Railway to the Grave

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Because the bar was too full and noisy to allow a private conversation, the detectives adjourned upstairs to Colbeck’s room. Leeming was eager to hear about the dramatic confrontation at the rectory and sorry to have missed the sight of such an outwardly respectable married couple exposed as the authors of malign letters. Colbeck described what had happened and how the rector had been compelled to accept that resignation was his only course of action. He also told the sergeant about his visit to the house to pass on the welcome tidings that the Reverend Skelton would not be taking the service next morning. Colbeck recalled that Adam Tarleton had made no effort to conceal his selfish preoccupation with the wealth he was due to inherit.

‘The young man may have a shock coming,’ he said.

‘Why is that, Inspector?’

‘He’s working on the assumption that he’ll get half of whatever has been bequeathed, and that may not be so. Instead of looking to the future, Mr Tarleton should remember the past. A stepfather he consistently defied is unlikely to be overgenerous to him. Nor will his mother have looked kindly on a son who became estranged when he could no longer have such ready access to her purse. Mr Tarleton may end up with far less than he anticipates.’

‘That would serve him right,’ said Leeming. ‘Well, it sounds as if your evening was more interesting than mine.’

He went on to talk about his abrasive few minutes with the railway policeman and how Hepworth had withdrawn rather hastily when the poison-pen letters were mentioned. Colbeck was curious about the way the man had reacted.

‘Did you see any guilt in his face?’ he asked.

‘I didn’t see a thing with that beard of his, sir. It just about covers everything. He looks like a large dog staring through a bush.’

‘What was your feeling?’

‘He was uneasy,’ said Leeming, ‘and that set me thinking. I wondered if Hepworth had also been sending the colonel some nasty, unwanted mail. Do you think we should challenge him about it?’

‘There’d be no point, Victor. He’d only deny it. Mrs Withers was told to burn the earlier letters so the evidence has gone up in smoke. However,’ Colbeck said, thoughtfully, ‘there may be another way to find out the truth. Let’s bear the egregious fellow in mind, shall we?’

‘I do my best to forget him, sir.’

Leeming recounted his meeting with Kinchin and bewailed the fact that it had not provided the breakthrough for which he’d hoped.

Colbeck listened without interruption and made a mental note of the date when the colonel had abruptly ceased to visit Doncaster. He then went off into a trance for a few minutes. Leeming wondered if anything was wrong with him. Eventually, he tapped the inspector on the arm.

‘Excuse me, sir.’

‘Oh,’ said Colbeck as if waking up. ‘I left you for a while. I’m sorry about that. There was something I was trying to remember.’

‘And did you recall it?’

‘Yes, I did. It made me think that, in retrospect, Mr Kinchin’s visit may not have been as unprofitable as you feared.’

‘He told me nothing of real use, sir.’

‘Yes, he did. You learnt that the colonel loved brass bands.’

‘What use is that?’

‘Well, it’s something the superintendent didn’t know about him and he was the colonel’s close friend. He didn’t tell Mr Tallis because he was aware – as we both are – that the superintendent hates music of all kinds. The only instrument for which he has the slightest time,’ said Colbeck, ‘is a church organ. The prospect of a brass band would probably make him run for cover.’

Leeming laughed. ‘I’d love to see him doing that.’

‘What you confirmed is what we’ve already found out – namely, that the colonel was very guarded.’

‘He seems to have told Mr Kinchin nothing about his home life.’

‘Their only point of contact was a brass band.’

‘It’s a very good one, I’m told,’ said Leeming. ‘Not that it matters. I just felt rather embarrassed at having dragged Mr Kinchin all the way from Doncaster on a fool’s errand.’

‘But it wasn’t a fool’s errand. Without realising it, the gentleman gave us a golden nugget.’

‘Did he?’ Leeming was perplexed. ‘I didn’t see any nugget.’

‘The date, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘He gave us a vital date.’

‘That’s news to me, sir.’

‘Wait until tomorrow and all will be explained. If I ask him about it when he’s off duty, so to speak, I can catch him unawares. I may get the truth out of him.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘I’m talking about the colonel’s banker – Bertram Reader.’

When she finally came downstairs that morning, Agnes Reader moved unsteadily and held onto the banister for support. She was in full mourning wear and had pulled down her veil to obscure her tears. Her husband was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

‘How do you feel now, Agnes?’ he asked, taking her hand.

