The Iron Horse

by Edward Marston

  Late that afternoon, Brian Dowd had ridden over to Epsom to inspect the course and get a feel of the place where he expected Limerick Lad to achieve a resounding success. He talked to some of the officials who were there and also chatted to a couple of the men whose job it was to cut the grass and ensure that the course was in good condition. Dowd was standing reflectively near the winning post when a carriage pulled up beside him. Sitting in the back of it was Lord Hendry, still smarting from his earlier encounter with Kitty Lavender. The sight of his rival enraged him.

  ‘That’s the closest you’ll get to the winning post, Dowd,’ he said with condescension. ‘Odysseus will flash past it first.’

  ‘Really?’ said Dowd, looking up at him. ‘How do you know that, my lord? You’ve never trained a racehorse. I’ve trained dozens and I can tell you now that Limerick Lad is the finest three-year-old I’ve ever had in my stables. I’ve brought him to his peak for the Derby so I know what he’ll do. You, on the other hand, rely solely on the word of your trainer.’

  ‘He happens to be a master at his trade.’

  ‘Then why have none of your horses won a major race?’

  ‘They’ve been unlucky,’ said Lord Hendry, stung by the remark.

  ‘I don’t believe in luck.’

  ‘No, you believe in gaining the advantage by unfair means. What tricks have you got up your sleeve this time, Dowd? I haven’t forgotten that race at Doncaster in which one of your jockeys – acting on your instructions, no doubt – forced my horse against the rails.’

  ‘Your horse tried to come through a gap that did not exist.’

  ‘That’s not how I saw it.’

  ‘You’re a poor loser, my lord,’ said the Irishman with a grin. ‘That surprises me, considering how much practice you’ve had at it.’

  ‘Sneer, if you must,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘You’ll change your tune on Wednesday when Odysseus leaves your horse standing.’

  ‘I admire your confidence.’

  ‘It’s shared by every bookmaker of note.’

  ‘Never trust bookmakers,’ said Dowd. ‘They work on incomplete information. Look how many favourites are beaten out of sight. You’ll see another come to grief in the Derby.’

  Lord Hendry flicked a hand. ‘I’m not here to bandy words with the likes of you,’ he said scornfully.

  ‘I assumed you’d come to see Odysseus. Has the horse been moved to Epsom already?’

  ‘He arrived this morning under police guard.’

  ‘Yes, I heard that you’d a spot of trouble.’

  ‘Is that because you incited it?’ challenged Lord Hendry.

  Dowd’s face was impassive ‘Now why should I do that?’

  ‘For the reason you always resort to criminality – to gain an unfair advantage.’

  ‘But I already have an advantage, Lord Hendry. I own better horses than anyone else. I’m far too busy protecting them to worry about anybody else’s stables. Before you portray yourself as a victim,’ said Dowd forcefully, ‘look at my problems. Someone tried to send me the severed head of a groom I used to employ. How would you like to open a lady’s hatbox and find that inside?’

  Lord Hendry flinched at the mention of the hatbox. It brought back painful memories of Kitty Lavender’s betrayal of him. It also made him wonder who had committed the murder and why he had sent such a chilling memento of it to Ireland.

  ‘Then we come to Tim Maguire,’ continued Dowd. ‘Even you must admit that he’s the best jockey alive.’

  ‘One of them, I grant you.’

  ‘Someone offered him five hundred pounds if he refused to ride for me. When that bribe failed,’ said Dowd with rising anger, ‘they set a couple of ruffians onto him last night. They were supposed to make sure that he was unfit to ride in the Derby. But I keep my jockeys well guarded so the attackers were frightened off with a shot or two.’ He stepped closer to the carriage and fixed Lord Hendry with an accusatory stare. ‘The location of those stables was supposed to be a secret,’ he added. ‘How did anyone know where Tim Maguire was?’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that,’ said Lord Hendry. ‘I’d never hire ruffians to assault a jockey. As for your stables, I haven’t the slightest clue where they are.’

  ‘Someone does. If it’s not you,’ said Dowd, still subjecting him to a piercing stare, ‘then who the devil is it?’

