It was much more testing than Laura Tremaine had thought. When she had rehearsed the role of Lady Macbeth before, she had simply copied the way that Kate Linnane had played the part. Now that it was hers, Nigel Buckmaster insisted that she put her individual stamp on it and he worked hard to bring that about. She did the letter-reading scene over twenty times before he was satisfied with the interpretation and he went over every syllable of her famous speeches to tease out their meaning and emotional impact. Laura was humbled and exhausted by the exercise but she was also uplifted. Somewhere inside her was the performance of her lifetime and Buckmaster was slowly bringing it out of her. Hours glided by as they exchanged iambic pentameters.
‘That’s enough!’ he decreed at last. ‘I think we have earned some refreshment. It is time for the royal couple to feast.’
‘Thank you!’ she said, overjoyed at his approval.
‘We have made great strides and we’ll make even more when we rehearse with the full company. I am beginning to have a real sense of you as my wife, my lady, my lover.’
‘My performance owes everything to you.’
‘We must complement each other in every possible way.’
‘Yes, Mr Buckmaster.’
‘Oh, I think we can dispense with formalities in private,’ he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders. ‘Feel free to use my Christian name, Laura.’
‘I will, sir – I mean…Nigel.’
After a late luncheon, they adjourned to the theatre to meet the rest of the company. Actors thrived on rumour and superstition and the place was buzzing. Opinions varied as to whether Kate Linnane had been killed, wounded, dismissed, abducted or struck down by a crippling disease. What everyone knew for certain was that she would not be taking part in the play that evening. Conducting Laura to the stage, Buckmaster clapped his hands to silence the hubbub.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said, scanning the faces below him, ‘I want no more idle speculation about Miss Linnane. All that you need to know is that she is unable to be here this evening. In her place,’ he went on, ‘I am delighted to tell you that we will have Miss Tremaine.’
There was a burst of spontaneous applause from most of the actors though one or two were less enthusiastic. Laura did not mind. Later that evening, she would be enjoying an ovation from a full audience, signalling the arrival of a new star in the firmament of British theatre. The moment for which she had secretly yearned had finally come. She would shine in one of the greatest tragic roles ever devised for an actress and she would do so in the company of the legendary Nigel Buckmaster. It was true bliss.
The euphoria lasted until she reached her dressing room. Cold reality then set in. As she looked at her costume, she knew that she could never hope to fill it with the same distinction as Kitty Linnane, especially at such short notice. Many of the things that Buckmaster taught her in his hotel room had already vanished from her brain. There was simply too much to learn. Declaiming lines in private had been thrilling. Adapting her performance to those of the other characters in the play would be far more difficult. She suddenly felt her immaturity. Buoyed up by ambition, she had thought herself ready for anything. Now that she was there, now that she was in a dressing room that had so many vestiges of Kate Linnane, now that she took full measure of the challenge she faced, Laura was forced to admit that she was too young, inexperienced and ill-equipped for the role. Her mouth went dry, her stomach heaved and her heart was like a galloping horse. She was in the iron grip of stage fright.
They were true. All those stories about bad luck attending any production of Macbeth had some foundation. Laura had never believed the tales before but the facts were inescapable. They were doomed. The company had been struck by a triple disaster. Murder had greeted their arrival in the town, their leading lady had been kidnapped and Laura Tremaine had been cast as Lady Macbeth. She could turn out to be the biggest disaster of them all.
Robert Colbeck wanted to eliminate one possible suspect before he left Cardiff. Though he doubted if she would condone a murder, he still wondered if Carys Evans was in some way linked to the series of crimes. Accordingly, he paid another call on her cottage. The servant who answered the door was reluctant to admit him.
‘Miss Evans is not expecting you, sir,’ she said.
‘I won’t trouble her for long,’ promised Colbeck.
‘Perhaps you could come back at another time.’
‘I need to speak with her now.’
‘It’s not really convenient.’
‘Then I’ll stand out here until it is.’