‘I feel a little queasy.’

‘You don’t have to go, you know. I can represent both of us.’

‘I have to be there,’ she insisted. ‘What would the family think if I didn’t turn up at the service?’

‘But it will be such an ordeal for you.’

‘It will be an ordeal for all of us, Bertram.’

He nodded sadly and released her hand. She lifted her veil so that she could see herself properly in the hall mirror. After making a few adjustments to her clothing, she lowered the veil again.

‘I’m not looking forward to this,’ she confessed.

‘Neither am I,’ he said, ‘though I’ll be interested to hear what happened at the rectory last evening. Inspector Colbeck went off to question the rector about that letter.’

‘I still can’t believe that Mrs Skelton wrote it.’

‘The handwriting was identical to that on the card. Thanks to your kindness in providing those flowers, two guilty people have been exposed. Not that we ought to talk about it in public, my dear,’ he warned. ‘The inspector was very firm on that point. People are coming to the church to honour Aubrey and Miriam. We don’t want them distracted by rumours about a poison-pen letter sent from the rectory. That would really blight the whole service.’

‘I won’t say a word,’ she murmured.

‘Then promise me something else as well. If you have a change of heart on the way, it’s never too late to turn back.’

‘That won’t happen, Bertram.’

‘The option is always there,’ he said. ‘My concern is that the service will stir up too many emotions for you.’

‘I’ll pull through somehow.’

‘It will be worse for Eve, of course, because she’s lost two beloved parents. I’d like to say the same of Adam,’ he went on, ‘but we’d look in vain for any genuine sorrow there. The best that we can hope of him is that he turns up and behaves himself.’

‘Adam will surely have been sobered by what happened.’

‘Well, there’s no hint of it so far, Agnes. After he’d been in the town to identify his mother’s body, he called on Clifford Everett and more or less demanded to know what his inheritance would be. As a good lawyer should,’ he said, ‘Clifford told him that he was unable to disclose any details of the wills. He’s bracing himself for another clash with Adam when he attends the service today.’

‘I see.’

Reader opened the front door and let in a breeze that made his wife’s veil dance before her eyes. When he offered his arm, she didn’t take it. Instead she stayed where she was, surveying the outside world with trepidation as if not knowing whether to venture out or not.

He was solicitous. ‘Is something wrong, my dear?’

‘No, no,’ she replied, mustering all her strength. ‘Don’t worry about me, Bertram. I’m fine now.’

Taking his arm, she walked towards the waiting trap.

To make sure that the rector abided by his orders, Colbeck got to the church early with Leeming in tow. They saw a knot of people in the middle of the churchyard and went over to them. The stone cross lay on the ground, its impact so strong that it had bitten deeply into the grass. Colbeck noted the inscription on the plinth.

‘It’s an act of God,’ said one woman. ‘It’s because it was put here by the colonel.’

‘Aye,’ said another, ‘God has sent us a message.’

‘I think that you’ll find that God confines his messages to the inside of the church,’ said Colbeck. ‘This was done by a human being. It was a deliberate act of vandalism.’

‘Clearly, someone doesn’t like the colonel,’ said Leeming. ‘It would have needed a strong man to pull that down, Inspector.’

‘He used a rope. Look – you can see the marks here.’ Colbeck pointed to some nicks in the stone. ‘There must have been two of them.’ He explored the ground nearby and saw hoof prints. ‘I was right, Victor, there were two of them – a man and a horse. This is where the animal stood when it took the strain.’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Leeming, standing beside him. ‘The prints are deeper here where the horse dug in its hooves as it heaved.’

‘This must have been done at night. When I went past here yesterday evening, the cross was upright. I remember seeing it.’

‘At least it wasn’t broken in the fall.’

‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘but it’s already attracting far too much attention. I don’t want the Tarleton family to see this. Let’s put it back where it belongs.’

Removing his hat and coat, he handed them to a bystander and Leeming did the same. When he saw what they planned to do, a burly farmer offered his help, taking off his hat and coat before giving them to his wife. Getting the cross upright was relatively easy. Lifting it back onto the plinth, however, took a little more time and effort. They were fortunate. There had been a clean break so, once they’d managed to lift it between them, it was only a question of manoeuvring it back into position. It tapered outwards at the base and slotted securely back into its original position. After thanking the farmer, Colbeck used a handkerchief to wipe his hands.

