Railway to the Grave

by Edward Marston

‘Is that necessary?’

  ‘I owe it to Aubrey – to Colonel Tarleton. There has to be an explanation for this tragedy and it must lie in the death of his wife.’

  ‘But that’s only conjectural,’ Colbeck reminded him. ‘The letter says that she’s disappeared but no evidence is given of her demise. That’s an assumption made by the colonel. He could be mistaken.’

  ‘Nonsense!’ snarled Tallis.

  ‘There are other possibilities, sir.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well,’ said Colbeck, meeting the blazing eyes without flinching, ‘the lady might have been injured while out walking and unable to get back home. She might even have been abducted.’

  ‘Then a ransom note would have been received. Clearly, it was not, so we may discount that hypothesis. Only one possibility therefore remains – Miriam Tarleton has been murdered.’

  ‘With respect, Superintendent, you are jumping to conclusions. Even if we suppose that Mrs Tarleton is dead, it doesn’t follow that she must have been killed. Her death might have been accidental or even as a result of suicide.’

  ‘She’d have no call to take her own life.’

  ‘Can you be sure of that, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector – it’s inconceivable.’

  ‘You know the lady better than I do,’ conceded Colbeck. ‘Given your knowledge of the marriage, is it also inconceivable that Mrs Tarleton is still alive and that she’s simply left her husband?’

  Tallis leapt to his feet. ‘That’s a monstrous allegation!’ he yelled. ‘Colonel Tarleton and his wife were inseparable. What you suggest is an insult to their memory.’

  ‘It was not intended to be.’

  ‘Then waste no more of my time with these futile arguments. You read the letter. It’s a plea for my help and I intend to give it.’

  ‘Sergeant Leeming and I will be at your side, sir. If a crime has indeed been committed, we’ll not rest until it’s solved.’ Colbeck crossed to the door then paused. ‘I take it that you’ve visited Colonel Tarleton at his home?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘How is he regarded in the area?’

  ‘With the greatest respect,’ said Tallis. ‘Apart from being a magistrate, he holds a number of other public offices. His death will be a terrible blow to the whole community.’

  Lottie Pearl was stunned. The news of her employer’s gruesome death had left her speechless. She could not begin to comprehend how it had come about. Nothing in the colonel’s manner had given the slightest indication of what he had in mind. On the previous morning, he’d gone through his unvarying routine, rising early and taking the dog for a walk before breakfast. He’d eaten very little food but loss of appetite did not necessarily equate with suicidal tendencies. Lottie was in despair. Within weeks of her securing a coveted place there, she’d seen the mistress of the house vanish into thin air and the master go to his death on a railway line. Her prospects were decidedly bleak. When she finally recovered enough from the shock to be able to focus on the future, one question dominated. What would happen to her?

  ‘Lottie!’ called the housekeeper.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Withers?’

  ‘Come in here, girl.’

  ‘I’m coming, Mrs Withers.’

  Lottie abandoned the crockery she’d been washing in the kitchen and dried her hands on her apron as she made her way to the drawing room. As soon as she entered, she came to a sudden halt and blinked in surprise. Seated in a chair beside the fireplace, Margery Withers was wearing a faded but still serviceable black dress and looked more like a grieving widow than a domestic servant. She used a handkerchief to stem her tears, then appraised Lottie.

  ‘You should be in mourning wear,’ she chided.

  ‘Should I, Mrs Withers?’

  ‘Do you have a black dress?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Lottie, self-consciously.

  ‘Does your mother have one?’

  ‘Oh, yes, she does. She dyed an old dress black when Grandpa passed away.’

  ‘Then you must borrow it from her.’

  ‘What will I tell my mother?’

  ‘You must wear it out of respect. She’ll understand.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean, Mrs Withers,’ said Lottie, uneasily. ‘What am I to say to my mother about me?’

  The housekeeper was puzzled. ‘About you?’

  ‘Yes, what’s to become of me now?’