‘Miss Evans is rather busy at the moment.’
‘I’m never too busy to spare the Inspector a few minutes,’ said Carys, appearing in the hall with a welcoming smile. ‘Let him in, Maisie.’
‘Yes, Miss Evans,’ said the servant, dutifully.
She opened the door fully then stood back so that Colbeck could step into the hall. Carys led her visitor into the drawing room. He thought he detected the faintest hint of cigar smoke. It was from the same brand of cigar favoured by Edward Tallis so it was familiar to his nostrils. Offered a chair, he sat down beside the fireplace. Carys, he noted, was still wearing her silver brooch in the shape of a dragon.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting you, Miss Evans,’ he said.
‘Not at all,’ she replied, sitting opposite him.
‘I had the feeling that you had a guest.’
‘I did, Inspector.’ She picked up a book from a side table. ‘A very special guest, as it happens – Lady Charlotte Guest. I’ve been reading her translation of the Mabinogion.’
‘Have you read it in the original Welsh?’
‘Of course,’ she said, putting it aside again. ‘But let’s not pretend that you came to discuss my literary tastes. You have infinitely more charm than Superintendent Stockdale but you are here for precisely the same reason that brought him to my door. It appears – for some unknown reason – that I am under suspicion. Please don’t talk in circles like the superintendent. Ask me bluntly what you wish to know.’
‘Very well,’ he said, ‘how have you spent the day?’
‘I awoke early, went for my usual walk after breakfast then called on Lady Pryde to take coffee from a silver coffee pot that did not pretend to be anything else. Then I returned home and have been here ever since. Maisie will vouch for that.’
‘I’m sure that she will.’
‘Now you can ask me about the day of the murder.’
‘I’ve no intention of doing so,’ he said with a disarming smile. ‘If a lady does not wish to disclose whom she was visiting in the privacy of a hotel room, I respect her right to do so. No, Miss Evans, what I’d like to touch on is a visit you made to a silversmith in London.’
She became more guarded. ‘Go on, Inspector.’
‘You called at Mr Voke’s shop in Wood Street, I hear.’
‘Is there any law against that?’
‘None at all, Miss Evans,’ he said. ‘I just wondered if this was before or after you acquired that beautiful brooch you’re wearing.’
‘It was afterwards, Inspector. I was so impressed with it that I wanted to meet the silversmith who made it. Mr Voke introduced me to his assistant, Mr Kellow, a very pleasant young man.’
Colbeck thought of the corpse at the hotel. ‘I met Mr Kellow under more distressing circumstances.’
‘I was not in London specifically to visit to the shop,’ she explained. ‘I have friends with whom I stay occasionally. While I was with them, I took the opportunity to seek out Mr Voke.’
‘Did you commission anything else from him?’
‘I did, as a matter of fact – it was a silver bracelet.’
‘And who was instructed to make it?’
‘I asked for Mr Kellow to work on it.’
‘Were you pleased with the result?’
‘I was very pleased,’ she said, ‘but I had no further dealings with the firm. After my first visit, I was approached by Mr Voke’s son wh
o was working at his father’s shop at the time. He told me that he could make me jewellery of the same high quality but at a lower price. When he showed me examples of his work, I could see that he was a good craftsman. So I commissioned a silver necklace from him.’
‘Are you telling me that you knew Stephen Voke?’
‘Yes, Inspector, we had a business arrangement.’
‘Was the necklace satisfactory?’
‘It was a fine piece of work at a bargain price.’
‘Then you must have gone to his new place of employment in Hatton Garden to collect it from him.’
‘No,’ she replied. ‘Young Mr Voke delivered it by hand.’
Colbeck was alerted. ‘Stephen Voke actually came to Cardiff?’
‘This is not the end of the world, Inspector,’ she said with a teasing laugh. ‘As you discovered, we are only a train ride away from London. And I was very grateful to have the necklace brought to my door. I know that your visit to the town has been very disagreeable but young Mr Voke liked what he saw of Cardiff. He appreciated that it was a place with a future.’
