‘Yes, yes,’ said Tallis. ‘Thank you, Colbeck.’
‘Brandy?’
‘Excellent.’
Colbeck went across to the bar counter and Tallis sat down at the table with Leeming. The superintendent still looked distracted. It was only when he’d taken a sip of the double brandy that was put before him that he came out of his reverie.
‘That’s better,’ he said.
‘You obviously viewed the body.’
‘I did.’
‘It must have been a gruesome experience,’ remarked Colbeck.
‘It was. I’d hate to have to go through that again.’
‘Why did you force yourself to do it, sir?’ asked Leeming.
‘It was my duty. He’d have expected it of me.’
‘Colonel Tarleton is dead. He’d never have known if you viewed his corpse or not.’
‘I’d have known, Leeming. It would have made me feel guilty.’
‘Then it’s as well you went, sir,’ said Colbeck, quietly. ‘While you were away, we met Sergeant Hepworth, the railway policeman in charge of clearing the remains from the line. He’s very well informed about life in this little corner of the North Riding.’
‘What did he tell you?’
‘What didn’t he tell us?’ said Leeming, rolling his eyes. ‘The sergeant talked our ears off. Much of what we heard was irrelevant to our investigation but he did come up with one interesting notion.’
Tallis’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Oh? And what was that?’
‘He believes that Mrs Tarleton is still alive.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’
‘Well, we have no actual evidence of her death.’
‘There’s no other way to explain her disappearance, man,’ said Tallis, roused. ‘When a devoted wife goes missing for such a long period, she has to be the victim of foul play.’
‘Sergeant Hepworth doesn’t agree, sir.’
‘What, in God’s name, does he know about it?’
‘His daughter worked at the house,’ said Colbeck, ‘and was able to see at close quarters how the marriage operated. She came home with tales of dissension in the house – though I’m inclined to question the girl’s truthfulness. According to the girl who succeeded her, Ginny Hepworth was dismissed as maid-of-all-work because she was lazy, so she may well have an axe to grind.’
Tallis was impatient. ‘Come to the point, Colbeck.’
‘The girl alleges that the colonel and his wife were estranged.’
‘That’s absurd!’
‘She claims to have overheard arguments.’
‘Then she suffers from hallucinations.’
‘When were you last there, Superintendent?’ asked Colbeck. ‘When did you last visit them in their house?’
‘What difference does that make?’
‘Had you been there in the last year, for instance?’
‘Of course not,’ said Tallis, tetchily. ‘How could I spare time from my work to see friends who live so far away? Since I took over my present post, I’ve been slaving away at my desk seven days a week.’
‘That means you haven’t been here for over five years,’ Leeming calculated. ‘A lot can happen in that time, sir.’
‘The colonel and I kept up a regular correspondence.’
‘But I doubt if he’d have said much about his wife in his letters. He must have known that you hold peculiar views about marriage.’
‘My views are not peculiar,’ retorted Tallis, reddening. ‘They are based on observation. Marriage, in most cases, serves to emasculate a man and divert him from his true purpose in life. That was not the fate of Colonel Tarleton. His was a rare example of how marriage can help a husband to explore his true potential.’
‘My wife has done the same for me, sir.’
‘That’s a moot point, Leeming. What I see in you is a man whose attention is occasionally diverted by the demands of his family. Look to the inspector. Bachelors like Colbeck are far more effective upholders of the law. Now, will one of you please tell me exactly what this railway policeman is claiming, based on the dubious evidence of his daughter?’
‘In essence,’ said Colbeck, ‘his theory is this. Mrs Tarleton was alienated from her husband because she believed that he’d developed an interest in another woman. After a series of rows, she fled the house and – rather than admit the embarrassing truth – the colonel gave out that she had gone missing.’
‘That is preposterous!’ exploded Tallis.
‘It’s only a theory, sir.’
‘It’s a pack of damnable lies.’
‘The sergeant’s daughter did work there,’ Leeming reminded him. ‘And we do know that the colonel and his wife had separate bedrooms.’
