Railway to the Grave

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

One of the first things that Victor Leeming had learnt when he joined the Detective Department was that perseverance was a virtue. No matter how intractable a murder case might seem at first, it could always be solved, he was told, by a blend of patience and tenacity. A day spent largely on his feet had made the sergeant question the dictum. While he remained as tenacious as ever, his patience was wearing thin. The visit to Doncaster had brought what he considered to be a marginal success but the search for Michael Bruntcliffe was a story of sustained failure. His starting point had been the family of the released prisoner but they’d been able to give him scant help. While the mother still yearned for him to come home and mend his ways, the father had abandoned all hope of his doing so and wished never to see his son again.

What the parents were able to give Leeming, however, were the names and addresses of some friends of Bruntcliffe. The sergeant’s perambulation around Northallerton began in earnest. He went from house to house, only to be met by the same response. Bruntcliffe’s former friends all claimed that they were merely acquaintances and tried to distance themselves from someone who’d ended up in prison and brought disgrace to the family name. While nobody could say where Bruntcliffe was, the general feeling was that he wouldn’t be too far away. His first move on release, they all agreed, would be to search for amenable female company. Leeming managed to elicit the names of three young ladies who’d been close to Bruntcliffe in the past.

That set him off on the next stage of his journey. Since none of the trio lived in the town, he had to hire a trap in order to drive out to the respective houses where they lived. For a man like the sergeant, questioning a young lady about an emotional attachment they once had was highly embarrassing. Leeming had married the only woman he’d ever loved and had never been tempted to stray. He was therefore shocked to learn that Bruntcliffe had dallied with three beautiful women without the slightest intention of proposing marriage to any of them. It had left all three with a deep reservoir of bitterness. The first hotly denied ever knowing Bruntcliffe, the second was horrified that what had been a clandestine relationship was now the subject of police interest and the third, daughter of a minor aristocrat, was so indignant at being asked such personal questions that she ordered the butler to show Leeming out. All that the sergeant had to show for driving many unproductive miles in unfamiliar countryside was a bill from the man who’d provided the horse and trap.

When he finally caught the train back to South Otterington, he found Colbeck waiting for him at the Black Bull. Each told the other what their day had so far yielded. Leeming seized on a threat.

‘Superintendent Tallis is coming here?’ he cried.

‘I did my best to dissuade him.’

‘We’ll be here for ever if he takes charge. I’ll never get home to Estelle and the children.’

‘There is one way to head the superintendent off,’ said Colbeck, ‘and that’s to solve the murder by Monday.’

Leeming goggled. ‘We can’t do that, sir. We seem to be going around in circles. I’ve spent all morning and most of the afternoon hard at work and I’ve come back empty-handed.’

‘Don’t be so defeatist, Victor. You brought back the name of this gentleman from Doncaster. He may unwittingly have some useful evidence for us. As for Michael Bruntcliffe,’ he continued, ‘you found out a great deal more about our prime suspect than we knew before.’

‘He was a philanderer,’ said Leeming with revulsion. ‘I met three of his victims and I suspect there were many others.’

Colbeck was thoughtful. ‘A successful philanderer must have two attributes – charm and money. We know that Bruntcliffe has great charm, though it might have been blunted somewhat by his time behind bars. What he no longer has is the wherewithal to fund his romantic entanglements. He’ll need money,’ he said. ‘Where could he get it?’

‘He won’t get a penny from his parents, I discovered that.’

‘Then he might turn to Adam Tarleton.’

‘But he doesn’t have any money either, does he?’

‘He has prospects, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘He probably stands to inherit half of the estate. On the strength of that, he wouldn’t have much difficulty in raising a loan.’

Leeming snapped his fingers. ‘That makes it almost certain that Bruntcliffe is the killer. His old friend paid him to commit the murder.’

‘You’ve overlooked something. That, on its own, wouldn’t have brought in the cash that Adam Tarleton coveted. He needed both his mother and his stepfather to die. Only on the death of the colonel would he be able to claim his inheritance.’

‘Ah!’ Leeming was instantly deflated. ‘I never thought of that, Inspector. How could Tarleton know that his stepfather would take his own life?’

‘He’d know how bereft the colonel would be at the loss of his wife,’ reasoned Colbeck, ‘and he’d be aware that his stepfather would be under suspicion. The pressure on the colonel was intense. It may even be that his stepson added to that pressure by getting someone to write poison-pen letters on his behalf.’

‘It’s all beginning to make sense at last,’ said Leeming.

