Timetable of Death

by Edward Marston

  Her face clouded as she realised that she should have spoken in the past tense. The long hours of reading were behind her and the library she’d shared so pleasurably was now out of her reach. Lydia manufactured a smile of apology.

  ‘I’m so sorry for troubling you like this, Mrs Colbeck.’

  ‘You’re most welcome, I do assure you.’

  ‘I wish I could say that I’ve remembered something that might be of help to your husband, but it’s not so. I came here for another reason.’

  ‘Whatever it was,’ said Madeleine, ‘you are still welcome.’

  She could see the change in Lydia Quayle. When they’d met before, it had been in a house where Lydia had seemed to belong and to enjoy a cosy, cultured, leisurely way of life with a close friend. That sense of a settled existence had now faded. Lydia had somehow been cut adrift. It was not Madeleine’s place to ask why. She simply wished to offer what help she could to her visitor.

  ‘You’ve awakened something in me, Mrs Colbeck,’ said Lydia. ‘It’s a feeling of guilt, I suppose. You reminded me that I had a family.’

  ‘Did you need reminding? News of your father’s murder was in all the newspapers. You were well aware of it when we called on you.’

  ‘I was aware of it but determined not to respond to it. You’ll probably find that rather heartless of me.’

  ‘I make no judgement, Miss Quayle. I fully understand why there was a rift between you and your father. My situation is different,’ said Madeleine. ‘If I learnt that my father had cut himself shaving, I’d rush off to be with him.’

  ‘What if he’d stopped you marrying the man you loved?’ asked Lydia. ‘My guess is that you’d never forgive him.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘It’s my mother who worries me, you see. You stirred up my guilt about her. This will probably kill Mother. Before that happens, I’d like to make my peace with her.’ There was a pleading note. ‘Do you think I should?’

  ‘I can’t make that decision for you, Miss Quayle.’

  ‘What would you do?’

  ‘If it was at all possible,’ said Madeleine, ‘I’d try to heal any wounds.’

  ‘That’s what I needed you to say.’

  ‘Why come to me? Miss Myler would have given the same advice, surely.’ Lydia’s head drooped. ‘Oh, I see. We obviously caused problems, coming to your house as we did.’

  ‘It’s not my house, Mrs Colbeck.’

  ‘But you were so at home there.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Lydia with a pale smile. ‘I was, wasn’t I?’ She looked around the room. ‘Do you have children, Mrs Colbeck?’

  ‘No, we don’t – not as yet.’

  ‘This would be a nice house in which to raise a family and that’s what will probably happen one day. I made the decision not to have children and, in many ways, it was a momentous one.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘If they couldn’t be fathered by Gerard … by the man I told you about, then I had no interest in motherhood. That may sound odd to you. Being a spinster must seem a dull, arid, unfilled sort of life but it’s not. There are rewards that I never dreamt of and I’ve never regretted my decision to remain single.’

  ‘Each of us finds happiness in a different way, Miss Quayle.’

  ‘You still have it – I don’t.’ Lydia reached out to grasp her by the wrist. ‘I can’t face going back there alone, Mrs Colbeck,’ she admitted. ‘I need to ask a big favour of you. Will you come with me?’

  Concern over Harriet Quayle’s health had steadily increased. The doctor was honest. He was unable to guarantee that she would survive for long. Agnes sat beside the bed and, during her mother’s more alert moments, read to her from a poetry anthology. Her brothers paid regular visits to the bedroom, as did their respective wives, but the constant coming and going put even more strain on the patient. The whole family came to accept that one funeral might soon be followed by another.

  To give his sister some respite, Lucas Quayle offered to take over the vigil on his own. His mother seemed to be asleep so all that he had to do was to sit there and leaf through the poems, pausing at one that he’d been taught to memorise as a child.

  ‘Is that you, Lucas?’ murmured Harriet, eyelids fluttering weakly.

  ‘Yes, Mother,’ he said, closing the book.

  ‘Where is everybody?’

  ‘Do you want me to call them?’