‘That’s none of your business!’ howled Tallis.
Leeming cowered. ‘No, no, I agree, sir.’
‘Colonel Tarleton would no more look at another woman than he’d fly to the moon on the back of a brown cow. He observed his marriage vows to the letter. He’d never bestow his affections on another woman. To start with, he’d never let her anywhere near him.’
‘He did in this instance,’ said Leeming. ‘She worked there.’
Tallis was open-mouthed in astonishment. ‘Mrs Withers?’
‘They spent all their time under the same roof, sir.’
‘Good God, man! Have you taken leave of your senses? Mrs Withers is a servant. Colonel Tarleton would never dream of even looking at her in the way you imply. She’s beneath him. I’ll hear no more of this nonsense,’ he went on, getting to his feet and picking up his glass. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘Aren’t you hungry, sir?’ asked Colbeck.
‘I couldn’t touch a thing – especially after listening to the arrant nonsense that you’ve just told me. Colonel Tarleton loved his wife dearly. I’ll trouble you to remember that from now on.’
After taking a long sip of his brandy, he stalked off. Colbeck was relieved that there were so few people there to witness Tallis’s volcanic loss of temper and he regretted passing on Hepworth’s theory about the missing wife. Something else worried him.
‘This case is arousing too many emotions in him,’ he observed. ‘I think his personal involvement is a handicap to his judgement. He has an image of the perfect marriage that existed when he was last here a number of years ago. Since then, a great deal has happened. To begin with, the size of the domestic staff at the house has been reduced and the garden is no longer maintained to such a high standard. Something very serious must have happened yet there seems to have been no hint of it in the letters sent from here to the superintendent.’
‘What do you think we should do?’
‘Persuade him to leave the investigation to us.’
‘It will not be easy.’
‘I realise that, Victor.’
‘I wouldn’t fancy going anywhere near him when he’s in this state. What about you, Inspector? Why don’t you go up to his room this minute to put the idea to him?’
‘I’m not that brave,’ said Colbeck with a grin, ‘or that foolhardy.’
‘Go on,’ teased Leeming. ‘You can mention your engagement while you’re up there. He’s in the ideal mood to talk about marriage.’
Happy by nature, Madeleine Andrews now took even more pleasure out of each day. The moment she woke up, she rolled over in bed to look at the engagement ring that stood in its open box on the bedside table. It symbolised her delight. She’d met Robert Colbeck under difficult circumstances when her father had been badly injured during the robbery of a train he was driving. What had begun as a chance meeting had slowly matured into a friendship before developing into something far deeper. Yet she’d never really believed that it would lead to holy matrimony. Given the difference in their social positions, she’d never dared to think that she’d be an acceptable wife for him.
Colbeck, however, had seen her true qualities. In his view, Madeleine was much more than merely the daughter of a widowed engine driver. She was a beautiful, inte
lligent, resourceful young woman who’d given crucial help during some of his investigations. Apart from reading voraciously the books she’d borrowed from his extensive library, Madeleine had also developed her artistic talents to the point where she could sell her work. Colbeck’s encouragement had been decisive and, unlike most people, he didn’t think that her subject matter was unfeminine. Because she celebrated railways to such startling effect in her paintings, he’d found one more reason to love her. Over breakfast that morning, her father was curious.
‘When will you be seeing him again, Maddy?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she replied.
‘I called on your mother regular before we were married. It’s what men are supposed to do when they’re betrothed.’
‘Robert is a very busy man. According to the note he sent me yesterday, he had to catch a train to Yorkshire.’
‘Yorkshire!’ said Caleb Andrews with disgust. ‘That means he’ll have travelled on the Great Northern Railway. I wouldn’t use one of their trains if you paid me.’
‘It has a good reputation.’
‘The only company worth its salt is the one I work for.’
‘Mr Brunel would have something to say about that.’
‘You can forget him, Maddy. The Great Western Railway is a complete mess. Brunel can’t even use a proper gauge on his track. As for the GNR, it’s in an even worse state.’
