Timetable of Death (13 page)

Beatrice’s tone sharpened. ‘Why not save me the trouble of asking?’

The awkwardness between them suddenly intensified and the whole balance of their relationship seemed to shift. Beatrice knew that her friend had not been entirely honest with her and, by the same token, Lydia knew that the older woman had gone behind her back to search for something. Neither of them knew what to say. Beatrice felt both let down and guilty while Lydia was at once hurt and chastened. She wanted to tell Beatrice that she had replied
to her brother and told him not to contact her again but the words simply would not come. For her part, Beatrice had an urge to enfold her in a tearful embrace yet she was quite unable to move.

Two close friends had just reached an impasse, unable to decide if they’d somehow been drawn closer by their respective mistakes or if their relationship had been shattered beyond recall.

Since he knew the train that Leeming would catch in London that morning, Colbeck walked to Derby station to meet it. When an earlier train steamed in, one of the passengers who alighted was Elijah Wigg, adjusting his hat and jacket. He was obviously so proud of his uniform that Colbeck wondered if the man could ever be persuaded to take it off. Wigg strode across to him.

‘Where are you going, Inspector?’ he asked.

‘I’m waiting for someone to arrive, actually.’

‘My day clearly starts much earlier than yours. I was in Spondon at eight o’clock to see what, if anything, the local constables had managed to discover. I’m known for my sudden inspections. It keeps men on their toes.’

‘Has any new evidence come to light?’

‘If it has, they didn’t get a sniff of it. I told them where and how to look.’

‘Ah,’ said Colbeck, ‘I’m glad that you mentioned the Spondon constables. One of them accosted Sergeant Leeming. He’s a local cobbler by the name of Jed Hockaday.’

‘Yes, he’s very committed and you can’t say that of all of them. Hockaday’s a man of low intelligence but I like that in a policeman. It’s more important to have someone who
obeys orders at once than someone who thinks too much.’

‘Then we must agree to differ, Superintendent,’ said Colbeck. ‘Given the choice, I prefer a thinking policeman every time. He usually knows that discretion is the better part of valour and never rushes in regardless.’

‘I can’t see you rushing in anywhere,’ joked Wigg. ‘It might crease that impeccable attire of yours.’

‘Oh, you’d be surprised how often I’ve had torn garments and scuffed shoes. During a case I handled in Kent,’ recalled Colbeck, ‘my frock coat acquired a nasty tear when someone shot at me. As a
thinking
policeman, I had the presence of mind to fall to the ground and feign injury.’

‘Hockaday would never dream of doing that.’

‘How long has he been a constable?’

‘He volunteered when Enoch Stone was killed.’

‘According to that reporter, Philip Conway, the fellow is still carrying out a one-man investigation into the murder.’

‘It’s not confined to one man,’ corrected Wigg. ‘That case remains open.’ He stroked a whisker and grinned. ‘I see that the love affair with Mr Haygarth is over.’

‘I can’t imagine what you mean.’

‘When he sent for you, he told me that you were the cleverest detective in England. His enthusiasm has waned a bit since then. After I left you at the Royal last night, I bumped into him outside the Midland headquarters. Haygarth was less than complimentary about you.’

‘He’s entitled to his opinion,’ said Colbeck, easily. ‘I daresay that even you have your detractors, Superintendent, impossible as it may seem.’

Wigg leant in close. ‘Haygarth is not your detractor,’ he said, quietly. ‘His fear is that you’ll do your job too well and
discover that
he’s
implicated in this murder somehow. I told you that he had to be a suspect. His change of attitude to you is clear proof of it.’ He tugged his jacket into shape. ‘And where Haygarth goes, that slimy creature of his called Maurice Cope goes as well. Watch your back, Inspector. They’re dangerous men.’

Of all the members of the family, Agnes Quayle had been the one most unnerved by the news of the murder. Her life might be dull and repetitious but at least, she had always consoled herself, it was both comfortable and supremely safe. Those guarantees had suddenly disappeared. She was profoundly discomfited and no longer felt safe at the house. If her father could be killed in mysterious circumstances, then the rest of the family might also be in jeopardy. The thought made her afraid to leave the house alone for her daily walk. Her main concern, however, was for her mother. In defying her children and going for a drive in the landau the previous day, Harriet Quayle had been taking an unnecessary risk, yet she’d returned with a touch of colour in her cheeks. Even so, Agnes agreed with her elder brother’s argument that their mother should be kept inside the house and more or less confined to her room. While Stanley and Lucas would pop their heads in to exchange a few words with her, the burden of looking after the old woman would fall as usual on Agnes. It was a burden that was feeling increasingly heavy.