Colbeck was cautious. ‘Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. At the moment, we’re constructing a hypothesis on the basis of limited facts. We need far more information, Victor, and we only have until Monday to get it.’

‘Then we’re doomed, sir.’

‘Have more faith, Victor. Our efforts will soon be rewarded. Remember what the superintendent always tells us.’

‘Perseverance is a virtue,’ groaned Leeming.

They were in the bar at the Black Bull, enjoying a drink at a table in a quiet corner. Neither of them looked up when the door opened. It was only when a shadow fell across them that they realised they had company. Bertram Reader was relieved to see them.

‘I was hoping that I’d catch you here,’ he said.

‘Then do join us,’ invited Colbeck, pointing to an empty chair. ‘Can I get you anything to drink, sir?’

Reader sat down. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Why did you wish to see us?’

‘I may have some evidence for you, Inspector.’

‘Thank goodness someone does!’ said Leeming under his breath.

‘First, let me give you this list drawn up by my wife. All the people on it knew that Miriam would be visiting her that day.’ He handed it over. ‘Now, do you still have that letter you showed me?’

‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, reaching inside his coat.

‘May I have another look at it, please?’

Colbeck gave it to him. ‘Be my guest, Mr Reader.’

‘Thank you.’

Reader took out the letter and unfolded it, scanning the lines as if searching for a secret code. At length, he gave a decisive nod.

‘I knew that I was right,’ he said. ‘It’s the same hand.’

‘Would you care to explain, sir?’ asked Colbeck.

‘My wife and I worship at All Saints’ church in Northallerton. We rarely come to the church here. But when we heard that Miriam’s body had been found, my wife sought a visible way to express our grief. I suggested that she might buy flowers to adorn St Andrew’s this Sunday when the prayers will certainly be offered for Miriam – if not, I regret to say, for her husband.’

‘That was a very kind gesture, sir.’

‘It was much appreciated,’ said Reader, taking a card from his pocket, ‘and this was sent from the rectory in acknowledgement. As soon as I saw it, I thought I recognised the handwriting.’

Opening the card, he laid it beside the letter so that Colbeck and Leeming could compare the two. Each had the same neat, looping hand. One person had obviously written them both and the polite phrases on the card came in sharp contradistinction to the vile insinuations in the letter. Grateful for such evidence, the detectives were astounded to see the name at the bottom of the card.

It was Dorcas Skelton.

The arrival of her husband was the blessing for which Eve Doel had prayed. She collapsed into his arms, confident that he would take over and provide the commiseration that her brother had signally failed to supply. Lawrence Doel, a stocky yet elegant man of middle years, was mortified that he’d been away when tragedy had struck his family and upset that his wife had been unable to make contact with him while he was negotiating contracts with merchants in various European cities. His presence was not only succour to Eve, it had a curative effect on Adam Tarleton, who dressed and bore himself in a way more suited to the circumstances.

Mrs Withers noted the changes with approval. During a lull in what had been almost endless activity, she was in the kitchen with Lottie Pearl who was mending the tear in her dress.

‘This is how it should be,’ said the housekeeper. ‘It’s started to feel like a house of mourning at last.’

‘Mr Doel seems such a capable person,’ said Lottie, seated on a chair as she repaired her hem. ‘You can tell by looking at him.’

‘He’s also a true gentleman.’

‘How long will he stay, Mrs Withers?’

‘They’ll all be here until the funeral is over. When that is, I fear, hasn’t yet been decided. They have to wait for the inquest.’

‘I overheard Mrs Doel saying that the colonel wouldn’t be buried in the churchyard.’

‘Then you should be ashamed of yourself, Lottie,’ reprimanded the other, turning on her. ‘You should never listen to what’s being said in private conversations.’

‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it.’

‘It’s one of the reasons that Ginny Hepworth had to leave. I caught her with her ear to the door of the drawing room and it wasn’t the first time she’d eavesdropped. I asked the colonel to dismiss her.’

‘Ginny told me it was because you didn’t like her.’

‘My personal feelings never came into it,’ said Mrs Withers. ‘The girl was hopelessly slack in her duties. She had to go.’

‘Am I any better?’

‘You’re improving, Lottie, that’s all I’ll say.’

Bolstered by a rare word of praise, the girl finished her sewing and put the needle and cotton away in the basket. She stood up and let the dress fall down to her ankle. The repair was invisible and even won a glance of approval from the housekeeper.

‘Is it true?’ asked Lottie.

‘Is what true?’

‘What I shouldn’t have overheard about the funeral.’

‘There is a problem,’ confessed Mrs Withers.

