The Excursion Train (26 page)

‘Oh, yes,’ said Leeming, enviously. ‘Because we saved Crystal Palace from being destroyed, you were given two tickets by Prince Albert for the opening ceremony. You took Miss Andrews to the Exhibition.’

‘I did, Victor, though it wasn’t to see revolvers. Madeleine was much more interested in the locomotives on show, especially
the
Lord
of the Isles
. No,’ he went on, ‘it was on a second visit that I took the trouble to study the firearms because they were the weapons that we would be up against one day – and that day came sooner than I expected.’

‘Who is this Robert Adams?’

‘The only serious British rival to Samuel Colt. He did not want the American to steal all the glory so he developed his solid-frame revolver in which the butt frame and barrel were forged as a single piece of metal.’

‘And this was what they fired?’ said Leeming, handing the bullet back to him. ‘You thought that it came from a pistol.’

‘A single-cocking pistol, Victor. Adams used a different firing mechanism from the Colt. I’m sufficiently patriotic to be grateful that it was a British weapon,’ said Colbeck, pocketing the bullet. ‘I’d hate to have been shot dead by an American revolver last night.’

‘Who would own such a thing in Ashford?’

‘A good point.’

‘You were right to stay on the ground when you were hit, sir. If it was a revolver, it could have been fired again and again.’

‘Adams designed it so that it would fire rapidly. What probably saved me was that the self-cocking lock needed a heavy pull on the trigger and that tends to upset your aim.’

‘Unless you get close enough to the target.’

‘We’ll have to make sure that he doesn’t do that, Victor.’

Having finished his breakfast, Colbeck sat back and wiped his lips with his napkin. Leeming ate the last of his meal then sipped his tea. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket.

‘You want me to talk to these three women, then?’

‘Ask them why they signed that petition.’

‘One of them lives in a farm near Wye.’

‘Then I suggest that you don’t go there by cart. Take a train from Ashford station. Wye is only one short stop down the line.’

‘What will you be doing, sir?’

‘Going back to source.’

‘Source?’

‘I’m going to have a long-overdue talk with emily Hawkshaw,’ said Colbeck. ‘This whole business began when she had that encounter with Joseph Dykes. It’s high time that the girl confided in me. After what happened on the top of that church tower yesterday, I feel that Emily owes me something.’

Caleb Andrews had been driving trains for so long that he knew exactly how long it took him to walk to Euston Station from Camden. He also knew how important punctuality was to a railway company. After a glance at the clock, he got up from the table and reached for his hat.

‘I’m off, Maddy.’

‘Goodbye,’ she said, coming out of the kitchen to give him a kiss.

‘What are you going to do today?’

‘I hope to finish the painting.’

‘One of these fine days,’ he said, ‘you must come down to Euston and do a painting of me on the footplate. I’d like that. We could hang it over the mantelpiece.’

‘I’ve done dozens of drawings of you, Father.’

‘I want to be in colour – like the
Lord of the Isles
.’

‘You
are
the Lord of the Isles,’ she said, fondly. ‘At least, you think you are when you’ve had a few glasses of beer.’

Andrews laughed. ‘You know your father too well.’

‘Try not to be late this evening.’

‘I will. By the way,’ he said, ‘you needn’t bother to read the newspaper this morning. There’s no mention at all of Inspector Colbeck. Without my help, he’s obviously making no progress.’

‘I think that he is. Robert prefers to hide certain things from the press. When he’s working on a case, he hates having any reporters around him. They always expect quick results.’

‘The Inspector had an extremely quick result. As soon as he got to Ashford, someone else was murdered on a train.’

‘Father!’

‘You can’t be any quicker than that.’

‘Go off to work,’ she said, opening the door for him, ‘and forget about Robert. He’ll solve these murders very soon, I’m sure.’

‘So am I, Maddy. He’s got a good reason to get a move on,’ said Andrews with a cackle. ‘The Inspector wants to get back here and have his painting of the
Lord of the Isles
.’

Robert Colbeck was pleased with the way that the sleeve of his frock coat had been replaced. George Butterkiss had done such an excellent job sewing on a new sleeve that Colbeck was able to wear the coat again. Looking as spruce as ever, he turned into Middle Row and raised his top hat to a woman who went past. Adam Hawkshaw was displaying joints of meat on the table outside the shop. The Inspector strolled up to him.

