The Iron Horse

by Edward Marston

  The drawing room was large, well proportioned and filled with exquisite Regency furniture. Long, gilt-framed mirrors had been artfully used to make the room seem even bigger than it was. Fresh flowers stood in a vase. Marcus Johnson looked around.

  ‘I always like coming here,’ he said. ‘I just wish that I could afford a suite of rooms like this.’

  ‘You’re a nomad. You never stay in one place long enough.’

  ‘That’s true – though this house would tempt me.’

  ‘It was recommended to me by a close friend.’

  He grinned. ‘I won’t ask his name,’ he said, putting his hat down on a table. ‘Well, I won’t stay long, Kitty. I just wanted the pleasure of seeing the look of amazement on your face.’

  ‘Why should I be amazed?’

  ‘Because I’ve not come to borrow money from you.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ she said.

  ‘In fact, I’m here to do the exact opposite.’ Thrusting a hand into his coat pocket, he extracted a pile of banknotes. ‘I’m going to repay in full what I owe you.’

  ‘Marcus!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You see? I knew that you’d gasp with disbelief.’

  ‘It’s so…unexpected.’

  ‘Be honest, Kitty,’ he said with a laugh. ‘I’m your half-brother. You’ve no need to mince words with me. It’s not only unexpected, it’s totally uncharacteristic. Marcus Johnson is one of Nature’s borrowers. Until today, that is.’ He waved the banknotes. ‘Go on – take them.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘They’re not forgeries.’

  ‘Even so,’ she said, hesitating.

  He laughed again. ‘Am I held in such low esteem that you do not believe I could acquire the money honestly? I have to disappoint you,’ he went on. ‘I neither robbed a bank nor dressed up as a highwayman to waylay an unsuspecting coach. I won at cards, Kitty. I had a run of luck at the card table last night that was unprecedented. And that, my dear sister, is how I’m able to pay off my debt to you.’

  ‘Thank you, Marcus,’ she said, taking the money and the kiss that came with it. ‘But do not fritter away the rest of your winnings.’

  ‘No sermons, please – I know when to stop.’

  ‘Then your judgement has improved.’

  ‘I’ve put youthful impetuosity behind me,’ he declared, ‘where gambling is concerned, anyway. When it comes to beautiful women, however, it’s a different matter. In that regard, I’m ever prey to impulsive action.’

  ‘Does that mean you have someone in mind?’

  ‘I have a dozen ladies in mind, Kitty!’

  ‘For marriage or for pleasure?’

  ‘I’m not the marrying kind,’ he said airily. ‘I ventured into holy matrimony once and found it a most inhibiting place to be. I like the freedom of the open road. You were right. I’m essentially a nomad.’

  ‘How long will you be staying in London?’

  ‘That depends how well I do during Derby Week.’

  ‘What happens if your run of luck continues?’

  ‘Then I’ll probably spend the summer in Paris.’

  ‘And if you lose at Epsom?’

  ‘I’ll be back to borrow that money off you again.’

  ‘It’s no longer available,’ she told him, slipping it into the drawer of a mahogany side-table. ‘The kindest thing I can do is to refuse you any more loans. That will make you stand on your own feet.’

  ‘I think I’ve finally learnt to do that, Kitty.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so.’

  ‘Well,’ he said, collecting his hat, ‘now that I’ve settled my debts, I’ll be on my way. Unless, of course, those keen ears of yours picked up something from Hamilton Fido.’

  ‘I haven’t even seen him since we last met.’

  ‘Make a point of doing so.’

  ‘He’s too preoccupied with the Derby.’

  ‘Surely he’s taking you to Epsom on his arm.’

  ‘Yes, he loves to display me.’

  ‘You’re a jewel among women, Kitty. He wears you with pride. But don’t forget me, will you? Last-minute information is the best kind. I can place my heaviest bet immediately before the race.’ He winked at her. ‘Can I count on your help?’

  ‘I don’t like to be pestered, Marcus.’

  ‘Blood is thicker than water.’