  ‘No, no, it’s peaceful in here. Too many people fluster me.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘I’m still here,’ she said with a quiet defiance. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘We’re carrying on as best we can.’

  ‘I’m not talking about you. What’s happening with … the investigation?’

  ‘Inspector Colbeck is still making enquiries, Mother.’

  ‘Has he asked to see me?’

  ‘No, no,’ said her son, ‘he understands that you are … not in the best of health. I’ve spoken at length to him and Stanley went to Derby to see him. The inspector was not there so Stanley talked to Sergeant Leeming instead.’

  ‘What have these detectives found out?’

  ‘All that they’ve managed to do so far is to identify some suspects. But I have faith in the inspector. He’s a very experienced man.’

  ‘Does he think he’ll ever find out the truth?’

  ‘Yes, he does, Mother. But you shouldn’t be worrying about that. Remember the doctor’s advice. Try to get as much sleep as possible and keep your mind off any unpleasantness. That’s difficult in a house of mourning, I grant you, but it’s best if you don’t concern yourself with the murder inquiry.’ He saw his mother gasp as if she’d felt a stab of pain. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘It was that word, Lucas – murder. It’s so sudden and final. If someone is ailing, you have time to prepare for the worst. The blow is not so painful. When someone is killed abruptly, however … well, you know what I’m trying to say.’

  ‘I do, Mother.’

  She put a hand into his palm. ‘Will you do something for me, please?’

  ‘You only have to ask.’

  ‘I know that you’ve been in touch with Lydia. Write to her again,’ said Harriet softly. ‘I’d like to see her before I die.’

  It was a balmy evening as they walked along St Peter’s Street in Derby and glanced in the windows of the shops. They passed an ironmonger, a glove-maker, a family draper, a baker, a grocer and many other tradesmen. Victor Leeming was reminded of a street near his own house in London.

  ‘The only difference is that it’s much noisier there,’ he said, ‘and there’s far more traffic. Then, of course, there’s the stink.’

  ‘Every major city has its individual flavour,’ said Colbeck, drily. ‘London’s happens to be the worst.’

  ‘I’d still rather be there than here, sir.’

  ‘Our return is easily achieved, Victor. We simply have to solve a murder.’

  ‘This one may take ages. I don’t know where to look next.’

  ‘Well, my suggestion is that you might start in Belper. Your chat with Philip Conway may have given us a useful clue. If Superintendent Wigg’s brother is a pharmacist there, he might be the source of some of the poison that killed Mr Quayle.’

  ‘But he’d never admit it, surely,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘He’d want to protect his brother.’

  ‘That would make him an accessory before the fact,’ said Colbeck, ‘and I don’t believe for a moment that Wigg would ask for something able to kill a human being. Poisons can be bought for other reasons. If he did purchase some – and we have no proof that he did – the superintendent would have palmed his brother off with a plausible excuse.’

  ‘I’ll go to Belper first thing in the morning,’ decided Leeming. ‘After that, I’d like to see what a certain cobbler has to say about his train journey today.’ He looked at Colbeck. ‘What about you, sir?’

  ‘I’m going to
pay a second visit to the victim’s house.’

  ‘Is that wise? We were more or less kicked out last time.’

  ‘Lucas Quayle came to see me of his own volition and his brother has obviously mellowed if he went out of his way to make contact with us. Neither, alas,’ said Colbeck, ‘was able to give us any indication as to where their father was on the day of the murder but I’m hoping to find someone who can. After that,’ he went on, ‘I am giving myself a treat.’

  ‘Are you going back to London to see Mrs Colbeck?’

  ‘That’s not a treat, Victor, it’s a positive luxury and hopelessly beyond my reach at the moment. No, I’m going to have a tour of the Derby Works.’

  Leeming was shocked. ‘You’re going to look at engines?’

  ‘I want to see the whole production process.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with a murder case?’

  ‘It may have more relevance than you think,’ said Colbeck. ‘While you were talking to that young reporter, I had a word with Mr Cope about visiting the Works. He was only too glad to arrange it and to accompany me. In other words …’

  ‘He wants to keep an eye on you and report back to Mr Haygarth.’

