As the Crow Flies

“When I visited Ashurst last weekend, Major Trentham showed me the letter that Guy had sent to his mother explaining why he had been forced to resign his commission with the Fusiliers. He claimed this had come about because you had written to Colonel Forbes informing him that Guy had been responsible for putting ‘a tart from Whitechapel’ in the family way. I saw the exact wording of the sentence.”

The colonel’s cheeks suffused with rage.

“‘Whereas time has proved conclusively that Trumper was the father of the child all along.’ Anyway, that’s the story Trentham is putting about.”

“Has the man no morals?”

“None, it would seem,” said Daphne. “You see, the letter went on to suggest that Charlie Trumper is now employing you in order to make sure that you keep your mouth shut. ‘Thirty pieces of silver’ was the precise expression he used.”

“He deserves to be horsewhipped.”

“Even Major Trentham might add ‘Hear, hear’ to that. But my greatest fear isn’t for you or even Becky for that matter, but for Charlie himself.”

“What are you getting at?”

“Before we left India, Trentham warned Percy when they were on their own at the Overseas Club that Trumper would regret this for the rest of his life.”

“But why blame Charlie?”

“Percy asked the same question, and Guy informed him that it was obvious that Trumper had put you up to it in the first place simply to settle an old score.”

“But that’s not true.”

“Percy explained as much, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

“And in any case what did he mean by ‘to settle an old score’?”

“No idea, except that later that evening Guy kept asking me about a painting of the Virgin Mother and Child.”

“Not the one that hangs in Charlie’s front room?”

“The same, and when I finally admitted I had seen it he dropped the subject altogether.”

“The man must have gone completely out of his senses.”

“He seemed sane enough to me,” said Daphne.

“Well, let’s at least be thankful that he’s stuck in India, so there’s a little time to consider what course of action we should take.”

“Not that much time, I fear,” said Daphne.

“How come?”

“Major Trentham tells me that Guy is expected to return to these shores sometime next month.”

After lunch with Daphne the colonel returned to Tregunter Road. He was fuming with anger when his butler opened the front door to let him in, but he remained uncertain as to what he could actually do about it. The butler informed his master that a Mr. Crowther awaited him in the study.

“Crowther? What can he possibly want?” mumbled the colonel to himself before straightening a print of the Isle of Skye that hung in the hall and joining him in the study.

“Good afternoon, Chairman,” Crowther said as he rose from the colonel’s chair. “You asked me to report back as soon as I had any news on the flats.”

“Ah, yes so I did,” said the colonel. “You’ve closed the deal?”

“No, sir. I placed a bid of three thousand pounds with Savill’s, as instructed, but then received a call from them about an hour later to inform me that the other side had raised their offer to four thousand.”

“Four thousand,” said the colonel in disbelief. “But who—?”

“I said we were quite unable to match the sum, and even inquired discreetly who their client might be. They informed me that it was no secret whom they were representing. I felt I ought to let you know immediately, Chairman, as the name of Mrs. Gerald Trentham meant nothing to me.”