  ‘As you wish,’ she said with a tired smile. ‘I’ll see what I can find out from Hamilton. How will I get in touch with you?’

  ‘You won’t need to,’ he told her, ‘because I’ll get in touch with you. Thank you again for the loan of that money.’ He kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Take my advice and grow accustomed to the notion that your half-brother will soon be a very wealthy man.’

  The Shepherd and Shepherdess was a half-timbered inn, situated on the bank of a river. Built almost three hundred years earlier, it served the needs of the village and also attracted customers from further afield. Since it was only a couple of miles from the stables, it did not take Robert Colbeck long to get there. When they reached the inn, the inspector clambered out of the cab and told the driver to wait.

  ‘How long will you be, guv’nor?’ asked the man.

  ‘Long enough,’ said Colbeck, understanding the question.

  The man jumped quickly down from the cab, tethered his horse and went into the bar to slake his thirst. Colbeck bought drinks for both of them before introducing himself to the landlord. He asked if he might speak to Bonny Rimmer and, moments later, a short, pretty, dark-haired, rosy-cheeked young woman came into the bar, wiping her hands on her apron. She was plainly terrified at having been summoned by a detective from Scotland Yard. After trying to put her at ease with a few pleasantries, Colbeck requested that they move to somewhere other than the bar. Still apprehensive, Bonny took him to a little room at the rear. As they sat down together, Colbeck put his glass of brandy on the table.

  ‘I believe you know a jockey named Ned Kyle,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she replied. ‘He often comes in here.’

  ‘I’ve just spoken to him at the stables. He struck me as an honest, straightforward person. Would you agree?’

  ‘Oh, I would. Ned is a good man. He never causes trouble.’

  ‘Does that mean some of the others do?’

  ‘They get a bit excited, that’s all,’ said Bonny nervously.

  ‘What about John Feeny?’

  She brightened immediately. ‘John?’

  ‘Was he rather boisterous at times?’

  ‘No, sir,’ she replied, ‘he’s always quiet, is John. He likes his beer, mind you – they all do – but he doesn’t have the money to drink too much. That’ll change when he becomes a jockey, though. He might even earn as much as Ned.’

  Colbeck felt a surge of pity for her. She was talking as if John Feeny were still alive and about to fulfil his ambitions. When he had spoken to Ned Kyle at the stables, the inspector had learnt two things. The first was that Kyle was completely unaware of his friend’s link with Brian Dowd and the second concerned Bonny Rimmer. During his visits to the inn, John Feeny and the barmaid had developed a close friendship.

  From the way she talked about him, it was clear that she was in love with the Irishman. It was equally clear that she believed she would soon see him again. Colbeck had not bought the drink for himself. He moved it across to her before he spoke.

  ‘I have some sad news to pass on, Miss Rimmer,’ he said.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘John Feeny.’

  She tensed. ‘Has he been arrested?’

  ‘It’s rather more serious than that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘He’s been injured?’

  ‘John Feeny is dead,’ said Colbeck gently, steadying her with a hand as she reeled from the news. ‘He was murdered.’

  Bonny Rimmer was stunned. Her mouth fell open, her eyes darted wildly and her whole body trembled. When she began to sob convulsively, Colbeck provided her with a handkerchief and a consoling arm. Sin
ce she was in no state to hear the full details of the crime, he decided to keep them from her. He waited until she was over the worst of the shock, then he held the brandy to her lips.

  ‘Drink some of this,’ he coaxed. ‘It might help you.’

  Bonny consented to take a sip. She pulled a face at the sharp taste of the brandy but it helped to bring her to her senses. Of her own volition, she took a second, longer sip before turning her watery eyes on Colbeck.

  ‘Who could possibly want to harm John?’ she asked.

  ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out, Miss Rimmer, and I’m hoping that you might be able to assist me.’ She shrugged hopelessly. ‘Ned Kyle told me that you and John were good friends. Is that true?’ She nodded. ‘According to him, John was always talking about you at the stables.’

  ‘Was he?’ The information brought a modicum of comfort and she managed a pale smile. ‘We liked each other.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘It must have been over a week ago.’

