‘I’m not that frail, inspector,’ she said. ‘I feel well enough to hear the truth now. Please go on.’
Choosing his words with care, Colbeck gave them a concise but fairly comprehensive account of what he’d done so far. The one thing he omitted was any mention of his belief that the killer might have returned to Jersey. Hern interrupted with an occasional question but otherwise sat there with his brow furrowed. Grace winced at some of the details. As soon as Colbeck finished, Hern announced his decision.
‘I’ll work with you, inspector.’
‘There’s no need for you to do that, sir.’
‘I feel the need. Jarvis was my brother-in-law, after all. I’m not going to sit on the sidelines while you do all the work. From what you’ve just told us, it’s clear that the killer had one or more confederates. They either work for the railway or have done so in the past and therefore know how everything operates.’
‘All members of staff have been questioned, Mr Hern.’
‘Have any suspects emerged?’
‘As a matter of fact, they have.’
‘Then let me have a word with them,’ said Hern, tapping his chest. ‘I can be very persuasive.’
‘That’s not the answer. Resort to violent interrogation and we’d frighten the culprits away.’
‘I demand to be involved.’
‘I’m in charge of this investigation,’ said Colbeck with a note of authority, ‘and I’ll submit to nobody’s demands. Be aware of that, sir.’
‘Michael doesn’t mean to interfere,’ said Grace, apologetically. ‘He’d simply like to help.’
‘He’d do that best by looking after you, Mrs Swarbrick. But let me ask you a question,’ he continued. ‘When you were still recovering from the initial jolt, I didn’t feel able to touch on your private life before you met your second husband.’
‘What do you wish to know?’
‘Well, an attractive woman like you must have had admirers.’
‘My sister was a real beauty in her younger days,’ said Hern with a smile. ‘She had many admirers. When she moved to England after Roland’s death, two of her suitors followed her. They were wounded to the quick when she met and married Jarvis Swarbrick.’
‘I’d like to have their names, if you please, sir.’
‘You can forget one of them, inspector. He went off to America.’
‘What about the other one?’
‘Oh, I daresay that he’s still carrying a candle for Grace.’
‘That’s a ridiculous thing to say, Michael. He lost interest when I met someone else. inspector Colbeck was right when he said that the explanation of Jarvis’s murder is right here under our noses.’
‘It has to be connected with the Eastern Counties Railway,’ said Colbeck. ‘That’s why it happened in an ECR train. It was a symbolic act. Mr Swarbrick could have been murdered far more easily in any number of locations, but the branch line was chosen so that it was done in public view. Our search starts and ends right here.’
Victor Leeming was huddled on a seat as the steamship battled the choppy water. Within minutes, his stomach began to heave, his eyes clouded over and his head began to pound. He was in agony. Finding a killer was no longer his sole aim. First of all, he had to stay alive long enough to reach his destination.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Grace Swarbrick’s presence was an inhibiting factor. Colbeck had wanted to talk to her brother alone and speak more freely than he was able to with a grieving woman sitting opposite him in mourning attire. On his own, Colbeck felt, Michael Hern would have given him far more information about his sister. In particular, Colbeck would have liked to find out more about the suitors who’d pursued her when she moved to England from Jersey. It was clearly an episode in her past that she was keen to consign to obscurity. In marrying Swarbrick, she had – apart from occasional visits there – apparently renounced her birthplace. That was Colbeck’s starting point.
‘Tell me, Mr Hern,’ he said, ‘how did you feel when your heard that your sister was about to marry a British politician?’
‘I was shocked at first,’ admitted Hern. ‘I couldn’t see how Grace could adapt to a life so different from the one she’d been leading in Jersey.’
‘And yet Mrs Swarbrick appears to have done so.’
‘It took a lot of effort,’ she interjected, ‘but I didn’t mind. I loved my husband. Being with him was always a joy – unless we had to travel by train, that is.’
‘We have no railways in Jersey,’ said Hern. ‘They’re bound to come in time, I suppose. Returning to your original question, inspector, let me say that I warmed to Jarvis eventually. At first he looked rather staid and could be quite pompous but, when you got to know him, you realised that he had a wicked sense of humour. The determining factor for me was that he adored my sister and promised to look after her.’
‘And he kept that promise, Michael,’ she said, quietly. ‘I wanted for nothing.’
‘Many wives in your position,’ said Colbeck, ‘would have been overwhelmed by the demands of their new life but, according to Mrs Freed, you settled into it with commendable speed.’
‘My sister has always had great willpower,’ said Hern, proudly.
‘When did you first meet Andrew Swarbrick?’
‘It was not until I paid a visit to London. Jarvis took me to the House of Commons, then we later met up with his son.’ His face darkened. ‘It was not a happy occasion. Andrew managed a surface politeness, but I could sense his rooted opposition to the notion of his father taking anyone from our family into his life.’
‘Were you shocked when he refused to attend the wedding?’
‘No, inspector, I was heartily relieved.’
‘How often have you met him?’
‘Three or four times in total – and that was more than enough.’
‘Was he so objectionable?’
