling her gaze at Harrison.

“And his past?’ Harrison asked quietly.

Ursula bit her lip before answering. “He certainly never discussed his time at Balliol,” she said.

“Or, I take it, his time in Guyana?”

When confronted with Harrison’s question, Ursula averted her gaze before answering, in a voice that had lost all semblance of equanimity, “no…he did not.”

“Sir Buckley,” Ursula asked as Chief Inspector Harrison escorted her to the door. “I was wondering if I would be permitted to speak to any of the crown witnesses in this case—specifically Count von Bernstorff-Hollweg.”

“Certainly not,” Sir Buckley responded with a harrumph. “Lord Wrotham’s lawyers may interview him at an appropriate juncture in the case, but you have no right to contact him directly.”

“But the Count is still in England?” Ursula pressed.

“No…” Sir Buckley hesitated. “Not anymore.” His face was starting to grow red. “He’s a very busy man, Miss Marlow and has returned to Germany. We have assurances of his continued cooperation, of course.”

“Of course,” Ursula echoed as she took her hat from Sir Buckley’s secretary and tugged it on. “What about the other witnesses?”

“Pemberton has the list of all pertinent witnesses and documents,” Sir Buckley replied stiffly. “I suggest you take the matter up with him.”

Ursula adjusted her hat and pulled on her gloves, slowly, one at a time.

“Miss Marlow,” Harrison intervened. “You may as well accept the fact you will not be allowed to talk directly to any of the witnesses in this case. Nor will you be allowed to conduct your own form of investigation. You must also keep us apprised of all your movements, both here and abroad.”

“Why?” she demanded. “Am I under suspicion now?”

“No, of course not,” Harrison responded. “But we may still need to contact you regarding questions in the case.”

Sir Buckley’s secretary held open the door for her, his face etched with disdain.

“I should keep my head down if I were you, Miss Marlow,” Sir Buckley said as straightened his frockcoat and tugged his waistcoat down over his bulging stomach. “Put this whole unfortunate incident behind you”—he paused to clear his throat—“why a woman of your considerable means could easily find herself another husband.”