‘Where is she?’
‘I’m hoping to find out before too long.’
Speaking slowly so that his brother could follow what was being said, Peter told him about the ransom demand. He revealed neither the name nor the status of David Beyton and made no mention of his relationship to the missing woman. The pertinent fact was that money was going to be handed over and Peter was determined to be there to retrieve it and to arrest the kidnapper. Though he appeared to be still in a daze, Paul had obviously listened with care.
‘There’s something you’re not telling me, Peter.’
‘I’ve told you all that you need to know.’
‘It’s absurd,’ said Paul. ‘Who would pay money for the release of a servant?’
‘This person would.’
‘Then he must be a close relative or a dear friend. Or is it conceivable that he might actually be her lover?’
‘He is not her lover,’ said Peter, unwilling to dignify what had happened between Beyton and Anne Horner as an act of love. ‘For some reason, he feels a deep obligation to her.’
‘But you’re not going to disclose what that obligation is.’
‘I’d be breaking a confidence, Paul.’
‘Then I’ll harass you no more. Do you wish me to be involved?’
‘No,’ said Peter. ‘One of us must continue the search for O’Gara and Dagg. You are best placed to do that. You can mingle with the Irish far more easily than I could ever manage. If I need assistance, I’ll call on Jem.’
‘Do you have any clues as to who sent that ransom note?’
‘I’m not well versed in calligraphy but I have the feeling that it was written by a woman. I say that because it was oddly reminiscent of Charlotte’s handwriting.’
Paul guffawed. ‘Since when has Charlotte been penning ransom demands?’ He put a hand to his forehead. ‘I wish I hadn’t done that,’ he moaned. ‘My skull is splitting apart.’
Peter was unsympathetic. ‘If you’re going to spend so much time among the Irish,’ he warned, ‘you’d better learn to hold your drink. And if you must play cards for money, at least stay sober while you do so. That way you’d be more aware of your losses and quit before they became too punitive.’
‘Forget about my financial problems. Let’s turn to Mr Anonymous. A tidy sum is being demanded by way of ransom. Can he afford it?’
‘He’ll have to afford it somehow, Paul.’
During an afternoon lull, David Beyton asked for a little time off to visit his bank. He’d already managed to send details of the second letter to Peter Skillen but he had to raise the money himself. On the walk to the bank, he debated how that might best be done. As well as his salary as a senior clerk, Beyton had a comfortable private income. Thrifty to the point of being parsimonious, he’d built up substantial savings at the bank. The only time he’d drawn on those savings was when he’d had a crisis of conscience over his treatment of Anne Horner. The money was in no way payment for services rendered. That would have insulted her. Beyton had been at pains to explain that it was a means of assuaging his guilt and providing enough money for her to retire from her job at the Home Office. To his chagrin, she’d insisted on staying there, as an immovable reminder to him of what he’d done to her when in his cups. Every time she saw him, she offered the money back but he steadfastly refused it and it remained with her.
Beyton could not understand her mentality. According to Peter Skillen, she kept the money under her bed instead of using it to pay for better lodging and giving up work altogether. His relationship with the necessary woman, he now realised, had been doomed. They’d been watched and that thought was unnerving in itself. Someone had become aware of what was going on between them. Even though Beyton had tried his best to be secretive, a pair of eyes had somehow seen what was happening. The clerk had blatantly lied to Peter Skillen, telling him that sexual intercourse had only occurred once or twice. He’d justified the deceit by arguing to himself that there had only been two occasions inside the Home Office. Other meetings had taken place in what he’d believed to be discreet hotels. Evidently, they were followed to one of them and the purpose of their visit there discovered.
That was not something he would ever divulge to his bank manager, a God-fearing family man who would need another explanation for the sudden withdrawal of funds. By the time he’d reached the bank, Beyton had worked out his excuse.
‘I wish to take my beloved wife abroad,’ he said, uxoriously.
‘Is she able to travel?’