‘It needs to be secured with mortar,’ he said. ‘Now that it’s back up again, I don’t think anybody would be stupid enough to try to push it over.’ He collected his coat and hat. ‘Thank you to everybody. Could you please move away now or people will wonder what’s going on?’

The small crowd drifted away, one of the women still claiming that it was an act of God. Leeming heard her.

‘Well, I wish that an act of God had put it back again,’ he said, pulling on his coat. ‘That thing was heavy.’

‘We all have our cross to bear,’ said Colbeck, dryly, ‘and I’m not referring to the superintendent.’

He was about to turn towards the church when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. An unkempt youth was sitting on a low tombstone, playing with toy soldiers. Since he was wearing rough clothing and a crumpled cap, he was patently not a churchgoer. What interested Colbeck was that he was showing such intense concentration, moving the metal soldiers about with slow deliberation. The detectives walked across to him and had a surprise. What they had mistaken as soldiers were spent shotgun cartridges.

‘Good morning,’ said Colbeck, amiably.

The youth looked up at him. ‘Mornin’, sir.’

‘Do you always play in the churchyard?’

‘No room in ’ouse.’

There was no need to ask his name. As soon as they saw his face with its large, vacant eyes and narrow forehead, they knew that it was the railway policeman’s son.

‘You must be Sam Hepworth,’ said Colbeck.

‘Aye, sir.’

‘How old are you, Sam?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘That’s a bit old to be playing with soldiers,’ said Leeming.

‘I like ’em, sir.’

‘Where did you get the cartridges from?’

‘Shootin’ parties, sir. I carry guns.’

‘You’ve got quite a collection here.’

‘There’s more at ’ome, sir. Our Dad says there’s too many.’

‘That would be Sergeant Hepworth, then.’

‘Aye, sir.’

Colbeck felt sorry for the boy and not only because he was saddled with a father who’d browbeat him unmercifully. Sam obviously had some disabilities. His speech was slurred, his movements slow and his eyes seemed to wander ungovernably. Yet, at the same time, he was a direct link with a man about whom they had suspicions. Unlike his father, Sam Hepworth had an open face and a complete lack of guile. There was a benign simplicity about him.

‘Are you going to church, Sam?’ asked Colbeck.

‘No, sir. Our Dad don’t like rector.’

‘Oh, I see. Is there any reason?’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘Well – what is it?’

‘Rector’s too bossy, like.’

‘I noticed that,’ said Leeming. ‘And your father didn’t think highly of Colonel Tarleton either, did he?’

‘No, sir,’ replied Sam.

‘Why was that?’

‘Same reason.’

‘You mean that he was too bossy?’

‘Aye, sir.’

Sam’s attention went back to the private battle he was fighting and he moved various members of his two armies. They watched him for a while then turned to go. Sam’s voice piped up.

‘Sent letters, like.’

Colbeck swung round. ‘What was that?’

‘Our Dad sent letters, sir.’

‘Letters?’

‘Aye, to colonel.’

‘Are you sure?’ said Leeming, moving to kneel beside him. ‘Is that what your father told you?’

‘No, sir, it were our Ginny.’

‘She’s your sister, isn’t she?’

‘Aye, sir.’

‘What did she tell you, Sam?’

‘Ginny took letters there.’

‘Where?’

‘To big ’ouse, sir – it’s where colonel lived.’

‘Do you know what was in the letters?’ asked Colbeck.

‘No, sir – can’t read.’

‘Why did your sister deliver the letters? Why didn’t your father take them himself?’

Sam needed time to separate the two questions in his mind. It required an effort. While he was waiting, he shifted a couple of the soldiers on the tombstone. At length, he supplied an answer.

‘Our Ginny knew way there,’ he said.

‘I know,’ said Colbeck. ‘She used to work at the house.’

‘No, sir – she knew secret way there.’

‘What time of the day did she take the letters, Sam?’

‘It were at night, sir.’

‘When it was dark?’ The youth nodded. ‘I think I understand. Your sister had to deliver the letters without being seen. Your father didn’t want the colonel to know who’d sent them.’

It was too much for Sam to comprehend. He looked bemused. Colbeck patted him on the shoulder and thanked him. Squatting on the tombstone, the youth returned to his soldiers and he was soon happily lost in the heat of battle. Leeming glanced back at him.

