‘But it wasn’t a fool’s errand. Without realising it, the gentleman gave us a golden nugget.’
‘Did he?’ Leeming was perplexed. ‘I didn’t see any nugget.’
‘The date, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘He gave us a vital date.’
‘That’s news to me, sir.’
‘Wait until tomorrow and all will be explained. If I ask him about it when he’s off duty, so to speak, I can catch him unawares. I may get the truth out of him.’
‘Who are you talking about?’
‘I’m talking about the colonel’s banker – Bertram Reader.’
When she finally came downstairs that morning, Agnes Reader moved unsteadily and held onto the banister for support. She was in full mourning wear and had pulled down her veil to obscure her tears. Her husband was waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.
‘How do you feel now, Agnes?’ he asked, taking her hand.
‘I feel a little queasy.’
‘You don’t have to go, you know. I can represent both of us.’
‘I have to be there,’ she insisted. ‘What would the family think if I didn’t turn up at the service?’
‘But it will be such an ordeal for you.’
‘It will be an ordeal for all of us, Bertram.’
He nodded sadly and released her hand. She lifted her veil so that she could see herself properly in the hall mirror. After making a few adjustments to her clothing, she lowered the veil again.
‘I’m not looking forward to this,’ she confessed.
‘Neither am I,’ he said, ‘though I’ll be interested to hear what happened at the rectory last evening. Inspector Colbeck went off to question the rector about that letter.’
‘I still can’t believe that Mrs Skelton wrote it.’
‘The handwriting was identical to that on the card. Thanks to your kindness in providing those flowers, two guilty people have been exposed. Not that we ought to talk about it in public, my dear,’ he warned. ‘The inspector was very firm on that point. People are coming to the church to honour Aubrey and Miriam. We don’t want them distracted by rumours about a poison-pen letter sent from the rectory. That would really blight the whole service.’
‘I won’t say a word,’ she murmured.
‘Then promise me something else as well. If you have a change of heart on the way, it’s never too late to turn back.’
‘That won’t happen, Bertram.’
‘The option is always there,’ he said. ‘My concern is that the service will stir up too many emotions for you.’
‘I’ll pull through somehow.’
‘It will be worse for Eve, of course, because she’s lost two beloved parents. I’d like to say the same of Adam,’ he went on, ‘but we’d look in vain for any genuine sorrow there. The best that we can hope of him is that he turns up and behaves himself.’
‘Adam will surely have been sobered by what happened.’
‘Well, there’s no hint of it so far, Agnes. After he’d been in the town to identify his mother’s body, he called on Clifford Everett and more or less demanded to know what his inheritance would be. As a good lawyer should,’ he said, ‘Clifford told him that he was unable to disclose any details of the wills. He’s bracing himself for another clash with Adam when he attends the service today.’
‘I see.’
Reader opened the front door and let in a breeze that made his wife’s veil dance before her eyes. When he offered his arm, she didn’t take it. Instead she stayed where she was, surveying the outside world with trepidation as if not knowing whether to venture out or not.
He was solicitous. ‘Is something wrong, my dear?’
‘No, no,’ she replied, mustering all her strength. ‘Don’t worry about me, Bertram. I’m fine now.’
Taking his arm, she walked towards the waiting trap.
To make sure that the rector abided by his orders, Colbeck got to the church early with Leeming in tow. They saw a knot of people in the middle of the churchyard and went over to them. The stone cross lay on the ground, its impact so strong that it had bitten deeply into the grass. Colbeck noted the inscription on the plinth.
‘It’s an act of God,’ said one woman. ‘It’s because it was put here by the colonel.’
‘Aye,’ said another, ‘God has sent us a message.’
‘I think that you’ll find that God confines his messages to the inside of the church,’ said Colbeck. ‘This was done by a human being. It was a deliberate act of vandalism.’
‘Clearly, someone doesn’t like the colonel,’ said Leeming. ‘It would have needed a strong man to pull that down, Inspector.’
