The Stationmaster's Farewell

by Edward Marston

  ‘You’re forbidden to bring alcohol on to the premises.’

  ‘It was an honest mistake.’

  ‘Like your denial of the fact that you were told about Mr Heygate’s diary?’

  Woodford’s annoyance made him snarl. ‘I bought the whisky for a friend. Joel happened to see it.’

  ‘That’s not what it says in the diary.’

  ‘Damn the diary, Inspector!’

  ‘I’m sad to say that it’s the diary that damns you, sir.’

  Woodford was rescued from further discomfort by the approach of another train. Mumbling an excuse, he went off to welcome it. Colbeck was about to go into the refreshment room for a cup of tea when he saw Leeming coming towards him. He waited until the sergeant was within a few paces.

  ‘Well met, Victor. May I offer you refreshment?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Leeming.

  ‘Have you been to the Crown Inn?’

  ‘Yes, sir, and there was a surprise in store for me.’

  ‘Don’t tell me that the landlord is a friend of Michael Heygate.’

  ‘He’s not a friend, exactly. In fact, he doesn’t even like the man. But he did let Heygate and his wife stay there at his expense on the night before Guy Fawkes Day.’

  Colbeck gaped. ‘Why did he do that?’

  ‘He was hoping that they’d buy the pub off him, sir.’

  Michael and Lavinia Heygate sat side by side at the table with a pad in front of them. On it was a series of financial calculations. They’d discarded their mourning attire and put on their normal clothing. Behind closed doors, they were safe from criticism. Having had three separate visits from a detective, they reasoned, it was unlikely that they’d have a fourth. The death of Joel Heygate didn’t impinge on their minds. Their sole concern was with its consequences for them.

  ‘How much do you think we’ll get?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s difficult to put a figure on it, Lavinia.’

  ‘We know that he had a healthy bank account and also kept a lot of money at home. Then there are the contents of the house. They should fetch a good sum.’

  ‘I think we’ll have enough,’ said Heygate, looking at the figures before him. ‘I know it’s a bad time to sell but, even at a conservative estimate, we should get a fair amount for the shop. The house agent has already had enquiries.’

  ‘I can’t wait to get away from here.’

  ‘We’ve rather exhausted all that Dawlish can offer, haven’t we?’

  ‘We failed, Michael,’ she said, bitterly. ‘We started a business and it lost money. Everyone here knows that. You can tell from the looks they give you.’

  ‘The business wouldn’t have failed if Joel had given us the money to tide us over. We just didn’t have the stock to meet the demand. And you didn’t help by cutting our prices like that.’

  ‘I thought it would help.’

  ‘It only helped to move the business closer to collapse. Then there was that foolish mistake with Bagsy Browne,’ he recalled. ‘Trust him to come in here when he saw you were on your own.’

  She was defensive. ‘He wanted a fishing rod and I sold him one.’

  ‘The only fishing he ever does is with his hand – it goes into people’s pockets and steals from them. He didn’t want the rod, Lavinia. All he was after was the chance to make a quick profit. So what did he do?’

  ‘There’s no need to keep on about it,’ she said, petulantly.

  ‘He comes in here, turns on what passes for his charm and he haggles until you lower the price of that rod by several pounds.’

  ‘He paid in cash, Michael,’ she said, nastily. ‘We needed it.’

  ‘What did Bagsy do then?’ he asked, sarcastically. ‘Did he go fishing?’

  ‘You know quite well that he didn’t.’

  ‘He went straight across the road to the pub, scrounged a drink out of a complete stranger then sold the rod for a lot more than he paid for it. I was teased about it for weeks.’

  ‘And you’re still blaming me for it.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, slipping an arm around her, ‘but it does rankle. Let’s learn from our mistakes,’ he went on, sounding more optimistic. ‘When we take over the Crown, we must have strict rules – no free drinks and no haggling over the price. And if anyone causes the slightest amount of trouble, out he goes.’

  ‘The landlord said there was very little rowdiness there.’

  ‘It’s one of the things that appeals to me. Success is entirely in our own hands, Lavinia. We must be more businesslike. You’ve seen the accounts for the last three years. The Crown has been making a decent profit. If we invest some of the money we inherit from Joel,’ he said, ‘we can increase that profit.’