‘No wonder Mrs Doel is so upset. I think it would be a terrible thing if the colonel is not there alongside his wife. How could he get to heaven if he’s not buried proper in a churchyard?’

‘Be quiet, girl. You know nothing about these things.’

‘I know the Reverend Skelton likes to make up his own mind. He’s told us so in the pulpit. Mother used to make me go every Sunday but I never really liked it because he frightened me.’

‘Who did?’

‘The rector – he makes me shiver.’

‘How can you say that about a man of God?’

‘I’m scared of him, Mrs Withers.’

‘That means you must have a guilty conscience,’ said the older woman. ‘Is there anything else you’ve done wrong, Lottie? Is there anything else I should know?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Come on, girl. You should have no secrets from me. I still haven’t heard why it took you so long to fetch those eggs from Rock Farm yesterday.’

‘I told you – I was chased by this horrible man.’

‘That was just a story you made up.’

‘It wasn’t,’ cried Lottie, hurt by the accusation. ‘He was a pedlar and I met him near the stream. He asked me for a kiss and, when I turned away, he jumped off his cart and chased me. I wouldn’t make something like that up, Mrs Withers, honest.’

The housekeeper studied her shrewdly. ‘Very well,’ she said after a lengthy pause. ‘I believe you. But that still doesn’t explain why you were held up. If someone chased you, you’d have got here faster.’

‘Those eggs were broken. I had to clean up the mess in the basket because I knew you’d shout at me if I didn’t.’

‘Go on.’

‘That’s all there is to say.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ decided Mrs Withers, taking her by the shoulders and staring into her eyes. ‘You haven’t lied to me but you haven’t told me the full truth either. There’s more, isn’t there? Out with it, Lottie,’ she urged. ‘Holding something back is the same as telling a lie.’

The girl was in a dilemma. If she mentioned that she’d seen Adam Tarleton, she ran the risk of a stern reproach. When she’d confided to the housekeeper that Tarleton had been looking at her in a way that unsettled her, Lottie had been roundly chastised and told to curb her imagination. She did not want to repeat the experience. If, on the other hand, she maintained that there was nothing left to tell, she’d be branded as a liar. Either way, there was a penalty to pay.

Mrs Withers shook her. ‘I’m waiting, Lottie.’

‘There was something,’ conceded the girl.

‘I knew it.’

‘But I didn’t do it on purpose – as God’s my witness. I just happened to be there when they rode up.’

‘Who are you talking about?’

‘I saw Mr Tarleton and his friend. I was behind some trees when I heard the sound of horses. They stopped quite close to me.’

‘Didn’t you make them aware of your presence?’

‘I was afraid to do that, Mrs Withers,’ said Lottie. ‘It was the way they laughed. I could tell they’d been drinking.’

‘That much is true,’ said the housekeeper, grudgingly. ‘I could smell it on his breath when he got back here. What happened then?’

‘They talked for a bit but I couldn’t hear a word they said. Then Mr Tarleton gave something to his friend and rode off.’

‘And that’s all?’

‘I swear it.’

‘Who was the other man?’

‘I’ve no idea, Mrs Withers. I’ve never seen him before.’

‘Can you describe him?’

‘Well,’ said Lottie, wishing that she wasn’t being held so tightly, ‘he was about the same age as Mr Tarleton, only thinner and with a pale face. He was tall, well dressed and he wore a hat with a feather in it. That’s all I can tell you except that…’

‘Go on, Lottie – spit it out.’

‘If you want the truth, I thought he was very handsome.’

Mrs Withers let go of her and turned away to reflect on what she’d just heard. Lottie was dismayed, fearing another reproof for eavesdropping. She retreated to a corner of the kitchen for safety. But there was no danger. When the housekeeper turned back to her, she was calm and pensive.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed. ‘He is handsome. I noticed that.’

Having toiled over his sermon for a couple of hours, Frederick Skelton was ready to practise it in front of his wife. She was an experienced and attentive listener, having heard hundreds of his speeches and homilies over the years. It was always a pleasure to listen to his well-honed rhetoric even if, as on this occasion, it was liberally spiced with denunciation. Dorcas was enthralled. Her husband had struck the perfect balance between praise and condemnation, hailing the virtues of a wife while criticising the actions of her husband. The sermon was long without being tedious, bold without being insensitive and shot through with a confidence that never lapsed into rodomontade. Had she not been in church, Dorcas would have clapped her hands.