Having worked for the London and North Western Railway since it came into existence, Andrews treated its competitors with routine contempt and he was always annoyed when Colbeck’s work took him on lines operated by its rivals. Madeleine continued eating her breakfast in amused silence. She knew better than to argue with her father because it would only prolong his attack on other railway companies. Her task was to feed him well at their little house in Camden before sending him off to Euston on the early shift.
Short, wiry and with a wispy beard, Andrews was a man of truculent disposition. Workmates feared his sharp tongue and took care not to provoke him. His daughter, however, had learnt how to cope with his irascibility and had been a tower of strength to him since the death of his beloved wife. Andrews was very conscious of what she’d done for him over the years.
‘I’ll miss you, Maddy,’ he said, munching some bread.
‘I haven’t gone yet, Father,’ she pointed out, ‘and it may be some time before I do so. Robert warned me about that.’
‘Sooner or later, you’ll be off. I won’t have to worry about you.’
She smiled. ‘I thought I was the one worrying about you.’
‘I can look after myself. And now that you’re settled, I can start thinking about retirement.’
‘You’ll never retire. The railway is in your blood.’
‘It’s in my lungs as well,’ he said, coughing and beating his chest by way of testimony. ‘That’s what you get for breathing in smoke all day long. I’m not as young as I was, Maddy. I can’t go on for ever.’
‘You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if you retire.’
‘I’ll find someone I can beat at draughts.’ They shared a laugh. Ever since he’d taught her the game, she’d been able to win against him nine times out of ten. ‘Who knows?’ he added, mischievously. ‘I might even consider walking down the aisle myself.’
She was shocked. ‘You’d get married at your age?’
‘I need some companionship. Oh, I know you think that I’m sinking slowly into dotage but there are still certain ladies who’d look upon me as a catch. You should see some of the warm glances they give me in church.’
‘That’s the last place you ought to be getting glances of any kind,’ she said with mock disapproval.
‘London is full of desirable women.’
‘Father!’
‘All that I have to do is to take my pick.’
‘What you have to do is to remember how old you are.’
‘Many a good tune played on an old fiddle.’ Cackling wickedly, he got up from the table, downed the remains of his tea in one mouthful and beamed at her. ‘You’d better tell Inspector Colbeck to get a move on,’ he said, ‘or I’ll be hearing wedding bells before he does. Make him name the day, Maddy.’
‘I’ll do nothing of the kind,’ said Madeleine, firmly. ‘Robert’s work comes first and we have to plan our lives around that. And I don’t care which railway company took him to Yorkshire as long as it brings him safely back home to me.’
Breakfast at the Black Bull was served in a little room adjoining the kitchen. The food was good, the portions generous and the tea exceptionally strong. Colbeck tried to make conversation but Tallis was distrait. After a sleepless night, agonising over the death of his friend, he looked pale and weary. The visitor brought him fully awake. They were just about to leave the table when the Reverend Frederick Skelton burst into the room like an avenging angel.
‘I am the rector of St Andrew’s Church,’ he declared, striking a pose, ‘and I understand that you are here in connection with this ugly stain that’s been left on the village.’
‘We’re here to look into the circumstances of Colonel Tarleton’s death,’ said Colbeck, levelly, ‘and to find his missing wife. We’ve yet to notice any stains here, ugly or otherwise.’
‘That’s because you don’t have to live here, sir.’
The rector was a tall, slim, thin-lipped man in his forties with a smooth, colourless face and flowing brown locks of which he was so inordinately proud that he stroked them as if caressing a favourite cat. Sizing him up, Colbeck introduced himself and Tallis. Skelton went on the attack at once.
‘I wish to make one thing crystal clear,’ he boomed, addressing an invisible congregation. ‘There is no place for that criminal in my churchyard. He does not deserve to lie in consecrated ground.’
‘That’s a matter for the archbishop to decide,’ said Tallis.
‘I’m in charge of what happens in my parish.’
‘Colonel Tarleton is not a criminal.’
