Edward Marston - Timetable of Death

‘I daren’t make mistakes about things like that, Inspector. It’s an article of faith with me. If you look at the list of names we printed with the obituary, you’ll see that Donald Haygarth is among them.’

Anyone involved with the Midland Railway knew the difference between the two men. Vivian Quayle had had a genuine love of the railway system. He was fascinated by each new technical development in the production of steam locomotives and rolling stock and was a frequent visitor to the Derby Works. He would spend hours talking to the chief engineer about the manufacturing process. Those who toiled in the pattern shop, the foundry, the carriage shop, the machine shop and the boiler shop knew Quayle as a regular and respected visitor. They’d never set eyes on Donald Haygarth. His realm was the boardroom and the public platform. He was known to have a desire to stand for Parliament. His ambition for the company was clear. He wanted to maximise its profits and turn the Midland Railway into the best in the country. But he refused to get his shoes dirty as he did so.

He was studying the accounts when Maurice Cope knocked before entering the office. Haygarth was too involved in what he was doing to pay him any attention. Cope had to wait until the other man finally glanced up.

‘What do you want?’ asked Haygarth.

‘This just arrived for you, sir,’ said Cope, handing over a letter. ‘I think that it’s the information you’ve been waiting for.’

‘It’s about time, too.’

As the acting chairman opened and read the letter, Cope watched him like a cat hoping to be tossed a morsel. Haygarth smiled with satisfaction. He could have waited until the announcement was made in the Derby Mercury but he was too impatient for that. He always wanted advance notice.

‘Was I right, sir?’

‘Yes — it’s the details of the funeral.’

‘Is that an invitation?’

Haygarth smirked. ‘Oh, they won’t invite me.’

‘Then why were you so keen to learn when it’s taking place?’

‘I intend to go uninvited,’ said Haygarth. ‘It may cause something of a stir but I need to be seen there. Stanley and Lucas Quayle will probably ignore me. That’s to be expected. But everyone else will think it only proper that I pay my respects to the man I’ve replaced. And there’s something else.’

‘What’s that, sir?’

‘The press will be there in force. I’ll have publicity.’

They had settled into an uneasy and watchful truce. Though Lydia Quayle and Beatrice Myler were excessively polite to each other, there was no contact at a deep level. It remained to be seen if their former rapport had been lost or simply misplaced. The fact was that each had seen the other in an unflattering light. Lydia had been revolted by the discovery that her room had been searched and Beatrice had been wounded by the knowledge that someone from the family had got in touch with her yet she’d said nothing about it. While they took their meals together, they tiptoed around each other for most of the day. The servants too were all aware of the charged atmosphere.

In the end, it was Lydia who offered an olive branch.

‘We mustn’t let this come between us, Beatrice.’

‘Unfortunately, it already has.’

‘If we both make an effort, we can put it behind us in time.’

‘You shouldn’t have invited them into my house.’

Lydia was stung. ‘You used to call it our house.’

‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ said the other, wistfully.

‘I’ve been so contented here.’

‘So why did you wish to spoil it all?’

‘It wasn’t deliberate. You must see that.’

But her friend was in no mood to make concessions. Lydia was made to feel that she was there on sufferance. Something had snapped. Beatrice showed no interest in wanting to repair it. They were sitting opposite each other in the drawing room. Both held books but neither had actually been reading. They’d been simmering away quietly. Not wishing to risk rejection again, Lydia held her tongue and thought about her visitors instead. Their arrival had given her hope yet left her despondent. Madeleine Colbeck had convinced her that Lydia might know something that would help a terrible crime to be solved but, in coming through the front door with Victor Leeming, she’d brought the real world and all its hideous associations into the haven of peace and harmony that the two women had created. A cosy and uncomplicated life had suddenly been snatched away from Lydia and, by extension, from Beatrice. An estranged daughter had a new reason to hate her father. Vivian Quayle had destroyed her happiness from beyond the grave.

‘What are you reading, Beatrice?’ she asked, softly.

‘It’s that new book about Venice.’

‘Is it from the Lending Library?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘What are the illustrations like?’

‘They’re very good. They bring back pleasant memories.’

Lydia smiled. ‘I’m glad that something does.’

‘It’s made me want to go there again. Venice is so magical.’

‘When are you thinking of going?’

‘I’ll need to look in my diary.’

‘Are you intending to travel alone?’

It was a nervous question and it received no answer. Beatrice simply buried her head in the book and pretended to read. The old companionship had withered. Lydia prayed that it might not be beyond recall. But the other woman was ignoring her as if she was not even there. She was not only punishing her friend. Beatrice seemed to be taking pleasure from doing so.

Hockaday was worried. Determined to impress the detectives, he’d instead ended up being exposed as a liar. He feared that it could cost him his post as a constable and that would deprive him of a status he relished. After brooding at length on his ill-fated conversation with Colbeck and Leeming, he came to a decision. He abandoned his work, took off his apron and put on a coat in its place. Thrusting a hat on his head, he locked up the premises and walked to the station as quickly as he could. People he passed on the way got only a curt response to their greeting. The cobbler’s mind was elsewhere. When he arrived at the station, he bought a ticket and asked about the next available train that would take him to his destination. He then went out onto the platform and marched up and down.

Victor Leeming, meanwhile, entered the railway station cautiously. Sitting in the window of the Union Inn, he’d seen the cobbler go past in a hurry and followed him at a discreet distance. He already knew that a train to Duffield was imminent because Colbeck had consulted the copy of Bradshaw he usually had with him. Leeming bought a ticket then remained out of sight until the train arrived and the cobbler got into a compartment. Making sure he was not seen by the other man, the sergeant chose the last of the carriages.

During their brief acquaintance, Colbeck had grown to like Philip Conway. He had a mind like a sponge that soaked up information whenever and wherever he found it. Crucially, he was treating the pursuit of the killer as a mission in which he could both learn and be of practical assistance. At his first meeting with Superintendent Wigg, Colbeck had been unaware that the man would later be named by Lydia Quayle as one of her father’s enemies. The detective could not understand why until the reporter enlightened him. Armed with the information, he returned to Derby and made straight for the police station. He was shown into Wigg’s office immediately.

‘I’m glad you’ve come, Inspector,’ said the superintendent.

‘That’s a welcome change. When we first arrived here, you felt that we were intruders. Have we somehow won your approval?’

‘I wouldn’t go that far.’