  ‘Good heavens, girl!’ exclaimed the older woman in disgust. ‘How can you possibly think of yourself at a time like this? The colonel’s body is barely cold and all you can do is to flaunt your selfishness. Don’t you care what happened yesterday?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Withers.’

  ‘Don’t you realise what the implications are?’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean,’ said Lottie, regretting her folly in asking about her future. ‘All I know is that I was so hurt by the news about the colonel. He was such a decent man. I cried all night, I swear I did. And, yes, I will get that black dress. Colonel Tarleton ought to be mourned in his own home.’

  Her gaze shifted to the portrait above the mantelpiece. Tarleton and his wife were seated on a rustic bench in their garden with the dog curled up at their feet. It was a summer’s day with everything in full bloom. The artist had caught the strong sense of togetherness between the couple, of two people quietly delighted with each other even after so many years. Lottie winced as she saw the smile on Miriam Tarleton’s face.

  ‘This will be the death of her,’ she murmured.

  ‘Speak up, girl.

  ‘I was thinking about the mistress. If ever she does come back to us – and I pray daily for her return – Mrs Tarleton will be upset beyond bearing when she learns about the colonel.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mrs Withers, rising to her feet and looking at the portrait. ‘There’s no earthly chance of her coming back.’

  ‘You never know.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I do.’

  The housekeeper spoke with such confidence that Lottie was taken aback. Until that moment, Mrs Withers had always nursed the hope of a miraculous return or, at least, had given the impression of doing so. There was a whiff of finality about her comment now. Hope was an illusion. Husband and wife were both dead. The realisation sent a cold shiver down Lottie’s spine.

  ‘We must prepare the guest bedrooms,’ continued Mrs Withers. ‘Word has been sent to the children so they will soon be on their way here. The house must be ready for them. Everything depends on their wishes. If one of them decides to move in here then there may be a place for you in due course, but only,’ she added, pointedly, ‘if I recommend you. So until we know what the future holds, I urge you to get on with your chores and forget about your own petty needs. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Withers,’ said Lottie, recognising a dire warning when she heard one. ‘I do.’

  Victor Leeming’s dejection sprang from three principal causes. He disliked train travel, he hated spending nights away from his wife and family, and he was intimidated by the proximity of Edward Tallis. The village of South Otterington sounded as if it was in the back of beyond, obliging the sergeant to spend hours of misery on the Great Northern Railway. From what he’d gathered, he might be away from home for days on end and his loved ones would be replaced by the spiky superintendent. It was a daunting prospect. All that he could do was to grit his teeth and curse inwardly.

  Colbeck sympathised with him. Leeming was a man of action, never happier than when struggling with someone who resisted arrest or when diving into the Thames – as he’d done on two occasions – to save someone from drowning. Being trapped in the confines of a railway carriage, albeit in first class, was agony for him. Colbeck, by contrast, had found his natural milieu in the railway system. He took pleasure from each journey, enjoying the scenery and relishing the speed with which a train could take him such large distances. He tried to cheer up his sergeant with light conversation but his attempts were in vain. For his part, Tallis
went off to sleep, snoring in unison with the clicking of the wheels yet still somehow managing to exude menace. Leeming spent most of the time in a hurt silence.

  When they reached York ahead of schedule, there was a delay before departure. Tallis was one of the passengers who took advantage of the opportunity to visit the station’s toilets.

  ‘That’s a relief,’ said Leeming when they were alone. ‘I’ve never spent this long sitting so close to him. He frightens me.’

  ‘You should have overcome your fears by now,’ said Colbeck. ‘The superintendent poses no threat to you, Victor. He’s racked by grief. Colonel Tarleton was a very dear friend.’

  ‘I didn’t know that Mr Tallis had any friends.’

  ‘Neither did I. He’s always seemed such a lone wolf.’

  ‘Why did he never marry?’

  ‘We don’t know that he didn’t. In view of his deep distrust of the opposite sex, I agree that it’s highly unlikely, but even he must have felt the rising of the sap as a young man.’

