Edward Marston - Timetable of Death

‘You’d have won through somehow. You have an instinct for survival.’

‘It was more like desperation to get away from my home. I was suffocated there, Beatrice. They wouldn’t allow me to breathe properly.’

‘You did the right thing in striking out on your own.’

‘I was in a complete daze at first,’ admitted Lydia, ‘and very frightened. I thought that Nottingham was a big town, but it’s so small compared to London. I’d just never seen so many people.’

‘You were very brave to come here, Lydia. This is no place for a young woman by herself.’

‘I soon learnt that.’

Within her first week there, she’d found herself a target for unwanted male interest and had had to move from one hotel to another in order to shake off admirers. Lydia had money enough to look after herself but no anchor to her life. After months of loneliness in the capital, she’d plucked up the courage to take up the invitation given to her by Beatrice Myler to call on her if she was ever in London. When she entered the cosy house in the suburbs, Lydia had found her new home.

‘I had a letter from my uncle this morning,’ said Beatrice.

‘How is he?’

‘Oh, you know what he’s like. Uncle Herbert had to have his customary moan about arthritis. I think he feels rather cheated. Because he spent all of his working life in holy orders, he believes that God should have given him a special dispensation.’

‘He’s a dear old soul. I enjoy his company.’

‘As it happened, his letter was all about you.’

Lydia gaped. ‘Was it, really?’

‘Uncle Herbert is very fond of you. He wants you to know that you’re in his prayers.’ Beatrice smiled. ‘You’re in mine, too, of course. I haven’t said anything before because I knew that if you wished to talk about it, you’d already have done so. But I’ve seen the immense strain you’ve been under since … you heard the news. And this morning’s letter has made me want to speak out. Do you mind?’

‘No,’ said Lydia, squeezing her hand. ‘You’re entitled to speak out.’

‘You may not like what I’m going to say.’

‘It will be worth hearing, Beatrice. You’re always so sensible.’

‘Then my advice is this,’ said the older woman. ‘Go back home, Lydia. This is a time of trial for the whole family. Go back home and build bridges.’

Having had a meal at a public house in Spondon on the previous evening, Colbeck decided that he didn’t want to repeat the experience. Besides, it was only fair that Leeming should have some consolations for being shunted off to the village. The sergeant had therefore been invited to join him at the Royal Hotel for dinner. As well as guaranteeing the high quality of the cuisine, it gave them a chance to discuss the case in comparative luxury. Colbeck had, as usual, been assiduous. After the meeting with Donald Haygarth and Maurice Cope, and the visit to Melbourne Hall, he’d returned to Derby with the intention of calling on some of the other board members of the Midland Railway. But he did not need to go looking for them because three of them came in search of him. When he interviewed them separately, each had told him more or less the same thing. Vivian Quayle had the vision to be chairman of the company. Haygarth did not. Obliquely, they all hinted that the latter was more than capable of engineering the death of a rival. They also named Maurice Cope as his fellow conspirator.

‘Has anyone got a good word to say about Mr Haygarth?’ asked Leeming.

‘Yes, Victor, I do. He chose this hotel for me.’

‘I wish he’d chosen it for me as well. The Malt Shovel has its charms but the floorboards creak and my bed is padded with anthracite. Anyway, do go on, sir.’

‘Well,’ said Colbeck, ‘After talking to Mr Quayle’s colleagues on the board, I made a point of finding the man who’d performed the post-mortem, then — just in case he was missing me — I called in at the police station to see Superintendent Wigg.’

‘He’s been sniping at us behind our backs, sir. Philip Conway told me.’

‘Don’t take it too seriously, Victor. I rather like that kind of thing. It spurs me on. I asked him what he knew about the Quayle family and, to my amazement, he’d been collecting what information he could about them. He was actually helpful.’ He picked up the menu and ran an eye over it. ‘What about your day?’

Leeming gave him an edited version of events in Spondon. He told Colbeck about the effort of pushing a heavy wheelbarrow up a hill and about his meetings with Jed Hockaday and Philip Conway. He’d also spoken to the stationmaster in Spondon and learnt how many people had got off the last train on the night of the murder. Curiously, the cobbler had been one of them. The rest of Leeming’s day had been spent fending off people with lurid imaginations and an eye on the reward money.

‘To be honest, sir,’ he said, ‘I was glad to escape for the evening. I think I must have spoken to everyone in the village by now.’

‘Then there’s no point in your staying there.’

Leeming’s face glowed. ‘I can move back in here?’

‘No, Victor,’ replied Colbeck. ‘You can go home. To be more exact, you can return to London tomorrow to deliver a report on the situation here. I’ve already sent letters to Superintendent Tallis but you’ll be able to give him the latest news. Before that, of course, I’d like you to drop off a letter at my house and assure Madeleine that I’m in good heart and thinking of her.’

‘I’ll gladly do that. Will I have time to see Estelle and the boys?’

‘You can spend the night with them.’

‘That’s wonderful!’

‘I haven’t arranged a family reunion for your sake,’ warned Colbeck. ‘Frankly, it’s another family reunion that I have in mind. If she’s in London, I want you to find Lydia Quayle. Because of what Burns said about her, she interests me.’

‘How on earth am I supposed to find her, sir?’

‘You’ll think of a way, Victor. Besides, you won’t be on your own.’

‘Who’s going to help me?’

‘My wife, of course,’ said Colbeck, putting the menu back on the table. ‘The superintendent would be aghast, naturally, but I think we need a woman on this case. It may involve delicate negotiations and — with respect — that is not your strong suit. Madeleine will be at your side.’ He clapped Leeming on the shoulder. ‘You and she will make an excellent team.’

It was an unwritten rule that when they had breakfast they never discussed anything of real moment. Neither Lydia Quayle nor Beatrice Myler wanted to start their day with a subject that might lead to argument and impede their digestion. Over their meal that morning, therefore, they confined themselves to domestic trivia. It was only when they’d finished and when the maidservant had cleared away the plates that they felt able to move on to a more serious matter.

‘The decision, of course, is entirely yours,’ said Beatrice.

‘I know,’ said Lydia, her throat tight.

‘It’s a real dilemma.’

‘It’s more than that, Beatrice. There’s no right way to proceed. I’ll be damned if I do go back and damned if I don’t.’

‘You’ll hear no criticism from me.’

‘I won’t need to. I’ll provide more than enough censure myself.’

‘Oh, this must be preying on your mind dreadfully. What if …’

Thinking better of it, Beatrice lapsed back into silence and reached for her tea. Lydia was eager to know what her friend was about to say and eventually cajoled her into telling her what it was.

‘I was only going to pose a question,’ said Beatrice. ‘What if your father had died of natural causes? Would you have been tempted to go back then?’