Edward Marston - Ticket to Oblivion

‘I see that you’ve understood me at last,’ said Tunnadine.

Colbeck and Leeming were part of a sizeable number of passengers who left the train at Oxford General station. They were in the same position as the missing women would have been, two bodies on a platform awash with people waiting to welcome friends, well-wishers bidding farewell to travellers and eager porters going about their business. In such a melee, they both realised, it would not have been difficult to slip out of the station unnoticed. That fact lent credence to Colbeck’s theory that the women had indeed reached Oxford.

When they hired a cab to take them into the town, Leeming was restive.

‘Do we really need to speak to Mrs Vaughan and her daughter?’

‘What does the superintendent always say?’

The sergeant grimaced. ‘Leave no stone unturned.’

‘That’s why we’re here, Victor — to turn over some stones.’

‘Is that the only reason, sir?’

Colbeck smiled. ‘No,’ he admitted, ‘it isn’t. The plain truth is that I couldn’t resist the temptation to come back to a place where I spent such happy times as an undergraduate. Not that I’m here to rekindle old memories,’ he promised. ‘We have a lot of work to do and that has priority.’

Leeming’s education had been short and unremarkable. People from his humble background could never aspire to study at a place like Oxford. Intellectually, he and Colbeck were poles apart and he was grateful that the inspector never drew attention to the fact. Colbeck had come into the Metropolitan Police after working as a barrister, taking, in the eyes of his colleagues, a foolish fall of status as well as a substantial cut in income. Leeming, meanwhile, had been a uniformed constable on the beat in one of the most dangerous districts of London, gaining a reputation for bravery and tenacity. Fate had eventually brought them together and the two men respected each other so much that the profound differences between them became an irrelevance.

Suddenly, those differences began to surface. Colbeck was back in a famous university where he was completely at ease. Leeming was already fidgeting. He felt like a stranger in a foreign land, having to rely on his companion to act as interpreter. Colbeck sensed his discomfort.

‘Don’t worry, Victor,’ he said, reassuringly. ‘The place won’t be overrun by undergraduates. They disappear in the summer and leave Oxford to the townspeople. You probably won’t even glimpse a gown or a mortarboard.’

‘Is that what you had to wear, sir?’

‘Forget about me. Just think about Mrs Vaughan and her daughter.’

‘I’ll feel like an interloper in that college.’

‘But you’ll behave like the good detective that you are. You’ll watch, listen and absorb every detail that may be of use to us. Sir Marcus was economical with facts about his daughter, perhaps because he saw so little of her. Mrs Vaughan, I hope, will be more helpful. From what we’ve heard about her, she sounds as if she’s very forthright.’

Leeming shifted in his seat. He was as uneasy in the presence of forthright women as he was when confronted by members of the peerage. Adding to his discomfort was the scene that was conjured up slowly in front of him. It was a forbidding panorama. Oxford was an amiable jumble of spires, domes, towers, churches, colleges, civic buildings, shops and houses, all of them seemingly wreathed in a kind of medieval grandeur that gave them a sheen of nobility. Colbeck nudged him in the ribs and indicated an ancient structure to the right.

‘Is that a castle?’ asked Leeming.

‘It used to be,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s been converted into a prison.’ He saw his companion relax at once. ‘I thought that fact would please you, Victor. Don’t be overwhelmed by Oxford. There’s nothing sacred about it. St Aldate’s is as squalid and insanitary as Seven Dials. Like every other town, it has its fair share of villains and ne’er-do-wells. I venture to suggest that we’ll meet one or two of them in due course.’

The Master of University College was slight of build with shoulders rounded by decades of study. When roused, however, he belied his appearance. Stunned at first by Tunnadine’s blunt accusation, he soon showed his resilience. His wife also recovered her composure with speed. She let him issue the first denial.

‘You are woefully mistaken, sir,’ said Vaughan, stepping towards their visitor. ‘I should have thought that a man of your intelligence had better things to do on a train journey than to invent such arrant poppycock.’

‘Hear, hear!’ said Cassandra on the sidelines.

‘Having unfairly traduced my wife and my daughter, you have the audacity to bear your fangs at my younger son. I can say categorically that George would never lower himself to the antics you allege.’

Tunnadine sniffed. ‘Then you clearly do not know him as well as you should.’

‘Who knows a child better than his parents?’ demanded Cassandra.

‘George is no longer a child — though he still has the childish inclinations that guided me to my conclusion. Your niece and her maid did not disappear on that train. They were smuggled past you at the railway station as part of a jape conceived by your madcap son.’

She flicked a hand. ‘George is above such nonsense.’

‘He wasn’t above stealing the chaplain’s dog and hiding the animal in a broom cupboard,’ said Tunnadine. ‘Nor could he resist the urge to purloin the false teeth belonging to one of the emeritus fellows. Then, of course, there was the time when he was so inebriated that he climbed onto the roof of the chapel and began to shed his clothing.’ He shared a crooked smile between them. ‘Must I go on?’

‘George has let his high spirits get the better of him at times,’ conceded Vaughan, ‘but that’s all in the past. He’s outgrown such behaviour and adopted a more responsible attitude to life.’

‘That’s not what Imogen told me. When she listed his escapades, she said she was bracing herself for another of George’s japes when she arrived here. Neither she nor I anticipated that it would involve kidnap. Much as she loves her cousin,’ said Tunnadine, ‘she does feel that she’s a target for his amusement. George needs putting firmly in his place and I intend to do exactly that.’

‘You’ve no call to interfere in our family matters,’ warned Cassandra.

‘I have a right to protect my future wife from being the butt of a joke.’

‘George would never go to the lengths that you claim.’

‘Apart from anything else,’ said Vaughan, ‘he’s not even in Oxford. He’s moved to London to pursue his career as an artist.’

‘What’s to stop him sneaking back without telling you?’

‘He wouldn’t do that.’

‘According to Imogen, he’s done it more than once. George told her that he’s a free spirit, subject to nobody’s control. He needs to be smacked down,’ growled Tunnadine. ‘I’ll put a stop to these confounded tricks of his.’

‘You’re barking up the wrong tree, sir,’ said Vaughan.

‘Yes,’ said Cassandra with well-bred venom. ‘You’ve already hurled false accusations at me, our daughter and our younger son. Why does Percy, our elder son, escape your censure? Or are you going to charge him with a crime as well?’

Tunnadine was adamant. ‘George is the culprit here. I’ll wait until he tires of his silly game and releases Imogen.’

‘You’ll be wasting your time,’ declared Vaughan. ‘George is in London and no silly game exists. On the train journey back to London, I’d advise you to think of a more convincing explanation of the agonising situation that confronts us.’

‘I shall be staying in Oxford overnight.’