Reader was taken aback. ‘How do you know about that?’
‘The colonel was involved, wasn’t he? I remember the date when the truth first came out and I have evidence that Colonel Tarleton was one of the many victims. I’m not pressing you for anything more than acknowledgement,’ said Colbeck. ‘Why hide the fact? If I go back to the company, they’ll supply me with the names of everyone involved. Just tell me this – am I right?’
‘You are, Inspector.’
‘So he did invest money with Leybourne?’
Reader winced. ‘He invested a great deal of money.’
‘Thank you, sir. That’s all I need to know at this stage.’
Colbeck had no time to question him further because he had just received a signal from Leeming. The Tarleton family were on the move. Having received kind words and commiseration from several people, they were at last ready to begin the walk home. Mrs Withers and Lottie Pearl had left ahead of them. Colbeck moved smartly to detach Adam Tarleton from the group.
‘Excuse me, sir,’ he said. ‘Can we trouble you for a moment?’
Tarleton was brusque. ‘It’s highly inconvenient.’
‘Nevertheless, we must insist.’
‘I don’t have to talk to you if I don’t wish to, Inspector.’
‘Of course you don’t,’ said Colbeck, evenly, ‘but I’d advise you to humour us. If you don’t, Mr Tarleton, we’ll be obliged to arrest you for perverting the course of justice.’
‘I’ve done nothing of the kind!’ retorted Tarleton.
‘You told us you hadn’t seen Michael Bruntcliffe for years,’ said Leeming, ‘yet, according to one of the warders, you went to see your friend in prison not long before his release. Your name will be recorded in the visitors’ book, sir, so there’s no point in denying it.’
Tarleton chewed his lip. ‘It’s true,’ he conceded, ‘but it slipped my mind. You have to understand that I’m mourning the deaths of the two people I cared for most in the world. I’m consumed with sorrow. I simply can’t think about anything else.’
‘You thought about going for a ride the other day.’
‘I had to fight with the rector about funeral arrangements.’
‘That wouldn’t have taken you long, sir,’ resumed Colbeck, ‘yet you were away for several hours. Meanwhile, your sister was moping at the house. It doesn’t sound to me as if you were burdened by sorrow.’
‘What are you getting at?’ demanded Tarleton.
‘We want to know why the man you claim you haven’t seen for years – Michael Bruntcliffe – was out riding with you that day. Think before you speak,’ he cautioned as Tarleton was about to bluster, ‘because we have a reliable witness who saw the two of you together. It’s strange that you never mentioned the fact when we talked to you later on.’ He moved a step closer. ‘What are you hiding, sir?’
‘Nothing at all,’ said Tarleton, angrily.
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where is he?’ asked Colbeck, grasping him so tightly by the arm that he let out a cry of pain. ‘Where is Michael Bruntcliffe?’
‘Standing outside a church is not the place to question him, sir,’ said Leeming, producing a pair of handcuffs from inside his coat. ‘Let’s arrest him and have done with it. Then I can put these bracelets on his wrists.’
‘No,’ pleaded Tarleton, ‘don’t do that. What will everyone think? I’ll tell you where Michael is but please don’t arrest me today of all days. It would break my sister’s heart.’
‘Will you give me your word that you’ll remain in the area?’
‘Yes, Inspector – I must stay here. There’s the inquest tomorrow, then the two funerals. After that, the wills are going to be read.’
‘I don’t trust him, sir,’ said Leeming.
‘Put the handcuffs away,’ ordered Colbeck.
‘If he’s not in custody, he might make a run for it.’
‘He’s not stupid enough to do that, Sergeant. He knows that we’d go after him. Besides, Mr Tarleton has an important engagement in Northallerton that he can’t possibly miss. He wants to hear the details of his inheritance.’ Leeming secreted the handcuffs inside his coat. ‘Now, sir,’ continued Colbeck, ‘where is your friend?’
‘He’s some distance away, Inspector,’ said Tarleton.
‘We can hire a trap.’
‘You’d be better off on horseback. It’s quite remote.’