It was not simply the words that Skelton liked to rehearse. The correct gestures were just as important to master. When the sermon was over, he went back to a certain passage and experimented with a different wave of his arm and a novel arrangement of his fingers. Satisfied that all was now perfect, he descended from the pulpit to receive a smile of congratulation from his wife. They returned arm in arm to the rectory, surprised to learn that Robert Colbeck was waiting for them in the drawing room.

‘I didn’t realise that you were here, Inspector,’ said Skelton. ‘My wife and I were in church.’

‘So I understand,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I didn’t think that the conversation we’re about to have would be altogether fitting for a church.’

‘May I offer you refreshment?’ asked Dorcas with practised sweetness.

‘No, thank you.’

She moved to the door. ‘In that case, I’ll leave you alone.’

‘I think you should stay, Mrs Skelton. What I have to say concerns both of you.’

‘Well, at least sit down while you’re saying it,’ said Skelton.

While Colbeck and Dorcas chose the sofa, the rector made sure that he occupied a high-backed wooden chair with elaborately carved arms. From this eminence, he looked down on the others. His air of complacency showed that he had no idea what was coming.

‘If you’ve come on behalf of the family,’ he warned, ‘then let me tell you I’m resolved on the course of action dictated to me by God. I will not have a man who committed suicide buried in my churchyard.’

‘That’s academic, sir,’ said Colbeck.

‘My husband’s word is final,’ insisted Dorcas.

‘Leave this to me, my dear,’ said Skelton before flicking his eyes back to Colbeck. ‘I’m not prepared to debate the matter, Inspector. Appeal to the archbishop, if you wish, but he knows that my ministry has been unimpeachable and will surely condone the stand that I’ve taken.’

‘I respect your right to hold that opinion,’ said Colbeck.

‘Is that all you have to say on the subject?’

‘Yes, it is – for the moment.’

Skelton rose up. ‘Then we must speed you on your way.’

‘Not so fast, sir – I’ve not finished yet. I suggest that you sit down again because this may take a little time.’ The rector lowered himself down again. ‘Regarding the cause of the suicide,’ Colbeck resumed, ‘are you aware that the colonel received several letters full of abuse and wicked accusation?’

Skelton frowned. ‘I was indeed aware of it, Inspector, and I railed against the authors of such missives from the pulpit.’

‘Will you accept that such poison-pen letters would have been extremely hurtful and put the colonel under intolerable pressure?’

‘I’ll gladly accept that, Inspector.’

‘Then the people against whom you railed should surely deserve some punishment. In my view, those who skulk behind anonymity are always despicable.’

‘I heartily agree with you.’

‘What punishment would you advise, sir?’

‘That’s for the law to decide.’

‘Did you issue no warnings from the pulpit?’

‘I said that they should be exposed and imprisoned for their crime,’ recalled Skelton. ‘I’d show them no mercy.’

‘Then we find ourselves in an awkward situation,’ said Colbeck, taking out the letter from his pocket. ‘This was the last message of hatred sent to the colonel. He died without opening it.’ He proffered the envelope. ‘Do you wish to read it, sir?’

‘Of course I don’t.’

‘Is that because you know its contents?’

Skelton frothed with outrage. ‘I find that remark both ill-mannered and insulting.’

‘What about you, Mrs Skelton?’ asked Colbeck, offering it to her. ‘Would you care to read it?’

‘No, Inspector,’ she replied, firmly, ‘I would not.’

‘You seem to be playing a silly game with us, Inspector,’ said Skelton, ‘and I must ask you to stop.’

‘Oh, it’s not a game,’ said Colbeck, pulling the card from his pocket. ‘This was sent to Agnes Reader in acknowledgement of some flowers she kindly bought for the church. I was struck by the curious similarity between the writing on the card and the letter.’

‘It’s pure coincidence.’

‘But you haven’t seen them side to side.’

‘I don’t need to, Inspector.’

‘I’m sure that Mrs Skelton will know why they are similar,’ said Colbeck, noting the guilty blush in her cheeks. ‘If I brought paper and pen, I daresay she could produce something that’s also eerily similar.’

‘I’m sorry,’ asserted Skelton, getting to his feet, ‘but I must ask you to leave. I’ll not have you hurling these vile accusations at my wife. Your behaviour has been unpardonable. Dorcas would never dream of composing the kind of letter to which you refer.’

‘I accept that, sir. But because Mrs Skelton wouldn’t dream of putting such filthy innuendoes on a sheet of stationery, it must have been dictated to her – by you.’

‘How dare you!’ howled Skelton.

‘He knows, Frederick,’ said his wife, quivering.

‘Be quiet!’