  ‘Maurice Cope is his spymaster. He seemed to know exactly what we’ve been doing since we got here. It’s one of the reasons I suggested a walk before dinner. At least we can talk freely out here in the street without fear of being overheard.’

  ‘Do you think they’ve had someone following us?’

  ‘Cope is getting his information somehow, Victor.’

  ‘I’d better start looking over my shoulder.’

  They strolled on companionably in silence until the Royal Hotel eventually came into view. When they saw a sturdy figure standing outside the main entrance and paying a cab driver, Leeming gave a short laugh.

  ‘What’s the trouble, Victor?’

  ‘For one horrible moment, I thought that man was Superintendent Tallis.’

  ‘Your eyes did not deceive you,’ said Colbeck, easily. ‘It is him. I had a feeling that he’d turn up sooner or later because my reports weren’t able to disguise the fact that we’ve made no significant advances in this investigation. He’ll be able to join us for dinner.’

  ‘I won’t be able to eat a thing with the superintendent there.’

  ‘His presence won’t hamper my digestion in the least. Strangely enough – and don’t ask me to explain this – I’m rather pleased to see him.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Female company was something that Madeleine Colbeck had learnt to do without. There were maidservants and a cook in the house but that was not the same as having a woman with whom she could talk on equal terms. Though her aunt paid occasional visits, the age gap between them inevitably steered the conversation in set directions. Being an artist meant that Madeleine had of necessity to spend a great deal of time on her own and she relished that solitude. It was only when she was not at work that she felt lonely. Now that she had a guest of her own age, she realised how much she had been missing.

  ‘It was so kind of you to offer me accommodation,’ said Lydia Quayle. ‘I’d expected to stay at a hotel.’

  ‘You’re very welcome here.’

  ‘Thank you, Mrs Colbeck.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure, Miss Quayle.’ Madeleine laughed. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. ‘If we’re going to have dinner together, I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you? Please use my Christian name.’

  ‘And you must do the same, Madeleine.’

  ‘I will, Lydia.’

  It was a step forward and each of them appreciated it. Madeleine had not merely invited her to stay out of kindness. She wanted her visitor to have time to consider her decision to return home in the certain knowledge that there would be some domestic upheaval as a result. Lydia had been ready to set off there and then but she was persuaded to postpone the journey to Nottingham until the following day. It gave them the opportunity to get to know each other better.

  ‘Why didn’t you give your name when you called here?’ asked Madeleine.

  ‘I wasn’t sure that you’d wish to see me.’

  ‘But I volunteered my address.’

  ‘You did that out of kindness,’ said Lydia. ‘I wasn’t certain that you’d really want me to come here with my tale of woe. Because I didn’t give my name, I knew I’d at least get to see you. Curiosity would have brought you out.’

  ‘It did. I was puzzled.’

  They were in the drawing room, awaiting the summons to dine. Lydia was relieved and reassured. In coming to the house, she’d not only found someone who’d accompany her to Nottingham, she’d made a real friend. Something else struck her. Alone with Madeleine, she was able to act and feel her own age. Looking back, she saw that life with Beatrice Myler had put unlived years on her. Lydia had dressed, thought and behaved as an older woman. Maturity had been a comforting shell into which she’d willingly climbed. Now, however, the comfort came from being with someone who made her feel younger and more alive.

  ‘I didn’t realise that the police employed women,’ she said.

  ‘They don’t,’ said Madeleine, ‘and you must never tell anyone that I came to see you. Scotland Yard would never dream of letting women become detectives. I’ve only been involved because my husband believes that I have something to offer that neither he nor Sergeant Leeming possesses.’

  ‘It’s true. I could never have talked as openly to the sergeant as I have to you.’

  ‘I take that as a compliment.’

  ‘I trusted you, Madeleine.’

  ‘Then I hope I can repay that trust,’ said Madeleine. ‘On one issue, I’m afraid, I have to disappoint you. I won’t be able to go to your home. I’m happy to accompany you to Nottingham to lend some moral support but, if I’m introduced to your family as Inspector Colbeck’s wife, it could well compromise the whole investigation.’