‘He was loathsome. We invited him and his wife to come to St Helier, but he snubbed us as if we were creatures from a lower order of Creation.’
‘Let’s not talk about Andrew,’ pleaded Grace.
‘We can’t ignore him,’ said her brother.
‘I’m so afraid that he’s going to do something dreadful.’
‘He’s already done that, Grace. He treated you abominably.’
‘That’s why I don’t wish to discuss him.’
‘But I’m sure that inspector Colbeck does.’
‘Well,’ she said, getting up, ‘since he has to be part of this conversation, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ll leave you alone to talk about Andrew as long as you wish.’
Colbeck rose from his seat and opened the door for her to leave, closing it behind her. When he turned to face Hern, he felt able to speak more freely and probe more deeply.
‘Why did your sister decide to leave Jersey in the first place?’
‘That’s a long story, inspector …’
Over dinner that evening, Tallis made more of an effort to talk to his hostess, even rising to a few clumsy but well-meant compliments. Wardlow was pleased to see how much more relaxed he was now. It was a marked improvement on his earlier discomfort in female company. When they adjourned to the drawing room after a meal, Wardlow reached for the brandy decanter.
‘Not for me, thank you,’ said Tallis.
‘I’ve never known you refuse a drink, Edward.’
‘The glass of wine I had at dinner was enough. I don’t wish to be rude but, to tell you the truth, I’d like to have an early night for once. Would you mind terribly if I just … slip away?’
‘It’s very early.’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘Are you unwell?’ asked Wardlow with concern.
‘It’s more a case of fatigue.’
‘Did you get much sleep last night?’
‘Not really – it was rather intermittent.’
‘Brandy usually does the trick for me. I nod off instantly.’
‘Then I’ll leave you to attack the decanter.
Goodnight, Terence.’
‘Did you want a call for breakfast tomorrow?’
‘No,’ said Tallis. ‘I’d appreciate a lie-in.’
‘We didn’t get many opportunities to do that in the army,’ said Wardlow with a chuckle.
He opened the door for his friend to leave, then watched him going up the staircase. Tallis had completely lost the spring in his step. Moving slowly, he was using the banister to haul himself up the steps. Wardlow closed the door, lowered himself gingerly into his armchair and poured himself a ruminative glass of brandy. There was cause for anxiety and reassurance. Having taken an afternoon nap, Tallis was now going to bed hours earlier than usual. It worried Wardlow. Against that could be set the fact that he’d been calm, controlled and pleasant throughout the rest of the day. His readiness to speak at length with his hostess was a welcome sign in a man who normally avoided talking to women.
Then there was Tallis’s assiduous bout of prayer earlier in the day. It had startled Wardlow. He had never thought of his friend as a religious man. During their time in India, when the chaplain had been unavailable, Tallis had led his men in a service from time to time, but it tended to be rather perfunctory. Of his Christian values, there could be no doubt, but he had never been passionate about his beliefs. Finding him on his knees in prayer had been both surprising and, in an odd way, rather unsettling. Wardlow couldn’t decide if Tallis was seeking help or forgiveness.
It was not long before the glass was empty. As he poured himself a second brandy, Wardlow came to a decision. It was time to consult Dr Kitson once again.
After an hour of feeling sorry for himself, Victor Leeming experienced a small miracle. The swell eased, the howling wind died down and the roar of the ship’s engines became less intrusive. While he felt that he’d never enjoy sailing, he began to feel it less of a trial by ordeal and more of an irksome duty. His queasiness vanished and his headache slowly faded away. It was even possible to have a conversation with one of the ship’s officers who’d offered him a nip of brandy. Hearing that the man lived in Jersey, he was quick to use him as a source of information.
‘Do they have a police force there?’ he asked.
‘They have one of sorts, sir,’ said the man. ‘Thanks to an Act passed by the States of Jersey, it came into being just over seven years ago. In fact, my brother is one of the first ten paid policemen on the island.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Peter Voisin.’
‘That’s a French name.’
‘Most of them have French names. They had to be able to speak French and English fluently before they could be appointed.’
‘Where are their headquarters?’
The officer laughed. ‘That’s too grand a name for the place they use in St Helier. Peter, my brother, used to be a carpenter but thought he could earn more money as a policeman.’
‘How much are they paid?’
‘They get eighteen shillings a week.’
‘What do they have to do to earn it?’ asked Leeming.
‘They patrol the streets between the hours of 6 p.m. and 2 a.m. They’re a night watch or garde de nuit.’
The officer went on to describe the duties of the paid police and told Leeming that they were answerable to the Constable of St Helier who, in turn, needed the sanction of the Bailiff in order to suspend any of the men. Leeming was staggered to hear that law and order in the island’s capital was in the hands of such a small band of policemen when it had a population in excess of twenty-five thousand.
‘What about a town like Gorey?’ he asked.
‘They don’t have paid policemen there.’
‘How is crime controlled?’
‘People look out for each other,’ said the officer. ‘For the most part, it’s only a question of petty crime. Rural areas refused to accept paid officers. They either rely on the local constable or police themselves by word of mouth.’
‘Is it really as primitive as that?’
