‘Yes, they were,’ contended Anne. ‘They’ve been thoroughly disturbed. There’s no way that any of those animals would be in a fit state to perform today.’
‘We’re not asking them to do that, Mrs Moscardi.’
‘They need rest and a chance to recover. They won’t get either if we set off once more. There’s plenty of grazing here. My vote is that we stay.’
Moscardi looked around the faces. ‘Gianni says we go and Anne urges us to camp here. Mulryne has tackled the main question. If we continue on our way, is there more danger ahead?’
‘I doubt it very much,’ said Mulryne.
‘And if there is,’ added Gianni, ‘we meet it with every weapon we possess and shoot to kill. We were caught out in that copse. We’ll be more wary from now on.’
‘There’s more protection this time. Inspector Lill has drafted in some extra men to guard us. The sight of those police uniforms will keep an attacker at bay. Why waste several hours of daylight by sitting on our hands?’
Gianni was firm. ‘I agree with Brendan.’
‘Well, I don’t,’ said Anne.
‘I’m sorry, my love,’ said her husband, ‘but I think that we have to get back on the road. Whatever the obstacles in our way, we’ll reach Newcastle somehow.’
‘Inspector Colbeck would say the same,’ confirmed Mulryne.
‘Then why isn’t he here to say it?’
‘He explained that. He has to keep one eye on the other case.’
Colbeck remembered his sorrow when viewing the body of the nameless victim. She’d looked so defenceless and forlorn. Now that he’d heard who she was and what sort of life she’d lived, Margaret Pulver became a real human being. It had surprised him that nobody had reported her missing but Underhill had explained that. She shared the house with servants who were accustomed to seeing her go off to London on a fairly regular basis. They had no reason to believe that she might be the victim of foul play in Northumberland. As for her parents, they were in the Channel Islands.
‘Margaret was born and brought up in Sark,’ said Underhill.
‘That’s little more than a rock in the sea, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve never been there, Inspector. It’s remote, that’s all I know about it.’
‘How did she meet her future husband?’ asked Colbeck.
‘He was sailing on his own among the islands. Richard told me that he moored the boat on the coast of Sark, pitched a tent and went off to sleep. Next morning, he felt a dog licking his face. Margaret was taking her spaniel for a walk.’
‘That’s hardly the most romantic way to meet one’s future wife.’
‘It obviously worked, Inspector. They were made for each other.’
Underhill’s ability to supply such details made it clear that he not only knew more about the Pulvers than he claimed, but that he had an obvious fondness for the wife. It was that affection which prompted him to travel up to Newcastle and to pray that his journey was in vain. In the event, it was not and he was grieving.
‘The whole village will miss her,’ he prophesied. ‘The news will spread horror as much as sadness. The vicar is going to be especially distressed.’
‘Why is that, sir?’
‘Margaret Pulver was a stalwart member of the local church. She not only took part in all its activities, she made generous donations to it. That’s why the whole congregation loved her so much. She was, as I said before, a saint.’
‘Even saints sometimes have a need for companionship,’ said Colbeck. ‘What you’ve described to me is a remarkable woman. She was kind, talented, beautiful and a pillar of the local community. Such a person must have attracted attention wherever she went.’
‘If you’re asking me if she had any suitors, the truthful answer is that I don’t know of any. Mrs Pulver had had a very happy marriage. She probably felt that it could never be entirely replaced so didn’t seek another husband.’
‘You mentioned regular trips to London.’
‘She inherited the property her husband had there. I assume that she kept in regular touch with the agent who handled the letting and,’ said Underhill with a smile, ‘she probably took advantage of such trips to do some shopping. Mrs Pulver was always immaculately dressed. Such a wardrobe couldn’t be bought anywhere in Shropshire.’
‘So what was she doing in this part of the world?’
‘I haven’t a clue, Inspector.’
‘What about her husband’s family? Do they live up here somewhere?’
‘They’re down in Falmouth, I believe.’
