Fear on the Phantom Special

by Edward Marston

  Hedley winced. ‘I have to agree, Sergeant.’

  ‘You told us that Phantom Special brought you all back here to Kendal,’ noted Colbeck. ‘I daresay that the engine is now in service again. What about the two carriages?’

  ‘They’re in a siding near the station, Inspector. They were part of some disused rolling stock that we chose because it was much cheaper to hire.’

  Colbeck snapped his fingers. ‘That’s where we’ll start first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Why bother with two old carriages?’ protested Leeming. ‘What can they possibly tell us?’

  ‘If you know how to listen, Sergeant, they can tell you quite a lot.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When a friend joined her for dinner that evening, Madeleine was reminded just how much she had – to quote her father – come up in the world. Until she’d met Colbeck, she’d led a typical working-class existence, with all its constraints and limited expectations. Her social circle was small, and the notion of meals cooked and served to her on a daily basis was unthinkable. Marriage had moved her out of the modest dwelling in which she’d been born into a fine house in Westminster. But it was in her friendship with Lydia Quayle that she’d realised how radically her life had changed.

  While a train robbery had brought Colbeck into her life, an even more serious crime had introduced her to Lydia. The latter’s father, a prosperous businessman and prospective chairman of the Midland Railway, had been found dead in a Derbyshire churchyard. As it happened, Lydia was estranged from her family at that time, living in London with an older woman and maintaining only fitful contact with her relations.

  Convinced that Lydia might have information relevant to the case, Colbeck asked his wife to take part in the investigative process, a decision he kept secret from his superiors at Scotland Yard. Madeleine not only interviewed Lydia, she befriended her and was very supportive to the young woman whom she discovered was tormented by competing loyalties. When the murder had been solved, the friendship between them became even closer.

  ‘Something puzzles me,’ said Lydia. ‘You told me that Robert was offered the position of Acting Superintendent. Why didn’t he accept the promotion?’

  ‘Robert is much happier as a detective inspector. He took on that role once before and he hated being chained to a desk. What he thrives on is action and that means freedom of movement. Besides,’ said Madeleine, ‘he was counting on the fact that Superintendent Tallis would eventually return to duty and didn’t want to look as if he’d tried to usurp him.’

  ‘You’d prefer your husband based at Scotland Yard, surely?’

  ‘I want him to be happy in his work, Lydia, even if it means that he has to travel all over the country.’

  ‘It’s the wrong time of the year to visit the Lake District.’

  ‘We know that. It would be lovely to take Helen on a family holiday in spring or summer.’

  ‘Does Robert ever get holidays?’

  Madeleine sighed. ‘Yes and no …’

  After all this time, she felt completely at ease with Lydia and able to confide in her. Madeleine had other women friends – Leeming’s wife, Estelle, was one of them – but none was as close as the person sitting with her in the drawing room. What she admired about Lydia was her intelligence, her sense of independence and her easy social graces. For her part, Lydia had even more cause to be grateful for the friendship. It had helped her to liberate herself from the more possessive relationship into which she’d somehow drifted and which had become both uncomfortable and irksome. What Madeleine had, in fact, helped to give her was an entirely new and more fulfilling life.

  ‘What are you working on at the moment?’ asked Lydia.

  ‘I’ll show you when it’s finished.’

  ‘You’re always so secretive about your paintings.’

  ‘I’m superstitious, that’s all,’ said Madeleine. ‘I’m afraid to let anyone see my work until a painting is finished.’

  ‘I’ll have to be patient, then. Do you think that Helen will inherit your artistic flair?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not really flair, Lydia. I had to study hard and learn from real artists. In any case,’ she added, ‘painting is a rather lonely way to pass the time. I’m hoping that our daughter will take after Robert. Who knows? When Helen has reached my age, we may even have female detectives?’

  ‘Yes, please!’ said Lydia with enthusiasm. ‘That day can’t come soon enough, if you ask me.’