‘He used a rope. Look – you can see the marks here.’ Colbeck pointed to some nicks in the stone. ‘There must have been two of them.’ He explored the ground nearby and saw hoof prints. ‘I was right, Victor, there were two of them – a man and a horse. This is where the animal stood when it took the strain.’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Leeming, standing beside him. ‘The prints are deeper here where the horse dug in its hooves as it heaved.’
‘This must have been done at night. When I went past here yesterday evening, the cross was upright. I remember seeing it.’
‘At least it wasn’t broken in the fall.’
‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘but it’s already attracting far too much attention. I don’t want the Tarleton family to see this. Let’s put it back where it belongs.’
Removing his hat and coat, he handed them to a bystander and Leeming did the same. When he saw what they planned to do, a burly farmer offered his help, taking off his hat and coat before giving them to his wife. Getting the cross upright was relatively easy. Lifting it back onto the plinth, however, took a little more time and effort. They were fortunate. There had been a clean break so, once they’d managed to lift it between them, it was only a question of manoeuvring it back into position. It tapered outwards at the base and slotted securely back into its original position. After thanking the farmer, Colbeck used a handkerchief to wipe his hands.
‘It needs to be secured with mortar,’ he said. ‘Now that it’s back up again, I don’t think anybody would be stupid enough to try to push it over.’ He collected his coat and hat. ‘Thank you to everybody. Could you please move away now or people will wonder what’s going on?’
The small crowd drifted away, one of the women still claiming that it was an act of God. Leeming heard her.
‘Well, I wish that an act of God had put it back again,’ he said, pulling on his coat. ‘That thing was heavy.’
‘We all have our cross to bear,’ said Colbeck, dryly, ‘and I’m not referring to the superintendent.’
He was about to turn towards the church when he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. An unkempt youth was sitting on a low tombstone, playing with toy soldiers. Since he was wearing rough clothing and a crumpled cap, he was patently not a churchgoer. What interested Colbeck was that he was showing such intense concentration, moving the metal soldiers about with slow deliberation. The detectives walked across to him and had a surprise. What they had mistaken as soldiers were spent shotgun cartridges.
‘Good morning,’ said Colbeck, amiably.
The youth looked up at him. ‘Mornin’, sir.’
‘Do you always play in the churchyard?’
‘No room in ’ouse.’
There was no need to ask his name. As soon as they saw his face with its large, vacant eyes and narrow forehead, they knew that it was the railway policeman’s son.
‘You must be Sam Hepworth,’ said Colbeck.
‘Aye, sir.’
‘How old are you, Sam?’
‘Sixteen.’
‘That’s a bit old to be playing with soldiers,’ said Leeming.
‘I like ’em, sir.’
‘Where did you get the cartridges from?’
‘Shootin’ parties, sir. I carry guns.’
‘You’ve got quite a collection here.’
‘There’s
more at ’ome, sir. Our Dad says there’s too many.’
‘That would be Sergeant Hepworth, then.’
‘Aye, sir.’
Colbeck felt sorry for the boy and not only because he was saddled with a father who’d browbeat him unmercifully. Sam obviously had some disabilities. His speech was slurred, his movements slow and his eyes seemed to wander ungovernably. Yet, at the same time, he was a direct link with a man about whom they had suspicions. Unlike his father, Sam Hepworth had an open face and a complete lack of guile. There was a benign simplicity about him.
‘Are you going to church, Sam?’ asked Colbeck.
‘No, sir. Our Dad don’t like rector.’
‘Oh, I see. Is there any reason?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Well – what is it?’
‘Rector’s too bossy, like.’
‘I noticed that,’ said Leeming. ‘And your father didn’t think highly of Colonel Tarleton either, did he?’
‘No, sir,’ replied Sam.
‘Why was that?’
‘Same reason.’
‘You mean that he was too bossy?’