  ‘I just want to be where there’s more life, Michael. This place is lowering. You see the same old faces day after day. Exeter is a city. Things happen there.’

  ‘Yes – like the murder of my brother.’

  ‘That was a stroke of good fortune for us.’

  ‘I know. We must exploit it to the hilt.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘It will still be fresh in people’s minds, Lavinia. We can use that to our advantage. The landlord said that the Crown will come with a lot of goodwill. It has plenty of regular customers. I think we can increase their number by making the most of the fact that we’re members of Joel’s family. It will arouse sympathy,’ he said. ‘It will create even more goodwill. We can use Joel in an even more effective way.’

  ‘Can we?’

  ‘I think so. We both know how popular he was.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We change the name of the inn.’

  She was taken aback. ‘Can we do that, Michael?’

  ‘When the place is ours, we can do what we like.’

  ‘What will the new name be?’

  He kissed her on the cheek. ‘The Stationmaster.’

  Having promised Dorcas Hope that he’d find out about the possibility of visiting, Colbeck took the train to Exminster. He was interested to learn how Agnes Rossiter had settled in and to discover if she’d been told about the arrest of a man believed to be the stationmaster’s killer. Leeming went with him and shuddered as they entered the County Asylum.

  ‘I don’t like the feel of this place, sir,’ he confided.

  ‘We can walk out at any time, Victor. The patients don’t have that option.’

  ‘I’d hate to end up in somewhere like this.’

  ‘They don’t all end up here,’ said Colbeck. ‘Dr Swift told me that several people respond to treatment and are allowed to return home to their families. It’s only those with incurable conditions who remain here until they die.’

  ‘Do you think that Mrs Rossiter will be one of them?’

  ‘I wish I knew the answer to that question.’

  Since Dr Swift was not available to see them, they were introduced instead to Canon Smalley. Colbeck was delighted to meet him and he, in turn, was pleased to meet a man whose name he’d heard many times. He invited them into his office.

  ‘It’s my day for visitors,’ he said.

  ‘I hope that’s not a complaint, Canon Smalley,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘Far from it, Inspector. I spend my whole life visiting others. It’s a pleasant change to have someone calling on me. You come on the heels of the bishop.’

  Having heard the disparaging comments made about him by Colbeck and Tallis, Leeming was tempted to feign surprise that they’d let the bishop out of the asylum but the sight of the crucifix on the wall made him hold his peace.

  ‘What was he doing here?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘The same as you, I suspect,’ replied Smalley. ‘He asked after Mrs Rossiter.’

  ‘Has he taken a special interest in the case?’

  ‘Yes, Inspector – she’s aroused his compassion.’

  ‘Then I applaud him. The lady needs all the sympathy she can get.’

  ‘I can’t muster a lot of sympathy,’ admitted Leeming. ‘I worke
d very briefly under the lady when she was manageress of the refreshment room on Exeter St David’s station. Mrs Rossiter is a real martinet. My sympathy is reserved for the waitress there.’

  ‘Would that be a Dorcas Hope?’ wondered Smalley.

  ‘Yes, it would.’

  ‘I’ve heard all about her.’

  ‘Have you spent much time with Mrs Rossiter, then?’

  ‘I’ve spent as much as I can spare. But please don’t ask me to give you a medical diagnosis. That’s Dr Swift’s prerogative. All that I can tell you is that she’s in the clutches of a fantasy and won’t be talked out of it. At the moment, alas,’ he said, glancing up at the crucifix, ‘she’s beyond the reach of spiritual help.’

  ‘When will it be possible to visit her?’ asked Colbeck.

  ‘Dr Swift will make that decision. Mrs Rossiter will certainly be in no fit state to receive visitors for some time.’

  ‘Has she talked of the murder with you?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Smalley, tolerantly. ‘She’s talked and talked.’

  ‘And does she know that a suspect has been arrested for the crime?’

  ‘I informed her of it this morning, Inspector.’

  ‘What was her response?’

  ‘It was rather violent, I fear. She said she wanted to be at the execution.’