  The coach took them to the Riverside Hotel, a quaint seventeenth-century inn on the bank of the River Kent. It was too gloomy for the detectives to appreciate the finer points of its architecture, and they were not, as it happened, given much time to study its interior. They were simply able to leave their luggage in their respective rooms before they were hustled out by Hedley. With the three of them ensconced in the plush seating, the coach set off once again.

  ‘Lord Culverhouse insisted on meeting you as soon as possible,’ explained Hedley. ‘He will doubtless press you to stay at Culverhouse Court, but I felt that you’d probably prefer to have more freedom.’

  ‘We would, indeed,’ said Colbeck.

  ‘It’s difficult to work when someone is looking over your shoulder all the time,’ said Leeming. ‘We’d feel hampered.’

  ‘You made the right decision, Mr Hedley.’

  ‘His Lordship may not think so,’ warned the other.

  ‘Where does he live?’

  ‘Oh, it’s not far away, Inspector. The house is in the middle of a large estate. Needless to say, he released some of his servants so that they could join in the search.’

  ‘What about Mr Piper’s family?’ asked Leeming.

  ‘They live in Ambleside. That’s at the north end of Lake Windermere. They were aware that you were coming and hope to meet you tomorrow.’

  ‘They’re high on our list,’ said Colbeck. ‘The more we can learn about the missing person, the better.’

  ‘Look,’ said Hedley with slight embarrassment, ‘there’s something you should know. The Reverend and Mrs Piper have a rather jaundiced view of their son. They feel that he’s let the family name down. Alex is no angel – I’m the first to admit that – but he’s not the complete rake his parents seem to think he is.’

  ‘Rake?’ echoed Leeming.

  ‘He’s had a rather colourful life and formed what his parents considered to be unsavoury attachments. I was the only one of Alex’s close friends they deemed acceptable.’

  ‘Why is that?’

  ‘They felt I was a restraining influence.’

  ‘Did Mr Piper live at home?’

  ‘No,’ said Hedley, ‘he didn’t. Alex stormed out after what he described as a spectacular row with them. He’s had nothing to do with either of his parents since then. I’ve tried to act as a peacemaker between the warring parties but with little success. My hope is – or was – that his marriage would help to repair the rift with his family.’

  ‘You sound as if you’ve given up hope of ever finding him,’ said Colbeck. ‘Is that the case?’

  ‘The truthful answer is that I don’t know. One moment, I’m convinced that he’s still alive and that there’s a perfectly logical explanation for his disappearance; the next, I fear that something dreadful has happened.’ He made an effort to sound more positive. ‘No, I refuse to believe that Alex is dead. He’s one of nature’s survivors. He must still be alive.’

  ‘Then where is he?’

  ‘I think he’s being held captive by someone as a means of punishment. That’s something else you should know about him,’ said Hedley. ‘Alex made lots of enemies.’

  Dressed in black, the runner was invisible in the darkness. His pace was steady, unforced and methodical. After cresting the hill, he came down the incline with sure-footed confidence and, when he’d reached even ground, turned instinctively to the right. He jogged on until he came to the railway lines, running parallel to them for the best part of a mile. When he finally stopped, he crouched do
wn by the track, pricked up his ears and listened intently.

  When they got to the house, Lord Culverhouse was in the hall to welcome them. His first impression of the detectives was not encouraging. He thought that Colbeck was too much of a dandy and that Leeming was impossibly ugly and uncouth. Reading the situation at once, Colbeck decided that he could glean far more information if he spoke to the old man alone. He therefore suggested that the sergeant took a detailed statement in private from Hedley. Culverhouse agreed readily with the idea and had the two men conducted to the library. He led Colbeck to his study, a large, well-appointed room with a fire blazing in the grate. There was a pervasive smell of cigar smoke, reminding Colbeck of the superintendent. Culverhouse waved him to an armchair and sat opposite him, subjecting him to a penetrating stare.

  ‘You’re not exactly what I was expecting,’ he said.

  ‘Appearances can be deceptive.’

  ‘I hope so. Your companion looks like the sort of person you should arrest on sight, not someone who’s been entrusted with the rank of a detective at Scotland Yard.’