Leeming blenched. ‘Horses! I’m not happy about that.’
‘We’ll do whatever’s necessary,’ said Colbeck, eyes locked on Tarleton. ‘I’m waiting, sir. Where is Michael Bruntcliffe?’
Although he was a religious man, Edward Tallis did not treat the Sabbath as a day of rest. After attending a Communion service that morning, he returned to Scotland Yard and worked through some of the files on his desk. It was almost noon when he lit a cigar, sat back and began to reflect on events in the North Riding. Convinced that his friendship with the colonel would give him insights denied to others, he longed to take an active part once more in the investigation. He found himself almost wanting Colbeck and Leeming to fail so that he had an excuse to hasten to Yorkshire in order to take charge of the case. Things were moving too slowly for his liking and he had the feeling that his detectives were holding back some of the evidence they’d so far uncovered. That was irksome. The only way to know exactly what was going on was to be in South Otterington. On the next day, he resolved, he would catch the first available train.
When he put the files away in his desk, he realised that they had been standing on the Sunday newspaper. He picked it up and sighed as he glanced at the headlines on the front page. A fire had destroyed a house in Islington and its three occupants had been burnt to a cinder. As soon as it was confirmed as a case of arson, Tallis had sent two detectives to the scene. While they had worked hard to gather evidence, they were still no nearer to discovering who the culprit had been. The newspaper article mocked them for their slowness and quoted someone who felt that a fire should be lit under the detectives to provide some stimulus. Tallis was used to ridicule in the press but it nevertheless continued to hurt, especially – as was the case here – when his own name was mentioned.
Not wishing to read any more of the article, he turned the page in search of something less infuriating. He looked up and down the columns until he saw something that caused him to stop. It was not an offensive article this time but a broadside from Yorkshire.
Now here’s a murd’rous tale of woe,
See a hero misbehave.
For it shows a valiant soldier go
By railway to the grave.
Howling with rage, he tore the page out and used his cigar to set it alight, holding it between his fingers until it was reduced to a few black, curling, disintegrating wisps of paper. When the flame eventually burnt his hand, he did not even feel the pain.
On the way to the church, Mrs Withers and Lottie Pearl had walked behind the family. The situation was reversed on the return journey. Knowing that some people might be invited back to the house, they wanted to get there well in advance. Earlier that morning, the two of them had prepared refreshments and they began to set them out on trays in the kitchen. Both of them wore aprons over their black dresses. When she heard the front door open, the housekeeper put her head out to see how many guests were there. Only four people had returned with the family. The odd thing was that Adam Tarleton was not with them. Mrs Withers was about to withdraw into the kitchen when he came into the house, shot her a look of disapproval and followed the others into the drawing room.
‘There are seven of them in all,’ she told Lottie.
‘Who have they brought back?’
‘Mr and Mrs Reader – they followed in their trap.’
‘Oh, I like them,’ said Lottie. ‘I only met them once but they were very pleasant to me. Is it true that Mrs Reader paid for all those lovely flowers in the church?’
‘She’s a very kind lady.�
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‘Who else is in there?’
‘Mr and Mrs Everett,’ replied the housekeeper.
‘I don’t know them.’
‘Mr Everett is the family solicitor. He was also a good friend of Colonel Tarleton. They used to go shooting together.’
‘Oh,’ sighed Lottie, her face screwed up in anguish. ‘I think it’s so cruel, killing those poor birds like that.’
‘Who cares about what you think?’ snapped Mrs Withers. ‘I’ll go and see what they’d like to drink. And remember – when you take a tray in, hold it the way I showed you and don’t tremble the way that you usually do.’
‘No, Mrs Withers. I’ll try.’
In fact, the girl acquitted herself well. Food and drink were served to the guests without any trembling on her part. She even earned a word of praise from the housekeeper. Once their work was done, the two women retreated to the kitchen. They were able to sit down at last and enjoy a long rest. The first thing that Mrs Withers did was to take off her shoes so that she could massage her feet. Lottie was surprised to see how dainty they were.