With the disappearance of the man who had dominated the house for so long, there would be considerable changes. None of them, Agnes feared, would be of any advantage to her. The open antagonism between her brothers was
worrying but she lacked the ability to reconcile them. She would now be at the mercy of her elder brother’s dictates and Stanley Quayle tended to treat her more like one of the servants than a member of the family, assigning her tasks rather than involving her in any discussions about the future. Lydia would not have allowed herself to be treated in that way. While never daring to strike out on her own like her sister, Agnes wished that she’d had something of Lydia’s bravado. And secretly, in her darkest moments, she’d even wished that there’d been a Gerard Burns in her life to add the excitement that was so cruelly missing. When she remembered what the outcome of the liaison between Lydia and the gardener had been, however, she was relieved that her life had been so uneventful.

As she went up the stairs that morning, she envisaged another day of sitting at a bedside and she gritted her teeth. Agnes tapped on the door of her mother’s bedroom and expected an invitation to go in. When it never came, she opened the door gently and peeped in to see if her mother was still asleep. But Harriet Quayle was not even there. The bed had clearly been slept in but the sheets had now been thrown back. There was no sign of the old woman. Agnes conducted a frantic search but it was in vain. Wondering what had happened and fearing that she would be blamed, Agnes was so distressed that she slumped to the floor in a dead faint.

‘I felt like a complete fool, Inspector.’

‘You did nothing wrong, Victor.’

‘I spent all that time and effort finding that address, only to discover that the superintendent had it already.’

‘It fell into my lap when you’d already set off on your search,’ said Colbeck. ‘I sent the address by means of a telegraph in case you failed to locate the house.’

‘Where did you get the information?’

‘Lucas Quayle came to see me. It was quite fortuitous.’

Having met Leeming at the station, Colbeck was walking down the street with him. The sergeant had caught the designated train from London and brought a letter from Madeleine and a stream of complaints. Not only had he had to leave his wife and family again, he was still haunted by his last confrontation with Edward Tallis. It was time to apply balm to his wounds.

‘You’ll be staying with me at the Royal Hotel from now on, Victor.’

‘Oh,’ said the other, partially mollified, ‘that’s a relief.’

‘I think you’ve seen all you need to of the Malt Shovel in Spondon.’

‘It was such a pleasure to spend the night in a soft bed.’

‘How were Estelle and the boys?’

‘It was wonderful to see them again.’

‘You deserved a treat. A happy family is the perfect antidote to any harsh treatment at the hands of the superintendent.’

‘I just hope that he never finds out that Mrs Colbeck was involved in the search for that address. If he does, both of our necks will be on the block.’

‘It was a risk worth taking.’

‘I’d never have succeeded on my own,’ admitted Leeming. ‘When we met Miss Quayle, she was very hesitant and I could see that the woman with whom she lives didn’t like me at all. It was only because Mrs Colbeck
spoke to her alone that we got what we came for. Lydia Quayle trusted her.’

‘What did you learn?’

‘The full details are in the letter but what interested me was what she said when asked if her father had any enemies. Two names were put forward.’

‘The one is self-evident, Victor.’

‘Yes, sir, it’s Mr Haygarth. The other was more of a surprise.’

‘Why was that?’

‘It was Superintendent Wigg.’

‘That
is
a surprise,’ said Colbeck, recalling his earlier meeting with the man. ‘How did the two of them even meet? Wigg is a Derbyshire man through and through while Quayle’s world revolved around Nottingham. In the normal course of events, you wouldn’t have thought their paths crossed very much.’

‘I’m only going on what Lydia Quayle said.’

‘It’s the last name I’d have expected.’

‘What have you been doing while I was away, sir?’