‘It seems to work, sir.’
Leeming was dismayed. He’d hoped for an organised constabulary covering the whole island, but it had yet to come into being. Instead, therefore, any assistance he got could only come from a group of policemen who sounded as if they were essentially nightwatchmen. A task that had already seemed daunting now took on the character of an impossible dream. Leeming was in pursuit of an armed man who had already killed one victim and it looked as if he’d have to search for him alone. His stomach began to heave all over again.
Two long uninterrupted hours gave Colbeck the opportunity to fill in the many gaps relating to Grace Swarbrick’s former life. Her brother had explained how, when she met Jarvis Swarbrick, she’d gone back on her vow never to remarry. Though it had seemed like a case of the attraction of opposites, Michael Hern pointed out that the couple had far more in common than was initially thought. Once having wed, they grew even closer and became more dependent on each other. From her letters, Hern said, he could see that his sister had found real happiness again.
‘When she first met your sister,’ recalled Colbeck, ‘Mrs Freed was struck by her extraordinary poise.’
‘Grace has always had that, inspector.’
‘How would she respond to an emergency?’
‘She’d do so much more calmly than I would,’ said Hern with a grin. ‘Somehow my sister always maintained her composure. It took the murder of her husband to make her lose it.’
‘What does the future hold for her, would you say?’
‘It’s too early to predict.’
‘She’s talked of returning to Jersey.’
‘There’s unfinished business here first.’
Before Colbeck could ask another question, Cecil Freed came into the room and exchanged greetings with them. He gave Hern a cordial welcome and pressed him to stay with them there as long as he wished.
‘By rights,’ said Hern, ‘my sister and I should both be at the other house. It is, I understand, bequeathed to her. In my view, we shouldn’t let Andrew stay there at all, but Grace doesn’t want any confrontation with him. I’m hoping to talk her around.’
Colbeck had the feeling that Hern would succeed. He was an intelligent, highly articulate man and his sister had always consulted him when about to take a major decision in her life. Having met Hern only a few times before, Freed wanted to catch up on his news. Happy to leave them alone, Colbeck excused himself.
‘It was good to meet you, inspector,’ said Hern.
‘The feeling is mutual, sir,’ said Colbeck. ‘Thank you for answering my questions so frankly. Our discussion was very fruitful.’
‘There’ll be lots more discussions with me from now on.’
‘Why is that?’
‘It’s because I intend to work alongside you.’
‘That won’t be possible, I’m afraid,’ said Colbeck, stoutly. ‘It’s kind of you to offer your help, but I have to decline it.’
Victor Leeming had quailed when told that they’d be sailing through the night. He couldn’t understand how the captain could plot a course in the darkness. His fears were not allayed by the passenger who chose to flop down into the chair beside him. He was a middle-aged man, returning to Jersey after visiting his son who was at school in Winchester. A merchant by profession, he sailed to and from England on a regular basis and was accustomed to sea travel. Leeming envied him. While the sergeant still felt ill, his companion was glowing with health.
‘Is it always this bad?’ asked Leeming.
‘It can get far worse, believe me,’ said the man. ‘This has been a relatively easy voyage so far. We just have to hope for fine weather when we catch sight of Jersey.’
‘I don’t follow.’
‘The captain and his crew have to take account of rocks, reefs, tides and currents. They can all be fatal. There have been shipwrecks galore. Then there’s the problem of actually getting ashore.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The harbour facilities at St Helier are f
ar from ideal. The English and French Harbours are situated around La Folie. The jetties there are inaccessible at low tide so passengers have to be ferried by tenders to the landing stage at La Collette. If you think this is uncomfortable,’ said the man, chortling, ‘wait until you’re bobbing about on the waves in a small boat. That will test your nerves.’
‘I don’t have any left,’ said Leeming, gloomily. ‘How do we get into St Helier itself?’
‘There’ll be carriages waiting for us.’
‘That’s a relief.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘First of all, I have to call at an address in St Helier.’
‘It’s a pretty town,’ said the other, ‘and the people are very friendly as a rule. How much French do you speak?’
‘None at all,’ admitted Leeming.
‘That’s a pity.’
‘Why?’
‘Most of the place names are in French.’
Leeming gulped. His mission was hopeless.
Lydia Quayle was so eager to begin her work that she arrived at the Red Gallery before it was even opened, forcing her to walk around the block a few times before the premises were unlocked. After giving the proprietor time to settle in, she went over to the window and studied the paintings on show. There was nothing about any of them to suggest that they were the work of female artists. When she got inside, however, she spotted a print of a railway scene and recognised the distinctive hand of Madeleine Colbeck. She was still examining it when Francis Sinclair walked over to her. He, too, scrutinised the print.
‘You’d never believe that it was painted by a woman, would you?’
‘Really?’ said Lydia, feigning surprise.
‘It’s hardly the kind of subject matter that would appeal to the average woman. This artist is the exception to the rule. Her father was an engine driver and she had an urge to paint railway scenes.’
‘It’s very realistic. You can almost smell that cloud of smoke.’
‘Does that mean you’re interested in buying it?’
Points of Danger Page 26