  They left early on Sunday morning. Robert Colbeck had hired a trap so that he could drive Madeleine Andrews to her rendezvous with the barmaid at the Shepherd and Shepherdess. On the ride there, he explained precisely what he wanted her to do when she met Bonny Rimmer. Madeleine was attentive. It was not the first time she had been given this kind of unofficial assignment so she had a degree of experience on which she could draw. Talk soon turned to the progress of the investigation. Colbeck told her about his visit to Epsom Downs.

  ‘Why didn’t you arrest Mr Fido?’ she said.

  ‘Because I could not build a convincing case against him in court,’ he confessed resignedly. ‘I’d need firmer evidence.’

  ‘You had that letter sent by one of your detectives.’

  ‘It would be almost impossible to establish that he ordered Peter Cheggin to provide the information. Hamilton Fido is far too clever. There’d be no direct link between him and Cheggin. Fido would always use intermediaries and I have no idea who they might be.’

  ‘Couldn’t your prisoner tell you?’

  ‘He’s too ashamed of what he did, Madeleine. I feel sorry for him. Cheggin has a wife and children. When he’s sentenced, they’ll be left to fend for themselves. In fact,’ he went on, ‘knowing Fido, he’ll probably try to force Mrs Cheggin to pay off her husband’s debts.’

  ‘There must be something you can arrest him for, Robert.’

  ‘I’m sure it will emerge in the fullness of time.’

  When they got to the village, Colbeck did not head for the inn. He drove on to the little church at the top of the hill. Its bell was ringing sonorously in the tower. As he brought the trap to a halt, Colbeck saw a few people going in through the porch.

  ‘How did you know what time the service was?’ she said.

  ‘I took the trouble to find out when I was last here.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because that’s where we’ll find Bonny Rimmer.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘She’s mourning a loved one,’ said Colbeck. ‘She needs help. My guess is that she’ll turn to the church.’

  He got out of the trap, tethered the horse then offered a hand to assist her down. When Madeleine stepped onto the ground, she straightened her dress and adjusted her hat. She was thrilled when he extended an arm for her to take. They went through the lychgate together and into the little churchyard where tombs, monuments and stone crosses were clustered together at odd angles and surrounded by uncut grass and bramble. The church itself had stood on the same spot for over five hundred years and it showed clear signs of decrepitude.

  When they left the morning sunshine, they entered the chill interior of the building. Wooden pews ran down either side of the nave and there was a scattering of worshippers there. Colbeck could not identify the woman who knelt in the front pew wearing black but he was certain that it was Bonny Rimmer. He and Madeleine sat halfway down the nave and bent their heads in prayer. It was the first time they had been in a church together and the significance of attending morning service as a couple was lost on neither of them.

  The vicar was a white-haired old man who took the service briskly and who preached a combative sermon as if addressing a full congregation rather than a mere nine parishioners. When it was over, he stood at the door to bid farewell to people as they left. Bonny Rimmer remained immoveable in her pew. Colbeck and Madeleine shook hands with the vicar and made complimentary remarks about the service before moving out into the porch. Most of the others had drifted away but they lingered in the churchyard.

  ‘Wait for her here,’ said Colbeck. ‘She stayed behind for some words of
comfort from the vicar.’

  ‘Where will you be, Robert?’

  ‘In the trap – I’d only be in the way.’

  ‘Suppose that she won’t speak to me?’

  ‘I think she’ll be grateful for sympathy from anyone.’

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ said Madeleine.

  He touched her arm. ‘That’s why I brought you.’

  Putting on his hat, he went out through the lychgate and took up his position in the trap. Madeleine, meanwhile, read some of the inscriptions chiselled into the stone and let her thoughts turn to the death of her mother. It had been so sudden and unexpected that it had left her father in a daze for weeks. Though trying to cope with her own bereavement, Madeleine had also had to help him through his despair. It had forged a strong bond between father and daughter. As she read some of the elaborate and sentimental epitaphs, she remembered the simplicity of the inscription on her mother’s tombstone and wished that these neglected graves could be tended with as much loving care as she and her father always showed.