‘Well, my main achievement was to gather some new information about the inner workings of the Quayle family. They came by courtesy of Lucas Quayle who is a much more amenable person than his brother. In addition to that,’ Colbeck went on, ‘I had a brief meeting with Mr Haygarth and a chat at the hotel with Superintendent Wigg. He was even more peppery than usual until your young friend turned up.’

‘Philip Conway – is that who you mean?’

‘It is, Victor, and he was good company. In fact, he’s helped me determine what we should do this morning.’

‘And what’s that, sir?’

‘Well, when we’ve left your luggage at the hotel, we’re going to catch the next train to Spondon. Apparently, that cobbler you told me about has been acting very strangely. I think it’s time that I made the acquaintance of Jed Hockaday.’

The news that Harriet Quayle had disappeared threw the whole house into turmoil. A servant had found Agnes stretched out on the floor and raised the alarm. When she’d been rallied with smelling salts, she explained what had happened. Stanley Quayle took control and ordered a thorough search of the house, even including the attic rooms and the cellar. He also sent for the doctor. If his mother could wander off without telling anybody, there was obviously something wrong with her.

‘It wasn’t
my
fault, Stanley,’ said his sister, close to tears.

‘You must take your share of the blame.’

‘Mother is entitled to her privacy. I can’t sit with her indefinitely.’

‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but you might have had the sense to lock her bedroom door.’

Agnes was appalled. ‘I’m not her gaoler,’ she cried, ‘I’m her daughter.’

‘It was your job to look after Mother.’

‘How was I to know that she’d go missing?’

‘This is the second time you’ve failed, Agnes,’ he chided. ‘Yesterday, you let her go off in the landau and today she’s escaped again.’

Before she could reply to the charge, her young brother came to her rescue.

‘It’s unfair to blame Agnes,’ he said. ‘She’s looked after Mother with great care. You should remember that, Stanley. Now let’s concentrate on the search.’

‘Where the devil is she?’ yelled his brother.

‘Well, she’s certainly not in the house. I’ve widened the search to the grounds. I wanted to alert you before I go and join in the hunt.’

‘I’ll come with you, Lucas,’ said his sister.

Stanley was vengeful. ‘If Cleary has dared to take her for another ride in the landau,’ he warned, ‘I’ll flay him alive.’

But the coachman was not the culprit. When they went outside, they found the gardeners and the estate workers awaiting orders. The coachman was among them and swore that he’d never seen Mrs Quayle that morning. Everyone was told to fan out and search every inch of the property. While her elder brother was barking orders, Agnes made sure that she slipped off with the younger one.

‘I feel dreadful, Lucas,’ she confided.

‘You deserve a medal for what you’ve been doing,’ he told her. ‘If anyone is to blame, it’s Stanley and me. We put too much responsibility on you. Mother is our problem just as much as yours.’

‘It’s so unlike her to disappear, especially when she’s so unwell.’

‘That may be the explanation, Agnes.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Mother has had a profound shock. It’s bound to have affected her mind in some way. She probably doesn’t know what she’s doing half the time.’ He inhaled deeply. ‘I just hope that we find her still alive.’

Agnes blanched. ‘You don’t think …?’

‘We must be prepared for anything.’

It was not long before Harriet Quayle was found. One of the gardeners called out and they all converged on the summer house. Wrapped in a shawl, she’d been sitting in a basket chair and had fallen asleep. The commotion had roused her and she looked in dismay at the anxious faces all round her. Agnes pushed forward to put an arm around her.

Harriet was dismayed. ‘Who are all these people?’

Lucas got rid of them all with a wave of his arm. When the others went quickly off, only his mother, sister and he remained. He knelt down beside the chair.

‘What are you doing out here, Mother?’ he asked, gently.

‘I was remembering something, dear,’ she replied with a wan smile.

‘But why did you come here?’

‘Your father proposed to me in this summer house.’

Even his worst enemies conceded that Donald Haygarth had his virtues. He was tireless, single-minded and had the knack of getting things done quickly. He also had a gift for remembering names that endeared him to those who liked to be recognised. It was part of his strategy for befriending influential people, though his critics pointed out that he only lured them into his social circle for the purpose of exploiting them in some way. Haygarth was a bundle of contradictions, steely, supple, ruthless, caring, assertive, detached, manipulative and easy-going by turns. When he entered the office that morning, Maurice Cope wondered what mood he would find the acting chairman in. Haygarth looked up with a welcoming smile. Cope relaxed.

