‘Sit down and tell me all about it.’
They sat beside each other and Andrews gave her a garbled account of what had happened. It was clear that he still hadn’t understood the full import of what had occurred. Madeleine, by contrast, seized on the salient point.
‘She’s after you, Father,’ she said.
‘How can that be? I’m Binnie’s friend, not hers.’
‘She’s trying to prise you away from her sister. Why else should she give you her address? Mrs Young wants you to enter into a conspiracy with her.’
He was appalled. ‘I’d never do that. I like Binnie too much.’
‘From what I can gather,’ she said, ‘Mrs Young likes you too much. I think she’s jealous of her sister and wants to take you away from her. As for coming here without an invitation, that’s unforgivable.’
‘She pretended that she was doing me a favour.’
‘Did you believe everything she told you?’
‘I did and I didn’t, Maddy,’ he replied. ‘I did at first because she was so convincing. After she’d gone, however, I got to thinking about all the things she claimed. She said that Binnie chased after men, then cast them aside when she lost interest in them. That doesn’t sound like the Binnie Langton I know. She’s a respectable woman, Maddy. I wouldn’t have looked at her twice if she hadn’t been.’
‘What about the tea you had at her house?’
‘Binnie baked everything. I’m certain of it.’
‘Then why did her sister lie to you?’
‘I don’t know. I suppose she wanted me to think well of her.’
‘And do you?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘As soon as she left, I barricaded myself in.’ Madeleine burst out laughing. He was hurt. ‘What’s so funny?’
‘I can’t leave you alone for a minute, Father,’ she teased. ‘Most men in your position would be flattered if one woman took an interest in them. You’ve got two sisters fighting tooth and nail over you.’
‘There’s nothing to laugh about, Maddy. It was very unpleasant.’
‘I’m sure it was,’ she said with a consoling arm around him, ‘and I didn’t mean to poke fun. How has it left you feeling about Mrs Langton?’
‘To be honest, I’m not very keen to see her again.’
‘What about her sister?’
‘I’d run a mile if she turned up here again.’
‘Then the solution is obvious,’ said Madeleine. ‘You must write Mrs Langton a letter to thank her for the invitation to tea and tell her that you’re going away for some time.’
‘But I’m not, Maddy. I’m staying here.’
‘No, you’re not. We both deserve a short holiday.’
‘Where would we go?’
‘I know just the place,’ she said with growing conviction. ‘You heard what Robert said in the letter I had this morning. They’ve made an arrest but he still has doubts about the man’s guilt and expects the case to drag on a little longer. That means I’ll continue to fret about him if I stay here and your knees will continue to knock at the thought of a second visit from Mrs Young.’
‘Heaven forbid!’
‘We can take the train to Exeter and solve both of our problems.’
‘But that would mean travelling on the Great Western Railway,’ he said with disgust. ‘Do you really expect me to do that, Maddy?’
‘Would you rather be caught in your slippers again by Mrs Young?’
It took him only a few seconds to weigh up the alternatives.
‘I’ll write that letter to Binnie at once,’ he said, ‘then we can pack our bags and catch the next train to Exeter.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Colbeck’s visit to the solicitor had been enlightening. Having handed over the money found in the birdcage, he went off to the station with a quiet smile playing around his lips. The first person he saw was Lawrence Woodford but the man studiously avoided him. Since the refreshment room was quite busy, he had to wait until it was emptied by the arrival of the next train. He was then able to take Dorcas Hope aside. She was anxious to know what he’d discovered. He told her that the diary was largely devoted to the listing of birds and said nothing to her about the references to Woodford and Michael Heygate. She made a confession.
‘I was very tempted to read it myself,’ she said, ‘but Mother told me that the diary was private property and I had no right to look into it. That’s why I called on you, Inspector.’
‘You did the right thing.’
‘Has it been of any help?’
‘Oh yes, it’s given us a fascinating insight into the running of this station. As I foresaw,’ said Colbeck, ‘Mr Heygate thought very highly of you.’ She blushed. ‘Your name was mentioned a number of times.’