  ‘I don’t wish to get you or the inspector into any trouble.’

  ‘Thank you, Lydia.’

  ‘Would your husband lose his job as a result?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think they’d be foolish enough to dismiss him altogether. He’s far too valuable a detective to cast aside. But there would be a lot of embarrassment and he might even be demoted.’

  ‘I don’t want that to happen,’ said Lydia, worriedly.

  ‘Neither do I. As it happens, I have been in a position to help with certain investigations in the past but that fact has had to be suppressed. Superintendent Tallis takes a dim view of women altogether,’ said Madeleine. ‘If he knew that my husband had actually dared to call on my services, the superintendent would roast him alive.’

  Edward Tallis surprised them both. Instead of descending on them in a fit of wrath, he’d come, in the spirit of enquiry, to find out exactly what was going on. His manner was calm and his tongue lacking its usual asperity. Colbeck and Leeming could not remember the last time he’d been in such a quiescent mood. Neither of them realised that, in coming to Derby, he’d been escaping from London and from the scorn of the commissioner. At the bookstall in King’s Cross railway station, Tallis had taken the trouble to buy a copy of the offending edition of Punch and he’d chuckled at the way his superior had been pilloried, his amusement edged with relief that he hadn’t been the target this time.

  Instead of being unable to touch his food, Leeming ate heartily and left the senior officers to do most of the talking. All three of them found the lamb and mint sauce to their taste. Tallis dabbed at his mouth with a napkin to remove the specks of gravy from his moustache.

  ‘How would you summarise this case, Colbeck?’

  ‘I’d do so in two words, sir.’

  ‘And what might they be?’

  ‘Confusion and error,’ muttered Leeming.

  Colbeck smiled. ‘We’ve encountered both since we’ve been here,’ he agreed, ‘but I had two different words in mind – coal and silk.’

  ‘Explain,’ said Tallis.


  ‘The products define the battle for the chairmanship of the Midland Railway, sir. Mr Quayle made his fortune out of coal while Mr Haygarth lives in luxury on the profits of his silk mills. Coal is hard while silk is soft. In some ways,’ argued Colbeck, ‘they help to characterise the two men. We never knew Mr Quayle but we met his elder son who’s been likened to him in every way.’ He turned to Leeming. ‘How would you describe Stanley Quayle?’

  ‘Cold and hard.’

  ‘Just like a piece of coal. What about Mr Haygarth?’

  ‘Smooth and snake-like.’

  ‘Just like a bolster of silk.’

  ‘I’m trying hard to follow your reasoning,’ complained Tallis.

  ‘It’s quite simple, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘The one has ousted the other. From what we can gather, Mr Quayle was a natural leader, respected, strong-willed and resilient in the face of the many difficulties that have afflicted this railway company. He’s been supplanted by a more subtle, guileful and sinister rival.’

  ‘Are you saying that Mr Haygarth is behind the murder?’

  ‘He’s the one who stands to gain most out of it, sir.’

  ‘Then why insist on calling on you to lead the investigation?’

  ‘He wants to gain kudos by appearing to make every effort to solve this crime while confident that a solution is beyond me.’

  ‘I still think that Hockaday had a part in it,’ asserted Leeming. ‘He’s not clever enough to set the whole thing up by himself but he’d be a willing helper if there was money in it. That brings us back to the person best placed to employ the cobbler to do his dirty work for him – Superintendent Wigg.’

  ‘That’s a ludicrous suggestion,’ said Tallis.

  ‘We’ve met corrupt policemen before, sir.’

  ‘You hardly need to tell me that, Leeming. I’ve had to dismiss too many of them. Inspector Alban Kee was an example. I’ll have no fraudsters or bribe-takers under my command. Now, I’ve never met this Superintendent Wigg,’ he went on, ‘but I find it hard to believe that anyone in his position would condone – let alone, incite – murder. Haygarth stands to gain from the death but Wigg was bound to lose. He’d merely be replacing one person he loathed by another. What’s the point of that?’