‘Do you think it’s true, sir?’ he asked.

‘I think it’s more than likely.’

‘Then the sergeant has been condemned by his own son.’

‘No, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘All that Sam has done is to point the way. Against his father’s word, the lad’s testimony is useless. He could barely string a few sentences together.’

‘What about those toy soldiers? They reminded me of the cartridges you found near the body of Mrs Tarleton. In other words,’ he continued with muted excitement, ‘the interfering Sergeant Hepworth may be more involved in this business than we suspected.’

‘Don’t rush to judgement. We need more than supposition.’

‘We need a miracle, sir. Otherwise, Mr Tallis will be coming to Yorkshire and the whole investigation will drag on for weeks. We need to pray for a miracle.’

‘We’ve already had one,’ said Colbeck, looking over his shoulder. ‘His name is Sam Hepworth.’

Lottie Pearl had always been an unwilling churchgoer. The services were too long, the church was too cold and the archaic language was like a foreign tongue to her. She was therefore disconcerted when forced to join the family party. In addition to her mother’s black dress, she wore a black hat borrowed from Mrs Withers and a pair of brown shoes covered in black polish. She also wore a black lace shawl. On such a fine morning, they all walked to church. Eve and Lawrence Doel led the way with Adam Tarleton at their side. Lottie and the housekeeper walked ten paces behind them.

‘Why do I have to go?’ asked the girl, mutinously.

‘Because you do,’ said Mrs Withers with unanswerable finality.

‘I don’t like church.’

‘Your likes and dislikes don’t come into it.’

‘Everyone will stare at me.’

‘Nobody will even know you’re there. People will come to pay their respects. The family will get all the attention.’

‘Ah,’ said Lottie, spying some relief, ‘there is that.’

‘In the old days, all the servants would go to church. It was expected of us.’

‘You liked the old days better, didn’t you, Mrs Withers?’

‘The colonel was a good master and I’d have done anything for his wife. Working for Mrs Tarleton was a joy.’ She looked at Adam Tarleton’s back. ‘It will never be the same again.’

Lottie’s fears were groundless. When they reached the church, nobody even spared her a glance. People gathered around the family to offer their condolences. She recognised Bertram and Agnes Reader because they’d visited the house when her employers were still alive. She also saw familiar faces from the village. Yet she still felt like an outsider. Everyone else seemed to know what to do. They knew how to speak in low voices and what to say. They moved with the sort of understated reverence that was beyond the girl. When they entered the church, they were completely at ease. Lottie, by contrast, was in extreme discomfort, feeling the chill in the air and wishing that the oak pew was not quite so hard. Seated beside Mrs Withers, she was afraid to say a word and could barely lift her eyes to the altar. She didn’t even notice that the church was festooned with flowers.

The bell stopped tolling, the soft murmur of voices died away and the curate made his entrance. There was a grating noise as everyone rose to their feet. A few people cleared their throats. Lottie got a first glimpse of the man who was about to take the service and she actually smiled.

‘It’s not the rector,’ she whispered.

The housekeeper’s elbow speared into her ribs.

It was a sombre service and many members of the congregation were profoundly moved. Colbeck was delighted with the way that it was conducted by the curate, an earnest young man who’d been kept in the shadow of the rector and who was determined to enjoy a rare opportunity to show his mettle. The colonel and his wife were both mentioned during prayers but not during a sermon that extolled the virtues of compassion. There was an atmosphere of collective sorrow that would not have been produced by the more combative approach of Frederick Skelton. Where the rector would have sown division, the curate achieved a unity.

Once outside the church, some people broke ranks. Colbeck heard more than one of them giving vent to the opinion that the colonel killed his wife and had no right to be mourned. But the majority were too subdued to venture any comment and simply dispersed in the direction of their homes. Colbeck and Leeming waited for the chance to speak to Bertram Reader but the banker and his wife were too busy talking to members of the family. When she saw them standing there, Mrs Withers came over to the detectives.

‘I thought you might be here,’ she said.

‘We’ll be here until the murder is solved,’ Colbeck told her. ‘What did you think of the service?’

‘It was very comforting, sir. I was touched.’

‘So were we,’ Leeming put in.