  ‘How did he seem?’

  ‘John was very happy,’ she said. ‘He was always happy when we were together. But he did warn me that he wouldn’t be able to see me for a while because of Derby Week. Mr Stenton wanted the grooms on duty all the time to guard the horses. John said he’d try to sneak off but he never turned up.’ She burst into tears again. ‘Now I know why.’

  Colbeck offered her the brandy once more and she had another sip.

  ‘Did he tell you anything about his work?’ he said.

  ‘He told me lots, Inspector. Riding was everything to John. He wanted to be a jockey like Ned. He worked somewhere in Ireland but they wouldn’t let him ride. They said he’d never make a jockey and it really hurt John. He came to England to prove himself.’

  ‘Do you know the name of the stables in Ireland?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said. ‘I wrote letters to a friend of his there.’

  ‘Jerry Doyle?’

  She blinked in surprise. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I spoke to him while I was in Dublin,’ said Colbeck. ‘He showed me the letters – you have nice handwriting, Miss Rimmer.’

  ‘Thank you, sir – I was taught to read and write proper.’

  ‘In one of the letters, John said that he’d met someone very special but he didn’t give your name.’ She blushed visibly. ‘You did him a great favour in writing on his behalf.’

  ‘John wanted to learn to do it himself. I said I’d teach him.’

  ‘That was very kind of you.’

  ‘I’d do anything for John,’ she affirmed.

  ‘Did he have any enemies at the stables?’

  ‘No, he got on very well with everyone, Inspector.’

  ‘That was the impression I got when I spoke to some of the other grooms. John Feeny had fitted in very well. He had prospects.’

  ‘He did,’ she said, ‘and he was about to come into some money.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘I was the only person he told. He wouldn’t even tell people like his uncle or Ned Kyle about it. But he told me,’ she went on. ‘We had no secrets from each other, you see.’

  ‘And where was this money to come from?’

  ‘A man he’d met.’

  ‘What did John have to do to get it?’

  ‘He had to give him as much information as he could about Limerick Lad – that’s the Irish horse in the Derby.’

  ‘Yes, I know.’

  ‘John was to see this man somewhere and be paid to talk about the stables where he’d worked. He owed no loyalty to Mr Dowd, the trainer,’ she insisted. ‘He only held John back. Besides, John was working for Mr Stenton and wanted Merry Legs to win the Derby.’

  ‘Did John say when and where he’d meet this man?’

  ‘No, Inspector.’

  ‘Did he give you the man’s name?’

  ‘John didn’t know it.’

  ‘What did he tell you about him?’ Colbeck pressed.

  ‘Only that he was a gentleman and offered a lot of money.’

  ‘Was he English or Irish?’

  ‘Oh, English,’ she said, ‘and he knew a lot about racing. John told me he was very nice at first but he did threaten him once.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘When he gave John a job, Mr Stenton warned him that he wasn’t to speak to anyone – anyone at all – outside the stables about what went on there. People are always trying to bribe the grooms and jockeys for information. John swore that he’d say nothing,’ she said. ‘When this man first got in touch with him, John thought it might be best if he said nothing at all to him – not even about a rival stables. It was then the man made his threat.’

  ‘What did he threaten?’

  ‘He told John he had a choice,’ she recalled. ‘He could either talk about Limerick Lad and earn his reward, or, if he refused, then he’d lose his job because Mr Stenton would be told where John used to work in Ireland. John had to agree, Inspector,’ she said fervently. ‘He was afraid that if he lost his job, he’d lose me as well. Besides, he needed the money. So he agreed to do what the man asked.’

  ‘Thank you, Miss Rimmer,’ said Colbeck, watching a tear trickle down her cheek. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Can I ask you a question now, sir?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How was John killed?’

  Robert Colbeck took a deep breath before speaking.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Madeleine Andrews was busy in the kitchen when she heard a knock on the front door. Since her father sometimes forgot to take his key with him, she assumed that it was he and went to let him in. Before she did so, however, she decided that it might be safer to see who was outside first. Tugging the curtain back an inch, she peered out into the gloom then let out a cry of joy. Silhouetted against a gas lamp was the familiar figure of Robert Colbeck. She opened the door at once and gave him a radiant smile.

