‘There’s no chance of that,’ he scoffed. ‘Those Scotland Yard detectives will think I took to my heels and ran away. They’d never expect me to stay in Exeter and neither would Superintendent Steel.’ He cackled. ‘I’d love to have seen his face when he saw that your cell was empty.’
‘Thank God you came for me – the food in there was like horse shit.’
‘We’ll have a proper meal this evening, a sort of celebration.’
‘What are we celebrating?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be late for the funeral. Heygate will be wishing he’d never upset me now – what’s left of him, anyway.’
He marched off, singing happily to himself.
In one respect, Joel Heygate was fortunate. The South Devon Railway gave him the sort of funeral that he could never have afforded and which was hopelessly beyond the means of his brother. No expense had been spared. Preceded by a mute, the coffin arrived in a glass-sided hearse drawn by black horses with black plumes. It was carried with great solemnity into the church by six men in mourning garb. The crowd assembled outside watched it all with hearts weighed down with fond memories of a man they’d never see again. The manner of his death gave the whole event an added poignancy.
Colbeck was grateful for the way that the railway company had honoured its former stationmaster. Quinnell was only one of a number of its directors there. The inspector had seen far too many paupers’ funerals where the deceased was treated with little more respect than an animal carcass and where the proceedings were almost indecently perfunctory. Heygate had taken care to avoid such a fate. When they’d searched his house, they found a record of the instalments he’d paid over the years into a funeral club, ensuring that he would be buried in a proper Christian manner. In the event, his foresight had been unnecessary. His employers had taken charge.
There were no women inside the church, though some had gathered outside. Colbeck wondered what sort of a scene Agnes Rossiter might have created if she’d stormed in during the service. Thankfully, she was miles away and probably unaware of what was going on at St Olave’s. Seated near the back, Colbeck was able to keep an eye on Michael Heygate, the chief mourner and – though he didn’t realise it – a suspect in the investigation. To his credit, he seemed genuinely moved when the coffin was carried in and produced a black-edged handkerchief. Colbeck could not decide if he was seeing the natural bereavement of a brother or the delayed remorse of a killer. Lavinia Heygate was elsewhere. Colbeck suspected that she was more likely to be anticipating a much-needed inheritance than weeping for a dead brother-in-law.
The funeral oration was appropriately comforting and filled with praise for the deceased. It was given by a vicar who’d known and liked Heygate for many years and who was able to call on his memories of the stationmaster. He even found a moment to mention the canary. When the service was over, they moved out into the small churchyard for the interment, joined by those who’d been unable to get inside the building. Colbeck lingered on the fringes this time, anxious to have freedom of movement so that he could study the faces of those present. Most were bent in respect, eyes down and mouths tight-lipped. The majority of people wore funeral attire but there were a number of bystanders who’d simply come in their normal apparel. One of them was a chunky man in the simple garb of a gravedigger, his cheeks darkened by smudges of dirt and his hands filthy. He was holding his cap and kept his chin on his chest. What made Colbeck notice him was that he inched himself nearer and nearer to the grave, slowly burrowing his way through the mass of bodies.
When the burial was at last over, people began to disperse in small groups. Colbeck waited to take a closer look at the man who’d interested him. Before he could do so, however, he was spotted by Gervase Quinnell.
‘Good afternoon, Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry we meet on such a sad day.’
‘I must congratulate you on the arrangements for the funeral. They’ve done something to alleviate the general sadness.’
‘I wanted everyone to know that we prized his years of service.’
‘Nobody was left in any doubt about that.’
Taking him by the arm, Quinnell moved him aside. ‘Is it true what I hear about Superintendent Tallis?’
‘Yes,’ said Colbeck, ‘he’s returned to London to nurse his wound.’
‘Browne’s effrontery knows no bounds.’
‘Some would account it daring rather than effrontery, Mr Quinnell. I’m sure that Browne himself would. Nothing seems to daunt him.’
‘I think we should increase the amount of the reward again.’