‘I share that view. It’s patently set to grow and grow.’
‘He even talked about moving here one day because he was anxious to get away from London. He likes Wales.’
‘Have you commissioned anything else from him?’
‘Not in person, Inspector,’ she said, extending a hand, ‘but a friend of mine was kind enough to purchase this ring for me. None of our local silversmiths could have made anything like this.’
The ruby ring set in silver had the same delicate workmanship as her brooch even though the two items had been made by different craftsman. Both of them had been apprenticed to Leonard Voke and he had schooled them well in the trade. The ring was created by a son who was disowned and the brooch by the young man who had taken his place. In looking at the two pieces together, Colbeck felt that he was studying a motive for murder.
Jeremiah Stockdale was writing a report in his office when she called in to see him. Winifred Tomkins was an unexpected visitor and it had obviously taken an effort of will for her to be there. She looked weary, hurt and repentant. He held a chair for her to sit down then resumed his own seat. Since she had difficulty finding the right words, he tried to prompt her.
‘Is there anything that I can do, Mrs Tomkins?’
‘Yes, Superintendent, there is.’
‘Well?’
There was another long pause. Her tongue moistened her lips.
‘I’d like you to accept my apology,’ she said.
‘To be honest, I’m not sure that one is in order.’
‘I believe that it is.’
‘In that case,’ he said, ‘perhaps it’s I who should be apologising to you. We did our best to reclaim your stolen property and we failed.’
‘The failure was on my side,’ she confessed. ‘I was so eager to have my coffee pot back that I was blind to everything else. What could I – a weak and defenceless woman – hope to do against a ruthless criminal? It was madness. I can see that now. You must think me very silly.’
‘I think you acted with more bravery than sense, maybe, but I would never describe your actions as silly.’
‘I feel so foolish, Superintendent.’
‘The villains took advantage of your innocence, that’s all. You were an easy prey. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Mrs Tomkins. A criminal will always look to exploit the unwary,’ he told her. ‘That was why you were ordered to have no more dealings with the police.’
‘I was too reckless.’
‘Luckily, you survived the ordeal.’
‘I thought I knew better,’ she said, morosely. ‘And all I was doing was exposing myself to danger and letting myself be robbed of a great deal of money. I can’t tell you how embarrassed I feel.’ She produced a handkerchief to wipe away a stray tear. ‘My enemies will never let me forget this. I’ll be the butt of their derision for years.’
‘That’s not true at all, Mrs Tomkins.’
‘I’ve made myself look totally ridiculous.’
‘That may be your opinion,’ he said, ‘but it’s certainly not mine. Besides, who outside a tiny circle is going to know what happened? I will not be voicing it abroad and nor will Inspector Colbeck. Apart from you, your husband and the coachman, of course, nobody else has any knowledge of what took place and there’s no earthly reason why they should.’
Winifred brightened. ‘Do you mean that, Superintendent?’
‘You are unlikely to tell anyone and your husband will hardly want to draw attention to the fact that he refused to provide the money for the exchange. As for your coachman, I daresay you’ve made sure of his silence.’
‘On pain of dismissal,’ she said, firmly. ‘He’ll say nothing.’
‘Then you have nothing to worry about.’ Stockdale gave a sly smile. ‘There is, however, one other person who knows the full details of what occurred on the road to Fairwater and that’s the young man who relieved you of that money.’
Her fear returned. ‘Do you think that he’ll spread the word?’
‘No, Mrs Tomkins, I don’t. No criminal with any sense will boast about a crafty scheme he devised or the public will be forewarned. That would make it difficult for him to use the same stratagem quite so easily again. You are safe from your enemies,’ he assured her. ‘They will never hear of this unfortunate episode.’