  ‘He never was a young man,’ said Leeming, bitterly. ‘In fact, I don’t believe he came into this world by any normal means. He was hewn from solid rock.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have thought that if you’d seen him earlier. Solid rock is incapable of emotion yet Superintendent Tallis was profoundly moved today. We’ve been unkind to him, Victor. There is a heart beneath that granite exterior, after all.’

  ‘I refuse to believe it. But talking of marriage,’ he went on, glancing through the window to make sure that nobody was coming, ‘have you told him about your own plans?’

  ‘Not yet,’ confessed Colbeck.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I haven’t found the right moment.’

  ‘But it’s been weeks now.’

  ‘I’ve been waiting to catch him in the right mood.’

  ‘Then you’ll wait until Doomsday, sir. He’s never in the right mood. He’s either angry or very angry or something far worse. I tell you, I’d hate to be in your position.’

  ‘The appropriate time will arrive one day, Victor.’

  It was during a previous investigation that Colbeck had become engaged to Madeleine Andrews, proposing to her in Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter and buying her a ring there and then to seal their bond. While the betrothal had been formally announced in the newspapers, Tallis had not seen it. All that he ever read were court reports and articles relating to the latest crimes. Colbeck was biding his time until he could break the news gently. He knew that it would not be well received.

  ‘He never stops blaming me for getting married,’ complained Leeming. ‘He says that I’d be a far better detective if I’d stayed single.’

  ‘That’s not true at all. Marriage was the making of you.’

  ‘It’s having a happy home life that keeps me sane.’

  ‘I envy you, Victor.’

  ‘Have you set a date yet, sir?’

  ‘Oh, it won’t be for some time yet, I’m afraid.’

  Colbeck was about to explain why when he saw Tallis coming along the platform towards them. Grim-faced and bristling with fury, the superintendent was waving a newspaper in the air. When he got into the carriage, he slammed the door behind him.

  ‘Have you seen this?’ he demanded.

  ‘What is it, sir?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘It’s a report about Colonel Tarleton’s death in the local newspaper,’ said Tallis, slumping into his seat, ‘and it makes the most dreadful insinuations about him. According to this, there are strong rumours that he committed suicide because he felt guilty over the disappearance of his wife. It more or less implies that he was responsible for her death. I’ve never heard anything so malicious in my entire life. The man who wrote this should be horsewhipped.’

  ‘Does he offer any evidence for the claim?’ wondered Colbeck.

  ‘Not a scrap – well, see for yourself.’ He thrust the newspaper at Colbeck and remained on the verge of apoplexy. ‘This puts a wholly new complexion on our visit to the North Riding. The colonel has not only lost his life. He’s in danger of losing his impeccable reputation as well. He must be vindicated, do you hear?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Leeming, dutifully.

  ‘Slander is a vicious crime. We must root out those with poisonous tongues and bring them before the courts. By Jove!’ he added, seething. ‘We’re going to tear that damned village apart until we find the truth. Mark my words – someone will suffer for this.’

  CHAPTER THREE

  For most of its existence, South Otterington had been largely untouched by scandal. It was a relatively safe and uneventful place in which to live. Petty theft and being drunk and disorderly were the only crimes to disturb the even tenor of the village and they were occasional rather than permanent features of its little world. The disappearance of Miriam Tarleton from ‘the big house’ was a different matter altogether. It concentrated the minds of all the inhabitants and set alight a roaring bonfire of speculation. The grotesque suicide of the colonel only served to add fuel to the flames. There was a veritable inferno of gossip and conjecture. Precious little of it, however, seemed to favour the dead man.

  By the time that the detectives arrived, rumour was starting to harden into accepted fact. Alighting from the train, the first person they sought out was the stationmaster, Silas Ellerby, a short, slight, middle-aged man with protruding eyes and florid cheeks. When the visitors introduced themselves, he was suitably impressed.

  ‘You’ve come all the way from London?’ he asked.

  ‘There are personal as well as professional reasons why I want a full investigation,’ explained Tallis. ‘The colonel and I were friends. We served together in India.’

  ‘I thought you had the look of an army man, sir.’

  ‘Who’s been put in charge of this business?’