‘Are those shoes too tight, Mrs Withers?’ she asked.
‘They are a little – I keep them for best.’
‘It’s a pity we had to walk all the way to church and back.’
‘Yes,’ said the other, ‘and I’ve had no time to change them since we came home because there was so much to do.’
‘You’ve got time now.’
‘I might be needed.’
‘It will only take a couple of minutes for you to slip up to your room,’ said Lottie. ‘I can listen out in case they call.’
The older woman was tempted. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Mrs Withers – go on. Change your shoes while you can.’
Grateful for the offer, the housekeeper did not even bother to put the shoes on again. Instead she tripped up the stairs to the top of the house and let herself into her room. Putting the other pair away, she slipped on her working shoes and wiggled her toes. Her feet immediately felt better. She took the opportunity to straighten her dress in the mirror and to brush her hair, noting how thin it was now becoming. Then she went out again.
As she came down the first flight of steps, she was surprised to see a female figure going into what had been Miriam Tarleton’s bedroom. Her protective instincts were aroused. It was not Eve Doel. She knew that. Going into her mother’s bedroom had been too upsetting for the daughter. It had to be someone else and Mrs Withers felt that she simply had to confront her. She took a firm hold on the doorknob, turned it and flung the door open.
‘Goodness!’ exclaimed Agnes Reader, hand to her chest.
‘I thought I saw someone coming in here.’
‘Yes, Mrs Withers, but I’m not an intruder. I had permission from Mrs Doel. I was such an old friend of her mother’s that she encouraged me to have a keepsake from her jewellery box. Oh,’ she added, ‘nothing expensive. I just wanted something that would have sentimental value.’
‘The jewellery box is here, Mrs Reader,’ said the housekeeper, picking it up from the dressing table. ‘Why not take it downstairs then Mrs Doel can help you choose something?’
‘What a good idea! I’ll do just that.’
‘Here you are.’
‘Thank you,’ said Agnes, taking the box from her and lifting the lid to glance into it. ‘I’m afraid that it’s not as full as it once was.’
‘Mrs Tarleton sold some of the diamonds.’
Agnes gave a brittle laugh. ‘Oh, I’m not after anything like diamonds. A simple enamel brooch will do.’
‘There’s a very nice one with seed pearls around the edge.’
‘Good…I’ll look out for it.’
Agnes expected the housekeeper to withdraw but Mrs Withers held her ground. She gave the impression that she thought the visitor was trespassing on private territory. Closing the lid of the jewellery box, Agnes walked towards the door.
‘Thank you, Mrs Withers,’ she said.
Leeming was saddle-sore before they had ridden a mile. Colbeck was an accomplished horseman but his sergeant had had very little experience of riding. His discomfort was exacerbated by the fact that his bay mare seemed to have a mind of her own, disregarding his commands and neighing in protest whenever he tugged on the reins. They moved along a winding track at a steady canter. Colbeck could see that his companion was suffering and did his best to distract him.
‘You’re still wondering about Adam Tarleton, aren’t you?’
‘No, Inspector,’ wailed Leeming, ‘I’m still wondering if I’ll manage to stay on this beast.’
‘I thought you liked horses.’
‘I like betting on them – not riding the damn things.’
Colbeck grinned. ‘We’ll make a jockey of you yet, Victor,’ he said. ‘But on the question of Mr Tarleton, there was no point in making an arrest.’
‘But he’s an accessory to the murder of his mother.’
‘I don’t think so. When we cornered him, he didn’t react like a man with blood on his hands.’
‘He wasn’t the one who did the deed, sir. It was Bruntcliffe who blew that hole in her head. Tarleton paid him to do it. That servant girl saw him handing over the money.’
‘Lottie saw him handing over something,’ corrected Colbeck, ‘but she could not be certain that it was money. When we meet Bruntcliffe, he can tell us what he did receive that day.’
‘I’m confused,’ said Leeming. ‘Are you telling me that Adam Tarleton is innocent of the murder and that Bruntcliffe acted alone?’