‘So Mrs Pulver had no known connection with Northumberland?’
‘I’m fairly certain of it.’
‘Was she a secretive woman?’
‘Quite the reverse,’ replied Underhill. ‘You couldn’t meet a more open and approachable person. She inspired trust the moment you met her.’
The more he heard about her, the more interesting she became to Colbeck. His visit to the hotel had taught him two things. The first was that Underhill was lying about his relationship with the deceased. Instead of seeing her occasionally, he was the sort of man to go out of his way to contrive a meeting with her. The second thing was even more important. Colbeck was certain that Margaret Pulver had a secret life outside the confines of a Shropshire village. In order to solve her murder, he had to find out exactly what it was.
By the time he’d got to Birmingham, the wave of optimism had died down to a mere ripple. When his train stuttered to a halt in Crewe, the wave had spent its force and was no more than a wet patch. Leeming chided himself for being so naïve. Crimes were never solved so easily. Samuel Greenwood had talked openly about his feud with Moscardi and threatened to bring him and his circus crashing down, but he’d had the same animosity for years and taken no action to damage his rival. As for what had seemed like vital information about a former Strong Man, this now appeared to be less convincing. In fact, Leeming could see that it ought to be dismissed as circus tittle-tattle with no real basis in truth. Instead of being able to make a significant arrest, therefore, he’d have nothing whatsoever of moment to report. High hopes had turned to broken dreams. He felt as Moses might have done if he’d mislaid the Ten Commandments on his way down Mount Sinai.
Cold reality set in. Sad, weary and uncomfortable, he was travelling by a mode of transport he abhorred and still had hours of it to endure. He didn’t relish the prospect of telling Colbeck that his mission had been a failure. Then he remembered the letter from Madeleine in his pocket. It would certainly earn him thanks for acting as an emissary. He was also bolstered by the thought that he’d been able to give some comfort to Lydia Quayle. While he hadn’t managed to catch the man who’d been tormenting her, he’d ensured that, as long as she was staying at the Colbeck residence, policemen on that beat would pay particular attention to the house. He drew satisfaction from the memory of being able to help and reassure a troubled young woman.
‘You’re still doing it.’
‘Am I?’
‘You can’t stop it, Madeleine.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Without even thinking, you keep glancing upwards.’
‘I didn’t mean to irritate you, Lydia.’
‘It’s not irritating, it’s very touching. The baby is up in the nursery and she’s fast asleep. You can actually afford to relax for a few hours. If she does wake up, the nanny will take care of her.’
‘My family couldn’t afford that sort of help. Whenever I cried, my mother was there to look after me.’
‘I sometimes wish that I’d been in that situation,’ said Lydia. ‘I might have developed a real bond with my mother. Instead of that, I felt closer to Nanny Jenkins than to her. It’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s the truth.’
‘I hope that never happens to Helen.’
‘No, she’s a very different kind of child. She knows who her mother is. When you pick her up, you always get a radiant smile. Nobody else manages that.’
Lydia
was almost cheerful now. As a result of her walk with Caleb Andrews, she felt stronger, safer and less haunted. She was even talking about finding a new hotel to which she could move, though Madeleine had scotched that notion at once, insisting that she stayed much longer.
‘How long will Robert be in Northumberland?’
‘I wish I knew,’ said Madeleine.
‘He must hate being away from you and his daughter.’
‘Investigations have to go at a steady pace, Lydia. That’s why they take so much time as a rule.’
‘You’ve shown the most amazing patience.’
‘I try my best.’
Without warning, Lydia got up from the sofa and made a decision.
‘I’m going for another walk.’
‘That’s a good idea. I’ll come with you.’
‘No, you stay where you are, Madeleine. Much as I’d love your company, I feel that I must go alone. It’s an important step in rebuilding my confidence.’
Madeleine was dubious. ‘Are you quite sure?’
‘Your father made me feel so much better about myself.’