‘Suicide is a crime, Superintendent. Surely, a man in your position must know that. There was a time when those who took their own lives were buried on a public highway with a stake through their bodies. If it were left to me, that practice would be revived.’
‘Fortunately,’ said Colbeck, sharply, ‘it is not left to you or to anyone else enamoured of such medieval brutality. Parliament has shown due mercy to those unfortunate people compelled by the sheer misery of their lives to commit suicide. The Burial Act of 1823 gives them the right to lie in consecrated ground as long as the body is interred between the hours of nine o’clock in the evening and midnight. What the Act does not authorise is the performance of any of the rites of Christian burial.’
‘I care nothing for the Act,’ said Skelton, dismissively.
‘Then it will give me pleasure to arrest you for contravening it,’ said Tallis, wagging a finger. ‘You have a very short memory, sir. The church of St Andrew, as I recall, was rebuilt almost ten years ago. I know that the major costs were borne by Mr Rutson of Newby Wiske, but a handsome donation to erect a stone cross in the churchyard came from my good friend, Colonel Tarleton. Is that not so?’
‘Yes, it is, but I regard that as irrelevant.’
‘He worshipped regularly in your church.’
‘All the more reason for him to set a good example to the rest of my flock,’ said the rector. ‘Instead of that, he causes distress in the mind of every true Christian by his abominable act.’
‘Is suicide always abominable?’ asked Colbeck.
‘It’s abominable and unforgivable.’
‘Then I’m surprised that you haven’t been to Westminster Abbey to open the tomb of Viscount Castlereagh. He slit his own throat with a letter opener yet he was given a Christian burial there. He was a peer of the realm and held some of the highest offices of state. Would you have him disinterred so that he could lie beneath a public highway with a stake through his body?’
‘That was a different case,’ sa
id Skelton, irritably, ‘and bears no parallel to this one. Viscount Castlereagh, poor man, committed suicide in a fit of madness. That’s an extenuating factor.’
‘Could it not also be an extenuating factor here?’
‘No,’ Tallis interjected. ‘Colonel Tarleton was as sane as I am.’
‘My wife can bear witness to that,’ asserted the rector. ‘She actually met him when he was on his way to commit the vile act. In fact, she may have been one of the last people to see him alive. That thought has troubled her beyond measure.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘He strolled through the village as if on one of his normal perambulations. He raised his hat to my wife and smiled at her. In short, he behaved as he would always have done and that, I may tell you, is my definition of sanity.’
‘The inquest may decide otherwise,’ said Colbeck.
‘Not when Mrs Skelton gives her evidence.’
‘The coroner will not reach a verdict on the basis of a brief encounter in the village with a single individual. Testimony will be taken from everyone who saw Colonel Tarleton that day. And whatever the outcome, his right to be buried in consecrated ground remains.’
‘I intend to enforce that right,’ cautioned Tallis.
‘You can do as you wish,’ said the rector, ‘but I repeat what I came here to inform you. No suicide will lie within the precincts of my churchyard. Law or no law, I’ll not let it be corrupted.’
Without waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and swept out of the room, brushing back his luxuriant hair before putting on his hat. Tallis was fuming. Colbeck sought to reassure him.
‘Nobody can deny him the right of burial, sir,’ he said.
‘He’ll have that right,’ said Tallis, hotly, ‘even if I have to dig the grave with my own bare hands.’
‘I appreciate your feelings but you can’t usurp the privileges of the children. They are his heirs, Superintendent. We must bow to their wishes. It’s up to them to make the funeral arrangements.’
Wearing mourning attire and with her face hidden behind a black veil, Eve Doel embraced Mrs Withers with an amalgam of fondness and grief. They wept copiously on each other’s shoulders. Adam Tarleton, meanwhile, supervised the driver who was unloading their luggage before carrying it into the house. When that was done, the man collected his fare, tugged his forelock in gratitude then climbed back up on the seat of his carriage. As the vehicle rumbled away, Tarleton looked with disapproval at the two women.
Railway to the Grave Page 5