‘Aye, sir.’
Sam’s attention went back to the private battle he was fighting and he moved various members of his two armies. They watched him for a while then turned to go. Sam’s voice piped up.
‘Sent letters, like.’
Colbeck swung round. ‘What was that?’
‘Our Dad sent letters, sir.’
‘Letters?’
‘Aye, to colonel.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Leeming, moving to kneel beside him. ‘Is that what your father told you?’
‘No, sir, it were our Ginny.’
‘She’s your sister, isn’t she?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘What did she tell you, Sam?’
‘Ginny took letters there.’
‘Where?’
‘To big ’ouse, sir – it’s where colonel lived.’
‘Do you know what was in the letters?’ asked Colbeck.
‘No, sir – can’t read.’
‘Why did your sister deliver the letters? Why didn’t your father take them himself?’
Sam needed time to separate the two questions in his mind. It required an effort. While he was waiting, he shifted a couple of the soldiers on the tombstone. At length, he supplied an answer.
‘Our Ginny knew way there,’ he said.
‘I know,’ said Colbeck. ‘She used to work at the house.’
‘No, sir – she knew secret way there.’
‘What time of the day did she take the letters, Sam?’
‘It were at night, sir.’
‘When it was dark?’ The youth nodded. ‘I think I understand. Your sister had to deliver the letters without being seen. Your father didn’t want the colonel to know who’d sent them.’
It was too much for Sam to comprehend. He looked bemused. Colbeck patted him on the shoulder and thanked him. Squatting on the tombstone, the youth returned to his soldiers and he was soon happily lost in the heat of battle. Leeming glanced back at him.
‘Do you think it’s true, sir?’ he asked.
‘I think it’s more than likely.’
‘Then the sergeant has been condemned by his own son.’
‘No, Victor,’ said Colbeck. ‘All that Sam has done is to point the way. Against his father’s word, the lad’s testimony is useless. He could barely string a few sentences together.’
‘What about those toy soldiers? They reminded me of the cartridges you found near the body of Mrs Tarleton. In other words,’ he continued with muted excitement, ‘the interfering Sergeant Hepworth may be more involved in this business than we suspected.’
‘Don’t rush to judgement. We need more than supposition.’
‘We need a miracle, sir. Otherwise, Mr Tallis will be coming to Yorkshire and the whole investigation will drag on for weeks. We need to pray for a miracle.’
‘We’ve already had one,’ said Colbeck, looking over his shoulder. ‘His name is Sam Hepworth.’
Lottie Pearl had always been an unwilling churchgoer. The services were too long, the church was too cold and the archaic language was like a foreign tongue to her. She was therefore disconcerted when forced to join the family party. In addition to her mother’s black dress, she wore a black hat borrowed from Mrs Withers and a pair of brown shoes covered in black polish. She also wore a black lace shawl. On such a fine morning, they all walked to church. Eve and Lawrence Doel led the way with Adam Tarleton at their side. Lottie and the housekeeper walked ten paces behind them.
‘Why do I have to go?’ asked the girl, mutinously.
‘Because you do,’ said Mrs Withers with unanswerable finality.
‘I don’t like church.’
‘Your likes and dislikes don’t come into it.’
‘Everyone will stare at me.’
‘Nobody will even know you’re there. People will come to pay their respects. The family will get all the attention.’
‘Ah,’ said Lottie, spying some relief, ‘there is that.’
‘In the old days, all the servants would go to church. It was expected of us.’
‘You liked the old days better, didn’t you, Mrs Withers?’
‘The colonel was a good master and I’d have done anything for his wife. Working for Mrs Tarleton was a joy.’ She looked at Adam Tarleton’s back. ‘It will never be the same again.’