‘That’s nice to know.’
‘I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you for finding the diary.’
‘It was pure chance,’ she admitted. ‘As soon as I saw it, I thought it might be useful to you. That’s why I couldn’t understand Mr Woodford’s reaction.’
Colbeck was alert. ‘Has he been threatening you again?’
‘Not at all — he’s been very pleasant to me. He even said that I might be the manageress here one day. But when I told him that the diary had been found, he looked quite ill. I don’t know why.’
‘I’ll talk to him about it,’ said Colbeck, thoughtfully. ‘First, however, I need your help. Mr Heygate wrote that he discovered that barn owl “near M.V.” Have you any idea what those initials represent, Miss Hope?’
‘No, I don’t,’ she said after consideration.
‘Is it a place he visited or a person he knew?’
‘I can’t say, Inspector.’
‘Well, will you please think about it?’
‘Yes, yes, I will. “M.V.” could stand for Mr Vesey, who’s taken over as manager here, but I really don’t believe those initials have anything to do with him. He lives in Newton Abbot and the owl certainly wouldn’t be there.’
‘Let it lie at the back of your mind,’ he suggested. ‘Something may trigger a memory. If it does, then you must make contact with us at once.’
‘I understand. While you’re here,’ she said, ‘is there anything you can tell me about Mrs Rossiter? I worry so much about her and Miss Impey.’
‘As far as I know, she’s being well looked after.’
‘Is there any chance of visiting her?’
‘I’ll try to find out for you.’
‘I’m free on Sundays,’ she said. ‘Do you think I should offer to take her sister with me? In some ways, Miss Impey is rather frail. I wouldn’t want her to get upset.’
‘That’s very considerate of you,’ said Colbeck. ‘It’s perhaps better to wait until Miss Impey is ready to go there of her own volition. You’ve already offered to help her. If she feels she needs your support when she goes to the asylum, I’m sure that she’ll ask for it.’
Dorcas frowned. ‘What sort of treatment is Mrs Rossiter getting?’
‘Why do you ask that?’
‘You hear such frightening stories about the asylum,’ she said, worriedly. ‘There’s talk of patients being put in a straitjacket, or plunged into a cold bath, or locked up all the time in the dark. You don’t know what to believe.’
‘Dr Swift will prescribe the appropriate treatment,’ he said, ‘and I doubt very much if it will involve any of the things you’ve just mentioned. Rumours of that kind are usually misleading. Mrs Rossiter is being cared for, Miss Hope. Her recovery is in hand. And don’t forget what I told you about the chaplain,’ he added with a note of reassurance. ‘He’ll provide Mrs Rossiter with healing of a different kind.’
‘How is the poor creature?’ asked Bishop Phillpotts.
‘Mrs Rossiter is like all the patients when they first come here,’ replied Canon Smalley. ‘She’s utterly bewildered. Until one gets used to it, this can be a rather frightening environment.’
‘That’s unavoidable. It is, after all, a place of detention.’
‘And it’s run on the twin principles of hard work and strict discipline. I’ve no objection to the hard work. It keeps the patients occupied and gives them a sense of achievement. Where discipline is concerned, mind you, I do sometimes feel that it’s taken to extreme and inhumane limits.’
‘That’s outside your remit, Canon Smalley.’
‘I’ve had to accept that.’
‘Dr Swift knows what he’s doing.’
‘I mean no criticism of him, Bishop.’
Henry Phillpotts was not often subject to remorse but his conscience could be pricked on occasion. Having written to the chaplain to draw Agnes Rossiter to his attention, he felt that he had not done enough to atone for his earlier condemnation of the woman. As a result, he decided to pay an unheralded visit to the asylum. He and Canon Smalley were talking in the little room that the chaplain used as his office. There was a crucifix on the wall and a Holy Bible on the desk beside a pile of religious tracts. In stark contrast to the luxury of the bishop’s palace, the room had a decidedly Spartan feel to it.
‘I’m full of admiration for the work you do here,’ said the bishop.