‘I was relieved that Mrs Doel came through it. But that’s not what I wanted to say,’ she went on. ‘When you came to the house on one of your visits, Inspector, you asked me about Michael Bruntcliffe.’

‘That’s right,’ said Colbeck. ‘Do you have any news of him?’

‘I don’t, sir, but Lottie does.’ She crooked a finger to beckon the girl across. ‘Tell them what you saw on the way back from Rock Farm.’

Lottie was nervous in the presence of the two detectives but, prompted by the housekeeper, she managed to tell her story. From the description given, Mrs Withers was certain that the person with Adam Tarleton had been Bruntcliffe. Both women were obviously frightened that they might have to suffer repercussions as a result of what they had said so Colbeck assured them that Tarleton would never know where the information had come from. After thanking him profusely, the women melted into the crowd.

‘He lied to us, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I thought so at the time.’

‘Keep an eye on him, Victor.’

‘Where are you going?’

‘I want to spend that golden nugget,’ said Colbeck.

Having noticed that the banker had broken away from the group around the family, he moved swiftly to intercept him. They exchanged greetings, then Reader wanted details of the confrontation with the rector on the previous evening.

‘I’d love to have been a fly on the wall,’ he said.

‘Then you’d have been in danger of being swatted by the rector,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was in a vengeful mood. After I left, I suspect no ornament in the room was safe.’

‘Did he confess?’

‘He offered a vehement denial at first and tried to send me packing but his wife broke down. Having to write such vicious things under his dictation had preyed on her mind. I put it to the rector that the only honourable thing he could do was to resign.’

‘He and his wife will be indicted as well, surely?’

‘Let’s take this one step at a time, Mr Reader. I’ll deal with them in due course. At the moment, my priority remains the arrest of the murderer and the vindication of the colonel.’

‘I’ll help you all I can with those two objectives.’

‘Then tell me about the Leybourne Scandal.’

Reader was taken aback. ‘How do you know about that?’

‘The colonel was involved, wasn’t he? I remember the date when the truth first came out and I have evidence that Colonel Tarleton was one of the many victims. I’m not pressing you for anything more than acknowledgement,’ said Colbeck. ‘Why hide the fact? If I go back to the company, they’ll supply me with the names of everyone involved. Just tell me this – am I right?’

‘You are, Inspector.’

‘So he did invest money with Leybourne?’

Reader winced. ‘He invested a great deal of money.’

‘Thank you, sir. That’s all I need to know at this stage.’

Colbeck had no time to question him further because he had just received a signal from Leeming. The Tarleton family were on the move. Having received kind words and commiseration from several people, they were at last ready to begin the walk home. Mrs Withers and Lottie Pearl had left ahead of them. Colbeck moved smartly to detach Adam Tarleton from the group.

‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘Can we trouble you for a moment?’

Tarleton was brusque. ‘It’s highly inconvenient.’

‘Nevertheless, we must insist.’

‘I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t wish to, Inspector.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ said Colbeck, evenly, ‘but I’d advise you to humour us. If you don’t, Mr Tarleton, we’ll be obliged to arrest you for perverting the course of justice.’

‘I’ve done nothing of the kind!’ retorted Tarleton.

‘You told us you hadn’t seen Michael Bruntcliffe for years,’ said Leeming, ‘yet, according to one of the warders, you went to see your friend in prison not long before his release. Your name will be recorded in the visitors’ book, sir, so there’s no point in denying it.’

Tarleton chewed his lip. ‘It’s true,’ he conceded, ‘but it slipped my mind. You have to understand that I’m mourning the deaths of the two people I cared for most in the world. I’m consumed with sorrow. I simply can’t think about anything else.’

‘You thought about going for a ride the other day.’

‘I had to fight with the rector about funeral arrangements.’

‘That wouldn’t have taken you long, sir,’ resumed Colbeck, ‘yet you were away for several hours. Meanwhile, your sister was moping at the house. It doesn’t sound to me as if you were burdened by sorrow.’

‘What are you getting at?’ demanded Tarleton.

‘We want to know why the man you claim you haven’t seen for years – Michael Bruntcliffe – was out riding with you that day. Think before you speak,’ he cautioned as Tarleton was about to bluster, ‘because we have a reliable witness who saw the two of you together. It’s strange that you never mentioned the fact when we talked to you later on.’ He moved a step closer. ‘What are you hiding, sir?’