‘Good morning, Cope.’

‘Good morning, sir,’ said the other, deferentially. ‘I thought I’d get here before you for once.’

‘To do that, you’ll have to start taking a train instead of
riding a horse. I set out at the crack of dawn every day.’

‘You can only see so much out of the window of a train. When I’m on horseback, I feel as if I’m part of the landscape instead of just being an observer of it.’ He saw the pile of papers on the desk. ‘You’ve been as busy as usual, I see.’

‘Yes,’ replied Haygarth, sitting back in his chair. ‘I’ve been going through this projected scheme to link Nottingham directly with London. It was Vivian Quayle’s dream but it will have to wait. We don’t have a direct line from Derby yet. That’s something I’ve pledged to get for us. We need a new London terminus so that we can be free from our financial obligations to the GNR.’

‘They’ve given us running powers on their tracks, sir, so we ought to be grateful. It’s not an ideal situation, I agree, and it’s something Mr Quayle vowed that he would change.’

‘Forget his vows. They have no relevance now. His plans for Nottingham will have to be put aside. It will never be at the heart of the Midland.’

‘But it doesn’t have to remain quite so isolated,’ said Cope, reasonably. ‘It really ought to be on the main line.’

‘Mr Quayle is dead,’ said Haygarth. ‘His scheme died with him.’

Cope accepted the rebuke with a penitential nod. ‘Yes, sir, it did.’

‘Let’s hear no more of it.’

‘No, sir.’ He brightened. ‘I did what you asked, Mr Haygarth.’

‘What did you find out?’

‘Inspector Colbeck has talked to a number of people on the board,’ said Cope, handing him a sheet of paper. ‘Their
names are listed there. The ones with a cross against them went voluntarily to see him.’

‘I’ll remember that,’ said Haygarth, scanning the list. ‘Knowing one’s enemies is always an asset. What else has he been doing?’

‘The inspector has continued to gather evidence patiently.’

‘Has he been bothering you in any way?’

‘No, sir, he hasn’t been looking too closely at the operation of the Midland.’

‘That’s reassuring to hear.’

‘He’s diverted by other things.’

‘Let’s hope it stays that way. Keep an eye on him, Cope.’

‘I have my spies.’

‘Did they tell you what Sergeant Leeming was doing in London?’

‘No, Mr Haygarth,’ replied the other, ‘but I’m told he’s just come back. The inspector met him at the station.’

‘What else do you have to report?’

‘Superintendent Wigg had an argument with him at the hotel yesterday. I can’t tell you what it was about but the inspector clearly won the dispute. He remained calm while the superintendent ranted and raved.’

‘I’ve seen Elijah Wigg when he’s roused. His wrath gets the better of him.’

‘After he left,’ explained Cope, ‘the inspector had a drink with someone else. He’s a young man named Philip Conway.’

‘That name rings a bell. He’s a reporter, isn’t he?’

‘Yes, sir, he’s been digging around in Spondon on his own account.’

‘Has he now?’ said Haygarth, rubbing his chin. ‘I’d be very interested to know what the young man found out.’

When the detectives reached Spondon, the first thing they did was to visit the churchyard. A mound of earth stood over the grave of Cicely Peet. In time it would settle down of its own accord into a level patch covered in well-tended turf. A marble headstone, engraved with a moving tribute, would eventually stand there. Wreaths of all sizes and colours adorned the plot. The detectives each said a silent prayer for the soul of the deceased. They then went across to the open grave.

‘I wonder why they haven’t filled it in,’ said Leeming.

‘The gravedigger must have a reason.’

‘Bert Knowles would leave it like that just to be awkward, sir. You should have heard his language when he saw me with his wheelbarrow. I had to put him in his place good and proper.’

‘Perhaps he’s expecting another funeral in the near future.’

‘That might be the explanation. He’s a lazy devil. Why dig a new grave when there’s already one there? That’s what he’ll say.’

‘He has a point, Victor.’ Colbeck glanced round. ‘Philip Conway said that he might be in the village today. You’ve obviously impressed him.’

‘That was because I bought him a drink or two.’