‘There’s no need to berate your wife,’ said Colbeck. ‘After all, she was only obeying her husband when she wrote these words. You couldn’t possibly do it yourself, of course, because you’ve often had correspondence with the colonel and he would have identified your hand at once.’ He looked at Dorcas. ‘How many did you send?’

‘Five,’ she replied.

‘I told you to be quiet!’ snarled the rector.

She was appalled. ‘You’ve never spoken to me like that before.’

‘Just do as I say.’

‘I always do, Frederick.’

‘We seem to have reached an interesting point,’ said Colbeck, savouring the flash of marital dissension. ‘One of you is ready to admit culpability and the other one denies it.’

‘My wife admits nothing,’ said Skelton. ‘I speak for her.’

‘Are you telling me that she wrote neither of these messages?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you.’

Colbeck got up. ‘Then it will be instructive to see if you maintain the pose of innocence when you’re asked the same question under oath in a court of law.’

Skelton attempted to brazen it out, meeting his visitor’s gaze with silent defiance. When he glanced at his wife, however, he saw that she was in great distress, exuding a guilt and remorse she was unable to hide. Questioned by a lone detective, she’d blurted out a confession. Under cross-examination in court, she’d be hopelessly unable to tell a succession of lies. Skelton’s nerve began to fail him. One of his eyelids began to flicker and he shifted his stance. When his wife began to sob, he knew that he was lost. Putting an arm around her, he looked at Colbeck with a loathing that was edged with respect.

In a short space of time, Skelton’s life had been transformed. Fifteen minutes earlier, he’d stood in his pulpit like a minor prophet dispensing wisdom to lesser mortals. He’d taken up arms in what he believed was a moral crusade and was ready to smite all who opposed him. At a stroke, he’d been deprived of his weapons and forced into ignominious surrender. Further humiliation would follow.

‘What do I have to do?’ he asked, dully.

‘The first thing you have to do is to instruct your curate to take the service tomorrow,’ said Colbeck.

‘But it’s my church with my congregation.’

‘That makes no difference, sir.’

‘I’ve already written my sermon. My wife listened to it.’

‘I did,’ she said through her tears. ‘It was inspiring.’

‘What you both did to the colonel was less than inspiring,’ said Colbeck with quiet intensity. ‘If your congregation knew the depths to which you were prepared to sink, they’d be sickened.’

‘I felt impelled to do it,’ bleated Skelton, grasping wildly for extenuation. ‘The colonel was a man of many faults, as Miriam found out to her cost. She was blessed in her first husband and cursed in her second. He killed her, Inspector,’ he said. ‘As sure as I’m standing here, the colonel murdered his wife and it was my bounden duty to arraign him for the crime.’

‘But that’s not what you did, sir, was it? Not having the courage to write and sign your own letter, you passed the burden to Mrs Skelton. That’s shameful,’ said Colbeck with scorn. ‘What sort of a husband hides behind his wife like that? What sort of a man makes a woman write foul words and coarse phrases that must never have entered her head before?’

‘It’s true,’ said Dorcas. ‘I hated writing those letters.’

‘They were necessary, my dear,’ argued Skelton.

‘They were necessary for you, sir,’ said Colbeck, ‘because you had so much bile to unload. When the killer is caught – and he soon will be – you’ll realise that you denounced an innocent man then tried to forbid him access to your churchyard.’

‘He mustn’t be buried here. It would be a sin.’

‘As I said at the start, that’s academic. The decision is no longer in your hands. It will be taken by someone with more compassion and with more knowledge of the law of the land.’

Skelton sagged. ‘Will you ruin me, Inspector?’

‘You brought ruin upon yourself,’ Colbeck pointed out, ‘and the tragedy is that you tainted your own wife in the process.’

The rector looked down at Dorcas with a mixture of apology and despair. Years of exerting unquestioned authority over her had come to an end. The woman who’d loved, honoured and obeyed him in every particular had been dragged down to a level that degraded her. He realised how it must look to a dispassionate observer. A hint of shame at last crept into his eyes.

‘What will happen to us?’ he asked.

‘That’s a matter for the archbishop,’ said Colbeck.

Skelton shuddered. ‘You’ll tell him about this, Inspector?’

‘That’s your prerogative, sir. When you compose your letter of resignation, you must explain it how you will. I can’t find the words for you,’ said Colbeck with studied coldness, ‘and, on this occasion, Mrs Skelton will not be able to write on your behalf.’

Caleb Andrews could not believe his ears. Though he came home to receive a welcoming kiss and knew that a tasty supper awaited him, he was stopped in his tracks by the news that his daughter had spent part of the day travelling on the Great Northern Railway.