‘That’s not the answer, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘If anyone had the information we need, they’d have come forward by now. As it is, the one person who did tell us something of use has drowned himself by accident. He fell into the canal in a stupor. Superintendent Steel had a report from one of the more disreputable pubs that Finbar Mulleady spent the whole evening pouring beer down his throat and boasting that he was about to come into a very large amount of money. In other words,’ he concluded, ‘he’d have claimed your reward.’
‘If Browne had been caught, this man would have deserved it.’
‘But he hasn’t been caught as yet.’
‘He can’t elude you indefinitely, Inspector Colbeck.’
‘No, he can’t, and his time at liberty is fast running out.’
While talking to Quinnell, he’d been keeping one eye on the individual who looked like a gravedigger. He was talking to the two men who were leaning on their spades as they waited to fill in the grave. Colbeck saw them him pick up a handful of earth and toss it on to the coffin then spit after it.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said to Quinnell.
‘But I have several things to ask you, Inspector.’
‘They’ll have to wait.’
‘You can’t just dash off. It’s most unseemly.’
‘I think I’ve just seen Bagsy Browne, sir.’
Quinnell gaped in disbelief. ‘You’ve seen that villain here?’
‘I believe so.’
Colbeck turned back to the grave but the man had now vanished. Pushing his way through the last of those still in the churchyard, he hurried across to the two gravediggers who were now shovelling more earth on to the coffin.
‘What happened to the man who was talking to you just now?’
One of them shrugged. ‘He just left, sir.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘Don’t ask us. We’ve never seen him before.’
Colbeck scoured the churchyard but the man seemed to have disappeared. He chided himself for not cornering him earlier when the crowd would have prevented his escape. All that he was left with was the nagging suspicion that he’d just let Bagsy Browne get away right under his nose. Colbeck was still searching when Steel joined him among the headstones.
‘Far be it from me to sound mercenary, Inspector,’ he said, ‘but I have to remind you of a small wager that we made.’
‘I remember it well – you owe me a sovereign.’
‘Bagsy Browne never came anywhere near the funeral.’
‘Oh yes he did,’ said Colbeck, ruefully. ‘And he got away before I could arrest him. On second thoughts,’ he went on, ‘it would be unfair to take any money from you. I won the bet but lost the putative killer. That being so, I’d like you to accept this by way of apology.’ Taking a sovereign from his waistcoat pocket, he gave it to Steel. ‘Be warned, Superintendent. I shall win it back before too long.’
It was evening before Michael Heygate was able to escape from the dozens of people who wanted to offer their condolences and tell him anecdotes about his brother. He repaired to a room at the Crown Inn where his wife was awaiting him. Lavinia had stayed away from the funeral in its entirety, pleading unbearable grief over the loss of a much-loved brother-in-law. Since most people didn’t know her, they accepted the excuse and offered their sympathy by way of her husband. When she let him into the room, there was
little indication of sorrow on her part. Seizing her husband’s hands, she gave him a welcoming kiss on the cheek.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘It’s over.’
‘You look exhausted.’
‘It was harrowing,’ he confessed. ‘In spite of all the bad things that happened between us, Joel was my only sibling. We grew up together as boys and liked each other in those days. It was only later that we drifted apart.’
‘Were there many people there?’
‘Half the city seemed to have turned out. There’ll be even more if we hold a memorial service.’ He put his top hat aside. ‘I can’t say that I’m looking forward to that. I’m going to have to wear a sad face again.’
She helped him off with his frock coat. ‘You need a rest, Michael.’
‘Thank heaven we didn’t have to pay for the funeral!’ he said. ‘It must have cost a fortune. The railway company did him proud.’
‘Forget your brother,’ she said. ‘It’s time to think about us.’
He lowered himself on to a chair. ‘I know, Lavinia.’
‘Was Joel’s solicitor there?’
‘Yes, he was.’
‘Did you manage to speak to him?’
‘I made a point of doing so.’
‘And?’ she pressed. ‘What did he say?’