‘Nothing at all,’ said Tarleton, angrily.

‘Where is he?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Where is he?’ asked Colbeck, grasping him so tightly by the arm that he let out a cry of pain. ‘Where is Michael Bruntcliffe?’

‘Standing outside a church is not the place to question him, sir,’ said Leeming, producing a pair of handcuffs from inside his coat. ‘Let’s arrest him and have done with it. Then I can put these bracelets on his wrists.’

‘No,’ pleaded Tarleton, ‘don’t do that. What will everyone think? I’ll tell you where Michael is but please don’t arrest me today of all days. It would break my sister’s heart.’

‘Will you give me your word that you’ll remain in the area?’

‘Yes, Inspector – I must stay here. There’s the inquest tomorrow, then the two funerals. After that, the wills are going to be read.’

‘I don’t trust him, sir,’ said Leeming.

‘Put the handcuffs away,’ ordered Colbeck.

‘If he’s not in custody, he might make a run for it.’

‘He’s not stupid enough to do that, Sergeant. He knows that we’d go after him. Besides, Mr Tarleton has an important engagement in Northallerton that he can’t possibly miss. He wants to hear the details of his inheritance.’ Leeming secreted the handcuffs inside his coat. ‘Now, sir,’ continued Colbeck, ‘where is your friend?’

‘He’s some distance away, Inspector,’ said Tarleton.

‘We can hire a trap.’

‘You’d be better off on horseback. It’s quite remote.’

Leeming blenched. ‘Horses! I’m not happy about that.’

‘We’ll do whatever’s necessary,’ said Colbeck, eyes locked on Tarleton. ‘I’m waiting, sir. Where is Michael Bruntcliffe?’

Although he was a religious man, Edward Tallis did not treat the Sabbath as a day of rest. After attending a Communion service that morning, he returned to Scotland Yard and worked through some of the files on his desk. It was almost noon when he lit a cigar, sat back and began to reflect on events in the North Riding. Convinced that his friendship with the colonel would give him insights denied to others, he longed to take an active part once more in the investigation. He found himself almost wanting Colbeck and Leeming to fail so that he had an excuse to hasten to Yorkshire in order to take charge of the case. Things were moving too slowly for his liking and he had the feeling that his detectives were holding back some of the evidence they’d so far uncovered. That was irksome. The only way to know exactly what was going on was to be in South Otterington. On the next day, he resolved, he would catch the first available train.

When he put the files away in his desk, he realised that they had been standing on the Sunday newspaper. He picked it up and sighed as he glanced at the headlines on the front page. A fire had destroyed a house in Islington and its three occupants had been burnt to a cinder. As soon as it was confirmed as a case of arson, Tallis had sent two detectives to the scene. While they had worked hard to gather evidence, they were still no nearer to discovering who the culprit had been. The newspaper article mocked them for their slowness and quoted someone who felt that a fire should be lit under the detectives to provide some stimulus. Tallis was used to ridicule in the press but it nevertheless continued to hurt, especially – as was the case here – when his own name was mentioned.

Not wishing to read any more of the article, he turned the page in search of something less infuriating. He looked up and down the columns until he saw something that caused him to stop. It was not an offensive article this time but a broadside from Yorkshire. Now here’s a murd’rous tale of woe, See a hero misbehave. For it shows a valiant soldier go By railway to the grave.

Howling with rage, he tore the page out and used his cigar to set it alight, holding it between his fingers until it was reduced to a few black, curling, disintegrating wisps of paper. When the flame eventually burnt his hand, he did not even feel the pain.

On the way to the church, Mrs Withers and Lottie Pearl had walked behind the family. The situation was reversed on the return journey. Knowing that some people might be invited back to the house, they wanted to get there well in advance. Earlier that morning, the two of them had prepared refreshments and they began to set them out on trays in the kitchen. Both of them wore aprons over their black dresses. When she heard the front door open, the housekeeper put her head out to see how many guests were there. Only four people had returned with the family. The odd thing was that Adam Tarleton was not with them. Mrs Withers was about to withdraw into the kitchen when he came into the house, shot her a look of disapproval and followed the others into the drawing room.

‘There are seven of them in all,’ she told Lottie.

‘Who have they brought back?’

‘Mr and Mrs Reader – they followed in their trap.’

