As the Crow Flies

“Not me,” he said. “I only wish it was. Then at least I could marry her and wouldn’t have to bother you with the problem.”

“Then who is the culprit?” I asked.

He hesitated before saying, “Guy Trentham, sir.”

“Captain Trentham? But he’s in India, if I remember correctly.”

“That’s right, sir. And I’ve had the devil’s own job persuading Becky to write and let him know what’s happened; she says it would only ruin his career.”

“But not telling him could well ruin her whole life,” I suggested testily. Just imagine the stigma of being an unmarried mother, not to mention having to bring up an illegitimate child. “In any case, Trentham’s bound to find out eventually, don’t you know.”

“He may never learn the truth from Becky, and I certainly don’t have the sort of influence that would make him do the decent thing.”

“Are you holding anything else back about Trentham that I ought to know about, Trumper?”

“No, sir.”

Trumper replied a little too quickly for me to be totally convinced.

“Then you’ll have to leave the problem of Trentham to me,” I told him. “Meanwhile you get on with running the shops. But be sure to let me know the moment it’s all out in the open so I don’t go around looking as if I haven’t a clue what’s going on.” I rose to leave.

“The whole world will know before much longer,” Charlie said.

I had said “leave the problem to me” without the slightest idea of what I was going to do about it, but when I had returned home that night I discussed the whole affair with Elizabeth. She advised me to have a chat with Daphne, who she felt confident would know considerably more about what was going on than Charlie did. I suspected she was right.

Elizabeth and I duly invited Daphne to tea at Tregunter Road a couple of days later. She confirmed everything Charlie had said and was also able to fill in one or two missing pieces of the jigsaw.

In Daphne’s opinion Trentham had been Becky’s first serious romance, and certainly to her knowledge Becky had never slept with any other man before they had met, and only once with Trentham. Captain Trentham, she assured us, was unable to boast the same blameless reputation.

The rest of her news did not augur well for a simple solution, as it turned out that Guy’s mother could not be relied on to insist that her son do the decent thing by Becky. On the contrary, Daphne knew the woman was already preparing the ground to ensure that no one could possibly believe that Trentham could be in any way responsible.

“But what about Trentham’s father?” I asked. “Do you think I should have a word with him? Although we were in the same regiment we were never in the same battalion, don’t you know.”

“He’s the only member of that family I really care for,” Daphne admitted. “He’s the MP for Berkshire West, a Liberal.”

“Then that has to be my approach route,” I replied. “I can’t abide the man’s politics, but that won’t stop him from knowing the difference between right and wrong.”

Yet another letter sent on club notepaper elicited an immediate reply from the major, inviting me to drinks at Chester Square the following Monday.

I arrived punctually at six, and was taken into the drawing room where I was greeted by a quite charming lady who introduced herself as Mrs. Trentham. She was not at all what I expected after Daphne’s description; in fact she was a rather handsome woman. She was profuse in her apologies: it seemed that her husband had been held up at the House of Commons by a running three-line whip, which even I knew meant he was unable to leave the Palace of Westminster on pain of death. I made an instant decision—wrongly I realize in retrospect—that this matter couldn’t wait a moment longer and I must relay my message to the major through his wife.

“I find this is all rather embarrassing actually,” I began.

“Do feel free to speak quite openly, Colonel. I can assure you that I am fully in my husband’s confidence. We have no secrets from each other.”

“Well, to be frank with you, Mrs. Trentham, the matter I wish to touch on concerns your son Guy.”

“I see” was all she said.

“And his fiancée, Miss Salmon.”

“She is not, and never has been, his fiancée,” said Mrs. Trentham, her voice revealing a sudden edge.

“But I was given to understand—”

“That promises were made to Miss Salmon by my son? I can assure you, Colonel, that nothing could be further from the truth.”

Slightly taken aback, I was unable to think of a diplomatic way of letting the lady know the real purpose behind my wanting to see her husband. So I simply said, “Whatever promises were or were not made, madam, I do feel that you and your husband should be aware that Miss Salmon is expecting a child.”