‘I’ll tell him that. He likes to be appreciated.’ She got up. ‘It’s not healthy for me to sit here all day. I could really do with a walk.’
‘Then we’ll have a compromise,’ decided Lydia. ‘You can come with me part of the way, then I’ll go on alone after that. Is that fair?’
‘It’s more than fair.’ She glanced upwards and Lydia laughed. ‘Oh dear!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m doing it again, aren’t I?’
‘The only way to stop you is to take you out of the house altogether.’
The main reason why Donald Underhill kept him there so long was that he wanted the pleasure of talking about Margaret Pulver. It seemed odd that the solicitor could derive so much satisfaction that way. When Colbeck had been called upon in the line of duty to console bereaved parents or family members, emotions often got the better of them and fond memories of the deceased gushed out inconsequentially. Underhill had too much self-control to do that. He wanted to reconstruct Margaret Pulver in his mind and used Colbeck as his audience because there was nobody else to whom he could talk in such an intimate way. The inspector heard things that, he suspected, would certainly be kept from Underhill’s wife.
When he’d finished, the solicitor issued a surprise invitation.
‘I don’t suppose you’d like to join me for dinner, would you?’
‘Thank you all the same,’ said Colbeck, ‘but I’m afraid not.’
‘I promise not to ramble on about Mrs Pulver.’
‘The answer is still the same, sir.’
‘What a pity! You’re far more intelligent than the average policeman. It’s a privilege to talk with a man who knows so much about the law. I don’t know anyone who’d give up his career as a barrister in favour of law enforcement.’
‘It’s a decision I’ve never regretted, sir.’
‘I applaud you for that.’
‘What time will you be leaving tomorrow?’ asked Colbeck, ignoring the compliment. ‘It may be that I need to speak to you again.’
‘I’m at your service.’
‘I won’t hold you up unnecessarily. If I decide that we don’t need to see each other again, I’ll send word.’
‘Thank you.’
Colbeck rose to his feet and exchanged a farewell handshake. He then let himself out and descended the winding staircase. Before he’d entered the room, all that he possessed was the name of the dead woman. She’d now been given a history by someone who admired her greatly. How far that admiration went was an open question. Underhill had asked to be informed of any developments in the case. It was an understandable request from a man who’d been able to identify the body of a friend. There was, thought Colbeck, another way of looking at it. Underhill wanted progress reports because he was more closely involved in Margaret Pulver’s private life than he cared to admit.
Out of courtesy, Colbeck returned to the police station and gave a heavily edited account of what he’d learnt to Superintendent Finlan. Saying nothing about his suspicions of Underhill, he simply passed on details of the deceased. Finlan was appeased.
‘Thank you for keeping me abreast of developments, Inspector.’
‘It’s only right, sir.’
‘What do you propose to do next?’
‘I may have to find time to visit Mrs Pulver’s home. Apart from anything else, her servants will need to be questioned about her supposed whereabouts at the time of her death.’
‘Does that mean you’ll leave the circus entirely in the hands of Sergeant Leeming and Inspector Lill?’
‘No, sir, it doesn’t. In fact, I mean to return to it right now.’
‘Then there’s something you need to be told,’ said Finlan, reaching for a piece of paper. ‘Lill sent a telegraph to warn you that Mr Moscardi has set off again. Don’t return to Corbridge. You should get off at Stocksfield Station. By the time you reach that, they should be somewhere in the vicinity’
‘Thank you for the advice, Superintendent.’
‘We do have our uses,’ said the other, complacently. ‘We may be far away from London, but we know how to conserve police time.’
It was easier to announce their departure than to activate it. Moscardi had to use a mixture of persuasion and threat to get everyone into line. Ordinarily, his decisions were unquestioned but there were unusual circumstances this time. It was a full hour before the circus had formed into a single unit and set off. As promised, Gianni had gone ahead with a group of selected men, acting as scouts. He made great use of the telescope but saw nothing that constituted a threat. What helped to revive the jaded members of the cavalcade was the reception they were given in every village and hamlet they passed. Mothers and children came out to cheer and goggle. People still at work, opened windows and waved excitedly. The circus had an audience. It took their minds off any potential dangers ahead.
