“Sir Ashley had invited a dozen guests over one weekend in February last year. Morton had arrived ahead of the others and seemed particularly pleased with himself, saying - out of earshot of my husband - that he had a surprise for me. He explained that the previous week he had purchased a job lot of paintings and ephemera from a major dealer in Brussels. This had included a number of works by British artists, including ‘Gerald Stanhope’. He paused, allowing the name to hang in the air and watching for my reaction. I froze instantly, in the dawning realisation of what he had just said, and felt a cold chill descend through my body. ‘So, it is you in the painting - I guessed as much!’ he whispered with a smirk, before following one of our servants who was carrying Morton’s bags and cases in through the door of the lodge.
“I recognised that Morton had the upper hand and the future of my marriage, if not my standing in society generally, would indeed be precarious if he were to reveal the painting to anyone. That Friday evening he seemed content to let the matter rest, casting me lascivious looks every time our eyes met. And it was only before lunchtime the following day that his intentions became clear. Catching me in the grounds of the house as I strolled through my favourite rose garden, Morton took me by the arm and announced that he wanted me as his mistress. He then added that if I were to refuse, he would reveal the painting to our guests that very evening. He left me to think it over.
“In that instant, I determined that I would not be held to ransom by the scoundrel and realised one immediate fact. Namely, that in threatening me, he had clearly brought the canvas with him. If I could find a way to get to the picture and destroy it, my future might yet be saved. As luck would have it, Sir Ashley had provided me with a perfect opportunity to put my plan into action. Over lunch, he announced that all of the guests were invited to take part in a bridge tournament in the main house, a proposal that all agreed to readily.
“That afternoon, feigning a headache, I left our guests to their card playing and headed for the kitchen, where I took from one of the cutlery drawers a small, sharpened fruit knife, which I hoped would be sufficient to cut the canvas from its frame. I then took a side door from the house, out of sight of the servants, and walked the short distance down the drive to the lodge. With all of the guests being entertained at the main house, I knew that the lodge would be deserted.
“When I entered Morton’s room, I could see no obvious place in which he could have hidden the painting. All of the bags and cases he had brought with him were empty, their original contents having been placed in the drawers and wardrobe of the bedroom. That left only the small loft space above the bed. I retrieved a set of wooden steps from an adjoining room and climbed until I was able to push open the loft door and look inside. To my frustration, I could see nothing in the darkness and had to come back down the ladder to find a hurricane lantern in a store cupboard, which I lit to take back up with me. My second attempt met with success as I could now see, some five feet from my grasp, a wrapped package which I guessed to be the canvas. But as I went to climb further up the ladder and into the loft, I felt a rough tug on my left ankle and heard Morton shout loudly for me to come down. Startled, I lost control of the lantern and it fell heavily, the glass globe breaking and igniting the paraffin which spilled out from the lamp.
“Morton dragged me bodily from the ladder and pushed me aside before climbing on the steps and trying to ascend into the loft. I seized the opportunity and ran from the room as he was driven back by the flames now engulfing the tinder dry rafters of the roof space. When I managed to get back to the safety of the house, I raised the alarm and soon both servants and guests were running to and from the lodge with buckets of water in a futile attempt to extinguish the inferno.
“Sir Ashley knew that at the time of the fire only Morton and I had been at the lodge. Morton had dropped out of the card game early on, saying that he needed to retrieve something from the lodge. Having raced back to the house to raise the alarm, it was obvious that I had not been in my room suffering with a headache. That evening, with the lodge now completely devastated by the fire, my husband called both Morton and I to his study and asked for an explanation. My initial fear was that our guest would now take his revenge by telling Sir Ashley all about the painting, which had also been destroyed. However, he went one step further in his vengeance, claiming that we had been having a secret affair for months and I had talked about the prospect of marriage once Sir Ashley had succumbed to the inevitable heart disease with which he was afflicted.
“I need hardly tell you, Mr Holmes, that what Morton did that evening was far worse than revealing the existence of a scandalous painting. When Sir Ashley looked at me for some challenge or corroboration of the story, I fell mute - unable to defend myself or tell him what had really gone on. Morton was told in no uncertain terms to leave Cheddington Park immediately and to never show his face in front of Sir Ashley again. I was instructed that while we would give outsiders and household staff the impression that our marriage was solid we would, from that moment on, cease to be husband and wife. In the event, there was no need for any such pretence. The shock of the alleged affair was more than my husband’s heart could take and during the night he suffered a fatal attack.
“Of course, with a house full of well-connected guests whose weekend had been cut short by the drama of what had gone on, it did not take long for the rumours to start circulating. A mysterious fire, the unexpected death of a Knight and talk that his Lady wife had been having an affair were bound to have a resonance. Some of Sir Ashley’s friends and colleagues began to shun me, but on the whole most were supportive in my hour of need. Most significantly, Roger Morton seemed to have disappeared and I was told later by one of our circle that he had gone to New York to work for an auction house.
“The fact that the provisions of Sir Ashley’s will remained unchanged and I was left both Cheddington Park and an annual income helped to persuade some doubters that there had been no obvious rift between the two of us. But I felt distinctly uncomfortable about the bequest and decided to cease using the title ‘Lady Aston-Cowper’. It was a small gesture, but it was my way of showing that I did not want to dishonour the memory of my dear husband.
“After some months, my life began to return to some semblance of normality, helped by the unerring support of my family. And, most recently, I met Christopher, who has proved to be the most loyal and compassionate man I have ever known. As we became closer, I took the decision to share with him the full story of what the newspapers had called the Cheddington Park Scandal.”
Our guest paused briefly, and Holmes - who had to that point given every impression of being fast asleep - opened his eyes quizzically, and prompted our guest: “Please, Mrs Aston-Cowper, I think you were about to bring us up to date and reveal the telegram you received this morning from Roger Morton threatening to make public the photograph taken of you by Gerald Stanhope.”
The lady swallowed heavily. “Yes, indeed, Mr Holmes, but I am again in awe of your deductive capabilities. I made no mention of the telegram...”
“No. But you did not challenge me when I put it to you earlier that something had happened very recently. And when we entered the room it was clear that you had been re-reading something which had once again brought you to tears. For reasons of vanity, you were quick to dispense with the pince-nez which you slid swiftly into your chatelaine bag. The telegram did not fare so well - it still sits beside you, now looking rather crumpled, but clearly displaying today’s date. As for the photograph, it struck me from your account that if Morton had managed to purchase Stanhope’s original oil painting - and had been so sure that you were the model in it - it was also extremely likely that he had acquired the accompanying photograph. In my experience, blackmailers relish a solid back-up plan.”