Stockdale had never believed that he would ever feel sorry for Winifred Tomkins. She was a bossy, selfish, odious, pampered woman with a sharp tongue and he could well understand why her husband sought pleasure elsewhere, even to the extent of paying for it. Seeing her now in such distress, however, the superintendent softened towards her. Her real fault had been her gullibility. Driven to possess the silver coffee pot, she had been coaxed into a situation where she was robbed, tricked and mortified beyond endurance. It was a private wound that would never heal. Notwithstanding that, she had somehow found the courage to come to the police station to offer an apology to someone she feared would join in the general mockery of her. Stockdale was glad that he could give her some peace of mind.
‘Will I ever get my coffee pot back?’ she asked, meekly.
‘Oh, yes,’ he affirmed.
‘How can you be so certain?’
‘Inspector Colbeck will pursue them until he finally runs them to ground. He never gives up, Mrs Tomkins. The chase will continue for as long as necessary and your property will be retrieved.’
‘All that my husband can talk about is our carriage.’
‘That, too, will be recovered and so will your money.’
She bit her lip. ‘I should have trusted Inspector Colbeck,’ she said with regret. ‘You and he deal with criminals all the time. I was stupid to ignore your help.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Tomkins.’
‘The person who really deserves an apology is the inspector.’
‘I’d agree with that.’
‘Where can I find him, Superintendent?’
‘I wouldn’t advise you to go in search of him just now.’
‘Oh – why not?’
‘Because he’s on a train somewhere between here and London,’ said Stockdale, wryly. ‘Inspector Colbeck thought that the man we want might have a female accomplice here but he’s now satisfied that that is not the case. Having no reason to stay on in Cardiff, he’s gone back to Scotland Yard. He’ll continue the investigation from there.’
* * *
In spite of his reputation for being a hard taskmaster, Edward Tallis was not entirely without compassion. When Victor Leeming had returned that morning, the superintendent had listened to his report with interest then sent him home to reassure his wife that his head injury was not as serious as the heavy bandaging suggested. Though he had been given the rest of the day off, the sergeant insisted on going back to Scotland Yard to take part in the investigation. He was pleased to hear from his superior that progress had been made.
‘The most helpful person w
as Claude Meyrick,’ said Tallis. ‘He was Stephen Voke’s landlord here in London. Mr Meyrick was able to tell me the day and time of his lodger’s departure from the house. Given that information, I was able to work out an approximate time of arrival at Paddington Station.’
‘That was clever of you, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘Thank you.’
‘It’s worthy of Inspector Colbeck.’
Tallis frowned. ‘I can act on my own initiative, you know,’ he said, tartly. ‘Because I knew when he’d be at the station, I was able to make a list of the trains he was most likely to catch.’
‘How many of them were there?’
‘They were four in number – two of them went to Cardiff.’
‘That puts Stephen Voke exactly where we thought he would be.’
‘There’s more, sergeant,’ said Tallis, fingering his moustache. ‘I wanted confirmation so I despatched men to the station to talk to the porters. Mr Voke was not alone. He was travelling with an attractive young lady. Since they were quitting London, they would have had a lot of luggage with them and needed the assistance of a porter.’
‘Did anyone remember them?’
‘They did, fortunately. Thousands of people go to and fro every day and very few of them stand out. But one sharp-eyed porter did recall two people who fitted the description he was given and who caught a train on the day stipulated. The man – I’m certain that it must have been Mr Voke – gave the porter a generous tip.’
‘I can see why it stuck in his memory, sir.’
‘He stacked their luggage on the roof of the carriage.’
‘I think I can guess where the train was going.’
‘To Cardiff,’ said Tallis, ‘and on the day before the murder.’
‘It all fits, Superintendent,’ decided Leeming. ‘However, while we know a lot about Stephen Voke, we know precious little about his companion and Inspector Colbeck feels that she was crucial to the whole scheme. It was the young woman who led Hugh Kellow astray in the first place. I’d love to know who she is.’
The Silver Locomotive Mystery irc-6 Page 17