  ‘Then she hasn’t been to one before,’ said Leeming, ruefully. ‘I’ve had to watch two or three. They’re grisly spectacles. If it was left to me, I wouldn’t allow women to be present.’

  ‘I wouldn’t allow any member of the public to be there,’ said Colbeck. ‘An execution should take place behind prison walls. It’s wrong to offer it as a form of ghoulish entertainment.’

  Smalley nodded. ‘I couldn’t agree with you more, Inspector.’

  ‘What else can you tell us about Mrs Rossiter?’

  ‘I have hope for her. I have definite hope.’

  He went on to give them a succinct description of his sessions with Agnes Rossiter and an explanation of his role at the asylum. They were both struck by his intelligence, humility and dedication. Some of the staff they’d seen had been grim and unsmiling and they’d heard howls of despair echoing along the corridors. Canon Smalley was an island of calm in a sea of pain and desolation.

  When the chaplain finished, Colbeck thanked him for giving them so much time, then led Leeming out. On their way to the exit, Colbeck was interested in the paintings, but the sergeant simply wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible. Once back in the fresh air, he filled his lungs.

  ‘I couldn’t breathe properly in there,’ he complained.

  ‘Yes, there was an oppressive atmosphere.’

  ‘Canon Smalley is a brave man.’

  ‘He’s a good man, Victor. Only someone as selfless as him could take on the chaplaincy. Bishop Phillpotts chose well when he appointed him.’

  ‘That’s the first kind thing I’ve heard you say about the bishop.’

  ‘Well, he has rather tried my patience.’ As they headed in the direction of the station, Colbeck sighed. ‘How much longer will we be here?’ he asked. ‘I’m so eager to get back to London. I’m needed there.’

  ‘If you accepted that Browne was the killer, we could leave today.’

  ‘Not while there’s unfinished business.’

  ‘Are we still trying to link Michael Heygate or Woodford to the murder?’

  ‘No,’ said Colbeck, ‘we’re still hunting for a barn owl. Only when we’ve found it will we get to the bottom of what’s been going on. Then we can pack our bags and I can return to the arms of the dear lady I’m about to marry.’

  The journey to Exeter resolved itself into a continual list of complaints. Forced to travel on the broad gauge of the GWR, Andrews poured scorn on everything he could. He criticised the locomotive, the driver, the upholstery in the carriage, the speed at which they travelled and the regularity with which they stopped. Nothing outside the window diverted him from his diatribe. The beauties of Bath went by unseen and the commercial majesty of Bristol went unnoticed. Madeleine, however, saw everything that went past, taking especial interest in Bristol because it was there that Colbeck had once rescued her from her kidnappers on a ship.

  Having made the sudden decision to quit London, she began to have doubts.

  ‘I hope that Robert won’t be cross with me,’ she said.

  ‘We don’t even need to see him, Maddy. We can just enjoy looking at Exeter.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going all this way to avoid him.’

  ‘Well, I’m going in order to avoid Ivy Young,’ he said. ‘I want plenty of distance between me and that harpy. I wonder what Binnie would say if she knew what her sister had done.’

  ‘I think you’re better off without either of them, Father.’

  He was wistful. ‘So there’s to be no second wedding?’

  ‘Not unless you’re prepared to propose to Mrs Young.’

  He let out a groan of terror. Streaming through Devon, he was so preoccupied by memories of the two women he’d escaped that he forgot to resume his carping. Madeleine was able to close her eyes and luxuriate in thoughts of her forthcoming reunion with Colbeck.

  Adeline Goss was beside herself. When they’d taken Bagsy Browne off to the magistrate, she’d had only the merest glimpse and was unable to get any message from him. Locked in her cell, she was helpless and there would be no chance of a daring escape this time. The man who’d rescued her was being charged with murder and the worst thing was that she really didn’t know whether or not he’d committed it. Even if he was a killer, Adeline would not desert him and she racked her brains for a way to save him. In the end, she devised a plan and demanded to see Superintendent Steel. He talked to her through the bars.

  ‘What have you done with Bagsy?’ she asked.

  ‘He’s on remand in prison.’