‘No, Victor. I’m suggesting that we should wait and see.’
They went through a shallow stream and the flashing hooves churned up the water. Leeming clung on grimly as he rode through the spray. It was only when they were back on dry land that he remembered something.
‘You haven’t told me about Mr Reader,’ he said.
‘I finally got the truth out of him.’
‘What truth was that, sir?’
‘The colonel was involved in the Leybourne Scandal.’
Leeming gaped. ‘He was caught with another woman?’
‘No,’ said Colbeck. ‘I’m talking about railways.’
‘That’s nothing new.’
‘I know that you don’t share my interest in trains.’
‘I may change my mind,’ said Leeming, suffering more twinges in his buttocks. ‘If I had a choice between riding this horse or travelling by train, I know which one I’d prefer.’
‘Let me tell you about Stuart Leybourne.’
‘Who was he, sir?’
‘He was two completely different people,’ said Colbeck. ‘One of them was a trusted employee of a major railway company who lived an apparently blameless life. The other was a cunning man who amassed a fortune by means of fraud and who ruined gullible investors. As I’d guessed, Colonel Tarleton was one of them.’
‘What exactly happened?’
‘Leybourne was chief clerk in the registration office. He found a loophole that allowed him to issue bogus shares and forge the transfers in the account books. With hindsight, it seems incredible that anyone could have been taken in by him but he was a very plausible man and held out the promise of good dividends.’
‘Ah,’ said Leeming, ‘I remember the case now. Wasn’t this Stuart Leybourne compared to the Railway King?’
‘He was, Victor,’ said Colbeck, ‘except that he was even more guileful than George Hudson. The Railway King, as he was called, was the ruler of all he surveyed until his questionable accounting practices were revealed. Among other things, he’d been paying dividends out of capital to disguise the fact that one of his companies was making serious losses. His fall put an end to the years of wild speculation on the railways. Mr Hudson resigned as chairman of various companies and went abroad. Everyone said the same thing. Railway mania was over.’
‘Then why could people like the colonel be taken in by this other crook?’ asked Leeming, so interested in what
he was hearing that he forgot his aches and pains. ‘You’d have thought investors had learnt their lesson. It’s not possible to make huge profits out of railways anymore.’
‘Stuart Leybourne made a profit. When he was finally brought to book, it was discovered that he had a mansion both in London and in the country, a retinue of servants and a courier who went with him on his travels. In all, he defrauded people out of over two hundred thousand pounds.’
‘That’s amazing!’
‘It explains why the colonel killed himself on the railway.’
‘Does it, Inspector?’
‘I think so,’ said Colbeck. ‘It had already killed him financially. Walking on that railway track was a form of obituary. I had the feeling from the very beginning that he was making a statement.’
The woman still lolled in bed but Michael Bruntcliffe had put on his shirt and breeches. They were in a large cottage set on a hill that offered views across miles of beautiful countryside. Sunshine flooded in through the window to gild the woman’s half-naked body. She smiled lazily up at him. Bruntcliffe sat on the bed and reached out to stroke her cheek. He was about to lean forward to kiss her when he caught sight of something through the window. Getting quickly to his feet, he stared out. Two riders had appeared in the middle distance. He watched them getting closer and closer before making his decision.
‘I have to go,’ he said, grabbing his boots. ‘Get dressed and tell them nothing. I can’t say when I’ll be back.’
Before she could even speak, he’d picked up his coat and run down the stairs. Minutes later, he was mounting his horse.
Bruntcliffe was on the run.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Victor Leeming was in great discomfort. While Colbeck found the ride bracing, the sergeant was squirming in the saddle as he sought the position that would bring least agony. He was also sweating from every pore and struggling to keep the bay mare parallel with the other horse. They had left the track now and were making their way across an undulating plain towards the cottage on the hill.
‘Are you certain this is the place?’ asked Leeming.
‘It has to be, Victor. It’s the only dwelling for miles.’
Railway to the Grave Page 23