‘Good morning,’ he said, breezily.

‘Oh.’ The butcher looked up at him, visibly shocked.

‘You seem surprised to see me, Mr Hawkshaw.’

‘I heard that you’d been shot last night.’

‘Who told you that?’

‘Everyone was talking about it when I got here this morning.’

‘As you can see,’ said Colbeck, careful to give the impression that he was completely uninjured, ‘reports of the incident were false.’

‘Yes.’

‘Might I ask where you were yesterday evening?’

‘I was at my lodging,’ said Hawkshaw. ‘On my own.’

‘So there’s nobody who could confirm the fact?’

‘Nobody at all.’

‘How convenient!’

The butcher squared up to him. ‘Are you accusing me?’

‘I’m not accusing anybody, Mr Hawkshaw. I really came to see how Emily was after that unfortunate business at the church.’

‘Emily is well.’

‘Have you seen her this morning?’

‘Not yet.’

‘Then how do you know she is well?’

‘Emily doesn’t want you upsetting her, Inspector.’

‘Your stepsister was upset long before I came here,’ said Colbeck, firmly, ‘and I intend to find out why.’

Before Hawkshaw could reply, the detective went past him into the shop and knocked on the door at the rear. It was opened immediately by Winifred Hawkshaw. She invited him in.

‘I was expecting you to call,’ she said.

‘Really? You can’t have heard the rumour then.’

‘What rumour?’

‘The one that your stepson managed to pick up somehow.’

‘I haven’t spoken to Adam yet. I’ve stayed close to Emily.’

‘That’s understandable,’ said Colbeck. ‘Yesterday evening, when I was standing outside the Saracen’s Head, someone tried to shoot me.’

‘Good gracious!’

‘Being so close, you must surely have heard the bang.’

‘Now that you mention it,’ said Winifred, pushing back a wisp of stray hair, ‘I did hear something. And there was the sound of a horse and cart, racing down the high street. I was in Emily’s room at the time, too afraid to leave her in case she woke up and tried to…well, you know. I stayed there until I was exhausted then went to my own bed.’

‘How is Emily?’

‘She’s still very delicate.’

‘She would be after that experience.’

‘Emily doesn’t remember too much of what happened.’

‘Then I won’t remind her of the details,’ said Colbeck. ‘Some of them are best forgotten. Has the doctor been yet?’

‘He promised to call later on – and so did the vicar. Emily is unwilling to see either of them, especially the doctor. She begged me to send him away.’

‘What about me?’

‘I can’t pretend that she was keen to speak to you, Inspector, but I told her that she must. Emily needs to thank you.’

‘I’m just grateful that I came along at the right time.’

‘So are we,’ said Winifred, still deeply perturbed by the incident. ‘But what’s this about a shot being fired at you, Inspector? Is it true?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Someone tried to
kill
you? That’s terrible.’

‘I survived.’

‘Do you have any idea who the man was?’

‘Yes, Mrs Hawkshaw,’ he replied, ‘but let’s not worry about me at the moment. Emily is the person who deserves all the attention. Do you think that you could bring her down, please?’

‘Of course.’

‘Has she given you any idea why she went up that tower?’

‘Emily said that she was afraid – of everything.’

Winifred went off upstairs and Colbeck anticipated a long wait as the mother tried to cajole her daughter into speaking to him. In fact, the girl made no protest at all. She came downstairs at once. When she entered the room, she looked sheepish. Winifred followed her and they sat beside each other. Colbeck took the chair opposite them. He gave the girl a kind smile.

‘Hello, Emily,’ he said.

‘Hello.’

‘How are you this morning?’

‘Mother says I’m to thank you for what you did yesterday.’

‘And what about you?’ he asked, gently. ‘Do you think I earned your thanks?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Emily!’ reproved her mother.

‘I’d rather she tell the truth, Mrs Hawkshaw,’ said Colbeck. ‘She’s probably still bewildered by it all and that’s only natural.’ He looked at the girl. ‘Do you feel hazy in your own mind, Emily?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you do recall what took you to the church?’