‘Mr Lyman mumbled something about the law of probate and said that he’d be in touch with us in the fullness of time.’
Lavinia was annoyed. ‘Didn’t he tell you anything?’
‘It wasn’t the time and the place.’
‘I thought you’d at least get some sort of hint out of him,’ she said. ‘We need to know about the bequest, Michael. Your brother was comfortably off. When he sold his house, he made a pretty penny and, when he lost his wife and child, the railway company set up a fund for him. Because everyone was shocked by the tragedy, money poured in from everywhere.’
‘Five pounds of it was ours,’ he said ruefully. ‘We had to contribute.’
‘Joel was always so careful with money.’
‘He had nothing to spend it on, Lavinia.’
‘Then why didn’t he give some of it to us?’ she said, waspishly. ‘I think that you should tackle his solicitor again tomorrow.’
‘We don’t want to appear too money-grubbing.’
‘You’re his brother, Michael. You’re entitled to it.’
‘Yes, I am,’ he said, relishing the thought. ‘I did my duty at the funeral and I’m ready to reap the reward. Now that it’s over, I don’t feel any regret and even less guilt. Joel got what he deserved. When I go to that memorial service, the expression on my face will be grim but I’ll be laughing triumphantly inside.’
It had been a gruelling day for Dorcas Hope. Though she’d tried to concentrate on her work, her mind was at the funeral. She’d seen passengers arrive in mourning wear to attend the event, then watched some of them leave late in the afternoon. Dorcas was slow, distracted and clumsy. At one point, she even broke a cup. Timothy Vesey, the new manager, made allowances for her but Woodford was less understanding. He’d been jumpy all day and Dorcas had put it down to his own sense of bereavement. It had not affected the sharpness of his tongue. When he saw Dorcas making mistakes in the refreshment room, he was as critical as Mrs Rossiter.
‘Be more careful, girl,’ he snapped as she dropped a tray.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Woodford.’
‘Pick it up again.’
‘Yes, yes, I will.’
‘And try to keep your mind on what you’re doing. That’s why we pay you.’
She retrieved the tray and took it apologetically to the counter. Woodford had made frequent visits to them throughout the day and found a reason to castigate her each time. His final comment was the most hurtful.
‘You’re in a world of your own,’ he said with asperity. ‘At this rate, you’ll end up in the County Asylum with Mrs Rossiter.’
The wounding remark had brought tears to her eyes but she’d soldiered on. At the end of the working day, Dorcas more or less ran home, anxious to get away from the station and its association with a man she’d loved. Where his successor was sarcastic, he’d been more forgiving. Where Woodford used his authority like a stick with which to beat people, the old stationmaster had simply led by example. Dark days lay ahead for Dorcas. She’d lost the two colleagues who’d been fixtures in her life – Agnes Rossiter and Joel Heygate. Eager to get to work when she was under their aegis, she now went with great reluctance.
Arriving home, she was surprised that there was no chirpy greeting from Peter. The canary welcomed everyone to the house, yet it was eerily silent now. Dorcas went into the parlour where her mother was in her accustomed place beside the cage. She saw why there’d been no greeting from the canary. Peter’s cage was covered in a black cloth. Maud Hope was subdued.
‘He’s been quiet all day,’ she explained. ‘He knows about the funeral.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Victor Leeming had an unusual experience. He could never bring himself to like rail travel – and he’d already endured one long train journey that day – but the return trip to Exeter had a bonus for him. He shared a carriage with an elderly couple on their way to Teignmouth and discovered that they had an interest in the concept of the atmospheric railway. Leeming was in his element, speaking with the airy confidence of someone who knows only a little more than his listeners and undeterred by the fact that he had a very unsure grasp of the technicalities involved. He told them about his recent visit to Starcross, one of the places where the experiment had been tried out.
‘Robert Stephenson called it a rope of air,’ he said, knowledgeably, ‘and it was, in essence, a very clever idea. Apart from anything else, it might have saved money and reduced the amount of smoke that locomotives generate. Alas,’ he went on, quoting Colbeck, ‘it must be put down as one of Mr Brunel’s rare failures.’