  ‘He didn’t kill the stationmaster.’

  ‘I know he didn’t,’ said Steel, sardonically. ‘And I suppose that he didn’t attack a prison warder or rescue you from custody or stab a senior detective in the arm in the process. He’s completely innocent, isn’t he?’

  ‘There’s no need to sneer.’

  ‘We’ve finally nailed him, Adeline. He’s going to hang.’

  ‘No!’ she exclaimed, rattling the bars. She made an effort to compose herself. ‘I’d like to change the evidence I gave to you and Inspector Colbeck.’

  ‘Do you mean that you’re ready to confess that you’re an accessory to the murder?’

  ‘I want you to know the bleeding truth.’ She bit her lip. ‘I told you that I wasn’t with Bagsy on the night before Guy Fawkes Day. Well, I lied to you.’

  ‘I can’t recall an occasion when you didn’t lie to me, Adeline.’

  ‘Bagsy was with me that night.’

  ‘So you were his accomplice, after all.’

  ‘No, we spent the whole night in bed together.’

  ‘Was that after he’d killed the stationmaster?’

  ‘He never went anywhere near Mr Heygate. Why should he?’

  ‘It’s called revenge.’

  ‘Bagsy’s idea of revenge is to break someone’s jaw or flatten their nose.’

  ‘He did a lot more than that to Joel Heygate,’ said Steel. ‘He all but took his head off. But now that we know you were with him all night, perhaps you could explain how you got the body from the scene of the crime to the bonfire.’

  ‘We did nothing of the kind. We were in bed. I swear it.’

  ‘You swore earlier that you never even saw him that night.’

  She tossed her hair. ‘I did that because I was angry with him.’

  ‘How can you be angry with a man who got you out of a police cell?’ asked Steel. ‘You should have gone down on your bended knees and thanked him.’

  ‘I did thank him, Superintendent. Then he told me what he was going to do.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  ‘He meant to leave Exeter – alone. I
was being ditched.’

  ‘That much I can believe – he never travels with baggage.’

  ‘Who are you calling “baggage”, you swivel-eyed bastard?’ she shrieked. ‘I was his best friend in the city. That’s why he came to me.’

  ‘Yet you denied that he went anywhere near Rockfield Place.’

  ‘I told you – I was angry with him.’

  ‘He’s going to be even angrier with you when he hears the paltry excuse you came up with in a bid to save him from the gallows. Is that the best you can do, Adeline?’ asked Steel. ‘We both know that you didn’t spend the night with Bagsy. We have incontrovertible proof of it. If you could’ve offered him an alibi, don’t you think he’d have seized it? But he didn’t, did he? He wouldn’t tell us where he was that night but it certainly wasn’t between your thighs. He was too busy killing Joel Heygate.’

  Turning on his heel, he walked away and returned to his office.

  Adeline smacked the bars in sheer frustration. Her plan had failed.

  ‘I’m sorry, Bagsy,’ she said. ‘I did try.’

  * * *

  Bagsy Browne had been given a jeering welcome at the prison. Since the staff had all heard about the beating he’d given to Wyatt, he knew that they’d soon assault him in return. Browne was a familiar visitor to the old Bridewell in Queen Street but he was now remanded to the new prison in North Road. Built four years earlier on the same plan as Pentonville, it had almost two hundred cells, each of them containing water, washing bowl, bed, table, stool and gas jet. Prisoners were kept in isolation and subjected to the silent system. There was none of the banter Browne had indulged in at the police station. He was forbidden to speak to the other inmates. Left alone in the tiny cell, he sat on the stool and brooded on his fate. His would be the first execution at the new prison. Warders had taken delight in telling him that they were already placing bets on whether or not he would cry for mercy when he was dragged to the gallows. He showed no fear but his mind was in turmoil.

  When a warder came to unlock his cell, Browne thought that he was being taken out to provide some sport for the staff. He’d been beaten up in prison before and had won the grudging admiration of the warders because he took his punishment bravely and never complained. In fact, he escaped any violent treatment this time. He was shown into a featureless room then locked inside it. Seated behind the little table was Inspector Robert Colbeck.