  ‘I was hoping you were still up,’ he said, stepping into the house and embracing her. ‘I was relieved to see the light still on.’

  ‘I was waiting for Father. I have to cook his supper.’

  ‘Mr Andrews had better come soon.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘It’s just starting to rain. I felt the first few spots as I got out of the cab. We’re in for a downpour.’

  ‘Father doesn’t mind a drop of rain,’ she said, shutting the front door. ‘He’s used to being out in all weathers. But how are you?’ she went on, standing back to take a good look at him. ‘And how is the investigation going?’

  Colbeck whisked off his hat. ‘I’m fine, Madeleine,’ he said. ‘As for the investigation, we continue to gather evidence.’

  ‘Are you close to arresting someone yet?’

  ‘No, but we’re eliminating possible suspects one by one.’

  ‘Father still insists that it’s a crime of passion.’

  ‘In one sense, he’s right – it was certainly instigated by someone who has a passion for horseracing.’ An amusing thought struck him. ‘Perhaps we should change places.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Your father and I.’

  Madeleine laughed. ‘What a ridiculous idea!’

  ‘Is it?’ he asked. ‘Mr Andrews clearly has a detective’s instinct and I’ve always wanted to be an engine driver.’

  ‘I think you’re both far better off doing the jobs you have.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re right – but what about you, Madeleine? How is your work going?’

  ‘I’ve all but finished my latest commission.’ She took him across to her easel and indicated the painting. ‘It’s a Crampton locomotive.’

  ‘I can see that,’ he said, recognising the distinctive features of Thomas Crampton’s design. ‘What puzzles me is why so few of them were made for this country and so many for France. When I crossed the Channel last year, I twice travelled on trains that were pulled by a locomotive just like that.’ He shot her a look of mock suspicion. ‘Don’t tell
me you’re going to export this to France as well?’

  ‘Not unless the French start drinking tea.’

  ‘Tea?’

  ‘That’s where this may end up, Robert – on a tea caddy. It’s a design they want to put on hundreds of them. They intend to sell them at railway stations.’

  ‘I’d certainly buy one.’

  She giggled and he leant forward to give her a kiss. When they sat beside each other, he put his top hat on her head in fun and it dropped down to her ears. They laughed as she took it off and set it aside. Not having seen her for a while, Colbeck was so pleased to be close to her again, reminded of all the things that had attracted him to Madeleine Andrews in the first place. Her vitality was a positive tonic to him. But he did not forget the main purpose of his visit.

  ‘Do you remember what I asked you?’ he said.

  She responded eagerly. ‘About helping in the investigation?’

  ‘Yes, Madeleine – I may need to call on you now.’

  ‘That’s wonderful!’

  ‘You haven’t heard what I want you to do yet. I spent a long time at the stables owned by Hamilton Fido today. Then I was driven to an inn called the Shepherd and Shepherdess.’

  Colbeck went on to tell her about his meeting with Bonny Rimmer and how devastated she had been by the news about John Feeny. Madeleine was sure that he had been as considerate as always when passing on bad tidings but there was no way that even he could have softened the blow on this occasion.

  ‘I feel so sorry for the poor girl,’ she said.

  ‘That’s why I want you to speak to her.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘There’s only so much I can do, Madeleine,’ he explained. ‘As a detective from Scotland Yard, I must be very intimidating to her. I never felt that I reached Bonny Rimmer, and once she knew the hideous truth about how Feeny died she could not even speak. I left her in a complete daze.’

  ‘What do you think I can do, Robert?’

  ‘I felt that she knew more than she actually told me – not because she was deliberately holding anything back but because she was overwhelmed by the situation. Bonny is young and vulnerable. She could simply not cope with the information that the lad she loved had been killed.’

  ‘Very few women could,’ said Madeleine, ‘especially when they discovered that he’d been beheaded. It must have been horrifying for her. I’m surprised she didn’t faint.’