‘I don’t think of it as work. It’s something I was called to do and I was happy to answer the call. I share my life with people in desperate need of my help.’
‘Yet it does cut you off from the outside world.’
Smalley smiled. ‘That’s a cause for celebration rather than regret.’
‘You’ve missed all the excitement of a murder investigation.’
‘It’s not been very exciting for Agnes Rossiter, I’m afraid. She’s been one of the victims of the crime. She talks of it incessantly.’
‘Then you may be able to cheer her up,’ said the other. ‘Inform her that the killer has been arrested and will go to trial. His name is Browne and he had the gross impertinence to threaten me in an indirect way. For some unknown reason, Inspector Colbeck, who is now in charge of the case, casts doubt on Browne’s guilt, yet it’s incontestable. He murdered the stationmaster elsewhere, then hid the body under the bonfire in the cathedral precincts as a brazen taunt at me.’
‘I’ll pass on the news to Mrs Rossiter.’
‘Do that. Has she shown any sign of contrition?’
‘Not as yet, Bishop.’
‘There’s been no apology for her antics in the cathedral?’
‘Her belief in the existence of God has been seriously undermined.’
‘Then it must be restored,’ said Bishop Phillpotts. ‘It’s an important factor in her recovery. Don’t you agree?’
‘I do,’ said Smalley, ‘but it’s something that will take time and patience. I’ll do whatever I can for Mrs Rossiter, but please bear in mind that I have many others in need of my help. There’s another recent arrival here, for instance, who’s in dire straits. In addition to her other problems, the girl is deaf and dumb.’
‘What dreadful handicaps to suffer!’
‘There are others here with equally bad disabilities. Mrs Rossiter, on the other hand, is a relatively healthy woman. It’s only her mental health that causes alarm.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Bishop Phillpotts, meaningfully, ‘I wish you to keep a particular eye on her. You’ll oblige me by doing so.’
‘I’ll obey your instruction, Bishop.’ He gestured towards the door. ‘If you’re ready to leave, I’ll walk with you to the main exit.’
‘Thank you. I’d like to take a closer look at the paintings.’
They left the room and ambled along the corridor so that the bishop could study some of the paintings he’d donated to the asylum. They consisted very largely of landscapes and seascapes, designed to please and soothe. There was no hint of violence or drama in any of the art. When they reached the end of the corridor, they turned at a right angle into another longer one. Bishop Phillpotts immediately stopped to examine a painting of Dawlish, but Smalley’s attention was fixed on the three people walking towards him. One of them was Dr Swift and the other was a nurse. Between them was the slim figure of Esther Leete, no longer restrained in a straitjacket and no longer exuding a sense of danger. As she gazed around, her face had a bewildered loveliness. Canon Smalley was amazed at the transformation.
Colbeck had to delay his conversation with Woodford until three trains had come and gone. The platform at St David’s was awash with people for what seemed like an age. When the last train had departed and the passengers had vanished, Colbeck saw the stationmaster trying to sneak off into the ticket office. He quickly intercepted him.
‘Good morning, Mr Woodford,’ he said.
‘Oh,’ replied the other, uneasily, ‘good morning to you, Inspector.’
‘I wondered if I might have a word.’
‘I am rather busy at the moment.’
‘This won’t take long,’ said Colbeck. ‘It concerns the diary.’
‘I’m told that it’s been found.’
‘And I’ve been told that you were unhappy at the news.’
Woodford scowled. ‘Someone has been telling tales again, has she?’
‘Is it true?’
‘It’s nonsense, Inspector. Why should I be unhappy about anything that helps you in your investigation? I was pleasantly shocked, that’s all. Miss Hope has obviously misinterpreted my reaction.’
‘You do leave yourself open to misinterpretation at times,’ said Colbeck, archly. ‘What do you suppose is in the diary?’
‘I have no idea and no real interest.’
‘Not even when it contains information about you?’
Woodford’s scowl darkened. ‘What sort of information?’
‘It’s not entirely to your credit, sir.’