‘Inspector Colbeck had no right take you,’ he protested.

‘I only went as far as Peterborough and back,’ she said.

‘Going to King’s Cross was far enough, Maddy.’

‘It was such a lovely surprise.’

‘Well, it’s come as a nasty shock for me. I don’t like the idea of you charging off to a different part of the country without a moment’s notice. Inspector Colbeck should’ve given you more warning. For a start,’ he said, ‘I should have been told.’

‘Robert was only in London for an hour or so,’ she explained. ‘Inviting me to join him was something he did on the spur of the moment. I could hardly refuse.’

‘Well, no,’ he muttered, ‘I suppose not.’

‘It was an adventure.’

‘Tell him to ask my permission next time.’

‘No,’ she said, grinning, ‘you tell him yourself.’

He washed his hands in the kitchen then ate his supper with her. It was all part of a comfortable routine that they’d settled into over the years. Andrews had accepted that it was destined to end.

‘What will I do for supper when you go, Maddy?’

‘Make it yourself.’

‘I can’t even boil an egg.’

‘Then you must get your new wife to do it for you,’ she said.

‘ What new wife?’

‘The one you keep hinting you’ll move in here as soon as I leave.’

‘I haven’t met her yet,’ he said.

‘I thought you had a whole flock of ladies interested in you.’

‘Yes, I do – but I have standards. I won’t take in anyone just to have companionship. I’m too old to change my ways, so any wife would have to accept me as I am.’

‘Then you can abandon all hope of marriage,’ she teased.

‘It’s a serious business, Maddy. It takes time to make up your mind. Well, look how long it took you and the inspector to come to a decision.’

‘That was because of Robert’s work.’

‘It won’t be a problem in my case,’ he said, ‘because I’m near retirement. I’ll be here most of the time. That’s another thing,’ he added. ‘I don’t want a wife who’ll be under my feet all day long.’

‘The truth is, Father,’ she said with an affectionate smile, ‘you don’t want a wife at all, do you?’

He chuckled. ‘Probably not – but I’m open to offers.’

When the meal was over, they adjourned to the parlour. He saw the copy of Cranford on the table beside her chair.

‘Did you mention what I said about it?’

‘We had other things to discuss.’

‘What did he tell you about the investigation?’ asked Andrews. ‘It says in the newspaper that it’s come to a halt.’

‘Reporters know nothing.’

‘They must get their information from somewhere, Maddy.’

‘Well, they didn’t get it from Robert. He’s much more optimistic. He’s hoping to make an arrest before long.’

‘He ought to arrest you for reading nonsense like Cranford.’

‘It’s a lovely book and much more restful than Dickens.’

‘I like blood and violence,’ said Andrews.

‘You wouldn’t say that if you had to deal with them every day as Robert does,’ she told him. ‘He has to see and do the most dreadful things. Take this case, for instance. How would you like to dig up a rotting corpse in the middle of the night?’

‘I’d be more than happy to do so, Maddy,’ he replied, cackling, ‘as long as it was the corpse of the man who runs the Great Northern Railway, that is. I’d go so far as to say it’d be a real pleasure.’

While Colbeck went off to confront the rector, Leeming stayed at the Black Bull in case the visitor from Doncaster turned up. The pub served good beer but the sergeant only drank in moderation so that his mind was not befuddled. The bar was quite full and, when he heard the door open, he was unable to see over the heads of the people standing between his table and the entrance. Hoping that Kinchin had at last arrived, Leeming was perturbed to see the unlovely face of Eric Hepworth beaming down at him.

‘Good evening, Sergeant,’ said Hepworth.

‘Good evening.’

‘May I join you?’

‘Actually,’ said Leeming, ‘I’m waiting for someone.’

‘Oh – and who might that be?’

‘That doesn’t concern you, Sergeant.’

‘If it’s related to the murder – and it obviously is – then it does concern me. I live here and I don’t want this hanging over us. It gives us a bad name. I want to cleanse the village. The sooner you arrest Michael Bruntcliffe, the better.’

‘We have to find him first and that’s proving difficult. Besides, we only have circumstantial evidence that he may be involved. The inspector is not fully persuaded that Bruntcliffe is our man.’

‘Who else could have committed the murder?’

‘I don’t know,’ admitted Leeming.

‘That’s why you need me. I can help. If the inspector spoke to my superintendent, I could be released from my duties to join in the search for Bruntcliffe.’

‘You do your job, Sergeant, and we’ll do ours.’

‘But you’ve made no progress at all.’