  It was some time before Bonny Rimmer came out of the church. When she did so, her head was down and she clutched a prayer book in her hand. Madeleine stepped back onto the path to intercept her.

  ‘Miss Rimmer?’ she began.

  ‘Oh!’ cried Bonny.

  She looked up in dismay as if someone had just bumped into her. Madeleine saw the oval face, drained of colour and framed by the black bonnet. The girl had been crying and there were dark patches beneath her eyes. She was patently bewildered.

  ‘My name is Madeleine Andrews,’ said the other, ‘and I’d like to offer my sincerest condolences. I know that you’ve suffered a terrible loss and I’m sorry to intrude on your grief.’

  ‘You knew John?’

  ‘No, but I’m aware of what happened to him. I’m a friend of Inspector Colbeck’s. He told me what had happened.’

  ‘He was kind,’ murmured Bonny.

  ‘I wonder if I might talk to you for a moment?’

  The girl’s face was blank. ‘Talk?’

  ‘About your friendship with John Feeny.’

  ‘He was a wonderful person, Miss Andrews.’

  Madeleine gave a gentle smile. ‘Tell me about him.’

  Taking her by the elbow, she led Bonny across to a wooden bench that had been stained by age and autographed by youthful parishioners with sharp knives. They sat down together. Bonny gazed at her with a curiosity tempered by anxiety.

  ‘What do you want?’ she said.

  ‘I want to do all I can to help the police catch the man who killed your friend. I’m sure that you want to do the same.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I do.’

  ‘Then talk to me about John.’

  Bonny was lost. ‘What am I to say?’

  ‘Tell me how you first met him.’

  The barmaid began slowly, stopping from time to time as the pain of recollection became too acute. Madeleine said nothing, sharing her anguish, offering solace, acting as a silent and uncritical witness. The tale eventually gathered pace. Bonny had met John Feeny when he came to the inn with a group of other lads from the stables. He had seemed quieter and more thoughtful than the others. While they had flirted with her, Feeny stood shyly on the side and watched.

  Then the day came when one of the grooms tried to molest her. He was very drunk and the others had egged him on. He caught Bonny in the yard at the rear of the inn and pounced on her. John Feeny was the only person who responded to her scream. Rushing out of the bar, he tore her attacker off and flung him to the ground. A fierce struggle ensued. The other groom was bigger and older than Feeny but that made no difference. The Irish lad was so incensed that Bonny had been assaulted that he fought like a demon and put his opponent to flight. Full of gratitude, the barmaid had washed the blood from Feeny’s face.

  ‘So he wasn’t quiet all the time,’ she said softly. ‘John had a real temper. He never turned it on me but it was there. He wasn’t afraid of getting hurt – that’s why he’d have made a good jockey. And he was so brave, Miss Andrews.’

  ‘Brave?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Bonny. ‘Do you know how he came to England?’

  ‘On a boat, I suppose.’

  ‘But he had no money for the passage. John had a row with Mr Dowd – that’s the man who owned the stables – and walked out. John was so keen to get to this country that he sneaked aboard a boat and hid under a tarpaulin.’ She smiled for the first time. ‘Now isn’t that brave?’

  ‘Brave but foolhardy.’

  ‘That’s what John was like. He took chances. When the boat was a mile or so away from Anglesey, they caught him. Do you know what the captain told him? He said that if John was that keen to get here, he could swim. So they threw him overboard.’

  Madeleine was shocked. ‘He might have drowned.’

  ‘Not him,’ said Bonny. ‘He swam ashore and dried himself off. Then he made his way to London by walking and begging lifts off carters. At long last, he found his uncle and started to look for work. Weeks and weeks later, he got a job at the stables down here.’

  ‘And he met you.’

  ‘Yes – we made so many plans together.’

  ‘Plans?’ repeated Madeleine.

  ‘For when he became a jockey,’ explained Bonny. ‘John said he’d make enough money to look after me. I wouldn’t have to work at the inn any more. He wanted me all to himself.’

  Madeleine was deeply moved by the tenderness with which she spoke of John Feeny and she learnt far more about the groom than Colbeck had done when he spoke to Bonny Rimmer. The presence of another woman had unlocked memories that the girl would otherwise have kept to herself. Uncertain at first, she was now eager to talk about her relationship and the facts tumbled out. She talked of secret meetings, bold ambitions and an exchange of vows. Bonny and the young Irishman had decided to get married one day.