Emily glanced at her mother. ‘Yes.’

‘It was because you were so unhappy, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘And because you miss your stepfather so very much.’ The girl lowered her head. ‘I’m not going to ask you any more about yesterday, Emily. I know you went up that tower to do something desperate but I think that you changed your mind when you actually got there. However,’ he went on, ‘what interests me more is what happened all those weeks earlier. You were attacked by a man named Joseph Dykes, weren’t you?’

Emily looked anxiously at her mother but Winifred did not bail her out. She gave her daughter a look to indicate that she should answer the question. Emily licked her lips.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but I don’t want to talk about it.’

‘Then tell me what happened afterwards,’ invited Colbeck.

‘Afterwards?’

‘When you came running back here. Who was in the shop?’

‘Father.’

‘What about your stepbrother?’

‘Adam had gone to Bybrook Farm to collect some meat.’

‘So you only told your stepfather what happened?’

‘Nathan was her father,’ corrected Winifred. ‘In every way that mattered, he was the only real father that Emily knew.’

‘I accept that, Mrs Hawkshaw,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I can see why Emily should turn to him.’ His eyes flicked back to the girl. ‘What did your father say when you told him?’

‘He was very angry,’ she said.

‘Did he run off immediately?’

‘No, he stayed with me for a while.’

‘Nathan said she was terrified,’ explained the mother. ‘He had to calm her down before he could go after Joe Dykes. By
that time, of course, Joe had vanished.’

‘Let me come back to your daughter,’ said Colbeck, patiently. ‘You were not to blame in any way, Emily. The chain of events that followed was not your doing. You were simply a victim and not a cause – do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘I think so,’ said the girl.

‘You don’t need to take any responsibility on to your shoulders.’

‘That’s what I told her,’ said Winifred.

‘But Emily didn’t believe you – did you, Emily?’

‘No,’ muttered the girl.

‘Why not?’

‘I can’t tell you.’

‘Then answer me this,’ said Colbeck, probing carefully. ‘What happened afterwards?’

‘Afterwards?’

‘Yes, Emily. When your father got back to the shop after he’d failed to find the man who assaulted you. What happened then?’

A look came into her eyes that Colbeck had seen before. It was a look of sudden fear and helplessness that she had given when she felt that she was going to fall to her death from the church tower. The interview was over because Emily was unable to go on but Colbeck was content. He had learnt much more than he had expected.

Notwithstanding his dislike of rail travel, Victor Leeming had to admit that it was quicker and safer than riding beside George Butterkiss on a rickety cart that gave off such pungent odours. The journey to Wye was so short that he barely had time to admire the landscape through the window of his
carriage. It was his third call that morning. Having spoken to two of the women and satisfied himself that they could not have been implicated in the crimes, Leeming was on his way to meet the last person on his list.

Wye was a quaint village with a small railway station at its edge. It took him only ten minutes to walk to the address that Butterkiss had given him. Kathleen Brennan lived in a tied cottage on one of the farms. When he knocked on the door, all that the Sergeant knew about her was that she worked there and brought produce in to Ashford on market days. Butterkiss had not warned him how attractive she was.

When she opened the door to him, he discovered that Kathleen Brennan was a woman in her twenties with a raw beauty that was set off by her long red hair and a pair of startling green eyes. Even in her working dress, she looked shapely. She put her hands on her hips.

‘Yes?’ she asked with a soft Irish lilt.

‘Miss Kathleen Brennan?’

‘
Mrs
Brennan.’

‘I beg your pardon. My name is Detective Sergeant Leeming,’ he told her, showing her his warrant card, ‘and I’d like to ask you a few questions, if I may.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s in connection with the murder of Joseph Dykes. May I come in for a moment, please?’

‘We can talk here,’ she said, folding her arms.

‘As you wish, Mrs Brennan. You signed a petition, I believe.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Do you mind telling me why?’

‘Because I knew that Nathan Hawkshaw was innocent.’

‘How?’

‘I just did,’ she said as if insulted by the question. ‘I met him a lot in Ashford. He was a nice man. Nathan was no killer.’

‘Were you at that fair in Lenham, by any chance?’

‘Yes, I was.’

‘And did you witness the argument between the two men?’