‘Yes, we have – though I can’t go into detail.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ challenged Hepworth.

‘You can believe or disbelieve what you like,’ said Leeming without rising to the bait. ‘And it’s not only the murder that we’ve been investigating. There’s the series of poison-pen letters that were sent to the colonel. It might interest you to know that we’ve already identified one of the people who sent them.’

Hepworth was shocked. ‘Who was that?’

‘You’ll have to wait until it becomes public knowledge.’

‘Why bother about a few silly letters when there’s a killer on the loose?’

‘Those letters were not silly,’ said Leeming. ‘They were malicious and helped to drive the colonel to suicide. I read one of them. It was disgusting. The people who wrote such poisonous things need to be tracked down.’ Hepworth plucked nervously at his beard. ‘You talked about cleansing the village of an ugly stain. We need to cleanse a few filthy minds around here as well.’

‘Yes,’ said Hepworth, backing away, ‘I agree. If you’re expecting company, I won’t intrude any longer.’

The railway policeman vanished into the crowd but his place was almost immediately taken by a dapper individual with a walrus moustache flecked with grey. Guessing that it must be Royston Kinchin, Leeming got up and introduced himself to the newcomer. Kinchin had the partly-hesitant, partly-defensive look of a man who’s been summoned by the police without knowing why. When he’d bought the visitor a drink, they sat down at the table. Leeming glanced around the bar to make sure that Hepworth was not lurking nearby but there was no sign of their self-appointed assistant. The sergeant turned to Kinchin.

‘Thank you for coming, sir,’ he began.

‘Ned Staddle said that it was important.’

‘It could be. It concerns Colonel Tarleton.’

‘Yes,’ said Kinchin with a pained expression. ‘I read about the suicide. It shocked me. The colonel always seemed such a level-headed sort of man. I’d never have expected him to do such a thing.’

‘How well did you know him?’

‘I wouldn’t call myself a close friend but we did see each other from time to time. We had a mutual interest.’

‘I had a feeling you might have been in the army, sir.’

‘No, you’re quite wrong there, Sergeant. I’m an engineer. I was lucky enough to be in the right place when the railways began to develop. Most of my career was spent in management. When the Great Northern extended its line, I bought a house in Doncaster.’

‘Is that where the colonel used to visit you?’

‘He didn’t come to see me,’ explained Kinchin. ‘I met him at the station so that I could give him a lift in my carriage.’

‘And where did you take him?’

‘More often than not, we went to a concert. Sometimes, we simply attended a rehearsal. The colonel was one of the sponsors, you see.’ Leeming was baffled. ‘Evidently, you don’t see, Sergeant.’

‘What sort of concerts are you talking about, sir?’

‘The colonel and I shared a passion for brass bands. When he heard that a railway band had been formed in Doncaster, he got in touch with it and offered a generous donation. That’s why we were allowed to attend rehearsals,’ said Kinchin. ‘I, too, was a supporter of the band. We whiled away many an hour, listening to them. The Doncaster Loco Band has real quality.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Indeed, when I first heard of his death, I wondered if I should ask the band to play at his funeral. Then I realised that it would hardly be appropriate. The booming harmonies of a brass band have no place around a grave. On the other hand,’ added Kinchin, stroking his moustache, ‘if there’s to be a memorial service, we might think again. The band has a wide repertoire of hymns.’

‘So that’s all it was,’ said Leeming with disappointment. ‘The colonel went to Doncaster to listen to a band. I was hoping for some information that might assist us in our investigation.’

‘I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful, Sergeant.’

‘It’s not your fault, Mr Kinchin. And at least we’ve now solved one little mystery.’

‘Perhaps you can solve one for me in return.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ said the other, ‘the colonel was as passionate as I am about brass band music. Neither his wife nor his friends would understand that. They preferred orchestral concerts.’

‘Is that why he kept the secret to himself?’

‘Probably – but it’s not his only secret. This is where the mystery comes in. The colonel stopped coming to Doncaster. Without warning and with no explanation, he stopped.’

‘Did you try to make contact with him?’

‘Yes,’ said Kinchin, ‘I wrote two or three times but I didn’t even get a reply. It was as if he’d cut the band out of his life altogether. It was very upsetting. To be honest, I felt like a jilted lover. I wondered if he’d taken against me for some reason.’ He gave a hopeful smile. ‘Do you happen to know why he lost interest so suddenly?’

‘I’m afraid that I don’t, sir,’ said Leeming, ‘but I’d be interested to find out. Can you give me an exact date when he deserted you?’