‘Don’t be modest. He said you were a good detective – and you are. He also told me something about Mr Haygarth. It turns out that he has a nasty habit of descending on the editor if there’s the slightest criticism of the Midland Railway in the local newspaper.’

‘I had a feeling that he was a bully.’

‘Picking a fight with the press is never a sensible thing to do. But he’s a combative individual. When I last spoke to him, I was met with a flash of defiance.’

‘Why should he defy
you
?’

‘You may well ask, Victor.’

Leeming shrugged. ‘I thought he was keen to help us.’

‘When we take an interest in
other
people, he’ll give us all the help that he can. What he doesn’t like is any scrutiny of
him
.’

‘Is there something he doesn’t want us to know?’

‘That’s the logical supposition.’

‘Superintendent Wigg is convinced that he was behind the murder.’

‘If what you gathered from Lydia Quayle is true,’ said Colbeck, pensively, ‘the superintendent himself ought to merit our attention. He had good cause to loathe her father, it seems, and we’ve both seen enough of him to know that he’s a man who bears grudges.’

Leeming rolled his eyes. ‘
We
have a superintendent like that.’

‘Fair’s fair, Victor. Edward Tallis is good at his job. I discovered that when he was absent from work for a while and I became acting superintendent in his place. I struggled badly,’ confessed Colbeck, ‘and was very grateful when he came back. He’s far better in the role than I could be. Wigg is nowhere near as efficient as him.’

‘I couldn’t take my eyes off those side whiskers of his. I keep thinking they’re going to grow into each other one day and spread down his chest like so much ivy.’ He chuckled. ‘But I agree, sir. He can’t hold a candle to Mr Tallis.’

‘What separates the two men is this. Our superintendent usually gets results while Wigg walks about with an unsolved murder hanging around his neck like the albatross in
The Ancient Mariner
.’

Leeming goggled. ‘Can you say that again, sir?’

‘It’s a poem by Coleridge.’

They left the churchyard and made their way to Potter Street. As they passed the Malt Shovel, Leeming glanced in through the window and gave the landlord a friendly wave. They carried on until they came to Jed Hockaday’s shop. Bent over a last, he was hammering nails into the sole of a shoe. When he looked up and saw who they were, he abandoned his work at once. Hockaday wiped his hands on a rag before extending a palm to Colbeck.

‘You must be the Railway Detective,’ he said, almost agog.

Colbeck shook his hand. ‘There’s no need to guess who you might be,’ he said. ‘As soon as we got within yards of here, we could smell the tang of leather. You’re Mr Hockaday, the cobbler.’

‘I’m cobbler and constable, actually. When I finish here at the end of the working day, I go on patrol.’

‘That’s very public-spirited of you, Mr Hockaday.’

Leeming was uneasy. ‘How can you work with this smell of leather?’

‘You get used to it, Sergeant,’ said the cobbler, smiling. ‘Is there anything I can do for you? I’m only too glad to help.’

‘That’s a kind offer,’ said Colbeck. ‘We’ll bear it in mind. I really wanted to ask you why you were staring at the graves in the churchyard yesterday.’

Hockaday’s smile faded. ‘Who’s been telling tales?’

‘You spoke with Mr Conway, I believe.’

‘I may have done.’

‘You told him that Mrs Peet was a customer of yours.’

‘That’s right.’

‘A lady like her would never have deigned to come in the shop, surely,’ said Leeming. ‘Mrs Peet would have sent a servant.’

‘She was a gracious lady. I’ll miss her. As for what Mr Conway may have told you,’ said Hockaday with annoyance, ‘there’s no law that stops you from paying respects to the dead.’

‘You’re right – there isn’t.’

‘But it wasn’t only Mrs Peet who interested you,’ said Colbeck, ‘was it? I believe that you also looked into the grave where the body of Mr Quayle, the murder victim, was found. Then you discussed the Stone case at length.’

‘That makes three deaths,’ commented Leeming.

‘One was natural and the other two were not.’

Hockaday backed away and hunched up defensively. His eyes darted from one to the other and back again. He chewed his lip before speaking.

‘It was Mr Conway who brought up Enoch Stone. He knew I’d been looking for my friend’s killer for years. As for the empty grave,’ he added, ‘I was just wondering if anybody would want to use it after what happened. If it was left to me, I’d fill it in. Bad memories like that should be buried.’