Lottie’s fears were groundless. When they reached the church, nobody even spared her a glance. People gathered around the family to offer their condolences. She recognised Bertram and Agnes Reader because they’d visited the house when her employers were still alive. She also saw familiar faces from the village. Yet she still felt like an outsider. Everyone else seemed to know what to do. They knew how to speak in low voices and what to say. They moved with the sort of understated reverence that was beyond the girl. When they entered the church, they were completely at ease. Lottie, by contrast, was in extreme discomfort, feeling the chill in the air and wishing that the oak pew was not quite so hard. Seated beside Mrs Withers, she was afraid to say a word and could barely lift her eyes to the altar. She didn’t even notice that the church was festooned with flowers.
The bell stopped tolling, the soft murmur of voices died away and the curate made his entrance. There was a grating noise as everyone rose to their feet. A few people cleared their throats. Lottie got a first glimpse of the man who was about to take the service and she actually smiled.
‘It’s not the rector,’ she whispered.
The housekeeper’s elbow speared into her ribs.
It was a sombre service and many members of the congregation were profoundly moved. Colbeck was delighted with the way that it was conducted by the curate, an earnest young man who’d been kept in the shadow of the rector and who was determined to enjoy a rare opportunity to show his mettle. The colonel and his wife were both mentioned during prayers but not during a sermon that extolled the virtues of compassion. There was an atmosphere of collective sorrow that would not have been produced by the more combative approach of Frederick Skelton. Where the rector would have sown division, the curate achieved a unity.
Once outside the church, some people broke ranks. Colbeck heard more than one of them giving vent to the opinion that the colonel killed his wife and had no right to be mourned. But the majority were too subdued to venture any comment and simply dispersed in the direction of their homes. Colbeck and Leeming waited for the chance to speak to Bertram Reader but the banker and his wife were too busy talking to members of the family. When she saw them standing there, Mrs Withers came over to the detectives.
‘I thought you might be here,’ she said.
‘We’ll be here until the murder is solved,’ Colbeck told her. ‘What did you think of the service?’
‘It was very comforting, sir. I was touched.’
‘So were we,’ Leeming put in.
‘I was relieved that Mrs Doel c
ame through it. But that’s not what I wanted to say,’ she went on. ‘When you came to the house on one of your visits, Inspector, you asked me about Michael Bruntcliffe.’
‘That’s right,’ said Colbeck. ‘Do you have any news of him?’
‘I don’t, sir, but Lottie does.’ She crooked a finger to beckon the girl across. ‘Tell them what you saw on the way back from Rock Farm.’
Lottie was nervous in the presence of the two detectives but, prompted by the housekeeper, she managed to tell her story. From the description given, Mrs Withers was certain that the person with Adam Tarleton had been Bruntcliffe. Both women were obviously frightened that they might have to suffer repercussions as a result of what they had said so Colbeck assured them that Tarleton would never know where the information had come from. After thanking him profusely, the women melted into the crowd.
‘He lied to us, sir,’ said Leeming. ‘I thought so at the time.’
‘Keep an eye on him, Victor.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I want to spend that golden nugget,’ said Colbeck.
Having noticed that the banker had broken away from the group around the family, he moved swiftly to intercept him. They exchanged greetings, then Reader wanted details of the confrontation with the rector on the previous evening.
‘I’d love to have been a fly on the wall,’ he said.
‘Then you’d have been in danger of being swatted by the rector,’ said Colbeck. ‘He was in a vengeful mood. After I left, I suspect no ornament in the room was safe.’
‘Did he confess?’
‘He offered a vehement denial at first and tried to send me packing but his wife broke down. Having to write such vicious things under his dictation had preyed on her mind. I put it to the rector that the only honourable thing he could do was to resign.’
‘He and his wife will be indicted as well, surely?’
‘Let’s take this one step at a time, Mr Reader. I’ll deal with them in due course. At the moment, my priority remains the arrest of the murderer and the vindication of the colonel.’
‘I’ll help you all I can with those two objectives.’
‘Then tell me about the Leybourne Scandal.’
Railway to the Grave Page 22