‘Oh, I like them,’ said Lottie. ‘I only met them once but they were very pleasant to me. Is it true that Mrs Reader paid for all those lovely flowers in the church?’

‘She’s a very kind lady.’

‘Who else is in there?’

‘Mr and Mrs Everett,’ replied the housekeeper.

‘I don’t know them.’

‘Mr Everett is the family solicitor. He was also a good friend of Colonel Tarleton. They used to go shooting together.’

‘Oh,’ sighed Lottie, her face screwed up in anguish. ‘I think it’s so cruel, killing those poor birds like that.’

‘Who cares about what you think?’ snapped Mrs Withers. ‘I’ll go and see what they’d like to drink. And remember – when you take a tray in, hold it the way I showed you and don’t tremble the way that you usually do.’

‘No, Mrs Withers. I’ll try.’

In fact, the girl acquitted herself well. Food and drink were served to the guests without any trembling on her part. She even earned a word of praise from the housekeeper. Once their work was done, the two women retreated to the kitchen. They were able to sit down at last and enjoy a long rest. The first thing that Mrs Withers did was to take off her shoes so that she could massage her feet. Lottie was surprised to see how dainty they were.

‘Are those shoes too tight, Mrs Withers?’ she asked.

‘They are a little – I keep them for best.’

‘It’s a pity we had to walk all the way to church and back.’

‘Yes,’ said the other, ‘and I’ve had no time to change them since we came home because there was so much to do.’

‘You’ve got time now.’

‘I might be needed.’

‘It will only take a couple of minutes for you to slip up to your room,’ said Lottie. ‘I can listen out in case they call.’

The older woman was tempted. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, Mrs Withers – go on. Change your shoes while you can.’

Grateful for the offer, the housekeeper did not even bother to put the shoes on again. Instead she tripped up the stairs to the top of the house and let herself into her room. Putting the other pair away, she slipped on her working shoes and wiggled her toes. Her feet immediately felt better. She took the opportunity to straighten her dress in the mirror and to brush her hair, noting how thin it was now becoming. Then she went out again.

As she came down the first flight of steps, she was surprised to see a female figure going into what had been Miriam Tarleton’s bedroom. Her protective instincts were aroused. It was not Eve Doel. She knew that. Going into her mother’s bedroom had been too upsetting for the daughter. It had to be someone else and Mrs Withers felt that she simply had to confront her. She took a firm hold on the doorknob, turned it and flung the door open.

‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Agnes Reader, hand to her chest.

‘I thought I saw someone coming in here.’

‘Yes, Mrs Withers, but I’m not an intruder. I had permission from Mrs Doel. I was such an old friend of her mother’s that she encouraged me to have a keepsake from her jewellery box. Oh,’ she added, ‘nothing expensive. I just wanted something that would have sentimental value.’

‘The jewellery box is here, Mrs Reader,’ said the housekeeper, picking it up from the dressing table. ‘Why not take it downstairs then Mrs Doel can help you choose something?’

‘What a good idea! I’ll do just that.’

‘Here you are.’

‘Thank you,’ said Agnes, taking the box from her and lifting the lid to glance into it. ‘I’m afraid that it’s not as full as it once was.’

‘Mrs Tarleton sold some of the diamonds.’

Agnes gave a brittle laugh. ‘Oh, I’m not after anything like diamonds. A simple enamel brooch will do.’

‘There’s a very nice one with seed pearls around the edge.’

‘Good…I’ll look out for it.’

Agnes expected the housekeeper to withdraw but Mrs Withers held her ground. She gave the impression that she thought the visitor was trespassing on private territory. Closing the lid of the jewellery box, Agnes walked towards the door.

‘Thank you, Mrs Withers,’ she said.

Leeming was saddle-sore before they had ridden a mile. Colbeck was an accomplished horseman but his sergeant had had very little experience of riding. His discomfort was exacerbated by the fact that his bay mare seemed to have a mind of her own, disregarding his commands and neighing in protest whenever he tugged on the reins. They moved along a winding track at a steady canter. Colbeck could see that his companion was suffering and did his best to distract him.

‘You’re still wondering about Adam Tarleton, aren’t you?’

‘No, Inspector,’ wailed Leeming, ‘I’m still wondering if I’ll manage to stay on this beast.’

‘I thought you liked horses.’