Since the rector’s obstinacy with regard to the funerals had caused the Tarleton family such distress, Colbeck drove over to the house to alleviate their anxiety. He decided against giving them full details of his visit to the rectory because he didn’t want to add to their grief and felt that they should, in any case, wait until Skelton made a public acknowledgement of what he’d done. The family needed reassurance and that was why Colbeck was ringing the doorbell.

Lottie Pearl answered the door and let him in. They had gathered in the drawing room after dinner. Colbeck was introduced to Lawrence Doel and was pleased to see how her husband’s arrival had lifted Eve’s spirits. There was also a marked difference in her brother’s bearing. Adam Tarleton had contrived to look as if he was bereaved. Declining the offer of a seat, Colbeck told them that he’d simply come to pass on information that it was important for them to hear.

‘I’ve just come from the rectory,’ he said. ‘You’ll be relieved to hear that there’ll be no more squabbling over the colonel’s funeral.’

‘There you are,’ declared Tarleton. ‘I brought the rector to heel. All it needed was a few harsh words from me.’

‘There’s rather more to it than that, sir, but I think the full story best left untold at the moment. If you attend church tomorrow, you need fear no awkwardness. The Reverend Skelton will not be taking the service. He’s instructed his curate to take his place.’

‘I’m so relieved to hear that,’ said Eve. ‘I was terrified that Adam would create a scene.’

‘I was looking forward to it,’ said Tarleton.

‘Thankfully,’ observed Doel, ‘it won’t be necessary. You always were a trifle too belligerent, Adam.’

‘I got the result we all wanted.’

‘Believe that, if you wish,’ said Colbeck, ‘but your intervention was more likely to anger him than cow him into submission. When I arrived earlier, he’d already written his sermon for tomorrow and had not relented over the proposed burial of your stepfather.’

‘Then what changed the old goat’s mind?’

‘Listen to the inspector, Adam,’ said Doel. ‘He’s told us all we need to know for the time being and I, for one, am very grateful. The service tomorrow should be a dignified event that’s not marred by any histrionics from you. In view of the tragedies, we should expect a large congregation.’

‘I think I can guarantee that, Mr Doel,’ said Colbeck. ‘There’ll be family friends coming over from Northallerton and perhaps from even farther afield. I know that Mr and Mrs Reader will be there and I fancy you can count on Mr Everett and his wife being present.’

‘Good,’ Tarleton blurted out. ‘I need to speak to Everett. He can give us some hints about the terms of the two wills.’

‘Adam!’ exclaimed his sister. ‘Can’t you think of anything else?’

‘It means a lot to me, Eve.’

‘It means a lot to everyone involved,’ said Colbeck, ‘but you’ll have to wait until the formal reading of the wills. Having met Mr Everett, I doubt if he’s a man to divulge any details beforehand.’

‘All I’m asking for is a rough indication of what I’ll get.’

‘Then you’re asking too much,’ said Doel with unforced authority. ‘Eve is right. The last thing you should be thinking about now is the possibility of your own pecuniary gain. Apart from being indecent, it has a mercenary smack to it.’

‘Let’s hear no more about the subject,’ decreed Eve.

Tarleton offered a reluctant apology and lapsed back into what he felt was the acceptable pose for someone grieving over the loss of parents. Colbeck was not convinced by his performance. To Adam Tarleton, he could see, the funerals were an irritating obstruction in the way of his inheritance.

‘Well,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you but I felt that my news might provide you with some solace.’

‘It’s done exactly that, Inspector,’ said Eve.

‘We can’t thank you enough, sir,’ added her husband.

‘In that case,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’ll take my leave. I’ll be seeing you all again tomorrow at St Andrew’s. It’s comforting to know that there will now be no danger whatsoever of any trouble at the church.’

Moonlight filtered down through the yew trees and drew intricate patterns in the churchyard. Standing at its centre was a large, stone cross that acted both as a cynosure and as a kind of nocturnal sentry. A bird was perched on the cross but it flew away with a disgruntled squawk when somebody walked towards it through the gravestones. The man checked to see that nobody else was about then he tied a rope around the cross, securing the other end to the pommel of his saddle. Slapping his horse on the rump, he made it jump forward. At first it was checked by the solidity of the cross but a second slap made it pull with more vigour. With a resounding crack, the stone split at the base of the upright and toppled onto the grass. Undoing the rope, the man put it away in his saddlebag.

He then returned to the plinth on which the cross had stood. Chiselled into it was the name of the benefactor who had donated the money for the erection of the cross. The man lowered his breeches and urinated, taking careful aim at the name of Colonel Aubrey Tarleton.