  ‘The sergeant has many sterling qualities,’ said Colbeck, loyally, ‘among which are intelligence, tenacity and fearlessness. I can assure you that he is fully equipped to discharge his responsibilities as an officer of the law.’

  Culverhouse sniffed. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He glanced in the direction of the library. ‘As he probably told you, Hedley is a lawyer. What do you make of him?’

  ‘He’s been extremely helpful. Having once worked as a barrister, I came into contact with many lawyers. Mr Hedley seems to have all of the virtues of the breed yet none of the abiding stuffiness.’ Culverhouse smiled for the first time. ‘He told me about your theory.’

  ‘It’s not as far-fetched as it may sound. I’ve read reports before of people who sustain a violent blow to the head that deprives them of all knowledge of who and where they are. Victims have been known to wander aimlessly for days.’

  ‘I’m well aware of what can happen when someone’s mind is disturbed,’ said Colbeck, thinking of Tallis. ‘Your hypothesis, however, is based on the notion that another person is involved.’

  ‘It stands to reason, Inspector.’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘Someone deliberately lit that fire.’

  ‘I agree, but surely he’d have disappeared into the night so that he couldn’t be identified?’

  ‘My nephew must have found him somehow and tackled the villain. It’s the sort of thing Alex would do. He’d never walk away from a fight.’

  ‘Then why didn’t he get the better of the man? According to Mr Hedley, your nephew was young, fit and had taken boxing lessons.’

  ‘It’s a plausible theory,’ said Culverhouse, angrily, ‘and I won’t have it questioned. Even if there was no other person there, Alex could have charged off to search the area, tripped in the dark, banged his head on a rock and lost his bearings in every sense of the phrase.’

  ‘You’re quite right, Lord Culverhouse,’ said Colbeck, trying to calm him. ‘Yours is a suggestion that deserves respect. It would account for his sudden disappearance.’ He changed his tack. ‘Mr Hedley told us about your nephew’s estrangement from his parents.’

  ‘My brother-in-law was chiefly to blame for that.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Foolishly, he expects his son to behave exactly as he did at that age.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean, my lord.’

  ‘Are you familiar with Tennyson’s poems?’

  ‘Yes, I’m a great admirer of his work.’

  ‘Then you’ll have read St Simeon Stylites, I daresay.’

  ‘I have, indeed,’ said Colbeck. ‘Tennyson takes a rather mocking view of the privations he imposed on himself.’

  ‘My brother-in-law is cut from the same cloth. He’s a latter-day Simeon. I’m not saying that Rodney spent years living on top of a pillar with almost no clothes on, but he does have more than a touch of the martyr about him. Not unnaturally,’ he went on, ‘Alex rebelled against all that suffocating piety.’

  ‘I gather that Mr Piper is a clergyman?’

  ‘He’s an archdeacon, Inspector. I love Rodney for my sister’s sake, but I just couldn’t bring myself to sit through one of his interminable sermons.’

  ‘I begin to see why he and his son fell out.’

  ‘It’s a sad business. Alex is an only child. His parents are heartbroken that they lost him before reconciliation could take place. I’ve told them that he’s still alive,’ said the old man, ‘but they refuse to believe me.’

  ‘You are right to retain hope.’

  ‘It’s not hope I feel, it’s a sense of certainty. Alex is out there somewhere, Inspector.’ He pointed a finger at Colbeck. ‘I’m counting on you and that unprepossessing sergeant of yours to find him.’

  Leeming had spent the first couple of minutes in the library, staring up at the portrait of Lord Culverhouse in full fig. It was so lifelike that it unsettled him. Hedley didn’t even glance up at it. He was too busy taking something out of the valise he was carrying. When the sergeant finally turned to him, the lawyer handed him a sheet of paper.

  ‘That’s a list of all the people on the Phantom Special,’ he said. ‘I’ve put a tick beside those who were in the last compartment with Alex and me.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ He looked at the names. ‘I see that the ladies outnumbered the men in your compartment. Who was responsible for that?’

  Hedley was evasive. ‘That’s just the way it worked out, Sergeant.’

  ‘Both carriages seem to have been filled to capacity.’

  ‘It was a very popular excursion. People are inclined to seek thrills at Hallowe’en.’