‘I like betting on them – not riding the damn things.’

Colbeck grinned. ‘We’ll make a jockey of you yet, Victor,’ he said. ‘But on the question of Mr Tarleton, there was no point in making an arrest.’

‘But he’s an accessory to the murder of his mother.’

‘I don’t think so. When we cornered him, he didn’t react like a man with blood on his hands.’

‘He wasn’t the one who did the deed, sir. It was Bruntcliffe who blew that hole in her head. Tarleton paid him to do it. That servant girl saw him handing over the money.’

‘Lottie saw him handing over something,’ corrected Colbeck, ‘but she could not be certain that it was money. When we meet Bruntcliffe, he can tell us what he did receive that day.’

‘I’m confused,’ said Leeming. ‘Are you telling me that Adam Tarleton is innocent of the murder and that Bruntcliffe acted alone?’

‘No, Victor. I’m suggesting that we should wait and see.’

They went through a shallow stream and the flashing hooves churned up the water. Leeming clung on grimly as he rode through the spray. It was only when they were back on dry land that he remembered something.

‘You haven’t told me about Mr Reader,’ he said.

‘I finally got the truth out of him.’

‘What truth was that, sir?’

‘The colonel was involved in the Leybourne Scandal.’

Leeming gaped. ‘He was caught with another woman?’

‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m talking about railways.’

‘That’s nothing new.’

‘I know that you don’t share my interest in trains.’

‘I may change my mind,’ said Leeming, suffering more twinges in his buttocks. ‘If I had a choice between riding this horse or travelling by train, I know which one I’d prefer.’

‘Let me tell you about Stuart Leybourne.’

‘Who was he, sir?’

‘He was two completely different people,’ said Colbeck. ‘One of them was a trusted employee of a major railway company who lived an apparently blameless life. The other was a cunning man who amassed a fortune by means of fraud and who ruined gullible investors. As I’d guessed, Colonel Tarleton was one of them.’

‘What exactly happened?’

‘Leybourne was chief clerk in the registration office. He found a loophole that allowed him to issue bogus shares and forge the transfers in the account books. With hindsight, it seems incredible that anyone could have been taken in by him but he was a very plausible man and held out the promise of good dividends.’

‘Ah,’ said Leeming, ‘I remember the case now. Wasn’t this Stuart Leybourne compared to the Railway King?’

‘He was, Victor,’ said Colbeck, ‘except that he was even more guileful than George Hudson. The Railway King, as he was called, was the ruler of all he surveyed until his questionable accounting practices were revealed. Among other things, he’d been paying dividends out of capital to disguise the fact that one of his companies was making serious losses. His fall put an end to the years of wild speculation on the railways. Mr Hudson resigned as chairman of various companies and went abroad. Everyone said the same thing. Railway mania was over.’

‘Then why could people like the colonel be taken in by this other crook?’ asked Leeming, so interested in what he was hearing that he forgot his aches and pains. ‘You’d have thought investors had learnt their lesson. It’s not possible to make huge profits out of railways anymore.’

‘Stuart Leybourne made a profit. When he was finally brought to book, it was discovered that he had a mansion both in London and in the country, a retinue of servants and a courier who went with him on his travels. In all, he defrauded people out of over two hundred thousand pounds.’

‘That’s amazing!’

‘It explains why the colonel killed himself on the railway.’

‘Does it, Inspector?’

‘I think so,’ said Colbeck. ‘It had already killed him financially. Walking on that railway track was a form of obituary. I had the feeling from the very beginning that he was making a statement.’

The woman still lolled in bed but Michael Bruntcliffe had put on his shirt and breeches. They were in a large cottage set on a hill that offered views across miles of beautiful countryside. Sunshine flooded in through the window to gild the woman’s half-naked body. She smiled lazily up at him. Bruntcliffe sat on the bed and reached out to stroke her cheek. He was about to lean forward to kiss her when he caught sight of something through the window. Getting quickly to his feet, he stared out. Two riders had appeared in the middle distance. He watched them getting closer and closer before making his decision.

‘I have to go,’ he said, grabbing his boots. ‘Get dressed and tell them nothing. I can’t say when I’ll be back.’

Before she could even speak, he’d picked up his coat and run down the stairs. Minutes later, he was mounting his horse.

Bruntcliffe was on the run.