The elderly couple had been pleasant companions, unlike the man who’d sat beside him on the journey to London. Arm in a sling, Tallis had been as friendly as a wounded bear and as talkative as a deaf mute. Leeming had only been able to stand the sheer boredom of it all by thinking of the brief reunion he’d have with his wife and children. That insulated him against the superintendent’s tetchiness. An hour with his family had revived him. He returned to Devon with his energy restored.
Knowing his time of arrival, Colbeck was waiting to greet him at the station.
‘Welcome back, Victor,’ he said, shaking his hand. ‘How was your journey?’
‘There were two of them, sir, and as different as black and white. The trip to London was as enjoyable as having my teeth pulled out one by one.’
Colbeck laughed. ‘Mr Tallis was in a churlish mood when he left.’
‘The journey here went much more quickly because I was actually allowed to talk this time. It was a welcome novelty.’
‘Did you deliver my letter?’
‘Miss Andrews was pleased to receive it and sends you her love.’
‘How were Estelle and the children?’
‘They gave me a marvellous welcome,’ recalled Leeming with a broad grin. ‘Fatherhood is the most wonderful gift – as you’ll soon discover.’
‘Don’t get ahead of yourself,’ warned Colbeck. ‘There’s the small matter of the wedding to come first.’
‘Estelle showed me the dress she’s been making for it.’
‘Then you hold a distinct advantage over me. I’m not allowed to see the bridal dress beforehand.’
‘Miss Andrews will look beautiful whatever she wears, sir.’
Colbeck smiled. ‘You don’t need to tell me that, I assure you.’
He was delighted to find Leeming in such a positive frame of mind and was amused to hear that he’d set himself up as an expert on the atmospheric railway. On the cab ride into the city, he brought him up to date with events in Exeter. Leeming was astounded at one piece of information.
‘Bagsy Browne was there?’
‘As large as life,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’d put money on it. As a matter of fact, I did just that but I couldn’t collect my winnings because the sighting hadn’t been verified by Superintendent Steel. I could smell that Browne was there.’
‘He was taking an unnecessary risk.’
‘His whole criminal career has been a compendium of unnecessary risks, Victor. That’s what animates the man. It isn’t enough for him to evade the law. He has to taunt us with his devilry time and again.’
‘Superintendent Tallis deserved a medal for standing up to him.’
‘We’ve never doubted his bravery. He was a military hero, after all. It’s his other qualities that are more questionable.’
‘Browne did us a big favour by getting rid of him for us.’
‘I hope you didn’t say that to him on the train journey.’
‘I wasn’t allowed to open my mouth, sir. Every time I cleared my throat, I got a cold stare. Anyone would think that I’d been the man to stab him.’ He looked remorseful. ‘Though there have been occasions, I must confess, when I have dallied with the idea of causing him pain.’
Colbeck lowered his voice. ‘We’re equally guilty on that score, Victor.’
Instead of heading for their tavern, the cab turned down a side street.
‘Where are we going, sir?’ asked Leeming.
‘I thought that we’d pay a call on Woodford,’ said Colbeck. ‘You’ve seen Michael Heygate in his domestic setting and taken his measure. I think it’s time to see if Woodford was egged on by a Lady Macbeth.’
‘Who’s she?’
‘A character from Shakespeare – she incites her husband to murder.’
‘Is that what Lavinia Heygate did?’
‘It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility.’
‘What about Mrs Woodford?’
‘I’ll be interested to find out,’ said Colbeck.
It was difficult to copulate in the limited space of the cabin but Browne and Adeline eventually managed it. Flushed with drink and high on emotion, they held a joint celebration for her escape and his valedictory encounter with Joel Heygate. From her point of view, however, the event was tinged with sadness. It was all over. Now that he’d seen his enemy lowered six feet into the ground, there was nothing to keep Browne in Exeter. He was ready to move on. She recognised the signs.
The Stationmaster's Farewell Page 21