  ‘Who could possibly have wanted to hurt him?’ said Madeleine.

  ‘Nobody – he was the kindest person I ever met.’

  ‘What about the groom who had a fight with John?’

  ‘Oh, he was sacked a long time ago.’

  ‘He could have come back to get his revenge.’

  ‘He’d never do a thing like that.’

  ‘You told Inspector Colbeck about a man that John had met.’

  ‘A real gentleman, he was,’ said Bonny, ‘or so John thought at first. He wanted information about Limerick Lad – that’s one of the runners in the Derby. He offered him money but John refused. The man wasn’t so friendly then – he threatened John.’

  ‘So I understand.’

  ‘He had no choice, Miss Andrews,’ said Bonny defensively. ‘If it was known that he’d worked for Mr Dowd, he’d have been kicked out of the stables. They’d have thought he was a spy.’

  ‘Instead of which,’ noted Madeleine, seeing the irony of the situation, ‘he was being asked to spy on Mr Dowd himself.’

  ‘John was helping to look after Mr Hamilton’s horse, Merry Legs, but the man wasn’t worried about her in the Derby. All he wanted to hear about was Limerick Lad.’

  ‘What did he tell you about this man?’

  ‘Very little.’

  ‘Was he young or old, tall or short? How did he dress?’

  ‘John said he was well dressed,’ she recalled. ‘He wasn’t old but I’ve no idea how tall he was. The man had money. He gave some to John and told him there’d be a lot more when they met to have a long talk about Mr Dowd’s stables.’ She pulled the sleeve of her dress back to expose a delicate silver bangle. ‘John used the money to buy this for me. Then he went off to meet this man in London.’

  ‘Did he say where the meeting was to take place?’

  ‘No, Miss Andrews,’ said Bonny, brightening for a moment, ‘but he promised to buy me another present when he got the rest of the money.’ Her face clouded. ‘I never saw John alive again.’

  Surprised to receive the summons, Marcus Johnson responded to it at once. He went t
o the house to see Kitty Lavender, kissing her on the cheek when they met. She let him into her drawing room and shut the door. Putting his hat down, he beamed at her.

  ‘Three meetings in a week,’ he said. ‘This is a treat. We rarely see each other more than three times in a year.’

  ‘I wanted your advice, Marcus.’

  ‘I’m always ready to give that, bidden or unbidden.’

  ‘Sit down,’ invited Kitty, taking a seat well away from him. ‘And thank you for coming so promptly.’

  ‘I hoped you might have gleaned some information for me,’ he said, settling into his chair. ‘That’s why I rushed here. Any warm hints from Hamilton?’

  ‘He still believes that Merry Legs will win.’

  ‘I want to know why. When I met him at Epsom yesterday, he’d tell me nothing. It was like trying to get blood from a stone. However,’ he went on, sensing her concern, ‘you obviously don’t want to hear any more about the Derby. What’s this about advice?’

  ‘Do you remember my telling you about that missing hatbox?’

  ‘Yes – it was stolen from some hotel or other, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The police wish to speak to me about it.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because that’s what Inspector Colbeck said both to Hamilton and to Lord Hendry. Somehow he found out that I was connected with both of them and tried to get my name from them.’

  ‘I hope they had the decency to refuse,’ said Johnson sharply. ‘I’d certainly have done so in their position.’

  ‘They didn’t give me away, Marcus.’

  ‘Good for them! You’re an innocent party here, Kitty. You don’t want your name entangled in a murder investigation. If it got into the papers, it could be very embarrassing for you.’

  ‘That’s my fear. I’m worried.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Inspector Colbeck,’ she said. ‘Lord Hendry came here to warn me that he was looking for me and Hamilton actually urged me to go to Scotland Yard.’

  ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘When he was questioned by Inspector Colbeck, he refused to give my name. That could be seen as withholding evidence. On the eve of Derby Week, the worst thing for Hamilton is to get embroiled with the police.’