  ‘There’s not much of a thrill in ducking apples and getting your face soaked,’ moaned Leeming. ‘I’d have jumped at the chance of going to a haunted wood – except that you never actually got that far, did you?’

  ‘No, we didn’t. Alex’s disappearance changed everything. When the train got to Birthwaite – that’s the station near Windermere – we cancelled the waiting carriages and came straight back to Kendal.’

  ‘How soon did the search resume?’

  ‘I took a small party out at first light.’

  ‘What was the weather like?’

  ‘It was raining heavily,’ said Hedley. ‘If Alex was wandering around in a daze, as Lord Culverhouse believes, he’d have been drenched.’

  ‘I can see why you don’t agree with that theory. It leaves too many questions unanswered.’ He looked up at the portrait again. ‘If we lower our voices, he won’t hear us.’ Leeming resorted to a hoarse whisper. ‘You told us earlier that you believed your friend might be being held as a punishment by someone. Wouldn’t his captor demand a ransom?’

  ‘I’ve been hoping that we’d have received one by now. It would at least prove that Alex is alive.’

  ‘Not necessarily, sir – we were involved in a case where the kidnappers killed their victim immediately, then pretended he was still alive. Fortunately, we were able to catch them when they tried to collect the ransom.’

  Hedley was adamant. ‘I refuse to accept that Alex is dead.’

  ‘It’s an option that we have to consider,’ said Leeming, solemnly, ‘especially since you tell us that he had lots of enemies.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Didn’t that worry him?’

  ‘Quite the opposite – he rejoiced in the fact.’

  ‘It’s not impossible that one or more of these so-called enemies might be responsible for his death.’ He took out his notebook. ‘I’ll need some names, Mr Hedley. Who are the most likely suspects?’

  Colbeck had to wait patiently while his companion embellished his theory about his missing nephew. In the course of doing so, Culverhouse provided a lot of useful information about the structure of his family and the exalted position he held in the community. Unlike his brother-in-law, the old man had no inclination towards martyrdom. Denial o
f any kind was foreign to him. His red cheeks, sizeable paunch and general air of self-indulgence made it clear that he was a confirmed sybarite. The gleaming whisky decanter on the man’s desk seemed further proof of the fact and Colbeck wondered if his fondness for his nephew arose from the fact that Alex apparently shared his uncle’s attitude to life. When Culverhouse finally ran out of steam, his visitor was able to get a question in at last.

  ‘While I can see the logic of your theory,’ he said, ‘might I offer one of my own, please?’

  ‘But you know nothing of what happened that night.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’d like to introduce an element that neither you nor Mr Hedley have touched upon. This isn’t in any way an attack on your theory, Lord Culverhouse,’ he added, hastily. ‘Indeed, the two could coexist side by side.’

  Culverhouse was tetchy. ‘What are you babbling about?’

  ‘The Kendal and Windermere Railway.’

  ‘Damn you, man! You know nothing whatsoever about it.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Colbeck, ‘I know a great deal. I’m aware, for instance, that the engineer was Joseph Locke and the contractor was Thomas Brassey, two gentlemen for whom I have the greatest respect and with whom I’m closely acquainted. The line was opened in 1847 as part of the Lancaster and Carlisle Railway but is now leased to the LNWR.’

  ‘How did you learn that?’ spluttered the other.

  ‘I make it my business to keep abreast of developments in the railway system. My guess is that, since you occupy such a leading position in the county, you were instrumental in having the line built.’

  ‘I certainly was. The main line to Carlisle skirted Kendal because they feared some expensive tunnelling would be involved. I didn’t see why we shouldn’t have the benefits of rail travel, so I led the campaign for the extension on which you have just travelled.’

  ‘And you did so in the teeth of opposition, I believe?’

  ‘There was a veritable outcry,’ recalled Culverhouse. ‘We were accused of shameless vandalism. No less a person than William Wordsworth lifted his pen in anger and poured scorn upon us. Being attacked by the poet laureate was a very disagreeable experience, I can tell you, but we couldn’t let him stand in the way of progress.’