  ‘That would be Sergeant Hepworth of the railway police.’

  ‘I’ll need to speak to him.’

  ‘He lives here in the village.’

  ‘Mr Ellerby,’ said Colbeck, taking over, ‘the colonel’s death is clearly linked to the disappearance of his wife. How long has Mrs Tarleton been missing?’

  ‘It must be all of two weeks now,’ replied Ellerby.

  ‘Was an extensive search undertaken?’

  ‘Yes, the colonel had dozens of people out looking for her.’

  ‘He’d have led the search himself,’ said Tallis.

  ‘He did, sir – day after day, from dawn till dusk.’

  ‘Were no clues found?’

  ‘Never a one – it was baffling.’

  ‘Let’s go back to the events of yesterday,’ suggested Colbeck. ‘Where exactly did the suicide take place?’

  ‘It was roughly midway between here and Thirsk.’

  ‘That’s south of here, then.’

  ‘Correct, sir.’

  ‘According to the superintendent, the colonel’s house lies due north. If he wanted to throw himself in front of a train, he could have done so without coming through the village at all.’

  ‘Sergeant Hepworth had the answer to that.’

  ‘I’d be interested to hear it.’

  ‘The line to Northallerton is fairly straight. The driver would have had a better chance of seeing someone long before the train reached him. He might even have been able to stop in time. The colonel chose his spot with care,’ Ellerby went on. ‘He picked the sharpest bend so that he wouldn’t be spotted until it was far too late. Hal Woodman said there wasn’t a hope of missing him.’

  ‘Was Mr Woodman the driver?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector, and it turned him to a jelly. When the train pulled in here, Hal could hardly speak and his fireman was in an even worse state. I’ll wager they’re both off work today.’

  ‘You talk as if you know them, Mr Ellerby.’

  ‘I should do. I’ve had many a pint with Hal Woodman and Seth Roseby over the years. It wasn’t an express between London and Edinburgh, you see. It was a local train that runs between York and Darlin
gton.’

  ‘Where does Mr Woodman live?’

  ‘He’s just over four miles away in Northallerton.’

  ‘Sergeant,’ said Colbeck, turning to him. ‘I think that you should pay him a visit. Take the next train.’

  ‘But we’ve only just got here,’ protested Leeming.

  ‘It’s important to have a clearer idea of what actually happened.’

  ‘I can give you Hal’s address,’ volunteered Ellerby.

  ‘Then it’s settled,’ said Tallis, taking control. ‘Leave your bag with us and catch the next train to Northallerton.’

  ‘Yes, Superintendent,’ said Leeming with a grimace. ‘Where will I find you when I come back?’

  ‘They have two rooms at the Black Bull,’ said Ellerby, pointing a finger, ‘and George Jolly lets out a room at the rear of the Swan, if you don’t mind cobwebs and beetles.’

  ‘That one will do for you, Sergeant,’ decided Tallis. ‘We’ll probably be at the Black Bull. Meet us there. When we’ve booked some rooms, we’ll be going out to the colonel’s house. The first person I want to speak to is Mrs Withers.’

  Margery Withers let herself in and crossed to the window. It was the biggest and most comfortable bedroom in the house, commanding a fine view of the garden and of the fields beyond. She spent a few minutes gazing down at the well-tended lawns and borders, noting the rustic bench on which her employers had once posed for a portrait and the ornamental pond with its darting fish. She was torn between anguish and elation, grief-stricken at the colonel’s suicide yet strangely excited by the fact that she – however briefly – was now the mistress of the house.

  After looking around the room with a proprietorial smile, she did something that she had always wanted to do. She sat in front of the dressing table and opened the jewellery box in front of her. Out came the pearl necklace she’d seen so many times around the throat of Miriam Tarleton. The very feel of it sent a thrill through her and she couldn’t resist putting it on and admiring the effect in the mirror. Next came a pair of matching earrings which she held up to her lobes, then she took out a diamond bracelet and slipped it on her wrist. It had cost more than her wages for a year and she stroked it jealously.