‘Don’t pay too much heed to what Joel wrote. He was always trying to find fault with me. I put it down to the fact that I applied for the job at the same time as him and he resented the competition. Take anything he says with a pinch of salt, Inspector.’
‘I thought you claimed that you were good friends.’
‘We were — but we also had our differences.’
‘Tell me about them, Mr Woodford.’
‘I don’t want to bother you with trivialities.’
‘I wouldn’t describe the retention of your post here as a triviality,’ said Colbeck, ‘because that’s what was entailed. For reasons I need hardly recall, it was more than possible for Mr Heygate to have you dismissed. The diary makes that crystal clear. He spared you that fate.’
‘Joel is dead,’ said Woodford, testily. ‘Let his diary die with him.’
‘How can I ignore the diary when it will lead us to his killer?’
‘You already have the killer — it’s Bagsy Browne.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion.’
‘I know what mine is.’
‘Then you share it with almost everyone else, sir.’
‘Bagsy swore revenge,’ insisted Woodford, ‘and there were lots of witnesses. Surely Joel recorded the incident in his diary, didn’t he?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Colbeck. ‘Browne’s threat is mentioned in detail.’
‘Isn’t that good enough for you?’
‘Unfortunately,’ said Colbeck, ‘it isn’t. Bagsy Browne seems to have been easily provoked into issuing grim warnings. Mr Heygate was one of a large group of people in the city who got one. Anybody who upset Browne had his fist waved in their face. Yet not one of them — and I’ve been through police records — was murdered by him. The worst any of them suffered was a beating.’
‘That’s what he meant to give Joel and he went too far.’
‘It’s a possible explanation, I grant you, but it’s an incorrect one. Answer me two questions. First, how did Browne know that the stationmaster would be out after dark on that night? Secondly,’ Colbeck went on, ‘if he did murder Mr Heygate, why not leave the body where it fell, instead of taking it to the site of the bonfire? That would have involved risk. It would have been far easier simply to walk away.’
‘Bagsy was trying to dispose of
the body altogether.’
‘That’s the general belief. I happen to disagree with it. However,’ he said, ‘let me return to the appearance of Lawrence Woodford in the diary.’
‘It only happened once,’ said Woodford, quickly. ‘The second time he caught me with the bottle, I was actually off duty and what I do in my own time is of no concern to anyone else.’
‘You’re forbidden to bring alcohol on to the premises.’
‘It was an honest mistake.’
‘Like your denial of the fact that you were told about Mr Heygate’s diary?’
Woodford’s annoyance made him snarl. ‘I bought the whisky for a friend. Joel happened to see it.’
‘That’s not what it says in the diary.’
‘Damn the diary, Inspector!’
‘I’m sad to say that it’s the diary that damns you, sir.’
Woodford was rescued from further discomfort by the approach of another train. Mumbling an excuse, he went off to welcome it. Colbeck was about to go into the refreshment room for a cup of tea when he saw Leeming coming towards him. He waited until the sergeant was within a few paces.
‘Well met, Victor. May I offer you refreshment?’
‘Yes, please,’ said Leeming.
‘Have you been to the Crown Inn?’
‘Yes, sir, and there was a surprise in store for me.’
‘Don’t tell me that the landlord is a friend of Michael Heygate.’
‘He’s not a friend, exactly. In fact, he doesn’t even like the man. But he did let Heygate and his wife stay there at his expense on the night before Guy Fawkes Day.’
Colbeck gaped. ‘Why did he do that?’
‘He was hoping that they’d buy the pub off him, sir.’
Michael and Lavinia Heygate sat side by side at the table with a pad in front of them. On it was a series of financial calculations. They’d discarded their mourning attire and put on their normal clothing. Behind closed doors, they were safe from criticism. Having had three separate visits from a detective, they reasoned, it was unlikely that they’d have a fourth. The death of Joel Heygate didn’t impinge on their minds. Their sole concern was with its consequences for them.
‘How much do you think we’ll get?’ she asked.
The Stationmaster's farewell irc-9 Page 27