‘That won’t make them go away.’

‘No, Inspector, but it will stop children sneaking into the churchyard to peer into that grave. I chased a couple of
them away this morning. Bert Knowles needs to get busy with his spade.’

‘Then why doesn’t he?’

The smile was back. ‘Bert is a law unto himself.’

‘On the night of the murder,’ said Leeming, ‘you were in Duffield, or so you told me. Is that right?’

‘Yes, Sergeant, I stayed with friends.’

‘Can they vouch for you?’

‘Why should they need to?’

‘I just want to establish the facts, sir.’

‘I was
there
,’ insisted Hockaday.

‘Then why did the stationmaster here remember you getting off the last train that night? I asked him if he recognised anyone who got off at Spondon. Your name was the first one he mentioned.’

‘You can’t have been in two places at once,’ said Colbeck.

‘Which one was it, Mr Hockaday,’ asked Leeming. ‘Duffield or Spondon?’

The cobbler glowered at them.

As they sat around the bed, it was difficult to know if their mother was asleep or not. Her eyes were closed and her breathing shallow but she seemed to react to comments they made. Stanley and Lucas Quayle had been impressed by the way that their sister had handled the situation. Once their mother had been found, Agnes had brought her back to the house and taken her up to her room. The doctor eventually arrived to examine the old woman and decided that, though her early morning venture out of the house had caused no visible harm, she needed rest. Her sons joined her daughter at Harriet
Quayle’s bedside. Without warning, she opened her eyes.

‘What are you all doing here?’ she asked.

‘We’re looking after you, Mother,’ replied Agnes.

‘I pay a doctor to do that.’

‘You need company,’ said Stanley.

‘Then where have you been for the last few days? I needed company then but you didn’t come anywhere near me.’

‘I did,’ said Lucas, softly. ‘I looked in whenever I could.’

‘But I was the one who actually stayed with Mother,’ said Agnes, virtuously.

Stanley was critical. ‘Then how did she manage to get out of the house?’

‘That’s unjust,’ said Lucas. ‘We owe Agnes a great deal. This little incident has shown that.’

‘Well, it mustn’t happen again.’

‘I went for a walk, Stanley,’ said his mother. ‘Surely I can do that.’

‘It might have harmed you, Mother.’

‘But it didn’t – the doctor agreed.’

‘You’ve got limited strength and you must conserve it.’

Harriet said nothing. She lay back and looked at each of her children in turn. Agnes was a picture of sympathy, Lucas was concerned and Stanley was anxious to leave. As she studied her elder son, Harriet felt that he looked more like his father than ever, impatient, animated and eager to get back to work. She gave an incongruous giggle.

‘You don’t need to sit around my deathbed yet,’ she said.

Stanley was shocked. ‘That’s a terrible thing to say, Mother.’

‘I don’t think it is,’ said Lucas, getting up to kiss her on
the forehead. ‘I think it’s a good sign. Get some rest, Mother.’

‘I was resting quite happily in the summer house until I was disturbed,’ she pointed out. ‘Why didn’t you leave me there?’

‘You’re safer here.’

‘Agnes will look after you,’ said Stanley, rising to his feet.

‘Yes,’ murmured his sister, ‘Agnes will look after you.’

As all three of her children hovered over her, Harriet raised a skinny hand.

‘Away with you,’ she said, weakly. ‘I want to sleep.’

The meeting with Philip Conway was a happy accident. The detectives were approaching the Union Inn when he came into view. After an exchange of greetings, they stepped into the inn and found a table. Colbeck ordered drinks and they were able to talk at leisure. The reporter was interested to hear about their confrontation with Jed Hockaday.

‘What did he say when you caught him lying?’ he asked.

‘Oh, he came up with all sorts of excuses,’ replied Leeming. ‘The one he finally settled on was that he got so drunk in Duffield that he didn’t realise his friends had probably put him on the train that night to Spondon.’

‘Did you believe him?’

‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘And when we asked for the names of the friends with whom he spent that evening, he prevaricated for minutes. We had to chisel their names out of him. He was understandably resentful. As a constable, Hockaday is used to asking awkward questions instead of being forced to answer them.’