When they stopped beside a stream to water the horses and other livestock, Cyrus Lill drove the trap alongside Moscardi’s caravan and climbed out. The Italian came across to him.
‘Pressing on was a wise move, sir,’ said Lill.
‘You’re one of the few people who thought that, Inspector. Most of them wanted to stay where we were.’
‘Thankfully, there have been no incidents on the way.’
‘I still get the feeling that we’re being watched.’
‘That’s more than I do,’ said Lill, ‘and, even if it’s true, we’re under scrutiny from a distance. Nobody would dare to get close to us now. Your brother is acting as our advanced guard and there are too many shotguns visible among your artistes.’
‘We’re entitled to defend ourselves.’
‘I’m sure that won’t prove necessary.’
‘No disrespect to you, but I’d like to have Inspector Colbeck with us as well. We have our differences but he talks sense.’
Lill laughed. ‘Does that mean I don’t, sir?’
‘We’re glad of all the help we can get. It was very foolish of me to think that we could look after ourselves. Now that we’re prepared, we may be able to defend ourselves better but we couldn’t root out the villain who’s preying on us. Only someone like Inspector Colbeck can do that.’
‘He’ll be delighted to hear that you now recognise that.’
‘Please pass on the information.’
‘You’ll be able to do that yourself, sir,’ said Lill, gazing ahead. ‘Unless I’m much mistaken, the Inspector is on his way to join us.’
A rider had just crested the hill and was cantering towards them. There was something about him that convinced Lill that it had to be Colbeck. Instead of coming by trap this time, he’d hired a horse and was clearly a more than competent rider. As Colbeck got closer, Moscardi was able to identify him and waved an arm in welcome. Colbeck was glad to see the Italian’s change of heart. When he reined in his horse and dropped from the saddle, he smiled at the man.
‘I’m glad
to see that we’re friends again, sir,’ he said.
‘Mr Moscardi made the same observation only minutes ago,’ Lill told him. ‘He now appreciates what you bring to the investigation.’
‘When you are actually here, that is,’ said Moscardi.
‘Even when I’m not,’ said Colbeck, ‘you and your circus are never far from my mind. On the way from Newcastle, I’ve been thinking hard about this case and I come back to the conclusion that I reached at the very start. A railwayman is somehow involved.’
‘Then he’s in the pay of Sam Greenwood.’
‘That seems more and more unlikely to me, sir. In fact, I’m beginning to regret that I sent Sergeant Leeming to speak to the man.’
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Lill.
‘It’s based on my observation of Mr Moscardi,’ said Colbeck. ‘He’s one of a unique breed. Circus people are different to the rest of us. They don’t seek the security of a house and a job that helps to pay the bills. Dedicated to their art, they brave all weathers as they seek new audiences. They’re proud of their skills and they love their animals.’
‘It’s true,’ conceded Moscardi. ‘If we didn’t love them, we couldn’t put up with the bother and the expense of keeping them.’
‘I know that you hate Mr Greenwood, and I accept that his circus can’t compete with you in terms of size and quality, but he’s cut from the same cloth as you. He’s ready to cope with the many problems of touring from place to place.’
Moscardi tensed. ‘You can’t compare Greenwood to me.’
‘Yes, I can, sir. He’s a member of that unique breed I spoke about. Would someone who lives with circus people really want to harm some of them? Would someone who cares for animals, as he surely must do, devise a way to injure them? I don’t believe it,’ said Colbeck. ‘Mr Greenwood might well want to cause you delays, or arrange for equipment to be stolen or even entice some of your artistes away, but I can’t see him being party to a derailment that could have resulted in far more damage than it actually did.’
The Circus Train Conspiracy Page 14